She stays still, pressing her tits together from taking leverage on my chest with her hands. The pressure they bring, the small palms are nothing. I can barely feel the weight, but I’d know the touch anywhere. The way the warmth awakens me, only one woman does that, and she is right in front of me.

  “I might be bad at it.”

  I cup her jaw with my hand and shake my head. “That’s impossible. Everything with you feels better than anything I’ve ever experienced. It’s you and me. It doesn’t get better than that. Ride me, Sarah.” My hands fall to her flared out hips, settling in that curve.

  Made just for me.

  I slide them up her lithe body, cupping her tits in my palm. There is a suntan line from her bikini. Her chest is tan, and her breasts are pale. The triangle shape of the bikini covers each mound, and the skinny straps tie up and around her neck.

  Mmm, I can’t wait to take her swimming because I know what is underneath that swimsuit.

  I roll her nipples between my fingers, and she takes the first rock. It’s slow and trepidatious, getting a feel for me being so deep inside her. Sarah rocks faster and cries out when I brush that spot inside her. She stops, staring at me with wide, surprised eyes and then, she does something I don’t expect—she fucks me.

  Really grinds her pussy against my cock.

  My hands fall to the crook of her hips again, holding tight. I never take my eyes off her. I want to soak up every expression she makes. Her pussy is getting wetter. Our skin slaps together, my sack pulling tight to my body, warning me about my next orgasm.

  “Oh god, Reaper.” She squeezes my pecs and rocks faster. The bed slams against the wall, and this time I’m the one shouting, holding back my cum as long as I can until I feel her clench around me.

  “Come with me!” I shout. “Sarah!” I can’t hold back anymore. She’s too good. “Damn it! Oh, fuckkk! Take it, doll. Take it.” I press her hips against me harder, continue to violently rock, and sneer to keep myself from blacking out. The edges of my eyes blur, but I have to see her fall apart.

  Just like I am.

  “Reaper!” she screams, leaning back as the first wrack of her body vibrates my cock. She throws her head back, the sweaty ends of her hair tickle my thighs, and her hands grip my legs. Every spasm of her pussy buckles her body, and another spurt of cum leaves me as she milks me.

  She falls forward, laying her cheek on my chest. We don’t move; we don’t dare to. We lay in silence, trying to catch our racing breaths as the thunder rolls outside, threatening a storm. It won’t compare to the hurricane that just happened in here.

  Sarah is a force to be reckoned with.

  My cock is still inside, and she kisses my chest, the spot that almost killed me. It reminds me of Bullseye when he throws his darts.

  “Next time, I want you to wear my cut.” Just the thought has my cock twitching in her cunt.

  “Oh?” She reaches for it and slips it on, the lapels covering her tits. “How about right now?”

  Fuck yeah, I’m one lucky son-of-a-bitch.

  “Sarah, you got a package!” Poodle slams the metal door and shakes it. “It’s light.” Next, he presses his ear to it. “Silent. What did you order? Is it panties?”

  Skirt scuffs Poodle on the back of the head. “Don’t ask Reaper’s ol’ lady about her panties!”

  “I was just wondering!”

  “Don’t wonder about her panties, Poodle!” Reaper shouts from the basement.

  Poodle’s jaw drops. “How did he hear that?”

  “It’s his ol’ lady. He has bionic hearing when it comes to her,” Pirate slurs, taking another swig of rum. I worry about him. He always has a bottle of rum in his hand. There isn’t a day when he isn’t drinking. What’s his story? What happened to him to make him want to drink his life away?

  I snag the box from Poodle’s hands and tuck it under my arm. “Whatever you think it is, pretend it is because I’m never telling you a thing.”

  “Mean. Just mean.” Poodle drops his head as he walks toward the bar like his favorite toy got taken away.

  “Stop wondering about her panties, Poodle!” Reaper yells from the basement again.

  Poodle scoffs, spreading his arm out to point at the basement door. “How?”

  I giggle and sit on the black leather loveseat. Hmm, I don’t remember ordering anything. Maybe it’s from Reaper, and maybe it is panties or something dirty. With that thought, I tear the tape off and rip it right down the middle, excited to see the gift he got me, us. I grab ahold of the rough cardboard edges and spread the top open to see paper. I push it aside and freeze when the paper starts to turn red.

  Wet.

  Dripping.

  I swallow, trying to find the courage to open it. I’m afraid to see what it is. I lift my head from the box and look around to make sure no one is paying attention to me. My palms sweat, and my heart pounds against my chest, like a wrecking ball slamming against a solid, strong structure ready to break me down. Carefully, I pinch the paper that doesn’t have blood on it and move it to the side.

  Loud pants raise my chest when I see a letter that says, “I have something you love.” It’s in a plastic bag, the paper clean and white, stark against the blood. I nudge the plastic bag out of the way and scream.

  I can’t breathe. Oh god, I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I shove the box off my lap, and everything slows. My vision blurs, my chest tightens, my lungs—I can’t feel my lungs working. The taste of my own blood coats my throat, and hot tears sting my cheeks. I fall off the couch and onto the floor. The wood rubs my knees raw from the force of the fall, and Skirt catches me around my waist, so I don’t fall face-first onto the ground.

  A few other brothers come and help me onto the couch. Reaper’s roar can be heard from the basement as he climbs the steps to get to me. His boots shake the entire clubhouse as he tries to get to me as fast as he can. He pushes all the guys out of the way and picks me up, lifting me onto his lap.

  “Sarah, what is it; what’s wrong?”

  But I still can’t think; I can’t figure out how to breathe. I point a shaky finger to the box, and Tool bends down to grab it. A few lumps of paper fall on to the floor, blood dripping off the corner of the box. Tool gives Reaper a quick glance and takes the Ziploc bag out where the letter is safe.

  “Holy shit,” he whooshes as one breath.

  “What?” Reaper growls. “Give it to me.”

  “No! Keep it away from me. It’s Boomer! It’s Boomer,” I sob. I do my best to wiggle my way out of Reaper’s hold, but he squeezes me tight. I’m trapped. I can’t run. I have nowhere to go.

  “Okay, okay. Tool has it. You’re okay. What is it? I need to know.”

  Bile inches its way up my throat when I think of the bloody finger in the box. “It’s Boomer’s finger.”

  “What?” Reaper sounds devastated and almost like he doesn’t believe me.

  “I’d know that finger anywhere. It’s the one that has the deep cut on it from the hook. The one time when you guys went fishing. He told me that story. It’s his favorite memory of you.” I remember sitting on my bed, watching TV alone when Boomer came into my bedroom. I was sixteen and had been with the MC for a few weeks. I was still scared. I didn’t trust anyone—not even Boomer. I had learned he was my brother, but that meant nothing. I learned long ago that trust is something so easily broken, so easily shattered, that the person does not matter. Boomer worked long and hard to get to know me, and when he handed me a can of pepper spray, I saw the gnarly looking scar. It was ugly and jagged, the scar huge and puffy because the only thing they had to stitch it together was another hook and fishing line.

  Reaper sets me down and kisses my forehead. I wrap my arms around my legs and place my chin on my knees, thinking about Boomer and where he could be. All this time, I thought he had left, but what if he has been tortured? Reaper picks up the box, and a trembling breath leaves him when he sees the finger.

  “There’s a message for you, Reaper.”

  I turn in the loveseat and see Tool on the ground, putting the paper together like it’s a puzzle.

  Him for her.

  “That’s it?” Reaper roars. “No! No. Absolutely not. I’m calling church. Meet me in the chapel, now!” he screams, kicking the box across the room. He bends over and takes my chin in his hands, giving me a hard kiss. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to get him back. I promise.”

  Whoever has Boomer wants me.

  And I’m going to give them what they want.

  I haven’t told anyone, but there is another sheet of paper in my hand that I’m hiding from anyone. It’s an address.

  And I plan on going.

  I give Reaper a nod, and a stampede of boots hurry to the chapel. I’m alone. The note for Reaper stares at me, mocking me. I wait a few minutes to make sure I’m alone, and when I know that I’m good, I punch the address into my phone and crumble the paper up then throw it on the ground.

  If I walk out this door, there’s a chance I won’t be coming back. It’s a chance I have to take. Boomer would do this for me. I have to do it for him. I leave my heart behind. Glancing over my shoulder, I stare at the door that Reaper is behind. My life has been so good, and at least I got a taste of what it was like to be with him, even if it was only for a little bit.

  I can die a happy woman knowing what it is like to have Reaper’s love.

  I open the front door as quietly as I can, take one last look at the home that’s been mine for the last two years, and close the door behind me. When I turn around, I run smack into a chest, and a piece of cloth is shoved over my mouth.

  “Good girl,” the stranger says, just as my eyes roll back and the unknown takes me.

  “Sarah.”

  My name is whispered, and it echoes all around me.

  “Come on. Wake up, Sarah!”

  Chains rattle, and my head throbs. I wince when I move my neck and groan.

  “That’s it. Wake up, sis. Come on. I really need you to wake up.”

  Boomer. That’s Boomer’s voice. Opening my weighted lids, everything is fuzzy. It takes a minute for things to come into focus, and when it does, it’s something from a horror movie. It’s dark, really dark, with red lights every few feet. I’m in a warehouse of some sort, old, rusted barrels sit on the ground around me, and large chains hang from the ceiling.

  “Sarah.”

  I whip my head to the right and see Boomer. His hands are chained over his head, toes barely dragging against the floor, and dried blood rivers down his arm from the man cutting off his finger. “Boomer!” I cry, tugging on the iron bracelets around my wrists. They’re tight, rubbing me raw. My skin tears and breaks, but my wrists do not come free. “Oh my god, Boomer. Are you okay?” I try to keep myself together. I try not to cry. I need to be strong right now.

  He looks beaten and whipped. Welts are all over his body, and one eye is swollen shut. The chain rattles above him as he tugs on them weakly, staring at me with one good eye. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine. I feel fine. My head kind of hurts, but that’s it. What are you doing here? I thought you left.” I keep it out of my voice that I thought he left me.

  “I did,” he says, hurting me further. “I planned on coming back, but I got jumped from behind and brought here. He wanted information on you, but I wouldn’t give you up. I’d never give you up. I was ready to die, but he got you here somehow.”

  “I got your finger priority fucking mail. Of course, I’m here.”

  “Hey, did you put it on ice? Might be able to sew it back on.”

  “That’s what you’re thinking about right now? We need to get out of here!” I hiss, tugging on the damn iron again.

  “I’ve been hanging here for a few days. I’ve had a lot of time to think, so yeah, I was curious about my finger.”

  “What does he want?” I jerk away when I hear the teeth clattering and light chirps of rats scurrying along the floor.

  “I’m not sure, but I know he is fascinated with you. I think after Moretti got into business with Reaper, the guy has been counting the days until he could get you alone. I think you know him, Sarah. You have to.”

  “It’s impossible. I don’t know a soul besides David.” My heart squeezes in my chest. “It’s not David is it?”

  “David wouldn’t be able to get the upper hand on me.” Boomer sounds offended by the accusation, but I’m not trying to have a pissing contest. “I don’t know who it is.”

  A door opens in the distance and echoes when it shuts, a loud bang sounding reminding me of a sawed-off shotgun. Footsteps get closer, and I can hear mumbling as well. Someone is talking to themselves. It’s too dark to tell where the person is, but when the red light in front of me becomes shadowed, and boots touch my bare feet, it doesn’t take long to figure out the person in question is right in front of me.

  “Long time no see, Sarah.” His voice his hoarse, sounding injured and broken. “Last time I saw you, you were little. My, my, you’ve grown up pretty.”

  “Stay away from her, you sick fuck! I’ll kill you if you touch her. I’ll fucking kill you!”

  “Shut up!” The man backhands Boomer, and the sound of something breaking snaps.

  “No! Leave him alone. What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want, okay? Just let him go.”

  “I’m not letting either of you go. You have no idea how much you have ruined my life!”

  “I don’t know you,” I whimper. “Please, we have money. We will give you whatever you want.”

  “I want you to watch me torture him. He is your brother, right?”

  “Please, don’t hurt him,” I sob, watching Boomer spit out a wad of blood.

  “I wanted to be your brother, and you left me.” The cock of a gun grinds the barrel. The red glow shines between the chains around Boomer’s arms, and the man holds it against Boomer’s shoulder.

  “Do it,” Boomer seethes. “Shoot me. It doesn’t matter. I’ll fucking kill you one way or another.”

  “Not if I kill you first.” A loud gunshot rings through the air.

  “No!” I scream. “No.”

  I have a feeling my world just came to an end.

  “Wake him up!” I yell at the top of my lungs. Tool and Tongue are holding me back from murdering Doc. He won’t listen to me. “I swear to god, if you don’t do as I say, you won’t be able to walk for the rest of your life.”

  “I can’t wake him, not yet.”

  “Sarah’s life is in jeopardy! You’re not going to do this for her? You saved her all those years ago! Wake him up!” I strain against the arms holding me back, grunting and giving it everything I have to get free so I can kill him.

  “Sarah is important to all of us, but if I wake him, there is a good chance he will die. His body isn’t healed−”

  “I don’t give a fuck. If he is a casualty, then so be it. I don’t give a fuck.” Hot tears spring to my eyes when I think about Sarah being in danger. Who knows where she is at? All I know is when I walked out of the chapel, to see an empty main room and the front door wide open, I lost my fucking mind.

  Her necklace was on the steps, the clasp broken, and the diamond shining as beautiful as Sarah’s smile does. It took five men to restrain me, to stop me from getting on someone’s bike and going after her.

  Only I have no idea where she is.

  Someone took her, though, and I know it has to do with the package she got in the mail.

  Moretti’s goons point guns at us, and my men do the same. We stare each other down, barrels against barrels, the promise of death lingering in the air, and one of the goons has the nerve to cock his gun.

  “No one is getting near him,” he says in a thick Italian accent.

  “I will kill all of you if you don’t wake him up. Doc, Eric,” I say his name. I never say their names, but I’m desperate. “Please.”

  “One minute,” he says, holding up his index finger. “One minute, and that’s all you get, or his heart will fail. Do you understand that?”

  “One is all I need.” I finally calm and rip my arms free of Tool and Tongue. “I’m fine.” Tool goes to grab for me again, but I shove him away. “I said I was fine.” I’m not fine. I’m fucking losing it. “Tool, I want you to go search that box again, find any clues. There had to have been one, something other than that damn note.”

  “You got it, Prez.”

  “Take me downstairs. Wake him.”

  Eric is about to argue with me. I can tell. He opens his mouth and closes it again, snapping his jaw shut. “Alright, but if he dies—”

  “He won’t die.” One of the goons nudges the gun against Eric’s head. “Or you die.”

  “Ye better think real long and hard on that, mate,” Skirt says a bit too happily, holding two guns in his hands as he points them at two different people. There are only four of them, and the other two are downstairs.

  The man, Michael, isn’t too happy. He curves his lip and holsters his weapon, giving in to my demand. Eric shakes his head the entire way down the steps as I follow him. I really don’t care if he agrees with it or not. I need answers. Moretti has them.

  It’s as simple as that.

  “He might not wake up right away. It may take hours.” Doc opens the drawers next to the bed and pulls out a syringe, clear with medicine.

  “I don’t have hours.” I knock a pitcher over, and water flies everywhere. It doesn’t faze Doc. “She could be dying right now!”

  “I can’t control how long it takes for the medicine to work! You want shit done now, I understand, but I can only do so much! Be patient.” Doc inserts the needle in the IV, and I wait for any sign of life.

  Nothing happens.

  One minute.

  Five minutes.

  Fifteen minutes.

  Nothing.

  “Wake the fuck up, Moretti!” I wrap my hand around his throat, and one of his men puts a gun to my head.

  “Hands off.”

  I elbow him in the nose, the crunch of bone shattering against my arm. I smile, satisfied. “How about you fuck off?”

 

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