Page 88 of Beautifully Shattered
So I suck harder, my fingers circling faster as I dry hump the side of the fucking bed, every ounce of me aching for her. The moment she screams out her release, my cock jerks and I start coming too, spilling my seed down the side of the mattress and onto the fucking floor.
17
Wringing my hands together, I try to ward off the trembling that’s getting worse as we turn down the road that leads to Ringo’s house. We didn’t take his motorcycle today. Instead, we’re tucked inside one of Griffin’s blacked-out SUVs. It’s a Mercedes or something equally as fancy. It could be a rusted up old wreck as far as I’m concerned. I can’t focus on anything other than what’s about to happen today.
I’m not ready.
Fighting back tears, I stare out the window as trees blur past. The only thing keeping me from jumping from this speeding vehicle is the feel of Ringo’s hand on my thigh.
I’m not ready.
“I need a distraction,” I practically whisper, but Ringo hears, his big palm squeezing my leg as I continue. “Tell me about theMarx crew. I’ve seen four groups of them since we turned down this road.”
“Yes, they’ve been protecting my property since the night…”
He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. I already know what night he’s referring to.
The night I was taken.
I’m not ready.
“Why isn’t your club handling it?” I ask, turning to him to find his eyes already on me.
He’s been watching me more closely these past couple of days. I can tell he’s worried, and I wish he didn’t have to be, but the truth is, I’m not okay.
I’m not ready.
“My club is under attack too.” His voice is low and calming despite the conversation we’re having. “Satan’s Rebels aren’t just coming after you, Angel. They want my club. They want our turf, our connections, and our link to the Marx family. The dumb fuckers don’t realise that even if they took every one of us out, the Marx family still wouldn’t do business with them.”
I already know why.
Apparently, the Marx family and the Southern Sadists have morals despite being criminals.
I, for one, can attest to that.
I’m not ready.
“There are a lot of Marx men here just to do this as a favour,” I say, glancing down at the way his fingers brush over my leg. Somehow, that simple action is keeping me grounded. “Who’s paying them? Is it your club?”
I’ll have to figure out a way to pay them back. They wouldn’t be under this threat if it weren’t for me.
“I’mpaying them, Angel. This isn’t club business. This is personal.” He gestures out the window as we pass yet another cluster of black-clad Marx crew, geared up with weapons, and probably more men lurking in the trees.
I’m not ready.
“How much money does it cost to have so many men guarding your home?”
His fingers stop moving on my leg, and I glance up to catch his gaze with mine.
For a few long moments, his eyes dance between mine, like he’s trying to see past this mask of courage I’m trying to keep in place.
I’m not ready.
“I’m not paying them with money, Angel.”
My brows shoot up. “Is it drugs or guns or something?”
“No,” he mutters, not elaborating.
