Making the King: A dark forced marriage romance (The Cruz Kings MC)

Chapter Ten

The screech of my tires is loud as my truck slides sideways into the parking lot of Dirty Diamonds. Gunner holds on for dear life, but he should know better than to be scared of my fucking driving. I’ve become an expert over the years, and the pelting rain only adds to the maneuverability.

“Gun ready,” I hiss, and I slam on the brakes, my eyes scanning the parking lot past the windshield wipers to make out the numerous figures running out from the club entrance.

“There!” Gunner yells, pointing out the windshield, but I don’t need his direction. My eyes have already honed in on the fucker dragging my wife by her hair as she kicks out, trying to get away.

He’s a fucking dead man walking!

Throwing my door open, I tug my automatic shotgun from under my seat and leap from my truck, aiming at a leather cut wearing motherfucker who aims his handgun at me, and I pull the trigger.

The boom is loud, and I ignore the vision of the gaping hole in his chest as he flies backward, thumping to the drenched asphalt, before I step over him.

I continue shooting as I go, hitting a few of the nomad gang before my aim is off, missing another fucker as he charges out of the club doors.

A loud crack pierces the air before the asshole’s back arches and he’s thrown forward right before Tex steps out of the club entrance with his shotgun.

Grinning at my friend, he gives me a nod before we both turn our sights on my cursing wife, her insults not for the fainthearted as the cunt-faced prick manages to drag her up to a bike.

A war cry sounds as Gray comes charging from the back of the building toward my woman, but a nomad steps in his path, stopping him, and they start swinging fists.

My target is clear as I elbow an asshole that comes at me from the side, and as he stumbles back, I aim and shoot.

I grin at his stunned expression as the bullet practically eviscerates his throat.

Cara’s insults draw me back to her, and as I storm across the lot, I watch my warrior queen as she fights back as best she can, kicking her attacker in the shin before she slips on the wet ground, losing her momentum.

The motherfucker still has her by her long dark hair and it pisses me the fuck off.

That is my hair to fucking fist! Not his!

“Hey!” I boom, and his head jerks up in time to see the barrel of my gun, only three feet away. I pull the trigger.

Cara squeals in fright at the sound as blood and brain matter rain over her. Panicked, she shuffles back on her hands trying to get away from the carnage.

Standing over her, I look down and admire how much of a fucking warrior she is. Not just a warrior but a queen, with blood coating her face as the rain washes through it, running down her neck and down between her tits.

“Cara.” She’s trembling, her eyes locked on the fucker who was trying to take her, his body now a slumped heap on the asphalt, half his face blown off.

“Cara!” I demand, and she snaps out of it, her shocked steel gaze darting to mine. “Let’s go.” I reach out a hand, and her trembling one takes it, letting me pull her to her feet.

Engulfing her in my arms, I turn in time to see another nomad charging for me, and I get my shotgun raised just in time to blow his head clean off his shoulders.

Cara squeals again, and flinches into me, not used to the loud crack of guns, but it’s a sound she needs to get used to. She’s in my world now, and shit like this is inevitable.

Pulling my handgun from the back of my jeans, I nudge her back and offer it to her.

“Here. You know the drill, Killer. Point and shoot.”

Even though she trembles, she takes the gun and nods, her gaze locking with mine.

“No one touches what’s mine,” I tell her and it’s like my words are a blanket of courage for her as she stands taller and rolls her shoulders back, giving me a nod.

There she is.

“No one touches what’s mine either.” She rasps huskily, and pride fills my fucking chest.

Fuck, I want to kiss her, but not with that fucker’s blood all over her face. That will have to wait.

Side by side, we turn and face the foray, stepping into it together as we help my crew put an end to this.

By the time we are done, everyone is dead except for the one asshole Grayson is pummeling over and over, and Gunner has to wrestle Gray off the guy so we can get some answers.

“Start talking asshole,” I snap just as Cain appears wearing a grin.

Jesus, he loves this stuff way too much.

“They were here for the Diamond with a teardrop tattoo.” He tells me and I see fucking red.

My fucking wife.

What the actual fuck.

The nomad on the ground peers up through his swelling eyelids, blinking against the rain with a groan.

“What club are you from?”

Since they are on motorcycles, and wearing cuts, although no logo is displayed, they are clearly from an MC.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, and Gray leans down, bitch slapping him before pulling back his cut and tugging down the torn neck of his shirt.

“I saw that he had ink,” Gray mutters as he shows us the tattoo.

It’s a skull, with the name, Cali Reapers, above it.

Fuck. I’ve heard about them. Causing havoc all up the coast.

“Why are you in Santa Cruz?” I hiss and the fucker chuckles and then coughs.

“Haven’t you heard?” he wheezes. “We are bidding for this territory.”

Frowning, my eyes meet Cain’s who shrugs.

“What do you mean?” I ask the Reaper. “This territory is already claimed.”

Slowly, the Reaper laughs like he’s about to tell a fucking joke. But nothing about this is a joke.

“The territory is getting divided up, and Santa Cruz is up for grabs.” He sneers before jabbing a finger toward me. “And when it becomes ours, you fuckers are through.”

“Here’s what we think of that.” Aiming my shotgun at his knee, I blow it to shreds.

The Reaper briefly screams before passing the fuck out.

“Make sure he doesn’t bleed out and make sure he gets back to his leader.” I point down at him directing the order to Gunner and Grayson. “I want to make sure this message is loud and fucking clear. They come for my wife, or fuck with our people, then they fucking die.”

Gray and Gunner get to work on stopping the bleeding and I turn to Cain.

“What do you need me to do?”

He waves me off. “Get your wife home and cleaned up. We got this.”

Nodding, I step in closer, speaking quietly. “Cara’s mom has obviously outsourced to try to steal her daughter back. Can you let Dante know?”

Cain nods, and we clap each other’s shoulders before I turn to Cara and sweep her up in my arms.

The drive home is quick, since I only live down the road from the club, and I hurry since all I can hear is Cara shivering and her teeth chattering.

Skidding to a stop in my driveway, I leap from my truck, rounding it to open her door and sweep her into my arms again.

Like me, she is absolutely saturated, both with water and blood.

“I need to shower you.” I rush out as I swing the door open, stepping inside the house. “I need to get you cleaned and warmed up.”

Still trembling in my arms, mainly from the cold rain, she stiffens and starts to struggle in my hold when she realizes that I’m carrying her toward my bathroom.

“N-no.” She chatters and I growl.

“Cara, there’s no debate about this. The outside shower is freezing. You need to warm up in a hot shower.”

“No,” she says with demand laced in her tone, but I ignore it, shoving the bathroom door open, but I don’t go in.

No. I need to wait for her to agree. I won’t force this on her.

“Yes, Cara. Come on now.” I insist. “Trust me, please. Just close your eyes if you must and trust that I will keep you safe in there.”

“But.”

“No buts. You know I need to get you into a hot shower. Please don’t fight me on this.”

She’s quiet for a long beat, shivering in my arms as we both drip pink stained rain onto the floor in the hallway.

“I can shut my eyes?” she asks and I nod.

“Yes. Shut them and let me tend to you.”

Slowly she nods.

Fuck. I know it must have taken a lot for her to agree with this. To trust me.

Waiting until she squeezes her eyes shut, I step inside my bathroom to my tub, and awkwardly lean over to turn on the shower stream, trying not to drop her.

“I need you to put your feet down.” I start guiding her feet down, but she recoils, holding her feet up, her hands gripping my shoulders.

“Not on the tiles.” She whimpers, and I frown. Maybe she doesn’t want to feel the cold from the tiles?

“Okay, Killer. Not on the tiles. On the bathmat.” I scoot the bathmat in place with the toe of my boot and ease her feet down to rest on the fluffy mat, happy that she lets me do that.

Keeping an arm around her and her trembling body pressed to my chest, I lean in and test the water, making sure it’s not too hot, before I start peeling her clothes off, and then work on mine.

“Okay. I’m going to lift you over the edge of the tub.” I explain, and she nods into my chest, her eyes still shut tight as I lift her in and follow behind her.

Slowly, I guide her under the spray, and watch as she keeps her lids shut, completely trusting me to make sure she’s safe.

Fuck, that does something to me.

Inside my chest, the cold organ that beats starts to warm. It’s like her trust is thawing it, and for the first time, I feel the impact of its beat.

This is what she does to me. Cara King. My wife.

Feeling unusually emotional, I’m glad she can’t see me right now, and I turn my focus to her as I start my task at washing the blood from her skin.

The convulsing trembles from the cold slowly ease as my hands glide over her warming skin, and I will my dick not to get hard, because now isn’t the time. Now it’s the time for me to show her that I am trustworthy. That she can rely on me to take care of her. Of us.

After my hands run gently over her skin to make sure it’s completely clean, I shampoo her hair, and then wash down her body with soap.

I’ve never done this to another person before, so I’m a bit fumbly, but she looks at ease as I wash her hair, her head tilting into the touch of my fingers like she enjoys my touch.

“You like that?” I ask quietly, and she nods against my fingers, grazing against her scalp.

“So much.”

Jesus. Her voice has that husk to it again. It’s a fucking turn on, and my dick stirs a little.

Down, boy.

“Let’s rinse it out.” I suggest, turning her a little as I take the handheld showerhead off and start rinsing the suds from her long hair.

Fuck, the way the water and suds stream down over her nipples is a temptation of its own, and I force my gaze away and focus on her hair only until it’s completely rinsed and then I rehang the showerhead.

Chicks use conditioner, something I’ve never had to worry about, so not only have I never conditioned someone’s hair before, but I’ve never used the product before.

Trying to avoid looking like a dumb prick, I quickly read the fine print instructions on the back of the bottle, glad I stocked up with different brands before she came to live with me, not knowing which one she would prefer, so not only is my shower stocked, but so is the outside shower.

“Sorry, I’m new to this part.” I admit as I squirt some into my palm, and a small smile spreads across her face.

“Just concentrate most of the conditioner to the mid-lengths and ends and comb it through with your fingers.”

“Okay,” I rasp quietly near her ear, and I love the way it makes a shiver run down her spine.

Doing as she instructed, I lather the ends of her hair, working the slimy product up higher before using my fingers as a comb. I do this for a minute or so before rinsing it out and quickly washing myself while she stands waiting with her eyes closed.

Once I’m done, I pull her to my chest, looking down at her as she angles her head up but keeps her eyes closed.

“Can you tell me why bathrooms are such an issue for you?” I ask, and she frowns, her lids still sealed.

“I…” she shakes her head. “I’m not ready.”

“Okay. How about my truth for yours?” I ask, and the moment I do, anxiety twists my gut. Maybe I’m not ready either.

Slowly, Cara cracks one lid slightly to look up at me.

“Will you tell me why you got so pissy about me asking why you didn’t learn Spanish in school?”

I nod. “I will if you tell me your issue with bathrooms right after.”

Grinning, she nods, and closes her eyes tight again. “Deal.”

Shit. Where do I start?

“Uh…” I say feeling clueless on how to explain myself. I’m not used to talking about my feelings like this, but I want her to trust me, so I need to level the playing field. “I guess your question made me feel dumb, because I… uhhh…”

She cracks her lid open again. “You can tell me. I promise I’ll never use it against you or think any less of you.”

I’m meant to be this big bad tough guy, yet all I am is a street thug pretending to be more. She says she won’t think less of me, but it’s inevitable. The truth will show her exactly who I am.

The question is, does it matter? Do I think she’ll look at me differently?

Even as I think it, I don’t believe it. Cara is not a trivial person. She doesn’t care for social standards or norms. The only thing she was raised to do is support her husband, so let’s hope she still has that part inside her.

Shit. I need to tell her. It’s the only way to move things forward.

“Can you look at me while I tell you?” I ask as she peers up through the minuscule crack of her lid. “With both eyes.”

Slowly she nods. “I’ll look at you and nothing else.” She breathes and I feel pride bloom inside me.

She’s so strong.

Prying both lids open wider, she looks up at me as droplets of the shower spray around us.

“I… uh… never learned any languages because I didn’t go to school much after my tenth birthday.”

Her brows shoot up. “Homeschool?” she asks and I shake my head.

“No, I… lived on the streets.”

Her eyes round with pity, but she doesn’t insult me by telling me how sorry she is or saying you poor thing. No. She keeps asking questions.

“So you were homeless?” When I nod, she asks. “Were you alone on the streets or with a parent?”

“It was just me. I don’t have parents.” I sigh, feeling a little more at ease with telling her this now that I’m finally doing it. “I’m an orphan.”

She nods. “Foster carers?”

“Only abusive ones.” I admit, and her brows hitch high. “I managed to get away eventually, and I never went back. For most of those years after, the other street kids knew me only as Rocco. No one knew my full name, and it wasn’t until I was fourteen that I came across Dante, Luke, and Baz. At the time they were living it up as surfers, and they made sure I never went hungry. When Dante was twenty-one Luke got killed, and he transformed into a vigilante who stuck up for those who couldn’t stick up for themselves. That’s when he formed the Diamond Crew, and I never looked back.”

She nods, her steel gaze roaming my face like she’s making sure every inch is locked in her memory.

“What sort of abuse did you suffer?”

I tense at her words. I never expected her to ask that. I’m not sure why. She is a curious woman. Probably because she has so much to learn since her background was a lie.

Cara has been through some horrific abuses of her own. Her scars tell that story. But I’ve never spoken the words of my abuse out loud to anyone.

I can never…

I shake my head, flashes of a time I want to forget bombarding my brain.

“I can’t,” I whisper and her eyes turn glassy.

“Were you… Did they…” She struggles to finish, but that doesn’t matter because I know what she’s trying to ask.

“Please don’t ask me to say the words out loud, hermosa.” I plead, because if I do, I think I will break. And if I break, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be put back together.

The burning at the back of my eyes is an unfamiliar sensation. I’ve not felt it since the day I ran, and never looked back.

Cara’s gentle hand comes up to cup my cheek, “Rocco. I won’t ask you to say it, but it will help me if I can confirm it.”

I gulp, the lump in my throat the size of a melon, as I struggle to stay put and not pull away.

“I think I understand. They took something from you. Something they had no right to take. They raped you, didn’t they?”

My breathing is rapid and my skin prickles with humiliation at admitting this, for the first time, and then, I slowly move my head in a nod.

“Shit.” She cringes, shaking her head like she is disgusted, but not at me. At herself.

“What is it?” I ask as she squeezes her lids shut again.

“I… feel worse now about what I did to you. Forcing myself on you without your consent.”

“No, Killer.” I cup her face right back. “Look at me.” When her gray eyes lock with mine again, I continue. “That’s different. Please don’t compare what we have with the monsters from my past.”

A fat tear tumbles from one of her eyes as she stares up at me. “Are they still alive? The people who abused you.”

I shake my head. “No. Dante and I made sure they were dead years later. He never knew exactly what happened, but he understood enough to know they were scum abusing children.”

“Damn. I wanted to kill them for you,” she says, her tone laced with disappointment. “Their entrails would make for a beautiful trophy.”

I smile at that.

“I have no doubt they would have suffered immensely by your hand.”

She nods in my hands. “Too fucking right.”

I chuckle.

“Your turn, Killer.” I urge, hoping she will open up to me. “Please tell me why you can’t bear to enter a bathroom?”

Her smile drops, and her gray stare falls to my chest.

“Blood,” she whispers, and I release her face and run my hands through the spray of water, down her back.

“Blood?”

She nods. “There was so much.”

“Whose blood?”

“J-Julietta’s.”

My brows shoot up. “Your sister’s blood?”

She nods. “Sometimes, I can still smell it. Feel it as my feet slipped in its thickness on the…”

“On the what, Cara?” I ask, pressing my fingers under her chin to tilt her head up to me.

“On the tiled floor,” she whispers, before squeezing her eyes tight.

Frowning, I run her words through my head before my eyes dart to the tiled floor of my bathroom, and then my mind wanders to the shower room at Dirty Diamonds. Shit. The floor was tiled there, too.

“Do you see it? The blood, every time you look at the tiles on a bathroom floor?”

She nods frantically before burying her head into my bare chest.

Damn. It all makes sense now.

“I don’t want to be like this. But I can’t stop the images flashing before my eyes.” She admits, and I nod as I press my lips to her wet hair, knowing exactly what she means.

An idea comes to my mind as I remember how she didn’t want to put her feet on the tiled floor before. She doesn’t have a problem in my shower, most likely because it’s a smooth bathtub, so I ease her back and notice her eyes are squeezed tight again.

“Cara, I need you to stay right here for a minute or two so I can do something. Okay?”

Slowly she nods, reaching her hand out blindly to find the metal shelf that holds the soap, shampoo and conditioner.

Once I know she’s steady, I climb out of the tub and dart from the room, dripping water onto the carpet of the hall as I rummage through the linen closet. I get every towel I can, and hurry back into the bathroom before laying out the towels on the floor, making sure there is no sign of the tiles underneath.

Once done, I step back into the tub, reaching out to my wife.

“I’m back.”

“Where did you go?” she asks, still with closed eyes.

“Open your eyes again for me,” I ask, and she reaches out, running her hands over my pecks until she’s pressed to my front, and only then does she crack her lids.

“I need you to trust me, Cara. Trust that I have your back. That I will keep you safe. That I am here to care for and protect you.” I give her a little squeeze. “I need you to look at the bathroom floor.”

Immediately, she shakes her head and squeezes her eyes tight.

“Cara please. I promise it’s okay. Just take a look for me, please.”

Honestly, I have no idea if this will work, but I need to at least try.

If it works, then great. I know what I have to do to make her feel comfortable in my home. Our home. And if it doesn’t work, then I will think of a new solution. I’ll think of a thousand until one sticks.

“I’m not sure if I can,” she whispers, and I give her a reassuring squeeze.

“You can. You’re the bravest person I know. You can do it.”

Slowly, she nods and cracks her lids again to look at me.

“Good girl.”

Her eyes widen before a repulsed expression crosses her face. “Seriously? Good girl? Say that again and I’ll cut you.”

A laugh bubbles up my throat, and I throw my head back as I let it take over, welcoming its lightness.

“I have no fucking doubt you’ll cut me. And noted.” I grin, trying to compose myself.

It makes sense that she’s not into praise kink. Not that she necessarily knows what that is. She’s finally free of the rules her family tried to brainwash her with, and given she was forced into submission, I can see that Cara will probably never be a submissive woman. Sure, she’s submitted to me a few times, giving me the control, but that was her trusting me to teach her how sex should be. I don’t doubt that in the future we are going to butt heads in the bedroom. I can already see her dominant nature coming through.

“Good. Don’t forget.” She snaps sternly and I chuckle even as I draw a promise cross over my heart.

“Now, Killer. Stop stalling and take a look at the floor.”

She blinks a few times, and I can see she’s fighting against her instincts, but then slowly, she turns her head and eyes the floor.

Even though she’s stiff in my arms and her breathing quickens, she keeps her eyes trained on the toweled floor.

“Talk to me. Is it better? Worse?”

“Better,” she whispers before turning back to me. “Thank you.”

My smile is small as I take her in, brushing my thumb over the teardrop tattoo just under her eye.

“When your twelve-month parole period is up, and you have the right to decide how your future looks, I really hope you’ll consider staying here with me. As my wife.”

For a moment I’m looking back into the eyes of the sixteen-year-old girl that was given no choice. She was just as scared as the woman is in front of me now, but both versions never let anyone see. But I do. I feel like I can see into her soul.

“I’ll consider it,” she whispers, and fuck. That’s all I can ask for at this point.

I want her to stay, but I won’t force her. I won’t take her decisions away from her.

“That’s all I ask.”