Page 48 of True Bastard
Rapid City blurred behind me, a city that had offered a false promise of escape and delivered only deeper entanglement. Karter slept soundly in the passenger seat, oblivious to the danger I was hurtling toward, and I prayed I was doing the right thing.
The Brotherhood. A bitter reminder of the broken promises and brutal lessons—the very things I’d sworn I’d never return to. But Aunt Karen’s desperate plea, her terrified eyes, and Karter’s trusting whimpers were a chain that bound me to a path I couldn’t, wouldn’t, abandon.
The lights of the Brotherhood’s compound, a sprawling, dark fortress against the star-dusted South Dakota sky, appeared onthe horizon. Each mile closer was a step deeper into the abyss, a surrender to the inevitable.
Inferno. The name whispered in my aunt’s terrified plea. He was my only hope, my last resort. As I pulled into the gravel drive, the roar of the engine was a defiant challenge, a guttural declaration of my unwilling return. The air crackled with an unseen energy, the very ground vibrating with the presence of the men I’d tried so desperately to escape. Gathering Karter in my arms, I got out of the vehicle, her small hand tightening around my neck as the darkness of the compound loomed before us, a terrifying, yet necessary haven.
Even from where I stood, I could hear the loud ruckus of the brothers, the music vibrating beneath the ground as a tremor of unease washed through me. He was in there. I knew it. I didn’t know how long I stood out there, but when Karter whimpered again, curling herself deeper into me, I knew the second I walked into that clubhouse, he would never let me leave again.
With one foot in front of the other, I sealed my fate and walked through the door.
Standing in the doorway, my eyes immediately found his. A cold knot tightened in my stomach, unsettling anguish warring with a desperate, sickening curiosity. He stood behind a club whore, pumping his dick into her fiercely.
The second recognition hit him, a cruel smirk stretched his lips—a predator catching sight of his prey. He grabbed the slut’s hair, pulling her back toward him with a brutal grace, his hands wrapping around her neck like a vise. He thrust harder, ignoring her muffled cries, his gaze locked onto mine. Every pounding movement felt like a deliberate insult, a taunt meant to shattermy resolve. He was displaying his power, his utter disregard for anything but his own gratification, and I, his kitten, was supposed to just stand there and witness it.
A wave of nausea washed over me, a bitter taste of helplessness and self-loathing. Was this who I was becoming? Someone who could watch this and not recoil, not act. He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving mine, as he pummeled her relentlessly until he roared, yelling my pet name—a sound that was both a claim and a curse—before covering her back with his cum and shoving her to the ground, as if she were nothing more than discarded refuse.
Reaching for a bottle of whiskey on the table next to him, he shouted, his voice rough and demanding, “Who’s next?”
He didn’t have to wait long before another club whore dropped to her knees, shoving his cock into her mouth.
My breath hitched.
This was it. The moment I had to make a choice—the choice I had been dreading since the moment I stepped through this door. My instincts screamed at me to turn and run, to pretend I hadn’t seen, to preserve the last shred of my integrity. But that was a coward’s path, and a coward’s path would lead me nowhere, except being forever beholden to this... this darkness.
He narrowed his eyes, daring me to say anything, to do anything. Part of me wanted to lash out, to scream, to run away from this humiliation, but another, colder part recognized the futility. Any act of defiance now would only lead to more pain, more embarrassment, for me and likely for him. It would be a futile gesture, a childish tantrum that would only serve his amusement. And yet, inaction felt like complicity, like a betrayal of everything I thought I stood for.
“Kitten?” A familiar voice, laced with a dangerous amusement, sliced through my internal torment. Turning, I blinked and looked up to see a hulking biker standing before me.
“Cerberus.” I gulped. “I need to see Inferno.”
“Is that?” the big guy asked, staring at who I held in my arms.
“Yes.”
Looking around the room, Cerberus whistled loudly, getting a brother’s attention. A beautiful black man with light green eyes walked over, then stopped dead in his tracks when he laid eyes on me. “Go find Inferno. Tell him to meet me in Morpheus’ office. Then go peel Lollie off Morpheus’ dick and tell him we have company.”
Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, Cerberus, his expression unreadable, guided us through the cacophony of the clubhouse. Brothers, their faces a mixture of hardened indifference and predatory curiosity, turned to stare. Their leers were palpable, their unspoken judgment a heavy weight.
I kept my gaze fixed on Karter, her small hand clutching my shirt, a silent plea that mirrored my own desperate need for protection. A brother emerged from the smoky haze, his imposing presence cutting through the din. His gaze, when it landed on me, held a flicker of recognition, a dark spark that ignited a fresh wave of dread. He saw Karter, the child I carried, and then his eyes, cold and assessing, met mine.
“What the fuck is my daughter doing here?”
“Aunt Karen said to bring Karter to you,” I managed, my voice a strained whisper, my words tasting of a surrender I’d sworn I’d never make. “She said you would protect us.”
“Where is Karen?
“I don’t know.” My voice trembled under his scrutiny. “Someone tried to break in. There were gunshots. A police officer is dead. She told me to bring her here. To you.”
“Wanderer, take Carver and go check it out,” a familiar booming voice said from the doorway as his eyes bored into mine. “Inferno, get your daughter out of here.”
Inferno moved fast, taking Karter from me before quickly disappearing from the small room.
“You have a lot of balls coming back here, Kitten,” Morpheus growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated with menace. He was a mountain of a man, his presence filling the doorway, his eyes like chips of obsidian, hard and unyielding. The air in the room thickened with his unspoken threat, a palpable weight that pressed down on me.
I stood my ground, my gaze locked with his, refusing to let the fear that clawed at my throat show.
“It wasn’t my first choice,” I choked out, my voice rough with exhaustion and a lingering dread. The once suffocating reminder of Firestride’s dominance now seemed to emanate from Morpheus himself, a constant, cloying presence. He smirked, a predator savoring its prey, his eyes raking over my disheveled appearance, the lingering bruises on my skin, a stark testament to the violence I’d endured.
