Page 17 of Blade

It’s too much.

I can’t cope with this abuse any longer, the pain.

My head hurts from where he bashed me into the wall, my knees are aching, my wrists are stinging, and my throat and chest burns.

The urge to end it all strengthens day by day, and I know I have a blade in my pocket that I can use. However, I also know I won’t be going alone when I finally end it all. I can’t allow a man like that to go on living and terrorize someone else in my position, I just can’t.

Sniffling, I quickly wash my face, flinching as I gently dab the scrape on my forehead and scrub the rest of my face before letting my hair down out of its messy bun. As the locks cascade down my back, the tension kind of eases in my head but a few strands fall to the floor, and my tears well up again.

I thought he ripped some from my head...

Shaking my head, I quickly but gently run my fingers through my hair without looking in the mirror and turn and leave the bathroom. I still have to clean up, even though I should just walk away.

Why do I care if the club’s diner is dirty by morning? Oh, I know, because it’ll be me cleaning it anyway, and not one brother would believe their precious VP would abuse and rape their club's princess.

Sighing, I walk back into the diner, ready to shut the machines off and clean them just so I don’t have to do it in the morning before I crawl home and fall apart, scrubbing my body red and raw to get Brock’s touch off me yet again, but I stop in my tracks at the figure standing before the counter.

I’m pretty sure I locked that front door, yet the man who looks just as intimidating as he did earlier stands before me.

My heart races, and slowly, despite having his eyes sharpened on me, I pull the pepper spray out of my pocket—the one I wished I had sprayed in Brock’s face when I had the chance—and squeeze it tight in my hand.

The man smirks and says, “A knife would be better than that shit.”

My jaw locks. He’s playing with me, but I guess I wouldn’t expect anything different from a president.

Flaring my nostrils, I put my hand back in my pocket and pull out the Stanley knife I’ve started walking around with, one I’m yet to use even though I really want to.

If my hands weren’t tied behind my back, I would have used it today.

I have a vision of stabbing it into Brock’s neck. The more he assaults me, the more I want to go through with it. I just need the courage because I know that once I kill him, I’ll be ending myself as well.

I can’t live with a kill on my conscience, even by a man like him, and I also can’t live knowing he’s used my body to the point that no one would want to touch me, but I wouldn’t want them either.

The man before me grins and mumbles, “You’re definitely not a scared little lamb, are you, princess?”

I narrow my eyes at him and ignore his words and how he looks at me. I demand, “What are you doing here, and how did you even get in?”

His intense gaze on me makes my skin tingle, but not in a bad way, and honestly, it’s not a feeling I want. It’s a feeling I never wish to have, and I know he isn’t here for a cup of coffee and a chit chat. He and his brothers have never come into this diner before, and Axe mentioned there’s trouble afoot with the DarkAngels, so he’s here for one of two things. To burn the place down or me if he knows who I am, something most clubs are not aware of because well, I hate the club and its meaning ever since Axe allowed Brock to become his VP despite what I told him when I was thirteen, not believing me.

The clubs represent family and loyalty, and my blood brother has never shown me that like he has Brock.

He’s completely forgotten what I accused his VP of. He’s never looked at me and thought,‘Oh, she doesn’t go near Brock. Why is that? Is what she said all those years ago true?’

Yet he wonders why we’re no longer close… Ha.

“What happened to your head?” the man questions, ignoring my own. I narrow my eyes at him and lie, “I tripped while I was taking the trash out and banged it against the wall.”

He winces and mumbles, “Ouch,” not seeing the lie that it is, and I shrug.

“It wasn’t the first time. I’m clumsy,” I continue to lie, then demand again, “Now, I’ll only ask you this one more time before I stab this knife into your gut. What are you doing here?”

He grins, but it’s not one of those soft grins. No, this one is full of promise and mayhem, and I can feel my heart beginning to pound so hard in my chest that I can hear it in my ears but what’s shocking is that I’m not scared.

He takes a step forward, and I flinch, but I don’t move, even when he rounds the counter. Instead, I try to stand my ground. I already have one man making my life not worth living, so I won’t add another one, even if he is the hottest man I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot considering I used to live with a load of bikers.

I can feel my hands shake when he walks right up to where I’m holding the knife out, the tip touching his stomach, making my eyes widen.

Oh god, I’m going to have to stab him, and then I’ll end up starting a war between the clubs.

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