Page 127 of Ink's Devil

“Make me,” I snarl back.

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

Okay. So we could trade insults all day.

“Oomph.” Or maybe we won’t, I can’t breathe for a second, and bend double with the pain caused by his fist to my stomach. A hand on my shoulder pushes me down, I miss the chair and land on the ground.

George’s short, but muscular body covers mine pushing me back until I lie prone. While I’m still trying to recover, he’s trapped both my hands in his and has them over my head.

I buck and kick, but he’s mad enough to lower his face to mine. His breath smells putrid.

As he tries to forcibly kiss me, I bite his lip. Hard.

“Fucking freak.” He lets go of my hands to wipe the blood, I place my thumbs in his eyes.

He grabs my wrists and pulls them out to the side, it creates enough of a gap between us that I’m able to jerk my knee up straight into his balls.

The door opens, and my father returns in time to see George groaning, curled up in a foetal position, and me with a smug smile on my face.Round one to me.I’ve surprised myself, I hadn’t known I had such fight in me. Though I may have won this one, I have no doubt there’ll be a round two. I won’t be let off that easily.

Unfortunately, my fight had reminded me of Ink, and what the difference had been. That night, while I hadn’t wanted Ink to overpower me, I hadn’t tried to seriously hurt him. With George, all bets had been off. If I’ve permanently damaged his manhood, he deserves it.

“Christ.” It seems Phil has no sympathy for his man at all. “Get to your fucking feet.” Then to me. “The Satan’s Devils want to give me my heroin back.”

I feel several emotions. Surprise, first and foremost, disgust they’ve given into his demands, then a glimmer of hope that I might soon be free. “You’re making the exchange? The drugs for me?”

He actually laughs. “I always win, Bethany, and I win big. I don’t need to use you to get my drugs back. The president of the MC has an interesting proposal for me. Money talks, my dearest daughter, money talks. You, though, mean nothing. Not to me, and not to him.”

The Devils are making a deal with my father?How could I have been so wrong about them? I don’t understand, but the brief glimpse of freedom fast disappears.

He chuckles again at the horror clearly written on my face. “Right. I’ve got some shit to collect from Pueblo. George, take her back to her room and make sure she stays there.”

“Shall I keep her amused while you’re gone?” George’s voice sounds higher than normal.

Phil’s incredulous eyes fall on his man who’s still cupping his balls. “Think you might need some time to recover,” he tells him. “No. Leave her to stew. Oh, and get her name down on the transport list, okay?”

That does not sound good.

“What transport?” I ask George as he limps up the stairs.

But the smirk he tosses at me suggests I’d rather not know.

In my room I flop onto the bed, once again fighting back tears. I’ve cried more in the last few days than I have before in my whole life, and not one tear drop has helped. Do the Devils really not care what happens to me? Are they actually going to do business with Phil? Why else would they have a proposition for him? Did the huge quantity of drugs tempt them into his line of work?

Maybe it’s a ruse.

No, I tell myself. I can’t expect knights on motorcycles to ride in to rescue me.

But what other hope have I got to hold on to?

Oh Ink, if only you were free. But even then, would he care? He told me via his lawyer our relationship was over.He hates me.

The facts are that Phil has gone to Pueblo, and sometime soon I’ll be going on some kind of transport to God knows where.

Let’s face it. No one is coming for me. I’ve only myself to rely on. Unless I can get free, I’ll have to resign myself to an uncertain and unpleasant future.

I cross to the window and look out at the freedom that’s so close, yet so unobtainable. I run my hands over the frame, it’s solid and unmoveable, and the plaster around it is firm. Looking down I see my breakfast tray has gone, and so has the handy knife I’d forgotten to pilfer. My fingernails don’t even make a mark on the plasterwork. All I do is break them, though I try until I make them bleed.

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