Page 43 of Where Sinners Repent

“Fuck, I love you,” I giggle. I can’t stop.

She snorts, making her laugh harder. “We’re insane, aren’t we?”

“Certifiable,” I agree, trying to suck down lungfuls of air.

Suddenly, everything feels not so heavy. Like maybe, with the help of my best friend and her psycho gang, I might get through this.

“Oh, shit,” Maddy gasps. “I put a pizza in the oven! I’ll be right back.”

I watch her scurry off in her cozy pyjamas and slippers with a warm smile on my face, throwing back the last of the drink.

The front door crashes open again, and my eyes fight to adjust to the man standing in the doorway.

“Kai...”

Turning, I look at the door of the meeting room, and it’s still shut. Wasn’t he just... How did he...

He stalks towards me, a predatory look gleaming in his eyes. There must be a back door he went through and is coming back to take me home.

Thank God.

Picking up Kitty, I walk towards him.

“Roxanne,” he murmurs.

Frowning, I go to correct him. But his hand whips out to grab my bat from my hand, wrenching it away from me and letting it tumble to the ground with a clatter.

“Who the fuck do you think...”

My words cut off with a squeal as he reaches down and picks me up with little effort, throwing me over his shoulder.

“Put me down, asshole!” I cry out, kicking my legs.

Laughter and amusement fill the room full of bikers. No one moves.

“Fuck you, Kai,” I grit out, twisting and turning to try to free myself.

It makes no difference to him as he strides out the front door and through the car park.

The freezing air doesn’t even touch me, through my red-hot rage.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn't reply. Just keeps walking further into the darkness. Further towards a looming building that looks like an old factory.

Two large hands grip the backs of my thighs, holding my writhing body still. My hands slap at his back, hard. But I may as well be punching rocks.

My teeth bare as I growl. “You fucking prick. Put me down!”

The faint red glow of the club fades behind us, swallowed by the night. Gravel crunches beneath his boots with deliberate strides.

I twist again, trying to throw him off balance, but he’s built like a damn machine. His hands never falter.

“I swear to God,” I huff, hair hanging in my throbbing face, “if you make me throw up, I’m doing it in your hair.”

A low breath leaves him.

The scary, abandoned building grows larger with each step. Broken windows, rust creeping up corrugated walls and vines crawling up cracked brickwork blur in my upside-down vision.