Page 48 of Mex

Mex is in front of me, his hand outstretched, bloodied and split.

“No,” I scream, shoving his hand away.

I take two steps back, still fully naked, and finally I can see the people in the room. Fury, Mex, Colt, and Western. All of them, staring at me. How dare they? How dare any of them think that they can keep me here and allow me to be treated like this? Hot tears roll down my cheeks, tears I rarely shed. Something about this situation triggered a dark hurt inside me that I can’t seem to squash back down.

“Who do you think you are?” I scream, my voice cracking as I aim my hate toward Mex. “What sort of disgusting human leaves a woman tied up naked at a party? What did you think was going to happen?”

His face is tight, but as he opens his mouth to speak, I cut him off.

“You’re worse than the people you’re trying to stop, you know that? You’re vile. I’m leaving, and I swear to fuck if you try and stop me, I will bring a war down upon you that you cannot win. I promise you that.”

Reaching down, I jerk my clothes from underneath the bloodied dead guy. It’s sad that out of this entire situation, the dead guy bothers me the least. Pulling my clothes on, I swipe my tears away with the back of my hand before rushing out of the room. Nobody tries to stop me. Even they’re not that stupid.

Rushing down the stairs, I shove past groups of people who are milling around, talking about the gunshot they just heard. I don’t stop, not even when Bonnie calls my name. I run out of the front gates and down the road. I run until my legs no longer work and my lungs force me to slow down because I can no longer breathe. Only then do I lower down onto my knees and hang my head, furious, mostly with myself.

Because I let myself feel something, for one single second I let myself actually believe there was a connection.

I know better.

I’ve been raised to know better.

There is no love in a world like mine.

What was I thinking?

I let my anger bubble forward until it clutches my chest with its furious hands. I need to hate him—it’s the only way I’m getting out of this unscathed. I force myself to think about how scared I was earlier with those men trying to attack me, and I let it consume me. I feel it until the rage has my hands shaking and my lips pursing. I won’t allow him in again.

Pushing to my feet, I continue toward town.

It takes me a while to get to the nearest gas station where I can call a ride.

I know where I’m going.

I know who I’m going to see.

If Marek wants answers, I’m going to give them to him, and I’m going to take that entire fucking club down.

Fuck them.

Fuck him.

Fuckallof this.

I’m done playing.

My ride arrives only minutes later, and I get into the dark SUV that takes me to Marek. He is still in the same location; the show is in town for a week and then he’ll move to another town. He’s always moving, never in one place too long. It’s actually genius, because people can never really pinpoint where he will be. He doesn’t need to advertise his shows—when he comes into town, people come running. He’sthatgood.

Still, seeing him isn’t something that is easily done.

If it wasn’t for his work with my mother, I wouldn’t be able to make contact with him. If I ever dared to share the number I know, I’d be dead before the hour was up, and I know it. I could have given those bikers his number at any point, hell, I could have found a way to get them in, but I’d never risk my life like that. Marek has an army of men surrounding him, and he isn’t afraid to use them. Not to mention he has an in with basically every police force he comes in contact with.

He has dirt on everyone, and he isn’t afraid to use it.

Money talks, and Marek has a way of providing everyone with exactly what they want to get them on his side.

Oh, his claws are in deep, and he knows he’s powerful.

His chain goes high, high up and no one is scared to rattle it in fear of the consequences.

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