Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1), page 8
“Get the fuck out of the truck.” My heartbeat quickens at the tone of his voice as he jerks open the door.
Climbing out, I keep my eyes down and try to keep as much distance from him as possible. But it doesn’t work. I’m still within arm’s reach. My skull shakes and white light flashes behind my eyelids when his opened palm connects hard with the back of my head.
“What did I tell you, huh?” Now in front of me, his hand comes up again. This time, it slams against my ear causing it to ring and hurt in places deep inside my brain I never knew existed. “What the fuck did I say, D?”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. I’m just hoping the words are enough to keep me from getting hit again. Nope… That didn’t work. A sharp pain shoots down my neck. I’m not sure where the blow actually landed, because the ringing still happening in my ear is enough to take my mind off it.
“I told you three minutes. You took twice the time. What the fuck were you doing, D?” Grabbing my chin, he jerks my head back until I’m staring up at him. “Don’t you lie either. You know I’ll know if you are.”
He’s telling the truth. He can read me like a book. Even if he couldn’t, I’d never lie. It’s not possible. Not to him.
“He wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought he was old, but he’s young. And attractive.” My voice falls slightly at my admission. The truth. Ha. I really am an idiot. The truth is fixing to get me killed.
I look up into Mario’s big, dark eyes and see nothing but hate and evil. He’s a massive man. He reminds me of that wrestler…The Bigshow…I think. But even if he were small, he’d still have the same power over me he holds at nearly six foot five. I’ve never feared a man so much in my life. Craig, my piece-of-shit brother, is a saint compared to this man.
I wish I could leave him. I want to walk away. But I can’t. He owns me. If I stay, I live. If I leave, I die. My life is like a quarter—a quarter I can’t flip because I’m scared of the answer no matter the outcome. Life as I know it is just as bad as the idea of death. Maybe even worse.
“You’re a fuckin’ whore. You know that?” I try to answer, but the hold he has on me makes it impossible to open my mouth or nod my head. “You’re sick. You gotta itch that can only be scratched if you’re on your back. You’re a damaged bitch with some nasty fuckin’ issues goin’ on. You were used early and you fuckin’ liked it.”
While he stares down at me in disgust, I let the hate I feel toward myself cripple me further. He’s right. I do have issues. As much as I despise him, I thank him for reminding me of how fucked up I really am. I was introduced to sex at an early age. It doesn’t matter what kind of creature preyed on a young girl starved for attention. All that matters is it ruined me.
Now I’m addicted to sex. It’s all I want. All I think about. I crave it like a drug. The release I get from it helps to distract my mind from a bigger issue—the monster inside my head that eats away at my feelings. Every time I have sex, it’s like I’m chipping away at the memory that reminds me why I am the way I am. Maybe if I do it enough the memory will eventually fade and the monster will stay caged.
“Don’t ever forget, D. Don’t you ever forget who you belong to.” He releases me, and instead of feeling relief, I feel rejection. I want his hands on me. I need him to punish me. To remind me. It’s what I deserve. It’s the only thing that makes me feel better.
He doesn’t give me what I need, he just walks away. But I know he’ll come back. He always does. He’s not stupid enough to leave behind the one person who is his personal servant. His property. His submissive.
You see, Mario isn’t my husband. He’s not my boyfriend or my lover either. Hell, he’s not even my friend.
He’s my dominant.
Well, kinda.
Sunday is considered a day of repent. With repent comes forgiveness. But forgiveness is earned. In the eyes of Mario, the only way to earn something is to pay the price for my sins. I actually look forward to the physical punishment. It offers me a break from the mental abuse I have to endure the other six days of the week.
Today, I’m serving out my punishment in the cage, which is actually a dog crate just large enough for me to be on my hands and knees—mirroring the position of a dog. A rubber ball gag is strapped tightly around my face, preventing me from speaking and making it nearly impossible to swallow. This causes me to drool—like a dog.
I’m naked, cold and afraid of the unexpected. I long for Mario’s return, even though I know with him comes pain. But with him also comes company. My fear of being alone outweighs my fear of pain which is something I enjoy. Something I yearn for.
Judging by my previous experiences, I have until my elbows nearly collapse from holding me up before he comes back. On his last trip in here, which could have been hours ago, he shoved a plug into my ass that was much larger than I could accommodate. He made it work, though--but only after he got pissed when he had to spit on it. It seems the greater my pain, the greater his pleasure. Even with my limited knowledge of BDSM relationships, I’m pretty sure that isn’t how this is supposed to work. I mean, don’t I get some aftercare? Some reassurance? Some special prize if I do well?
I might be sick in the head, but I’m not stupid. I know this isn’t right. Truth is, I need this. I need to be told what to do. I need control in my life. I need to feel the physical pain. It’s the only thing that keeps the darkness at bay. Before Mario, I never had that. And something was always missing. Now that I have it, I feel…almost human.
The worst part? I see this as a cure. He sees it as a turn-on. He’s one sadistic, fucked-up monster who gets off on this shit. On controlling me. On hurting me both physically and emotionally. There’s no aftercare or reassurance or prize. So he might be dominant and I might be submissive, but it’s not in a traditional BDSM-lifestyle kind of way—if one even really exists.
I’m no longer in the “caged animal” position. My arms have given out on me. My legs would fail me, but they have nowhere else to fall. He’s been gone entirely too long. So long that even though I’m in a windowless room, I’m pretty sure dawn is breaking.
My throat is dry. My skin is clammy. My heart seems to be beating a lot slower than it should. My ass is numb, as are my limbs. The skin around my mouth is cracked and sore. And I’m praying I’m near death. I’m ready for the darkness to take me, but as always, the universe cheats me out of an early death once again.
The sound of a door being opened is far off, but I’m conscious enough to know that it’s the one leading to the storm cellar in Mario’s backyard. Heavy footsteps descend the stairs—too hurriedly and too light to belong to Mario.
“Motherfucker…” The whispered word is like a song to my ears. If I die, I would at least like to do it in a more comfortable position. I can’t see anything but the jeans and boots of a man standing merely feet from me. But I know that voice.
Luke Carmical.
I mumble a hello, but I don’t think he hears it. I wonder if he’ll be willing to untie this ball gag from my mouth… If so, I can properly greet him. And maybe even ask him WHERE THE FUCK IS MARIO?
“Just hold on, babe.” He sounds so concerned. How sweet. I think he thinks I’m out of my mind. Or unconscious. I try again to speak—just to reassure him I’m alive and well…well, kinda. But the words are jumbled and incoherent.
He’s mumbling a string of “motherfuckers”, using the word in every form imaginable, while searching for something to open the locked cage with. I’m impressed at his ability to use such profane language in so many ways, but I’m even more impressed when he finds a way to break the lock.
“I got you,” he says, reaching in and pulling me out. Carrying me in his arms, he takes me to a wooden chair on the other side of the room—the chair Mario often sits in to tell me how pathetic I am. Where the hell is he?
I scream my protest when he tries to sit me down. He whispers the famous heroic words, “Nobody is gonna hurt you,” and “I got you now,” in my ear. I could give a shit less about that. My problem lies in the plug still occupying my asshole.
“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” I scream, like an idiot. When he lowers those powerful baby-blue eyes on me, I motion with mine toward my ass—hoping like hell he can read between the lines. He can’t. He just looks at me in confusion. His whole face wrinkles with worry. Finally, he puts my feet on the floor and holds my weight with one arm while he undoes the gag from around my head.
The moment it’s pulled from my mouth, I flex my jaw—cringing from the pain and relief I feel all at the same time. I let out another string of incoherent mumbles, but he still doesn’t understand. So he just bears my weight and looks down at me. While I look up at him.
There’s a fire in his eyes. He’s angry, but sympathetic. I’m assuming his anger isn’t directed toward me. I have a feeling Mario will soon meet his wrath--if the fucker ever decides to show up.
After I manage a couple dry swallows and have control over my mouth, somewhat, I try again. “I can’t sit down.”
“Why?” This part should be embarrassing. But I’ve felt a lot of things in my life, most of which were a lot worse than embarrassment. This is nothing.
“Butt pug.” I guess he gets what I’m trying to say, because his face darkens and he closes his eyes a minute. I find it amusing. “Untie me.” He quickly unties my hands, and spends the next few minutes rubbing the life back into my wrists.
“You need me to…”
My eyebrows raise at his words. Or at least I think they do. I’m still kinda numb. And I’m kinda dizzy. And for some reason, everything around me is blurring. And then, there’s nothing.
Over the next day, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The first time I woke up, I was in a tub filled with warm, soapy water. I recognized the bathroom as Mario’s. The second time, I was on a couch that wasn’t Mario’s with an IV in my arm. I tried to pull it out, but was too weak. The third time, someone was holding my head while I drank water.
Now I’m fully awake, my whole body aches and the clock on the wall says it’s after eight. The lack of sunlight filtering through the windows says it’s night time. And the man propped on the desk across from me just told me it was Tuesday. Last time I was conscious, it was Monday. By the way, the man is Luke Carmical.
“Do you have any pretzels?” I ask, hoping like hell he does. Giving me a smirk, he crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head.
“That’s your first question?”
“Is that your answer?” His smirk turns into a warm smile.
“No.”
“No that’s not your answer, or no you don’t have any pretzels? ’Cause I really want some.”
“I’ll get you whatever you want to eat, but first you have to answer some questions.” He’s still smiling, but his tone is more serious.
“Ask away,” I mumble, coming to a sitting position on the couch. The IV is gone and in its place is a cotton ball covered by a Band-Aid. A Ninja Turtle Band-Aid. Impressive.
“What were you doing in that cage?”
“Mario put me there.”
“Were you willing to go?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it was Sunday.”
My rapid-fire responses seem to annoy him. I guess he wants more. He ain’t getting more.
“You seem like a no-bullshit kinda girl. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”’
“Then I’m going to give it to you straight.”
“Please do.” I won’t lie to this man. I have no reason to. I presumed Mario was coming back. He didn’t. Therefore, this man saved my life. Either I hate him, or thank him. He seems too nice to hate. So I’ll have to go with the alternative.
“You stole my truck.” Shit. I did steal his truck. I’m assuming he’s waiting for confirmation.
“Yeah…sorry about that.”
He shrugs. “It’s the twenty-first century, babe. I tracked it with GPS. Clearly, you’re an amateur.”
“And here I was thinking I’d impressed you.” I’m flirting. I know that. But it’s innocent, I swear.
“I tracked it to an address that belongs to Mario Hernandez. He told me where I could find you.”
“How thoughtful of him,” I grit through my teeth. Luke’s jaw tightens, mirroring my anger.
“It wasn’t in that fucking storm cellar either.” Now I’m confused. “I was leaving when I saw him walking in the backyard. He looked suspicious. I got curious, went to see what he was up to, and he ran. I started to chase him, but I saw the door to the cellar. Something told me to look. So I looked. That’s when I found you.”
“Wow. That’s really…such an amazing story.” I have more sarcastic shit to say, but he cuts me off.
“You were caged like an animal,” he growls, his eyes darkening further with every word he speaks. “Dehydrated, cold and abused. Your hands and feet were purple from lack of blood circulation. Your lips were cracked and bleeding from being pried open so wide. Not to mention the plug in your ass fit for an elephant. So don’t sit there and try to play this off like it’s nothing.”
I sit and study him a minute. This brooding man. This Luke Carmical—heroic savior slash butt plug remover of mine, and wonder just how much of my life I should actually tell him. There’s something demanding about him. The same thing I found in Mario, only he’s more sympathetic and soft. I wonder if he’s…
“I took care of you. Brought you here and haven’t left your side. Nobody knows your secret but me. I need to keep it that way.”
Wait… What? “Why?”
I was betting on him insisting I go to the police. But by the look in his eyes, I’m pretty sure going to the police is out of the question.
“Because I found Mario.”
“And?” I ask, feeling a sense of uneasiness at his hesitation.
“And…I killed him.”
Well…that changes things.
CHAPTER 10
PRESENT
My Nikes pound the concrete at a pace I never knew I was capable of. After I’d managed to escape out the passenger door, I’d tripped and now Bryce was only several feet behind me. Still, if he’s gonna catch me, he’s gonna have to work for it.
I know Mario is dead. I know this man isn’t him. But there are some striking familiarities that I just can’t shake. I can’t believe I didn’t see it when we had sex. Maybe it was the intimacy I felt with Bryce that shielded the similarities between him and Mario. But now they’re all I see. They’re so frightening, I’m running harder and faster despite the protests of my lungs. And he’s gaining on me.
Figuring fuck it—he’ll just have to catch and kill me—I slow down to a steady jog. Surprisingly, he slows too. Either he’s just as winded as I am, or he’s respectfully keeping his distance. I’m calling bullshit on the latter. If he were willing to give me some space, then why the hell is he chasing me?
“Please,” I call over my shoulder. Or rather pant. “Just…” I struggle to find the wind to finish my sentence. “Leave me alone.”
“Can’t do that, Love,” he says, the endearment just as spine-tingling in this moment as it was when he whispered it in my room. Hey! You’re running for your life, dumbass! Stop finding shit sexy about your potential abductor.
“Why?” I ask, thinking of how absurd it is to keep running if I’m still going to carry on a conversation with him.
“’Cause you’re not in the best part of town.” Noticing my surroundings, I find myself in the deepest part of the projects Hattiesburg has to offer. Shit. Only I would run in the wrong direction.
Considering my chances of being killed by a stray bullet, he suddenly doesn’t seem that damn scary. Plus I’m on the verge of dying from exhaustion anyway. So I stop. My hands rest on my knees as I lean over and greedily fill my lungs with the cold night air. I’ve noticed he’s stopped too, but is still several feet behind me. And the bastard ain’t even winded. Good thing. I need all the oxygen for myself.
“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The low voice I once found threatening is now soothing in the quiet night.
“Well, you did,” I snap, turning around to face him. So much for all that work…I’m winded again just at the sight of him. In the glow of the streetlight, he appears larger than I remember. But there’s something soft and welcoming about his eyes. He’s wearing his cut, and I mean wearing it.
The thick black leather seems to mold to his shoulders and chest. Chains cover his stomach, connecting the two sides. The black hood from his sweater is pulled over his head, and stops just above his green eyes that seem to sparkle even in the darkness. He looks like a beast. A very sexy beast. A beast that fucks me hard and makes me come even harder.
“I said I didn’t mean to scare you. I meant it. If I did, I apologize. I won’t apologize again.” Clearly, he’s telling me to fucking drop it. And for some reason, I fucking want to.
“Sorry I ran.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing, but I hold my breath in anticipation of him accepting my apology.
“It’s okay.” And just like that, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.
Yes, I know I was running from this big scary man only moments ago. No, I don’t want to discuss the level of fucked up this brings me to. We’ve already established I have issues. Moving forward.
“You remind me of someone from my past. Old memories were triggered. Memories Luke helped me to forget and fears he helped me to overcome. You awakened them. I haven’t felt that way in a really long time. It was…scary and foreign to me.”
Curiosity sparks in his eyes at my admission. “You’re not afraid when I’m fucking you.” My body sizzles at the reminder.
