Disarray the hallowed cr.., p.22
Disarray: The Hallowed Crows MC 4, page 22
The smell of leather and iron rouses me from sleep. My body feels heavy, like I am not in control of it, and my eyelids scream out in pain when I try to open them. I try to move but find myself groaning when my limbs don't cooperate. When I finally manage to get my eyes to open, I have to blink them closed again instantly. The lights feel as if I am staring directly into the sun. I feel dizzy and disorientated, something that is all too familiar to me, as I try to recall what happened in the graveyard. Fuck. This is not what I had planned. What the fuck happened?
When I can finally blink without feeling like I am being blinded, I frown, focusing my stare on the ceiling above me. Not because I need something to focus on, but because I recognize it immediately. I’m at the clubhouse, and not just anywhere in the clubhouse, but in Church, the sacred heart of the place. Where decisions are made, and orders given, where the man in charge demands, and the people around him follow without question. I think my mind must be playing tricks on me, and I open and shut my eyes a few more times, trying to erase the image I am seeing, but it doesn’t work. I am definitely where I think I am.
I force strength into my arms, pushing myself to sit up, and then freeze when I find Carter Fitzgerald sitting in my father’s chair at the head of the table. He’s watching me silently, staring at me with that cruel, cunning glare that used to preempt his punishments, but that’s not what makes bile choke its way up my throat. No, it’s the eight dead bodies of only he knows who, filling up every other empty seat at the table. All of them women, all of them naked, but again that isn’t what shocks me. It’s the crimson stain across their stomachs where he has brutalized my name into their skin, branding them as my victims for eternity.
Blood, you think I’d be used to seeing it by now. I spent two years under this puppet master's strings, yet somehow he can still surprise me. These aren’t the first women he has killed, I know that, I’ve seen with my own eyes far too many times the extent of his savagery. Yet seeing my name carved into their skin hurts more than any penalty he has ever forced on me. I’ve played these games, broken his rules, bored his sanctions, but it’s never been enough. A deal with a devil is always going to be bad, but the cost of mine just keeps piling up.
I try to stop my hand from trembling as I bring it behind me and search for the gun I pray is still there, and his sickening, humor-filled laugh finally breaks the silence in the room. “Oh, come on now, my little rose, I thought you knew me better than that.” He sounds disappointed and excited at the same time. He reveals the gun I was looking for, bringing it from where it was hidden under the table, and placing it on the wood in front of him. “Do you not think I searched every inch of your body before I brought you here?”
I smother the shiver that tries to break free as I stare him down, refusing to think about his hands on me, as I slowly push myself away from him. Instead, I think about the one other thing that was hidden on my body and pray it’s still there. It has to be. I wait until I reach the end of the table, throwing myself off it to the floor, and caressing my arm on the way down. The thump knocks the breath out of me, and I have to take a few seconds before I can reach up and use the table to rise to my feet.
My legs are weak and shaking, and Carter makes no move towards me, which tells me there is no escape from this situation without a fight. I just have to keep him talking, distract him long enough until I can find my way out of this. I try not to let my eyes roam over the dead bodies that surround us, they are just a reminder of all of his sick and twisted ways. I can’t focus on that right now, or the guilt that threatens to eat me alive as I think about who they might be, whether their families are missing them. No, instead I keep my focus on the Mayor.
My eyes trail over his body, noting the crinkled look of his suit, and the sweat gathering on his brow. He is probably still in pain from where he was shot, and for the time ever, he looks disheveled. There is no longer any control, something I know he prides himself on, and given how dire my situation already is, I can’t help but taunt him.
“Looking a little worse for wear there, Mr. Mayor,” I tease lightly, swallowing the dry lump in my throat, and ignoring the fear of how he might react. Like I said, I’ve played this game before, I know the rules, and how to break them.
He smiles, nothing like the one he used to give his voters, and I can see the mask he always wore has ceased to exist completely. There is nothing but the true monster I know him to be staring back at me. “I see that sharp tongue is back, would you believe me if I say I missed it?” he teases me with a grin, and in a way I understand him. Being with him feels familiar, like falling back into a routine as if we are nothing but old friends.
Yet I can’t hold back my snort. “Missed punishing me for it you mean.” The image of him slamming me into the table and trying to rape me rushes to the forefront of my mind and I push it away. I won’t let him get close enough to get to me again, I just need to keep him talking, and keep this damn table in between us, then maybe I have a chance of winning this game once and for all.
“Semantics,” he replies casually, with a wave of the gun in his hand, and it's as if I can taste the recklessness of him in the air. He leans forward and puts his elbows on the table as he adds, “It felt good to have my hands on you again, stroking your soft, supple skin while you slept. I’ve been hard as a rock ever since.”
I have to stop my hands from reaching up to clutch my neck, my own lungs betraying me as they are empty of oxygen. I refuse to falter beneath his words, and instead I pray my voice holds strong as I smile and reply, “I doubt it’s as hard as the three cocks I took last night.”
It’s no surprise that he moves as fast as he does, pushing up from the chair and pointing the gun in my direction in less than a second. Spit flying from his mouth as he seethes. “You watch your fucking mouth you little whore!” More sweat drips from his forehead, as he pants through his outburst, pain clearly wracking his body, as he uses his free hand to hold himself up on the table. Slowly he regains control, breathing deeply until he can smile easily again. “You haven’t commented on the gifts I brought you.” He gestures with the gun to the naked women around us, and I force myself to hold his stare, pushing back my emotions.
“You should know by now how much I hate your gifts,” I reply coolly, trying with everything I have to sound unaffected by their presence. In truth I know the image of them will haunt me forever. If I even survive today.
“I would think you’d be more grateful considering it’s your fault they are dead.” His voice has that callous lilt to it once more, as he slowly moves towards the first victim. He strokes the bloodied and matted hair from her face as he purrs, “I wonder if your father would still be proud of you if he knew you were a murderer.”
I ignore his goading about my father and focus on the rest of his statement. “The only murderer here is you, you sick fuck,” I seethe, gripping the table even tighter to keep me upright. “You think I care about them?” I lie, ignoring the weight pressing on my chest as I face off with him. “They’re already dead, I can’t do anything to change that.”
His smile takes on a whole new vicious edge. “Well, lucky for you, my little rose, I saved you a live one.”
I don’t register what he means at first, but as if his words were the signal, the door behind me opens, and my spine snaps straight. I make sure to take a step to the side, turning to put my back towards the wall so I can keep both Carter and the newcomer in my sights. Yet my stare is only on the woman being dragged in at his feet. Not because she's alive, or even because of how much trouble she is in, no, it’s because I recognize her.
Special Agent Sasha Jones’ face is bruised, her clothes soaked in blood, and when the new guard under the Mayor's command drops her at his feet, he smiles. Leaning down he fists his grip into her hair and pulls her to her knees, as he muses, “Isn’t she pretty? Just like her sister.”
I see fear in the FBI agent's eyes which tells me she isn’t here officially, yet I also see determination, and it isn’t lost on me what he just said. Just like her sister. Who the hell is her sister?
The guard leaves the way he came, slamming the thick door shut behind him, and I focus my attention back on Carter, ignoring the familiar woman at his feet. “I have no idea who she is,” I claim, holding his stare firmly, which means I don’t miss him rolling his eyes.
“The time for games has passed, Rebecca.” I almost flinch at the use of my name from him again, but he is too focused on himself to notice for once. “Do you not think I know this bitch interrogated you? Banded you together with those thugs you love to whore yourself to so much.” His grip on her hair gets tighter, and I see her biting back the pain like I have done so many times myself.
The tears I have been fighting back since the moment I awoke threaten to spill. I curse myself for him still knowing how to get to me, but I won’t let him take my humanity from me like he took everything else. I pride myself on being weak, of wanting to protect the people I know I love. It’s an affliction Carter will never be burdened with, and I’m sure he doesn’t care to be.
“I’d rather be their whore than your wife,” I snap back, words so similar to ones I have thrown to him before. I wonder if he spied the black band wrapped around my ring finger?
“I miss your sister, she was a lot of fun, very submissive.” He muses out loud, choosing to ignore my outburst, forgoing any sort of punishment, and instead focusing back on his new guest, and still I have no idea who he is talking about.
Sasha and I lock eyes, and I see the pity in her stare before she licks her split lip and looks up at the Mayor. “Are you going to kill me like you killed my sister?” she asks, and I feel oddly proud of her for not letting any emotion leak into her tone. She doesn’t seem upset or scared, in fact she seems prepared, resilient, expectant. I’m not sure what to make of it.
Carter laughs, caressing her cheek softly in a way I am intimate with. “Oh, my sweet little agent, but I didn’t kill your sister, that was all Rebecca.”
I blanch back from the accusation, my eyes flying between the two of them, before I settle on her. “I didn’t kill anyone, I don’t even know who your sister is.” I search her features, desperately seeking some sort of resemblance to the hundreds of women that Carter brought home to play with, but I come up empty.
“I think you mean was,” Carter chuckles, like this is all some big inside joke that I’m not part of, before he sighs, boredom bleeding into him. “I suppose I’d want to forget the whore who fucked your little biker too if I was you.” He rolls his eyes, the detonation of his words exploding between us as realization sets in.
Her sister, the girl from the cage, the one he brought in to fuck Aiden, Daisy, or whatever her real name was, that was her sister. Pain and regret battle inside of me as I flick my eyes back to Sasha and let the first tear fall down my cheeks.
It’s okay, she mouths silently, preventing Carter from seeing her trying to comfort me, but all I can feel is pity. She has no idea what’s coming for her. She’s going to die. He is going to kill her right here in front of me, just because he can, and I can’t do anything to stop it from happening. She must see the truth on my face because before I can say anything to stop her, she rears up and rams her head straight into Carter’s stomach.
It’s a move she probably learned in training, one she has probably done successfully at least a hundred times, but she has no idea what the once prestigious Mayor of Black Hallows is capable of. He steps back before her intended hit can land, and with her hands tied behind her back, her body falls forward, leaving her to smash her face into the corner of the table. Of course that isn’t enough for Carter, he pulls her back and does it again two more times, until fresh blood is sputtering from her nose.
I take a step forward but freeze as she cries, “It’s okay, I can take it.” Pain etched into her tone as Carter hits her again and again. I can tell from the grit of his teeth that he thinks she is taunting him, but she’s not. She’s not telling him she can take it, she’s telling me she can take it.
Thanks to his own injuries, her punishment is short-lived, but not any easier to watch. I find myself wondering how so many people stood by and watched me deal with the same in the past. Shaking those thoughts away, I straighten my spine, hold my head up, and act like what I just saw didn’t affect me.
Carter straightens his distressed suit, trying and failing to wipe the fresh blood stains from it, before he gives up and runs a bloodied hand through his hair. “Like I was saying, I didn’t kill your sister,” he says breathlessly, straightening himself back up, and returning to the conversation like nothing happened.
“You expect me to believe that?” Sasha asks, spitting the blood gathering in her mouth to the floor, as she struggles back to her knees to look up at him. “There are eight fucking bodies around this table thanks to your handy work, and it’s very similar to a body I have seen before.” My eyes widen a little at what I know she is insinuating before she adds, “Tell me, Mr Fitzgerald, how well did you know Candice?”
Her name flows through me, the image of her mutilated body still fresh in my mind as Carter smiles. “Ah yes, that one was me, and it was fun too.” He slumps back into my father’s chair, almost in a lazy manner, but after watching him for two years, I know it’s because he is feeling weak. Something I can use to my advantage, I just need to come up with a plan. I let my eyes roam around the room in search of something to help me as he continues to speak. “She was so fucking obedient that one, desperate to please me. I could have kept her forever, but she was too obsessed with hating you, my little rose.” His focus comes back to me, and I snap my eyes to his before he can notice me looking elsewhere.
“I knew sooner or later I would have to dispose of her like I have done with the rest of them, but I also knew her death could be useful.” The gleam in his eye returns, as he wipes the sweat from his head with the sleeve of his suit jacket, not realizing that all it does is leaves a blood smear across his cheek. “By the time I was done with her, she was practically begging me to kill her.” He presses his hand into his groin like he is trying to ward off his erection, and sickness floods my stomach. “I fucked her first, of course,” he adds with a wink, and I refuse to look down at Sasha as he reveals his true persona to her.
“Her gaping cunt was nothing special, even when she clenched around me as I slit her throat.” He waves his hand nonchalantly. “It’s nothing I haven’t done to whores like her before, they love it.” When he stands again, I notice his fingers tightening around the gun as his eyes completely zone in on me. “You were supposed to be different,” he starts, moving around the table, and I know this is it. “You were supposed to be mine, I was going to make you my wife.” He emphasizes the last word as if it now offends him, moving closer and closer with every word. “Now you’re nothing but a biker whore!”
I take a deep breath, praying that Sasha uses this distraction to try and escape, or at least attempt to get help. I back away slightly and turn myself fully towards Carter. “See that’s the one thing you could never seem to grasp, Mr. Mayor,” I start. “I’ve always been a biker’s whore. Since the day I first met them, but now,” I trail off, holding up my hand and flashing him the black band. “I’m a biker’s wife.”
The bullet comes before I can even take my next breath.
The blood drips down her body, the maroon tint making her pale skin shine even brighter. She looks fucking perfect. So beautiful, just like always. I’m hard as a rock looking at her, my cock leaking as I take in the still, determined look in her eye, even as she falls to her knees. I should have done this the night I got her, showing her exactly how serious I am about people touching my things. She’s mine, not theirs. If I have to fucking kill her to prove that point, then so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it seems those three pricks are always in the way. Not that I give a fuck about them, no, this is between me and her, just how it was always meant to be.
Her hands fly to her stomach, pressing down on where I shot her, and then pulling them away in disbelief. She should know me better than that by now. Pain is the best motivator after all. It’s how I taught her to be my perfect little rose, but clearly I went wrong somewhere. I ignore the FBI cunt and stride towards Rebecca, gripping her by the hair, and moving to drag her from this fucking room. I don’t care for their godlike bullshit and brotherhood ways, this is closer to a fucking brothel than a church, and there is only one place I want her.
“Come on, my little rose,” I spit, exertion pushing me to my limits as I pull her along. “Seems I need to remind you of all the lessons I taught you, and I know the perfect place to do it.” I don’t stop until we reach the basement, kicking open the door and dragging her into the middle of the room. “Let’s end this where it all started,” I grit, throwing her to the floor. “Where you let those three bastards defile you, it only seems fitting.”
She splutters, coughing some blood onto the floor, but then to my surprise, she raises her head and stares me directly in the eyes. “Those bastards are twice the man you’ll ever be!”
My hand flies out, the back of it catching her cheek, as I bring my leg up and kick her in the stomach, covering both counts of the disrespect she just showed me. “I don’t remember saying you could look me in the eye, let alone give you permission to fucking speak!” I snarl, pushing her further into the floor, and using my foot to press down on her wound, desperate to hear her scream.
“You think those cunts can love you the way I do? Can care for you like I do? They can’t even fucking look after themselves. They’re fucking pathetic, all three of them.” I push off from her, relishing in the blood soaking her clothes, making the fabric stick to her. Fuck, taking her now would be so fucking perfect. “Get up,” I demand, using the gun to gesture towards the sofa. A sofa I know she has fucked one of them on. “Get fucking up and get over there!” I reach down, fisting her hair again, and dragging her until she is against the sofa.
