Page 95 of Rook

“Just giving me more reasons to bring you to heel, T,” he snarled as his arm tightened so hard around my middle that my ribs screamed and it felt impossible to draw a proper breath.

My gaze whipped around wildly, praying someone would see. But those damn trees blocked the whole view of this trailer from the rest of the park.

A pathetic little sound rose up in my throat, but I tamped it back down, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

My body jostled as I was pulled up the stairs and into the home. I was met immediately with the scent of a long-closed-up house: old dust, mold, and musty carpets.

The screen door slapped against the frame, and Randy’s leg rose to kick the door shut.

“Got her, boys!” he declared, getting a chorus of hoots and whistles that made my blood run cold.

Enduring Randy had been horrific enough. But because he was the president, and I was his property, he’d kept me to himself. As a show of dominance, I guess.

There wasn’t much comfort in my old life. But not being groped or abused by the other bikers had been the only positive.

But now that I’d run, that I’d forced Randy to come get me, I didn’t know if the same rules applied. Would he let everyone abuse and use me as punishment? Would he laugh as I screamed and cried?

No.

No, I couldn’t let my mind go there.

He’d said he wanted to bring me to heel. And from what I’d seen about how he treated other women who displeased him, I really didn’t think he’d bother to try to break me again if he didn’t intend to keep me as his.

Not that I intended to let that happen.

I mean, this was a mobile home, not a fortress. It was an ancient one, at that. And had clearly been abandoned for years. Hell, I could probably kick through a wall of the damn thing if I was left alone long enough.

The floor groaned as Randy stormed across it, pushing open a door with his shoulder, then dropping me down hard on a bed that reeked of dirty linen and old cigarette smoke.

“I’m gonna give you a few minutes to think about what’s gonna happen when we get back to the club,” he said, moving back toward the door.

He turned back at the last minute, shooting me a smirk.

“You should really watch that lead foot of yours, T.”

The goddamn ticket.

That was how he’d found me.

With that, though, the door closed.

Not a minute later, metal music screamed from a speaker.

To cover the screams he was expecting, no doubt.

But he didn’t know me. Not anymore. Never at all, in fact.

I wasn’t going to scream.

I wasn’t going to beg.

I wasn’t going to be sent to my room to sit and worry about what punishment he was going to inflict on me when he came in some untold time later, reeking of weed and whiskey, shirt smelling like perfume, dick smelling like another woman.

I was not the girl who’d been trapped by circumstance and design.

I was someone with her own life, her own money, her own sense of self-worth.

I was someone with a man who cared about me, who would be looking for me, who would protect me.

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