Page 4 of Twist the Knife

Or is this a test my father put her up to?

“Each punishment is worse than the one before. I’m afraid without…well you might not survive the next one,” she whispers so low, I can barely make out the words.

“What about you?” I whisper back.

“I am with child. He will not hurt me.”

Disgust churns my insides. “His?”

She sits back on her heels, shaking her head. “It does not matter.”

How can I leave my little sister in this hellish place? “Jezzie?—”

“I will take care of her.” Her tone is a solemn oath. “You must save yourself, first.”

Running—leaving my little sister behind in this insanity—twists a knife of guilt deep into my chest.

Underneath my instinctive reaction, one thing becomes crystal clear.

I can’t save my sister if I’m dead.

CHAPTER TWO

Jigsaw

The demons of my past are branded into my skin. No matter how hard I twist the throttle, or how many miles of concrete I’ve put between my old life and my new one, those demons never give me peace.

On my back, the physical scars have been obscured with carefully placed ink, but they’re still an ugly reminder of the brutality I was raised in. Of who I came from.

Now, I’ve made my home on the other side of the country, far from those memories. As road captain of the Lost Kings MC, the club that’s been my family since I was twenty, I’ve found stability but I’m often still edgy and restless to run. My best friend, Logan—now known as Rooster—is the VP of our charter.

We’ve come a long way.

But the past never really rests.

Rooster’s met the perfect woman and they’ll be tying the knot soon. I love her like a sister and I’m happy for them.

I have way too much darkness in me to ever settle down with one woman. I don’t even like to sleep next to one in case I wake up with nightmares. Love them and leave them smiling has served me well and I have no intention of ever changing that.

Soon I’ll need to find my own place. Not that Rooster and Shelby have told me I have to move, but it’s the right thing to do.

Today, I’m helping my little sister Jezzie move into her new apartment. I’ve been coughing up money for her college tuition for a few years. When she mentioned she wanted to switch to yet another school this semester, I finally convinced her to move to New York so we can be closer to each other.

Our relationship’s awkward at best. Guilt’s cemented onto my shoulders for leaving her behind. It doesn’t matter that I was a kid myself. Or that I came back for her when I could. I chose myself over her and while I was living comfortably with Rooster and his aunt and uncle—finishing high school, going to keggers in the woods, and healing from the trauma my father inflicted—Jezzie was in hell.

At least my father will never harm another woman or child again. I made sure of that.

Now that we’ve finished clearing the load out of the truck she rented in Pennsylvania, I stop to fiddle with the locks on her front door. Dead bolt. I flick it in and out. Not bad. Frame’s sturdy.

“Don’t start, Jensen,” my sister warns. “The locks are fine.”

I glance up. She’s standing in the hallway, hands on her hips, elbows pointing sideways, irritation all over her scrunched face.

I resist the urge to boop her on the nose.

The sweet kid who tended to my wounds turned into a young woman who’s more like a hedgehog today—adorably unassuming to look at but when she’s provoked, her sharp defenses prickle to life, keeping you at a distance.

“You’re still too far away for my liking.” This is guaranteed to piss her off, but I say it anyway. “You couldn’t find a school closer to Empire at least?”

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