Chapter 2
SKYLAR
“Come on now, it’s my twenty-ninth birthday.
What are you going to do for me, huh, Sky?
” His warm, slimy, sweaty hand rubs against my arm while the scents of cigarettes and booze fill my nose.
His breath fans across my ear, and I have to hold my breath to keep the vomit down.
“Don’t make me ask again, Sky.” Damien wraps his trembling fingers around my arm as he pulls me even closer to his chest.
Closing my eyes as tightly as I can, I turn my body so my chest doesn’t touch his. I don’t reply to him. How can I? I’m still holding my breath the best I can.
“Your daddy’s going to be so mad at you if you don’t give me what I want.” His threats fill my brain. He’s right, my dad will be mad at me. He doesn’t care about me; he doesn’t care about anything but his godforsaken club.
“Please,” I whisper, the only word I can get out before I hold my breath once more.
“Please what, my dear? You’re going to give me my birthday present like the good little girl you are, and that’s that.
” Sweaty fingers slide beneath my tank top strap, hooking the fabric between his middle and pointer finger and sliding the strap slowly down my arm.
A tear slides from the corner of my eye, but I don’t want him to see it. I don’t want him to think I’m weak.
“Thank you for wearing this dress, by the way. You’re making it too easy for me to get you just how I want you.
” I mentally scold myself for choosing a dress.
Out of all the days to wear a dress, why did I choose today?
Snot starts to drip from my nose as a sob attempts to escape my throat.
I can’t help it. I don’t want this. Who would at fourteen years old, and with this low-life piece of scum that belongs in the deepest pits of hell?
“Aww don’t cry, my sweet baby doll. You’ll like it, I promise.
I’ll be gentle… at first.” I can’t help it, the sobs that flow from my mouth are all-consuming.
Why me? Why was I born into this fucked-up family?
I hate it. I hate everyone. I hate everything.
God, if you’re listening, please take me now before I have to endure what’s to come. I don’t want this. Please.
PRESENT
I was fourteen. So young, so pure, so vulnerable.
He took everything from me that day, and I’ve lived with that disgust every single day since.
Nine years, nine long, painful years, I’ve had to live with that day burned into my brain, scarring my psyche and leaving me feeling like the last piece of garbage to decay in the landfill.
No amount of showers, scrubbing, cutting—hell, even burning—can take away the feeling of the black smoke that has covered every inch of my soul since that day.
No one knows, and if Saxon thinks I’m telling him anything about Damien Devonte, he is sadly mistaken.
That piece of shit is mine, and I have a plan for him.
I won’t let Saxon ruin my revenge just so he can get answers about his father’s killer.
I have my agenda while he has his. However, mine is a little more important than his. At least in my mind.
I’m washing up the last of the bar dishes when the burning sensation of someone’s gaze settles on the side of my face.
I know it’s him. He’s been sitting in the same booth all night.
He’s persistent, I’ll give him that. Saint left with the girls earlier; he insisted that he’d make sure they all get home safe.
Saxon didn’t argue. There’s nothing more important to Saxon than his family, and his baby sister is his top priority.
Deep down, though, I know why Saint wanted to take them home, and if Saxon wasn’t completely blind, he’d notice it too.
I continue cleaning up and look at the clock beside the register and see it’s a little after three in the morning. Fuck, I’m tired. This has been a night from hell, but I can’t complain. The tips were the highest they’ve ever been for a Monday night.
Heavy boot steps make their way to the bar, and I refrain from looking up at him. His presence alone is suffocating at times, but I’ll never show him the effect he has on me. I won’t give another man the pleasure of knowing how my body betrays me by just being in the same room as them.
“Stop delaying the inevitable, Sky. We’re both tired, so let’s just get on with the conversation already.”
I scoff to myself as I turn my back to him and place the last glass back on the shelf.
I hesitate a moment, taking a deep breath before turning back to face him.
My eyes clash with his dark ones, and I can’t help the turn of my stomach he causes just by looking at me with those eyes.
Saxon is too beautiful, painfully so. I berate my body for betraying me whenever I see him.
No man, and I mean no man, on this earth should look as delicious as he does.
It’s the long hair, it has to be. I’ve been around motorcycle punks all my life and have developed a distaste for them, but with Saxon, he’s different.
My body feels like a rope has been wrapped around my waist that’s tethered to him as I’m being pulled closer and closer.
His permanent scowl that pulls his eyebrows together, the long hair that’s constantly falling from his man bun framing his face, or the way his lips pull to the side of his mouth as he tries to conceal his smirk.
But what I’m drawn to most is the way he clenches his jaw whenever I know I’m aggravating him.
It’s become a game I secretly play with him, to see how many times I can make him clench his jaw.
One day he’s going to crack a tooth. Last time I saw him, I counted nine times. Tonight, I’m going for ten.
“What do you want, Saxon? I’m tired, I’m cranky, and I need to shower,” I say with a sigh.
“Don’t play dumb with me. Answer my question.” His jaw clenches—that’s one down and nine to go.
“No, I don’t know a Damien Devonte.” Lie.
His eyes narrow on me, silence filling the small space between us as he holds my stare.
He says nothing as he places his hands on the bar top and hoists his body up and over the small counter, his boots colliding with the floor and echoing through the now silent club.
Stepping up to me, he closes the space between us until we are toe-to-toe.
I hold my ground; I’ve known men who like to use their height and sheer size to intimidate me all my life.
I don’t cower to anyone. However, on the inside, my heartbeat picks up and bangs against my rib cage.
Looking down at me, he tilts his head to the side.
“I’ve learned some information about Damien already. I just need you to confirm it for me.” His deep voice gives me goosebumps, hopefully with how dim the club is he doesn’t notice.
“And what information is that?” I ask sarcastically as I continue to crane my neck to look up at his face.
I want to step back to relieve the strain on my neck, but I won’t show him any weakness.
No, I’ll stand toe-to-toe with his man just because no one else will.
I like to be the exception, his biggest pain in the ass.
“You see, Saint and I recently took a little ride up north. You know, where your father and the rest of the Hellstorm crew reside? Remember them?”
I push his chest as hard as I can, anger building in my chest at the mere mention of my father. My efforts only move his stone wall of a body a half step back. His lip pulls at the corner, and I know he’s trying to hold back his smile.
“They mean nothing to me. The only place they belong is below our feet in the deepest crevice of hell.” I turn my back on him to take a shaky breath. Heat engulfs my back, warm breath fans across my neck, making me shiver.
“Good, then you’ll tell me if this Damien guy was, in fact, the man who gave away my family’s address to the next player in line who wanted my family killed?
” I lift my head high; I knew this was the information he wanted me to confirm.
I have no issue with giving Saxon any information he wants regarding finding his family’s murderer.
I hate my family; I hate my father and his stupid club, so I couldn’t care less if Saxon and the rest of the Kings’ Aces eliminate every single one of them.
However, he will not get in the way of my own plans.
So, I will give him the answer he wants, but Damien Devonte is mine.
I turn to face him, his body so close to mine I can smell his bergamot and musk scent.
He smells divine. His hard exterior gives him the tough guy look—sharp jaw with a dusting of a five o’clock shadow, but it’s the tattoos for me.
I’ve always been a sucker for tattoos. I guess that’s why I have as many as he does.
The pain is a good reminder that you’re alive, especially on your darkest of days.
I almost forget I’m supposed to hate him when he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.
Fuck. Focus Sky. I take another deep breath, composing myself and lifting my face towards his.
“Yes.” My voice comes out shaker than I intended before I clear my throat and continue.
“I overheard from some of the guys that he was to find your address and deliver it to someone else. Who that was, I don’t know.
Happy now?” I roll my eyes at him and go to turn my back to him, but a strong hand wraps around my neck, pushing me to the end of the bar until my back slams against the counter.
His fingers squeeze just enough to make it hard to breathe, but not enough to take away my breath completely.
My hands wrap around his wrist as he lifts my body higher off the ground so I’m standing on my tiptoes.
Dark eyes grow darker by the minute as he glares at me, and I catch his jaw clenching once again. That’s two.
“You knew this and thought it was wise to withhold this information from me? For what, Sky? Are you protecting him?” My hand clenches in a fist as I deliver a semi-decent punch to the side of his face.
Saxon’s head turns to the side a fraction before he turns back to face me.
While I thought punching him would make him drop me, that was wishful thinking as his fingers tighten even more around my throat.
Now it’s hard to breathe, my face growing hot as the blood rushes to my cheeks and ears.
“Now, was that necessary?” he growls, his face coming within centimeters of my own.
Using the last bit of air I have left, I say, “He’s fucking dead to me.”
With that, Saxon drops me back to the floor.
I suck in a few deep breaths, my lungs screaming for more.
I rub my neck, leaning over to catch my breath before standing and meeting his dark eyes once again.
He’s standing with his arms crossed over his massive chest, his eyebrow raised as if he’s waiting for me to get my shit together. This fucking prick.
“Where is he?” he finally asks me. A laugh escapes my throat.
“You really think that man would be alive today if I knew where he was?” I retort.
No, he wouldn’t be alive. He would have already been tortured until he was grasping for the last thread of his life, begging me to end his sorry excuse of an existence.
A death wish I won’t give to him. No. I will keep him alive for as long as I can, just to continue to torture him for the shit he put me through.
Death would be too easy; he needs to suffer—in the most painful way I can think of.
“You like torturing people? Is that your hobby?” The way he says it makes my stomach churn.
Does he know what I do here? No, he’s fucking with me.
This must be his take on sarcasm because the corner of his lip curves up in his ridiculous smirk that makes my chest hot.
This was just a coincidence, especially since I just told him that’s what I want to do. I’m overthinking this.
“You hear anything, you’ll let me know, yes?” The audacity of this fucking man. I don’t answer him. I know what I have planned. I won’t let him ruin it. “Sky, don’t make me say it again.”
I scoff at him. He really thinks I’m scared of his threats. He has no idea what I’ve been through. A threat means nothing to me.
“I’ll be seeing you soon.” With that, he turns and leaves me in the silent club with more rage and need for violence than I can handle at the moment. I can’t wait to visit my friend in the basement.