Page 2 of Property of Lucian

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Chapter 1

Haylee

Live and let go. As much as I knew I needed to do this, I couldn’t bring my mind off the fact that right now my living depended on bikers. I couldn’t let go of the fact that if they chose one day to not let me live, then that would be it. I would be anotherJane Doe. Knowing these bikers, it would also be likely that Harley wouldn’t recognize me because they liked things down to an old code.

There is a percentage of bikers that live by an old code, and the one that I was now owned by followed and believed them. They were cruel, brutal, and the things they did didn’t even meet the headlines of the papers—too dark and twisted for the news.

Instead, it was described as ‘a fatal attack’ or ‘an army robbery gone wrong’. I knew things about them—one of the reasons they took me as a sacrifice instead of the money my brother and I owed them.

I knew how they took to one woman with a baseball bat, and then cut her open with a bread knife. The knife was so dull it was rumoured it took them a solid hour to slice off her finger, and they didn’t stop there. The man that did it fucked her before he used the butter knife. Raped her, cut her up, and what was it all over?

Who knows?

But I’m sure the punishment didn’t suit the crime. Because that was the main thing with the old code. It was always over-the-top and never fit the crime correctly.

For example, while our justice system was light on sentencing, the old code was hard.

I wasn’t allowed to sleep—their latest punishment for me. I was currently going on my fifth day without any sleep and it was hard. Normally, I’d rely on drugs, and those drugs would get me through. However, that wasn’t the case. I wasn’t allowed to do drugs—they wanted me to suffer. They wanted me to unleash a craziness. Maybe get a glimpse of the girl I was rumoured to be, because I was hardly a saint. I had got my hands bloody more than once. In fact, I was known for it.

I couldn’t take a morally high ground on the bikers that killed. I wasn’t someone who would judge someone when I did the same thing.

Because deep down, I knew they suffered for taking those lives. Sure, they may act cold and heartless. But even I felt it at times—the worthlessness, all the bad I was spreading into the world. Also, the question that would play in my head that I’m sure would play in theirs . . .I should be the one receiving my wrath.

I didn’t even give my victims a shallow grave. That was one of the codes that these bikers lived by.

I glanced up at the carvings on the wall. Number nine it was,Never give those we take peace.

Sick and twisted, yet I understood. Mine was down to laziness, not wanting to dig a hole. I didn’t want to hide their body. I wasn’t ashamed of what I had done. If anything, I was proud. Because usually it came down to their life or mine, and sometimes at night I’d question if I was the right one to be breathing. In that moment, in the live and die moment, I’d always chose live.

A firm whack on my butt made me turn around, taking my eyes off the carved codes on the wooden wall.

His vivid blue eyes were on me, a look of need captured them. He wanted me, needed me. Now. And just like every night before tonight, I didn’t fight it when he placed his hands on my hips. I wouldn’t call it rape because it wasn’t. It was me fulfilling my service to him.

I was nothing to him but a place for him to park his dick at night. Hell, it wasn’t even night, it was the middle of the day. But to me, it might as well be night. Going onto the sixth day with no sleep.

I placed the beer jugs down. I took his hand off my hip, gently taking his finger and placing it in my mouth. I knew I wasn’t meant to tease him—we had this unwritten code. And while the code he lived by was on a wall, the code between him and I was unwritten. I just knew what I could and couldn’t do, or more like, should and shouldn’t do.

I licked his finger. His other hand went to my breast while he backed me firmly up against the wall.

He didn’t even need to say what he wanted. I knew and I didn’t need to be asked twice or forced. I dropped to my knees willingly, just in time for him to unzip his jeans, and I took him into my mouth. All of him.

I heard him inhale sharply, clearly turned on by me obeying him.

I ran my tongue down him, then back up, then took him again into my mouth. I continued the pattern.

Knowing his needs was part of my job as serving him. I couldn’t serve him if I didn’t know what he liked, but I knew what he loved was me swallowing him. When he started to fuck my mouth, picking up the speed, I opened up wider, adding to his pleasure as he finished. I didn’t jerk back—no, I swallowed willingly.

“Fuck me next,” a man groaned to my side. Our little scene had scored some attention from the other bikers, some openly stroking themselves, others looking at me with need and lust.

“Never seen one take it so willingly before.”

I staggered up from my knees and saw the men approach. Okay, my God. This wasn’t the first time I had blown him in public, but usually it was in a dark corner, not in the middle of the room.

“Strip,”one man ordered as he approached me.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t theirs but at the same time, I was property of the club. I didn’t see another choice.

My fingers went to my shirt and I unbuttoned it. I only had to please him, but now I knew that my time of just pleasing one was over.

“She’s mine.”

My eyes bounced off the floor and to the man who I was sure had just said the two words I had never wanted to hear. He had just declared openly to his brothers that he was making claim on his property. That I was going to be more than some women to him—I was going to behiswoman.

My eyes widened out of complete and utter fear. There was a reason I had obeyed him, there was a reason I listened to what his body needed. Why?

Because he was the man who was featured in my stories. He was responsible for the reputation I knew these bikers had.

The man that kills as easily as he breathes. The man that raped and killed the woman I had heard about. And that was when the twisted moment occurred to me—I was the property of Lucian.

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