Rage: Royal Bastards MC Read online

  “Everyone out. I need to think,” he orders. I take a step to leave, but his hand reaches out to clasp my arm. “Not you.”

  The sandwich has turned solid in my gut. The air is toxic. Something big is going down, and having Milo this rattled means it’s bigger than him.

  “Do you love me?” he asks, his brow furrowed, eyes haunted.

  “Yes,” I tell him honestly. I do love him. He’s my brother. I just hate my life with him.

  “You know everything I do is for us, right? To give us more than what we were left with from our cunt parents.”

  “I know,” I croak. If our mother is dead, it’s unfair to label her in the same context as our father. He chose to leave us; she didn’t have a choice. Unless she took her own life. I wish I knew more about who she was. Am I like her? Do we look alike?

  “We gotta keep climbing. Never look down. If we do, we fall. But it takes sacrifice, Willa. From both of us.”

  I wrap my arms around his waist and burrow my head into his chest, giving him what I think he needs. “I know,” I whisper.

  “We have to do bad things, things we don’t want to, but it’s so we can have a future where we don’t want for anything.”

  He pulls away, his dark eyes penetrating mine as he clasps my cheeks in his palms. “I love you. I’m the only one who ever has and ever will.”

  “I know,” I assure him. He’s been telling me that since I was a little girl.

  “When you hate me, remember it’s only temporary,” he pleads, his forehead coming to rest against mine.

  “I don’t hate you.” I sigh, placing my hands over his. It would easier to run if I did, and although I tell myself I hate him, there’s this love for him that overrides everything when he is tender.

  His eyes close, and a pit expands in my chest as he whispers, “Not yet, but you will.”

  Three

  Willa

  Two days later…

  My stomach somersaults as we drive into the city, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. There’s a shift in the air, in Milo’s demeanor. Things are changing.

  “Where are we going?” I ask for the third time since Milo came to my room and told me to get dressed and get in his car.

  Just like the other times, I get nothing in response. Rain begins tapping across the window, sounding so loud amongst the silence. A dusting of goosebumps springs over my flesh.

  When we pull up to a tall apartment building and park, Milo slips out and comes around to my side, taking me under the arm. “Who lives here?” I ask in amazement, soaking up the walls made of glass. It’s stunning and looks expensive.

  A doorman opens the door with a tip of his hat, gesturing to a reception area. It’s more like a hotel than an apartment building. Milo tightens his hold on my arm as he walks to the woman manning the desk. He flashes a card from his pocket, and the woman smiles a bright red-lipped greeting, nodding her head for him to proceed.

  We go to an elevator, and he inserts the card. I want to ask to see it, inspect it, ask where he got it, what it means, but I’d have to swallow the lies he would give me if he answered at all. The silence and not knowing is maddening. “Milo, are you going to tell me where we are and what we’re doing here?”

  “Just keep quiet,” he warns me.

  The doors slide open directly into an apartment…if you could call it that. It’s beautiful. Marble floors and walls, black and white art dominating the decor. Maybe the owner is an artist.

  Movement draws my eyes to a slim man in a navy-blue suit approaching from the living space. Dark hair with some grey sprinkled through the sides. His smile is warm as he holds a hand out for Milo to shake. His eyes, however, focus on me, doing a slow sweep of my body. A cold hand curls around my spine. Who is he and what am I doing here? I fidget on the spot, feeling exposed under his gaze.

  “Come through, will you?” he asks with a smirk. It crinkles his eyes and causes my feet to stumble over themselves.

  “Careful,” he warns as Milo tightens his jaw.

  The man takes a seat on an oversized couch. The room is bigger than our entire house. It’s all open with a back wall of glass that looks out into the city. The lights from the outside world make me feel less lonely.

  “Well?” Milo asks, his hands balled at his sides. I’m not sure who he’s talking to until the man crooks his finger toward me, summoning me farther into the room. I look up at my brother, who jerks his head for me to do as I’m told. Sucking in a deep breath, I step forward, the plush cream carpet like quicksand beneath my feet. His eyes penetrate me, inspecting, taking in every nuance of my body.

  What have you done, Milo?

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” His smile and endearment disarms me. I find myself moistening my lips to answer him, not wanting to be rude despite how uncomfortable I feel.

  What have you done, Milo?

  “Willa,” I murmur, trying to force a small smile to my lips. I’m turning numb.

  “Do you have a boyfriend, Willa?”

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  Milo. Milo. Milo.

  “No.” I shake my head, fisting my hands to stop them from shaking.

  “Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Acid burns in my stomach. A nervous rush of dizziness causes me to sway on my feet.

  “I told you she’s a virgin,” Milo barks, reminding me he’s here with me.

  My mouth drops open at his words, heat spreading up my neck, flaming my cheeks.

  Milo, what have you done?

  The man’s eyes never stray from my face despite Milo’s outburst and irritation.

  Tears threaten, beading in the corners of my eyes, ready to spill over when the man stands and takes my chin in his palm. “Are you a virgin, Willa?” he asks again, more forceful. The breath I inhale catches in my chest. My head tries to nod, but his grip doesn’t allow it. “Answer me, child,” he growls, leaning into my face, licking his lips. His eyes are so dark, it’s like looking into two black holes. Abyss. Nothingness.

  “Yes,” I whimper, the first tear tipping over onto my cheek.

  “Do we have a fucking deal or not?” Milo demands, pacing the spot he hasn’t moved from since exiting the elevator.

  Swiping the tear from my lip with the pad of his thumb and sucking it into his mouth, he looks over to my brother, a smirk hooking his lips like a villain creeping out of the pages of my books. “We have a deal, Mr. Hendrix.”

  Oh God, Milo. Internal screams shatter my sanity as ice moves through my body, numbing me, allowing me to detach from the reality of why we’re here.

  The man lifts his chin, signaling to a bag placed on a coffee table in the center of the room. “It’s all there,” he announces, releasing his hold on my chin, but dominating the space around me.

  My heart cracks. My soul rips away.

  “I’ll be back for her in the morning. You remember the terms.”

  “I’m a businessman. She will be intact when you come for her.”

  Sickness scolds the back of my throat. I reach out toward Milo in a desperate last plea. “Milo,” I implore, his name soaked in my sorrow.

  Don’t do this. Please. “Milo?” I croak on a broken whisper. You’re killing me.

  What’s left of my love, my hope, dies a final death as he takes his bag of treasure. The cost of my virginity in stacked green paper—the value of my worth.

  Four

  Willa

  Nineteen years old

  Nerves dance around my stomach like giant bees stinging from within as the elevator ascends to the penthouse. I’ve been coming here once a month since I was fifteen. It’s odd knowing I shouldn’t be here after all the time I’ve spent here. I know the rules and have never broken them, but like always, I’m bailing Milo out of another bind.

  After the first time, Milo didn’t look at me for months once he returned for me the following morning. He never asked if I was okay. Never offered any kind of apology. Just sold my virginity for his financial gain. It was
a dirty secret no one but us knew about, and he convinced himself if he didn’t see the action happen, didn’t hear my cries, didn’t hear my pleading and screaming, then my consent was given.

  “We both have to make sacrifices.”

  My sacrifice wasn’t a choice. He chose for me—for our family—for him to build a reputation. He used me like I was nothing more than a possession he could do with as he pleased. An asset to sell. A way to make easy, regular money. He bought a crap bar just on the edge of town—a place to conduct business. Nice to know what my body was worth. A cockroach infested shithole.

  “We can have our house back to being home,” he tried to convince me. He didn’t care. He needed a place to launder money and a base for his activities, and no one was going to take him seriously operating out of the run down house we’ve lived in since before I can remember.

  The elevator pings open, and standing there with a hard glare is Mr. Right. Ironic. He’s wrong to the core. Perverted. Twisted. The things he makes me do haunt my dreams, plague my thoughts every second I’m not here reliving them with him.

  “Willa, I thought we discussed I wouldn’t see you anymore?”

  His words are sharp and firm. We had, in fact, spoke about that. Well…he informed me, and the thought of not having to let him touch me again was a relief—until Milo insisted I return here.

  “I know.” I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. His rejection causes a pit to open in my stomach—something I will question my own sanity for later.

  “Milo sent me. He’s in trouble and needs money.” The words sound so dirty to my own ears. I want to rush home and scrub my skin until it’s beetroot red.

  Smiling tightly, he shakes his head once. “Not my problem, sweetheart.”

  “But…” I step forward, desperation in my tone, causing further humiliation. I’d been dropped off here for four years. It became normal, routine. But this, me coming here on my own, on a day when I typically wouldn’t, after he already severed our ties, makes me feel like I’m the one prostituting myself this time.

  He holds a hand up, preventing me from moving farther into the apartment. The other hand swills whiskey around a crystal glass. I broke one of them once, and the spanking he inflicted left me unable to sit for over a week.

  “Willa, my sweetheart, we agreed we would not see each other anymore—which means the money stops.”

  My heartbeat thunders in my ears. How pathetic are you to still be standing here after so much rejection? He doesn’t want me anymore. “I never agreed to see you in the first place,” I snap, and immediately regret it when his eyes narrow on me, pinning me to my spot. “I’m sorry.” I bow my head like I’ve been conditioned to do when I speak out of turn.

  “You are an extraordinary girl, Willa” He licks his lips, circling me like a shark smelling blood. “If you would like, I could arrange for you to meet an acquaintance of mine.”

  My heart sinks. No, no, no. “No,” I bark out to stop him. It’s only ever been Mr. Right. I don’t want to be sold to another man.

  “Listen, if you’re ever in real trouble, you can come to me and we can work something out, but don’t come here asking for money for your brother. He’s asked enough of both of us already.”

  Knowing he’s the one who paid for me makes me want to laugh at his chosen words, but instead, they incite comfort, which confuses my mind. I want to scream, shatter the glass shielding us from the outside world, expose the perversions that happen here.

  When his fingers stroke down my cheek, a tear forms in my eye. I’m desperate to feel affection no matter how dark and corrupt it is. Who am I?

  Am I so damaged I need to know he cares about me in some way? Am I so desperate to be loved, wanted, I’d accept it from a man old enough to be my father—Christ, my grandfather—who paid for the use of my body?

  “Leave the keycard on the counter on your way out,” he instructs without emotion. And just like that, I feel like the whore Milo made me.

  When I get to the bar, it’s almost pitch black. A dusting of stars penetrate the abyss, reminding me just how vast the world is. There’s a sense of loneliness out here, detachment from reality. There’s nothing else for miles, giving the place a feeling of eerie nothingness. My hands squeeze in my lap, my mind telling me to run, to not go back, but where would I go? How can I escape? Milo always has one of his peons with me. Even at our house—after he promised it would go back to being a home. Someone always has an eye on me. Cameras occupy every room so he can watch me when he’s here at the bar. “Are you going in or just going to sit in the car all night?” Reed asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror. Poor asshole got lumbered with chaperone duties. I wonder if he knows it could cost him his life depending on which version of Milo comes out on any given day.

  “Yes, but I won’t be staying. Keep the car running so you can take me home afterward.”

  Pursing his lips, he shakes his head. “I need to check with Milo. If that’s what he says, then sure thing.”

  Maybe he does know.

  “I’m a person, Reed. I can decide where I want to be,” I snap, my fury over everything I did tonight taking over. I didn’t have to fuck Mr. Right to feel just as gross and ashamed coming out of there like I did on our weekends.

  “Sorry, Wil, he pays me and would cut my balls off if I took you anywhere he didn’t authorize. I like my balls. Don’t make this hard on me.”

  Ridiculous. I’m nineteen years old. I want to order him to take me home now or entice him inside and then run back to the car and drive myself, but I know it will cost his life. Milo is worse than he used to be. The drugs he pedals also end up running through his bloodstream more often than not. He’s like a vibrating animal ready to rip you apart at the slightest misstep.

  “Let’s go,” I grunt, getting out of the car. The wind whips at my exposed skin. I hate wearing strappy summer dresses, but they’re what Mr. Right likes. Whore. I hate myself.

  The place isn’t busy as I make my way through. Milo’s guys are at a corner table playing cards, and there are a few truck drivers holding up the bar.

  Wesley jumps up and approaches me, nodding for Reed to join the boys for their game. “He’s high as fuck and going crazy. Did you get what he needed?”

  I give my head a sharp shake. Wesley’s shoulders deflate, his hand going to the bridge of his nose. “Fuck.”

  “How bad is it?” I ask. Tremors begin to rattle my bones from the war drums pounding inside my head and chest.

  “Maybe you should go home and call him instead.”

  “Wes, you know him better than that. Who will take the end of his blade for that decision—you or Reed?” I scoff.

  Rubbing his eyes, he spits out a couple more expletives before squeezing my shoulder. “Okay. Just try to keep him calm.”

  Like that’s possible.

  Pushing the office door open, Milo looks up from a desk he sits behind to feel important. Our eyes lock, my nerves twitching throughout my body.

  “Back so soon?” He frowns.

  Closing the door, I move around his desk and peel at a sticker stuck on the surface. “He wouldn’t give me anything.” I bite on my inner lip, rolling the sticky paper between my fingers as I move to the seat he keeps in the corner for me to perch on like a fucking pet.

  His knuckles turn white as his hands clutch the arms of his chair.

  “Did he fuck you?”

  I hate you.

  “No,” I spit out. “He doesn’t want me anymore, Milo. You knew that when you sent me over there.” I scoff, the memory of what just went down forever burned into my brain, ready to strike out.

  Kicking back his chair to stand, the atmosphere thickens, suffocating me with its invisible smog. My heart kicks in my chest, triggering small intakes of breath. Things are going to turn dark.

  “What the fuck did you do to make him not want you anymore?” Grabbing a handful of my hair, he drags me to my feet so forcefully, the chair I was sitting on topples over.

>   His grip burns my scalp, but it’s nothing compared to the shit I’ve tolerated from Mr. Right in the past. I remain silent, letting him have his anger. The sooner he’s done, the sooner I can go home and hide in my room.

  I’m shoved toward his desk, my body colliding with the objects scattered on the surface. Something sharp slices into my palm, making me wince.

  “You couldn’t keep him happy a little fucking longer?” he mocks, punching his fist into the wood surface. If he feels pain, he doesn’t show it.

  Composing myself, I pull back my shoulders, ignoring the blood dripping from my palm to the gray carpet beneath my feet. “My body doesn’t appease him anymore,” I grind out, swallowing a deep breath.

  We stare each other down, menace and madness radiating from him in waves, his pupils shot from the drugs he keeps shoving up his fucking nose.

  I shudder when his eyes drop down my body, appraising its worth.

  He lunges forward, forcing me to take a step back. His fingers curl around my throat and he throws me against the back wall of his office, my head ricocheting off the plaster. “You fucking did something,” he threatens.

  My palms hold his forearm, trying to crack at his strength as he keeps me pinned, crushing my windpipe. “Milo,” I choke out, a vibrating pulse throbbing through my skull.

  “You must have done something,” he roars again, releasing my throat. Only to pull a knife from the sheath hanging on his belt.

  “Milo…” I plead, my voice quavering. He’s never pulled a weapon on me before, and it’s terrifying knowing what he’s capable of.

  The cold blade rests under my chin, tipping my head back. Tears bleed down my cheeks. “Take the dress off,” he grumbles.

  No.

  “Milo…” I sob.

  “Stop saying my fucking name and do as you’re told,” he thunders, crowding in around me, pounding his fist against the wall beside my head. Plaster crumbles from the hole he made, dusting my shoulder in white powder. Curling his lip, he growls, “I won’t tell you again.” His spittle sprays my face as he presses the blade in further. I wince, desperate to get away, but I have no escape.