Page 183 of Ruptured
“You know I can’t fuck them up. That fat slut made me their trustee. If they die, her fortune goes to charity. Without hermoney, I’m a pauper again. I cannot afford to have the church’s finances looked into, so I want to leave well enough alone.”
“Understood. What about K-P’s black slut and their mongrel?”
Anger flashed across Sharper’s face. “Roxanne stays alive. I want a piece of Bailey Andrews myself, so we’ll figure out how to get her so it’ll look like an accident.” He laughed. “Maybe we can orchestrate a rekindling of Roxanne’s romance with K-P.”
“I want to fuck her.”
“That’ll never happen. I will fucking kill you first or tell Cee Cee.”
“Please, Daddy?”
“No. Now, we’re clear on what we’re doing?”
“Returning ownership of everything to Joe’s name before killing him, then waiting until Meggie turns eighteen to kidnap her and bring her here.”
Smiling, Sharper clapped his hands. “Very good, pet.”
“I will contact my attorney when I get back to LA next week to return ownership to Joe and protect the moneymaker between her legs.”
“As you wish, Daddy.”
Sharper stalked forward, cock in hand.
“Time for your shower, pet. Turn.”
Moaning in pain, Logan turned over and bared his back. Sharper aimed his cock as a stream of piss flowed over the cuts. The video faded to black with Logan’s screams ringing in Ryan’s ears.
Axel flicked the lights on. Johnnie was the only one still crying. Weeping as if his heart was so broken, he’d never recover.
Mortician blinked at the dark screen. “Well, I’ll be a motherfucker on the moon.”
Diesel, Grant and Knox sat motionless, still focused on the now-dark screen. Mark JB, Lou, Kaleb, and Ephraim moved restlessly on the seat. Axel scowled.
JJ stood next to Johnnie, an arm on his shoulders, trying to console him. Cash, Stretch, and Pops sat in wide-eyed shock.
If Rory hadn’t been barred from the club, Ryan would’ve had to punch him. That motherfucker had known all along—he’d told Ryan that Logan and Sharper were lovers weeks ago. Ryan hadn’t believed him, but the video provided irrefutable proof.
“Dad?” CJ called.
Uncle Christopher folded his arms. “Yeah, boy?”
“Was he a Furry?”
“Sharper?”
“Yeah.”
“Nope. He was a hypocritical assfuck that enjoyed fuckin’ humiliatin’ motherfuckers.”
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Axel?”
“I gotta find a new fairytale to like.”
“I understand, boy.”
“You’re almost eleven, Ax,” Ryder reminded him. “Too old for fairytales.”
