Page 6 of Bathed in Blood

“Christian.” He chuckles, closing the distance between us with a lethal grace. “What should I call you, princess?”

My footing slips, sending me slipping down the ditch. Frigid and immediate panic grips me like a noose around my neck as he lunges forward, catching my arm before I hit the ground.

“What?” I gape. My panic is so pungent, my teeth chatter loudly in my skull.

“Sorry, not a fan of nicknames?”

Right.

I shoot him a weak smile as he helps me back up the ditch. “Princess suits me.”

The truth behind those words sink straight to my bones, taking the edge off the panic.Princessdoes suit me, mask or not. I’m her. He’s alone, just another body, just another scream, another trickle of blood, another step closer to keeping my family safe. “Let’s get out of the rain before I break something.”

I never could put a visual to the phrase “his smile darkened” before, despite reading it constantly in my books. Still, I can’t think of a better way to describe what his face just did, the warmth bleeding into something else as he wrenches open my door, rushing me in.

My breathing is loud, louder than the radio, even as I watch him walk round to the passenger side in all his handsome glory. He’s perfect, checks all the requested boxes, but there’s an unease in my gut. Gone is the casual charm and panty wetting smirks. Suddenly, it’s not me who’s taking him.

It’s him who’s taking me.

Part of me, a larger part than I care to admit, wishes he could.

My hands are shaky, and his eyes aren’t missing a thing as I drive. They roam over my now-damp and musty clothes like theycan see what’s underneath, like they’ve memorized every curve before.

The backseat?

Deathly silent.

Until it isn’t.

A scream tears from my throat as Jax and Anton lunge up, the sound of four guns cocking in unison filling the cab, all of them trained on Christian beside me.

“Shame, you really thought you were getting a piece of our girl, didn’t you?” Anton spits. Out of the brothers, he’s the only one who ever shows any jealousy when it comes to me, always needing reassurance he’s my favorite.

My chest heaves as I pull over again, quickly backing out and turning the SUV around, heading not towards the city, to freedom, but to the gates of hell itself.

“Hey, I—" Christian starts, only to be cut off by the barrel of a gun being driven into his skull.

My stomach lurches at the sound, my foot instinctively slamming on the accelerator, making the tires spin on wet pavement.

“Who fucking taught the cunt to drive?” Jax comments about the time I risk a glance at my hostage.

He’s all tension, those dark green eyes trained not ahead but on me. He doesn’t cower, no begging or tears. He’s still, those Greek God-like muscles tense and ready. My head snaps away the moment our eyes meet.

“Give me that shit!” Anton curses, the fumbling from the backseat only egging on my nerves.

The cap of a syringe is jerked off as I barrel down the road, and minutes after they stick him with whatever drug, I muster enough courage to look at him again. My stomach drops to the floorboard. Christian smirks at me as his body sags, the drunk, heady look you get from the handsy guy at the bar after youfinally let him buy you that drink, a man who just got exactly what he wanted. It’s gone when his head knocks against the dash roughly.

My voice is hoarse when I speak. “Guys, I don’t think—”

“Shut the fuck up and pull over. You’re driving like a crackhead,” Jax cuts me off, and I’m all too happy to relinquish control of the vehicle.

When Anton pulls me into his arms, caging me in his bulk like a gorilla, I can’t help but breathe easier for a moment. The last thing I ever thought I would find in the arms of a Sullivan brother is a sense of safety. The driver’s door slams as Jax takes over, pulling back onto the road I’d only barely pulled off of before I leaped from the vehicle. For the rest of the ride, I let Anton pet me, and my eyes never leave the curly lump of hair attached to Christian's head.

3

Punishment

Icount the grooves below me: one hundred and twenty-six so far. My fingers are numb as I work them open and closed from where they are tied over the bar above the table’s suspension rigging in the basement. Forcing me to my tippy toes, Jax holding my hips so I’m kept at an angle. When my head lolls back, the lack of color in my hands tells me I won’t be getting the feeling back in them anytime soon, my wrists tied to the bar tightly enough to bruise.

---