The sensation was odd.Numbing, yet intensified with every touch. Describing it would make me sound crazy, but I thoughtbeing drugged would make me feel nothing. His body weight was soul crushing, and his laughter was bitter. Rough hands left scorching bruises on my thighs, forcing me open.
I snappedmy head to the side, taking a shaky breath.In through your nose, out through your mouth. Don’t let them win.Except they already fucking won, didn’t they? My fingers lightly grazed my throat, the ghost of his touch still lingering. The bruising was minimal, thank God.
That’s my good whore.
I squeezed my eyes shut,taking deep breaths to calm my nerves and the panic grasping me in a tight hold. My side ached, adding to the punishment while everything that happened played through my mind. The damage was already done, yet Liam decided if he died, so would I.
Never in my life did I think my father’s voice would be a saving grace. I hated the man, but I would forever be grateful that I called him to pick me up when I thought Dom ditched me. He lost his religion—or what little he had left—and for good reason. In my defense, I had no clue who Liam Keller was or who the Born Killerz were. Calling him and hearing him bitch me out saved me from being gang raped.
The screamingand the gunshots didn’t make Liam budge. He paid good money for me, so he was determined to use me until he was satisfied. I guess he thought Dom would protect him, but his pussy ass ran when my father and his people got too close. I wished I was numb when Liam stabbed me. The pain was delayed, but then became all-consuming.
The final thing I remembered before my world went black was a gunshot and a crushing weight.
I dug my nails into my arm, grounding me in the present so I didn’t panic. When I got off this train, I could scream, cry, scrub my skin—allow everything to fall apart around me—but I needed to be strong now.
The knife punctured my spleen, so they removed it. I woke up in the hospital feeling groggy, but the morphine did its job. To have some morphine right now would be orgasmic, because the pain radiating through my body was not the vibe. It would’ve been wise to heal before going on the run, but my father had plans I refused to follow.
Florence Buford.
The fake alias my father wanted to give me was a preschool teacher in the middle of bumfuck Iowa. I was the reason a notorious gang leader was dead, and if I stayed in New York, they would kill me. So, Caden Carpenter is dead now, too. It worked out perfectly, but my father always had to try and control my life, even a fake one.
He had my bag at the hospital with Bert and Ernie, ready to escort me to my life in exile. My father was angrier than usual and seemed more than ready to get me out of his way. After the nurse chewed his ass out about his demeanor towards me, he put on his loving father persona. I wasn’t going to allow him to control my life anymore, so I ditched my protective detail and bought a train ticket to the furthest town I could find.
The hard rock fizzled into a moody bop. This thing called “love” really was fucking miserable. As much as I loved NF, I skipped the song. I didn’t need to be in my head right now. My demons were fighting in there already.Her Eyesby Flame on Fire had quickly become one of my favorite songs. It was repeated a few times on this long-ass train ride alone.
I looked out the window to see the Washington sunrise kissing the horizon. It was definitely prettier than New York City, and hopefully, it would be more peaceful, too.
I winced again, gripping my side. I needed to get off this damn train soon before I screamed bloody murder. Running from them was easy at first, I had pent-up energy, but I was feeling the effects now.
I had already gone through half a bottle of Tylenol to get through this train ride. I was grateful there weren't too many people on here. After the second train transfer, there were only a handful of men and women left, but they were all minding their business. One more hour until I got to my final destination. I desperately needed to clean my wound. The bathroom on the train wasn’t gross per se, but it was far from sanitary. Dying from a blood infection was not on my bucket list.
I boarded the train in Jersey after ditching my detail in the crowd. When I was settled, I looked up how long it took to heal from a splenectomy, and it said four to six weeks if I was home, taking care of myself. Spending three days on a train without the proper medications may not be the correct way, but I’d taken care of myself for most of my life, and I could take care of myself now.
I rested my head on the headrest, letting my mind wander. None of this would have happened if I died instead of Nathan. My brother was my father’s pride and joy. The wanted son, the golden child. I was the mistake, the bane of his existence. I never understood why he despised me. I was just a kid. Didn’t all children misbehave? Nathan was the only good thing in my life until he was gone. The ocean took him from me when I should have died instead. I wanted to pretend I was living for Nathan, but this life would be a joke. If he ever saw the way our father treated me, he’d roll over in his grave.
My father drowned himself in work to mend the loss of Nathan. He thought my mother would stay, but the bitch left. I was a child, scared and alone, with no stable home or parent. The guilt ate me alive, but in the end, there was nothing I could do, so I started my own downward spiral and rebelled. I’d seen that man angry most of my life, but this was a different level of rage. He had something in him that I’d hardly seen before—worry. It fueled me to keep dating Dominic. I made it my goal to piss off my father and fight against him because of his treatment towards me.
I guess this was what I got.
I sighed, wincing as pain shot through my stomach. I’d survived worse. Being a walking dead girl might make it easier to start fresh and live the life I wanted before everything went south.
The train came to its last stop. I grabbed my black and pink bookbag that once carried college textbooks, but now carried everything I had to my name. I pulled my ball cap over my faded-blue locks and walked off the train.
Welcome to Westhaven.
Here was to a new beginning, I guess.
CHAPTER 3
BLAIZE
Iwas straddling my bike as I watched the sunset on the horizon before going back to the club for the night. We had a show to put on tomorrow for our loyal patrons, and my head needed to be in the game. With Henry and his wife out of the picture, I could now focus on my MC and club. I pulled my helmet over my dark locks, and the loud rumble of the engine echoed through my ears. It was like a symphony.
My club—Hades—was my lifeline. Blood, sweat, tears, and even a few murders crafted everything I built, even if Hades was a constant reminder of what I lost. This entire town held the memory. Olivia Matthews, gorgeous, stubborn, and naïve, was the woman who set my soul ablaze, and together, we built Hades from the ground up. I always knew I wanted to open a strip club. The BDSM addition came later, and Oliva loved every aspect of it.
But without her, it felt hollow. Just like my heart, there was a gaping hole missing—the part that gave me life, and the part that gave light to Hades. Olivia gave me every one of the greatest joys in life including giving me my daughter, and we created our perfect beginning. But then this life took it all from me.
Hunter said I was depressed, that the bland, colorless walls drained the life from me, but she was far from being a psychologist with her fancy tech degree. She could stick to diagnosing computers and leave me the hell alone. Her existence would be miserable too if she held her wife as she took her last breath.