Page 62 of Pink Poison

The pain in his voice is prevalent. I hear it in the quiet crack between words. I see it in each harsh swallow. Kash has always been so quick to attach himself to someone, but this, this is different. His soul burns for her…and mine is smoldering.

“Go check on her—see if she’s good to ride or if we need to call a cab.”

“She’s riding. I’ll strap her to me if I need to,” he all but growls.

I don’t fight him on it. Knowing him, he probably does have straps in his side case that he would use. Instead, I type out exactly what Kash asked of me, leaving no detail unshared. Whatever happens next is between him and his God.

I hover over the send icon for a moment before pressing it.

Hell, help the poor bastard when he reads this.

“Let’s go, Stone!” Kash shouts.

Pocketing the device, a dissatisfied grunt leaves me as I take in my empty bike.It looked better with my pretty doll on it.I settle over my seat whileStevie situates herself on Kash’s bike, now wearing the tennis shoes he came out of the club with and one of our black chop shop hoodies. It's not the best option for riding, but it'll have to do for now. We'll get her fitted with something better than our gear later, because there's no doubt in my mind that we will have her back on our bikes one way or another. Without missing a beat, Kash shakes his vest off and puts it on her, giving her another layer of protection.

God, she looks good wearing our patch.

“Helmet,” I grunt as I slip mine over my head.

Kash fits his over hers, his hands fussing until she weakly slaps him away. He relents, placing her arms around his waist before dipping his chin for me to follow his lead.Our engines fire up simultaneously, creating a deafening roar on the street catching the attention of anyone in the vicinity. Throwing his left arm forward, he signals where we’re headed before peeling out into traffic. I follow him, weaving into the street in the same manner. The streets steadily blur, morphing into brushstrokes of reality that bring me to a place of peace.

I know it’s only temporary, but I’ll bask in it while I can.

Because once we park, everything will come back, and I’m not sure if we'll be able to pick up the pieces.

Chapter twenty-four

Graves

STONE: It's Stevie…

The screen blurs as I read the rest of his text. I choke on my next breath, the words I never wanted to read in my life stealing my composure.Le Papillon.Stevie. Drugged. Assaulted. Creed Hill.Nausea riots in my stomach, coaxing the bitter liquor I've spent the evening drinking to my throat. My world tilts off its axis and I stumble to stay right side up.This can't be real.I can't accept it.I can't.If I accept it, that means I am forced to acknowledge how much of a devastating failure I am as a leader. It means I have to look myself in the mirror, every fucking day for the rest of my miserable life, knowing that the woman that I have felt something for, for the last five years, was hurt because of me—by my lack of action.

I'm going to be sick.

I lean over the trash can, the contents of my stomach releasing before I can blink. My eyes burn as I attempt to stop the next lurch of bile, but the reprieve is short lived when I gag another round anyway. Groaning, I spit into the can and pull my ass together. As shit as a leader as I am, I'm stilltheirPresident, and that means I don't get the luxury of staying down unless a bullet keeps me there.

Breathing out a harsh breath, I walk out from behind the bar. Before anything, I need to find Mack and tell him…shit.I don't know what the hell I'll tell him, but I'll figure it out when I see him.

April eyes me as she struts up to the bar, her face giving away just how fucked I must look. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Club shit, don't worry about it," I grunt a little too harshly. Her sculpted brow lifts, silently challenging me to pull that tone with her again. Scrubbing my face, I do my best to wipe the distress away and replace it with somethingpalatable."Sorry—just something that came up. Have you seen Mack?"

She nods. "Yeah, I think I saw him take off to his room."

"Thanks."

Rushing off to the back of the clubhouse, I push past the patch bunnies and prospects who are all two sheets to the wind. Normally, I would knock on doors before entering, but I don't have time for that shit.

"Mack."

I freeze the moment I walk into his room as erotic sounds blare from his phone. There's no mistaking what it is, the sound of wet, aroused pussy being fucked. I'm too scared to fucking breathe when my heart rips from my chest.

Voices—mainlyhervoice—and the sounds she makes when she’s on the brink of pleasure filter through his speaker. I'd recognize them anywhere when I spent months coaxing them from her perfect lips. When I've spentthe last handful of years chasing them in my dreams. I may have no right to them now, but neither did the sick fuck who recorded this.

“Mack,” I growl.

His eyes track me slowly, a telltale sign that he’s walking the line between being buzzed and drunk. “What? Never heard porn 'fore?”

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