Page 13 of Ruthless Obsession
Mavis sinks onto the toilet seat, head in his hands. “He fucks other women, Sophie.”
I gasp. “Why? Because I’m a virgin?”
He places a strong hand on the side of my thigh and for some reason I’m not scared he’ll hurt me.
Mavis meets my gaze. “I believe he planned to sell you.”
My hand flies over my mouth. “No, he wouldn’t.”
“Psycho uncovered some information last night that confirmed he was involved in sex trafficking through an app.”
I shake my head. The weird shit Toby had me doing makes me think maybe Mavis is telling the truth.
“Come on, I’m going to lock you in my bedroom while I take a shower.”
“Mavis, you don’t have to lock me in the room.”
He smirks. “I do. Because I know you’ll slip out and try to run. If you did, just know I’d chase you down and bring you right back. I told you before. You’re mine now.”
I ignore his words as I gather my clothes off the floor.
Mavis keeps me tucked against his side as we head toward his bedroom.
“Turn the fuck around,” he snaps at his brothers.
“If any of you so much as glance at my woman, I’ll cut your fucking eyes out.”
“Chill, Ruthless,” one of them mutters.
“Don’t fucking test me,” he growls, voice low and lethal.
CHAPTER THREE
RUTHLESS
Piping hot water pours over my skin as I lather up with body wash, trying to scrub away the rage.
That motherfucker was probably just waiting for the right deal—to sell Sophie off like she was nothing.
I slam my fist against the tile wall, jaw clenched.
My gaze drops to my long, thick, furious cock—pissed off like the rest of me. It wants what I want — to claim her sweet virgin pussy.
I stroke myself hard, fast, growling her name through my teeth. “Sophie. Why the hell did you fall for that piece of shit?”
My hips jerk. Ropes of cum hit the gray tile.
After brushing my teeth, I grab my clothes and step out of the bathroom with a towel slung low on my hips. Water drips from my hair, chest, and abs.
The club girls are out tonight, and I feel every gaze crawl over my wet, muscled frame.
There are three kinds of women who hang around here.
Club sluts—drawn to bikers like moths to a flame. Any patch will do. They love the leather or blue jean cuts, t-shirts, jeans, and grungy boots.
Club foxes—loyal, hungry for a claim. Almost OL’ Lady material.
Hang arounds—they flirt with the edge of our world, soaking up the chaos, but always go back to their regular lives.
