Page 37 of Ruthless Obsession
I blink. “So Toby’s running more than stolen guns. He’s fucking dealing in heavy military grade.”
“Looks that way. There’s a good chance he sold our original shipment.”
My fists clench over the blanket. “Motherfucker.”
“Two prospects are hauling two crates to Jameson in New Orleans like you asked. At least we’ll get something out of this shitstorm.”
I nod. “Good.”
“Take me on that walk, cousin.”
“You overdo it, you’re back in that bed.”
“I won’t.”
Yeah, I’m lying. But he already knows that.
Later that evening, after Doc and Prez left, I grip the banister and slowly descend the stairs, each step a throb in my side. I’m barefoot, wearing nothing but black sweat shorts, my body’s aching but my mind focused.
From the living room, Legos and Tonya shoot to their feet like they’ve been caught slacking.
“Prez told us to stay and keep an eye on you,” Lego states with his fists curled at his sides. His massive frame doesn’t bother me. His leather Royal Bastards cut draped over his shoulders like armor. Worn jeans, black boots beat to hell, and a chain snaking from his back pocket—he’s not someone most people would test. But I’m not most people.
His blue eyes narrow. He’s pissed. Maybe worried. Maybe thinking he’ll have to march me back up to my room.
Tonya steps forward. Her long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. She’s wearing one of her signature tank tops. This one is black with silver lettering that says property of the Royal Bastards MC. That statement gives me comfort. I want someone else to be property of the Royal Bastards MC.
“Make yourselves at home. If I need you pretty sure you’ll know.”
“You sure you don’t want me to help you with her?” Tonya asks.
She knows how I feel about this woman. And knows I’m going to see her.
“No,” I rasp out.
“Sit, continue watching your movie.”
“No.” Tonya walks toward the kitchen. “I’ll warm up the chicken noodle soup.”
A smirk lifts my lips as I nod before walking toward the basement. My forearm rest at my side as I descend the stairs.
Once I reach the bottom, the smell of bleach hits my nostrils. I walk into the torture chamber and unlock the cell door. Sophie’s curled up on the floor in a ball, long dark hair veiling her face like a shield.
I drop to my knees before her and searing pain rips through my side. Shit, it’s time for my next dose of pain meds. I brush her wild thick dark hair out of her face.
Her eyes pop open. “What do you want?” she snarls.
“I fucking hate you,” she bites out.
“I know,” I mutter, reaching for her zip-tied wrist.
She flinches as I slice the tie with my switchblade. Her arm drops to her lap, and she rubs her raw wrist, red and tender.
“Do you feel good about yourself? Locking me away like this?”
She winces as she slowly pushes herself upright. When I reach for her wrist to check the damage, she jerks away like I burned her.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
