Page 10 of All's Fair in Love & Wrath

My face is suddenly wet, and I realize I’m crying. I try to scream, but my body isn’t working the way I need it to.

“Go ahead and cry, Sienna, it’s just going to make me harder, and it’s not going to change what’s about to happen to you.” I watch in frozen horror as Cain unbuckles his pants, shoving them down and gripping his cock.

“No,” I force out, trying so hard to fight against whatever is pulling me under. Hands that feel all wrong are touching me, pushing up my skirt and yanking down my underwear. Thenthey’re inside me, pressing in deep. Cain laughs, a low, demonic chuckle that rattles my bones. I continue to cry as he assaults me, begging my body to start working.

“Ohhh, fuck. A virgin? God gives gifts to his loyal servants. Look at your blood smeared across my fingers.” I can barely see them through my tears and the haze, but then my vision blacks completely out as pain like I’ve never felt before slices through my body.

I float in and out of consciousness, my body heavy, nausea rolling through me as the large body moves over me. It feels like hours before it’s over, my body bruised, beaten, and destroyed.

“You’re going to die when they find out what you did to me,” I say from somewhere deep, that light inside me still flickering, still holding on to whatever piece of me remains.

“You mean what you asked for?”

“I didn’t ask for this. You took it. My dad is Ruin, the president.” It takes all my energy to get the words out. But they don’t seem to hit the way I thought they would. There’s only one reason for that. He already knows who I am. His head cocks to the side, looking at something on the shelf next to him.

“I know exactly who your father is. He took from me, and now I’ve taken from him.”

“Ff-uck you,” I stutter.

Cain just tsks like I’ve amused him. “Tell him. Tell your precious dad that I fucked you. Make sure he knows it was me. And when you do, you’re going to tell him you belong to me now. I’m going to take what’s most important to Ruin. I’ve left my mark on you, no one will ever want you. You’re used goods now, Sienna. But you’re mine now.”

“No. He won’t believe me. I don’t belong to you. Someone will still want me someday.” I barely manage the words even asmy heart is breaking. Nothing will ever be the same for me after this. My body doesn’t feel like my own. It feels tarnished, dirty.

“Then we had better make sure no one ever does but me? Huh?”

The next thing I know, Cain is uncapping a bottle from the shelf and tossing the liquid at me. Scorching hot pain emanates from everywhere the liquid touches, and then everything goes black. I’m positive death has come for me to take away the pain.

But no mercy ever came.

Chapter Four

AXEL

Otto and I spend the next few days reaching out to Washington clubs, since I had never heard of the Kingsnakes before. As much as I didn’t want to pull the kid into more shit, he’s good at helping out.

I got a single lead. Either the other clubs hadn’t heard of them, or all but one didn’t want to get involved and inadvertently pull themselves into a war they don’t belong in. But I got one hit, and that’s all that matters. So that’s where we’re starting.

The road stretches in front of us as we drive farther into a small town called Autumn Bay. It matches the description of the last known place the snake in our club gave us right before we killed him. After riding for a few hours, I see a diner up ahead, its dull neon lights barely glowing from the decades of weather wear and lack of upkeep. It’s on the outskirts of Autumn Bay, in the middle of nowhere, cocooned by trees, which is a perfect last-minute stop before we start pulling apart their town to find these assholes. The moment our engines roll through, I’m sure their members will get wordwho’s looking for them. Especially if this place is anything like Amberwood. A new biker doesn’t enter our town without us knowing about it.

We park our bikes out front, cutting our engines, and stepping off. There’s a light scent of salt in the air, and my cue that we’ve practically reached the coast. There’s only one other vehicle in the parking lot, an old Ford truck that’s seen better days but probably runs better than ever.

Malice is the first one into the building, the scent of grease and dirty mop water assaulting my nose as an obnoxious bell rattles against the glass of the door, announcing our entrance. He takes a seat at the closest table to the windows in front of our bikes so we can keep an eye on them. Even though this place looks like a ghost town, you can never be too sure. A hazard of the job. Wearing this cut automatically puts a target on your back.

I scan the diner, my eyes doing a double take when the most intriguing woman I’ve ever seen grabs a few menus from the bar and heads our way. I’m momentarily stunned. She has the lightest blonde hair I’ve ever seen, so light that it’s practically white, and as her steps bring her closer and closer, I realize that it is. Her eyes are downcast, and I wait, breathlessly, for her to look up so I can see the color of her irises, but to my disappointment, she never does.

She’s wearing a uniform that hangs loosely and unflatteringly on her body, draped more like a sack than a dress, and I find myself wondering what’s beneath the ill-fitting fabric. When she reaches us, I clock the slight tremor in her hand as she drops the menus to the center of our table and quickly turns to walk away without a word. Interesting.

I shake my head, reminding my cock that I’m working, and we’re trying to find Rolo’s murderer. It’s not time to play with unsuspecting waitresses. Malice sits across from me, a smirkplaying on his lips while he looks down at something on his phone. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and I’m curious enough to want to ask.

“What do you keep doing on your phone? You’re never on your phone.” Malice quickly pockets it, clearly not wanting to contribute to sharing time.

“Where do we go next? They’re not hiding in an actual snake den; someone has to know where they are or who the fuck the Kingsnakes are,” Malice asks, ignoring my question.

The soft footsteps of the waitress bring her closer, my eyes fighting the pull to glance up for another chance at seeing her eyes, but I force myself to focus on Malice. Just as I open my mouth to reply, a soft, timid voice breaks our conversation. “Sorry for intruding, but did you sayKingsnakes, like the motorcycle club?” My eyes shoot up to find the waitress back at the edge of our table, shocked by what she just asked.

She sets glasses of water on the table, hands shaking, water sloshing over the rims. I take the moment to really look at her, and my heart suddenly freaks the fuck out. I rub my fist against the ache at the center of my chest, my throat tightening, my head swimming. She has the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, endless and icy, but they’re empty. Those blue orbs bounce over our leather cuts before shifting back downward. She’s terrified. Scared out of her damn mind. Something I’ve never felt before surges forward. Something primal, innate, an instinct so profound I could choke on it.

My eyes roam over her face before moving downward, and that’s when I see them, just enough to know what they are before she adjusts her collar, trying her best to hide them. Scars. More specifically,burnscars. And based on how deep they look, I’d wager they weren’t caused by a fire.