Rage: Royal Bastards MC Read online

  Swallowing the stone lodged in my throat, I take a breath before pushing the straps from my shoulders. The fabric slips down my body, catching on my hips.

  “All the way, Willa.”

  My fingertips travel the path of the material, aiding it over my curves until it pools at my feet. I can’t see through the tears cascading like waterfalls from my eyes.

  His gaze assesses me, and my blood turns to tar, stodging in my veins. I’m dying. A black star in the night sky, the light already gone. I’m a shell.

  The voice inside my head screams with broken lungs, “Wake the hell up, Milo. Look what you’ve become.” I need him to come to his senses. My body recoils with nowhere to go when his palm touches my chest and trails down my body, brushing my nipple, torso, hip, thigh.

  This isn’t real.

  He’s a demon trying to creep inside my skin. “Milo,” I choke on his name.

  “You did do something,” he croaks, pained.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  “You turned into a woman.” He chuckles, shaking his head. Removing the knife from my chin, he places both hands on the wall, caging me in. Leaning down and resting his forehead against my chest, he lets out a long sigh.

  “Damn. I’m so fucked up, Wil.” His voice is broken, almost childlike.

  Every molecule of my being wants to flee, but without me, I’m not sure he would survive. I’m terrified he would rather kill me than ever let me run. My arms tremble as they rise to encase him. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “We’ll get through whatever it is together.”

  Five

  Gabe

  Twenty-five years old

  Stale beer and shit—that’s all I fucking smell in this hovel these street rats call a bar. Milo Hendrix is a wanna be gangsta who likes to think he’s some kind of big dog. He’s just a shitstain who lucked his way up the chain farther than he should have, and now he owes some money to people you don’t want to be due money to. Little fucker is going to learn playing gangsta and being one is miles apart. He’s in the big leagues now, and there’s no way he has what it takes to pull it off.

  “This little bastard is blade happy, so watch yourselves,” a brother from Royal Bastards MC warns us before we step inside.

  My best friend Jameson and I are hired muscle. We’re both out the army, six years in and one year inactive, with a year left inactive to wait out. Once that’s up, we’re hoping to prospect for the Royal Bastards, so we get to prove ourselves worthy of the fucking honor. The thrill of the road has always been something Jameson craves. A brotherhood is something we’re used to, and the Royal Bastards is a good fit for us.

  A few patrons exit when they see us walk inside and head straight for the back room where this guy does his business. Apparently, he owns this place, and although it’s a shithole, it’s clout. If we have to, we’ll take it off his hands as a down payment.

  “He’s got company, let me just…” some punk-ass fucker announces, trying to push past us to get to the door first. Jameson towers over him, giving him a quick nudge to get the fuck out of our way. The whole point of us showing up is to surprise this fucker. I push the handle down and waltz right on in.

  He’s got his back to the door, his body pushed up against a naked woman. Her eyes clash with mine, terror gleaming from their depths. Damn, she’s a beauty. How the fuck did this loser get a girl like her? Through fear and dominance if her swollen eyes are anything to go by. I hate this prick a little more now.

  Milo looks over his shoulder and turns, a blade already in his hand. What the fuck did we walk in on? His eyes blink rapidly as we move farther into the room, my senses on high alert, tracking his hand movements. His fingers twitch. He’s actually debating if he can take us. Fuck this. I move fast, grabbing his wrist, twisting until I hear a pop before he even registers what’s happening. The blade falls to the ground as he howls out in pain. I kick it across the room before grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket and shoving him into the chair behind his desk. My eyes flick back to the woman scavenging for her clothes. She pulls a dress up her body and tucks a curtain of dark curls behind her ear. Her cheeks are wet, eyes swollen with tears.

  “Take a seat, darling,” I tell her, lifting my chin to an overturned chair.

  She looks young, haunted.

  “She doesn’t have to be here. Let her leave,” Milo spits through clenched teeth.

  “I’ll decide who needs to be here, motherfucker,” Jimmy, the VP of the Royal Bastards growls. “You got something for us?”

  “I need a few more days.”

  Tsking, Jimmy moves around the table, sitting his ass on the lip just in front of Milo. “You think you can fuck us around?”

  “No, no, it’s just someone fucked me over for money, so I’m short.”

  “You will be short when my boys starting cut chunks outta you, starting with your feet,” Jimmy snarls.

  This fucker doesn’t even flinch. He looks high on the product and spiraling. His eyes dart to the girl, then back to Jimmy, embarrassed she’s seeing this shit. He probably acts like he’s untouchable, the big bad wolf, a tormentor of all around him, and she’s witnessing how full of shit he is. The boogey man is nothing more than a weak, pathetic nobody.

  “Can you just let her the fuck outta here? This shit is business she’s not part of.”

  “This isn’t business, it’s a shitshow. You can’t be trusted to pay up what you fucking owe. The rate you’re going, you won’t make it past your twenties,” I scorn. He’s pathetic. Don’t get high on your supply—first rule of dealing. This motherfucker is using more than he’s selling.

  “He won’t make it past the next ten minutes unless he tells us something we want to hear,” Jimmy interjects.

  “I have half.” He bobs his head.

  “Damn, looks like I’ll be breaking something else,” I growl, stepping forward.

  “I can’t give you what I don’t fucking have,” he sneers. “And I can’t pay if I’m dead.”

  Jimmy scratches his neck, his eyes traveling around the small room, landing on the girl sitting quietly in the corner like she’s seen this scene a thousand times before. “Sorry you had to be here for this, darling. You have shitty taste in men,” he informs her with a shrug of his shoulder before turning his attention back to Milo. “What’s this place worth?”

  “I’ll get you your money.” Milo cradles his wrist. Sweat beads his forehead. He doesn’t have the means to get the money. If he did, he would have had it by now.

  “I know you will, but we’re going to need collateral to motivate you,” Jimmy warns. If he’s intimidated by the three of us dominating the small space between him and the exit, he’s not showing it.

  “You can’t take—”

  Before he can finish the sentence, Jimmy’s booted foot shoots out, kicking Milo in the jaw with such intensity, it forces him backward in his chair, crumbling to the floor like a bug being swat.

  “I can fucking take whatever the fuck I want. This bar. Your bitch. Your fucking skin after I peel it from your body.”

  “I’ll go,” a voice speaks out, soft and velvety.

  All eyes turn to the brunette as she stands, nodding her head. “You can take me until he has the money. I’ll be the collateral.”

  Well, damn, how many times has this girl had to offer that for this piece of shit?

  “Willa, no,” Milo gurgles through his own blood, his front tooth cocked at an odd angle. That’s got to fucking hurt.

  “Well…” Jimmy grins, slapping his knee, “what a team player you have here, Milo.”

  My jaw tightens. I look to Jameson, who gives me a reassuring jerk of his head. I’m not kidnapping or holding women ransom. Jameson ensured me this chapter of the Royal Bastards wasn’t into that shit either.

  “Sorry, darling, as lovely as you are, something tells me Milo doesn’t give a shit about the women he fucks.”

  “I’m not his woman,” she says, almost choking on her words. “I’m his sister.”
>
  Well, fuck me. Wasn’t she fucking naked when we barged in here?

  Jimmy booms out a mocking laugh, “I knew you were twisted, Milo, but that takes the fucking cake.”

  “It’s not like that,” Milo grunts.

  “Yeah, whatever you fucking say, sicko. You have three days,” Jimmy warns.

  “I need more time.”

  “Three days—that’s me being generous.”

  We begin to leave, but the sister’s small gasp and hesitant jerk of her body in my direction stops me. Turning back, I grab her under the arm to take with us. She doesn’t resist, and her piece of shit brother doesn’t speak up for her or attempt to stop me either.

  Once outside, I open my truck door and motion for her to climb in the back. She doesn’t hesitate, just climbs right in like this shit is the norm. For her, maybe it is.

  I make my way back to Jameson and Jimmy, who have a couple other brothers with them keeping an eye on things inside the bar.

  “What do you think?” Jimmy asks Jameson, craning his neck.

  “Three days isn’t long.” Jameson folds his arms, looking between the bar and Jimmy. “He was high, and none of his boys even attempted to step in. I’d say he’s losing loyalty, which makes me think business hasn’t been good for a while.”

  “I fucking hate chasing money from fucktards who’re going to end up in the ground.” Jimmy kicks at the dirt.

  “We could take the bar,” one of the brother’s pipes up.

  I scrunch my nose at the thought. Who wants this dump as their responsibility?

  “Fuck it. Torch the place. It’ll send a message. I don’t want to come back here.” Jimmy nods to his brothers.

  “And the girl?” Jameson asks with a raised brow.

  “I don’t want to know. Just deal with it.”

  We slip into my truck, the golden flicker of flames dancing in the reflection of the windows as we pull away from the shithole. The woman holds a hand to her chest as she looks back to see people flailing out into the night as the bar engulfs.

  “You got a name?” Jameson asks. She’s a statue in the backseat. No emotion on her pretty face. She’s numb. I know that look in her eyes because I’ve had it in mine.

  “Willa,” she answers robotically.

  “I’m Jameson. This is Gabe.” He jabs a finger in my direction, and I flick my gaze to hers in the rearview mirror.

  “Your names don’t matter,” she states, matter-of-fact, staring out the window.

  Jameson’s grunt makes a smile curl my lips. He’s not usually the talker, but he’s making an effort to put her at ease.

  “Did you have to burn the place?” she whispers, drawing our attention back to her.

  “It’s just wood and mortar, darling.” Jameson shrugs. “No blood was shed.”

  Unless you count the tooth Milo will be losing after the boot to the face.

  “To you, it’s wood and mortar,” she mutters, rubbing up her arms. I crank the heat in case she’s cold.

  “Couldn’t have been worth much.” He looks over his shoulder at her.

  “More than you know,” she muses before falling silent.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Jameson asks me, flicking through his cellphone.

  “My place tonight. I’ll check out some connections tomorrow to get her set up somewhere.” I have a friend who runs a women’s shelter. She may be able to help this girl.

  Nodding his head, a smirk tugs at his lip, making me scowl. “What’s the smile for?” I growl.

  “Just you and strays, man. You’re a sucker.”

  “Or I have a fucking heart, you asshole.”

  Jameson cackles out a laugh that startles Willa. Her eyes expand as she tries to make her body as small as possible, burrowing farther into the corner.

  I can’t stop myself from watching her in the mirror and feel like a creep because of it. She’s bare of makeup, her cheeks still rosy from tears. There’s a dusting of freckles visible even in the muted light, making her appear young.

  I look to the road, then back to her, studying her features. She gets prettier the more I take in every inch of her face. Thick lashes flutter over oval shaped eyes, flames of amber flicking in the brown depths ignited from the passing street lights.

  Creep.

  My attention drops to her lips when she says, “Can I open the window please? I feel a little queasy.” I watch her thick, plump lips, the bottom slightly larger than the top. Beautiful in every sense of the word and has been forced into a life of shit and squalor by someone who should fight to protect her at all costs. “Sure, darling, just don’t throw up on the leather. Gabe will have a heart attack,” Jameson mocks.

  “Asshole,” I grumble. “You need me to pull over?” I ask, but get shot down with a frown and a soft shake of her head. She doesn’t open the window, so I use my control button to open it for her. The wind gushes in, sweeping her hair off her face.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, almost inaudible.

  “So, Milo is your brother?” I ask, furrowing my brow, fury firing in my veins at the vision of her naked against the wall, his body smothering hers.

  “Yes.” She dips her head, picking up a strand of hair and twisting it around her finger.

  “Jameson has sisters,” I announce, though I don’t know why. I guess I’m trying to make her feel safe, at ease as well.

  “I don’t get naked with mine, just so we’re clear.” He replies in cold sarcasm, clenching his hands into fists on his thighs, before asking. “You know that’s fucked up, right?”

  I jab him in the arm. “Asshole.”

  “It wasn’t what it looked like,” she defends.

  Silence lingers.

  “What was it then?” I find myself asking.

  I feel her shifting in her seat. “Milo has issues. I was supposed to help him get the money he needed, but I failed.”

  “So he made you get naked?” Jameson grimaces.

  “He wanted to see if there was something wrong with my body,” she says, her tone oddly steady, like it’s normal for that to happen.

  “Why would there be something wrong with your body?” Jameson continues, curious. There was nothing wrong with her body from what I saw, which wasn’t a lot because I’m not a fucking pervert.

  “Because Mr. Right didn’t want it anymore.” She sighs, shrugging her small shoulders.

  “Who’s Mr. Right?” I ask, pulling into Jameson’s apartment complex.

  “The man my brother sold me to a long time ago.”

  Every muscle in my body solidifies. A roar pounds in my ears. That little fucking cunt. Jameson’s growl echoes my own.

  “Motherfucker.” He looks to me, his jaw as rigid as my own. We should have killed him and let him burn. “You’re safe now,” he informs her without taking his eyes off me. “He doesn’t own you, Willa. No one can own you. You’re not for sale.” Nodding his head to me, he slips out of the truck, slams the door closed, and raps his knuckles on the hood, signaling for me to leave. Pulling away from the curb while glancing my gaze to the rearview mirror, my chest constricts when her eyes meet mine, a shimmer of tears glistening, rapid breathing loud and pulsing through the air separating us makes me want to pull over and take her in my arms. Trembling lips signal the onslaught of big fat tears tracing her smooth cheeks, bleeding out the pain of what’s she’s had to endure by the hands of a monster. A haunting gasp escapes her throat in an upsurge of emotion. The truth of Jameson’s words that she’s more than the price tag her brother gave her overwhelming. I let the road eat the miles as she gulps down the pain swelling within her. “You ok?” It’s a stupid fucking question, but essential, I had to ask it. She blinks rapidly before folding her arms and turning her head away to regain composure. “I want to take you to my place, you good with that?” I ask her, feeling like a fucking asshole for manhandling her, but not sorry for taking her away from her piece of shit brother.

  “Do I have a choice?” she asks, almost laughing without humor. br />
  I pull over to the side of the road and turn in my seat to face her. “Yes, you have a fucking choice. You’re a human being, Willa. No one fucking owns you, despite what your brother may have had you believe.”

  She studies the darkness outside the window, her teeth worrying that thick bottom lip. “If I get out of this truck right now, what will happen to Milo? Aren’t I payment?”

  Christ, what the hell has this fucker done to her head?

  “You’re not fucking payment. I took you away from there because I thought you needed help—and you do. If you get out of this car now, nothing will happen to Milo. But it’s dark and late. You have nothing with you, and I’m assuming nowhere to go.”

  “I live with Milo.” She cradles her arms across her stomach, a shiver racing through her.

  “Do you want to go back there to him, or do you want to take control—take back who you are?” I ask her. She can choose to get away from that life, but it has to be hers.

  The silence sits heavily between us. I don’t want to take her back to him. There’s a pull inside me telling me she needs a chance, opportunity for more.

  I shouldn’t give a fuck—millions of girls out there are treated like dirt, and I can’t save them all—but she’s here, and I can help her if she lets me. My mother’s image snaps into my brain like shards of glass, stabbing, cutting, bleeding. She was sixteen when she had me, twenty-one when her pimp beat her to death. I don’t even remember her face, but her story haunts me. I went through the system, saw how some of the girls are abused and sold by authorities who’re supposed to protect them, put them somewhere safe to be loved and taken care of. Half the time, the foster homes are worse than where they come from. The system is fucked.

  “So… I can come to your place?” she finally asks.