Addictive (Houston Defiance MC #2) - K.E. Osborn Page 0,2
saw the whole thing play out. His mom was trying to drug him. Bitch is a whore, and lets all kinds of fucked-up shit happen to the kid. I don’t give two shits about what happens to women in the bedroom, but to kids? Nah, man, that shit ain’t right! What the kid did to his mom, it was in self-defense,” T-Max offers, and it shocks me because he’s freely defending me.
Since when did T-Max grow a fucking conscience?
Boss cop’s intense stare softens fractionally, and he exhales. “You prepared to make a statement to that fact?”
T-Max dips his chin. “Yeah, he don’t deserve to rot in juvie forever for this.”
Boss cop exhales. “It’s your lucky day, son. We’re going to take you both in for questioning and processing.” Boss cop places handcuffs on my wrists, then hoists me up. “I don’t know what your story is, kid, but you’re in a hell of a lot of trouble.”
I shrug. “Sometimes, trouble is much better than the shitty life you’re living.”
Boss cop’s eyes widen before he says, “Okay, in that case… You have the right to remain silent…” He goes on reading my Miranda Rights, but I totally tune out until I hear, “… let’s go.”
Taking one last look back at the apartment where my mom’s body is lying on the floor, I walk away with Sarge wishing I could have given her one last kick in the guts before I leave.
The fact that thing in there’s life is balancing on a knife’s edge—well, my chest warms at the thought. Everything inside me wants that bitch dead and buried, and it’s like a dark, classical requiem being played in my mind, or maybe it should be the Hallelujah fucking Chorus.
Mom might die.
But for me, I’ve only just come alive.
And I’m going to raise merry fucking hell right along with me.
WRAITH
Present Day
Sitting at the club bar on my own right now hurts more than my bruised and aching fucking jaw. Throwing back another tequila—that shit doesn’t even burn anymore—the memories flood my mind. But for some reason, tequila probably, they are all starting to muddle together.
My hands around my mom’s throat when I was sixteen.
Telling Prinie I didn’t want to pursue any kind of relationship with her a year ago.
Prinie leaving our club for a year with her brother, Koda.
Arguing with Prinie because I can’t betray Zero.
More arguing.
So much fucking arguing.
It’s driving me to drink.
I forgo the shot of tequila, simply picking up the bottle to drink it straight from the source.
We’ve just won a fucking war. We should be celebrating. But I had to go and fuck it all up and have an argument with Prinie, front and center, for everyone to see.
Since Prinie came back from Chicago, shit’s gotten real.
Did I want her to come back? I can’t contemplate the answer to that question.
When the club discussed it, I kept saying no. But when the opportunity arose to bring her back, I jumped at it. Then I fought it again.
When it comes to the princess of the club—my best friend’s fucking sister, my president’s sister— I’m all over the goddamned place.
She’s bad for me.
Because as much as I want to fuck her into the middle of next week, the urge to wrap my hands around her throat and strangle the life out of her eats at me too.
My addiction, my urges, they battle with me every time I’m near her. It’s a constant fight in my head regarding which way my hands will go.
Whether to touch her soft, delicate skin or taint it.
Prinie scares me, and I don’t scare easily.
I’ve seen enough, been through enough shit in my life to know I can handle almost anything—except Kharlie ‘Princess’ Walker. She has my balls in a vice, and the bitch doesn’t even know it. She’s mad as hell at me. We keep going in this loop, this roundabout fucking tangled web of hurt and accusations, and I don’t know how to get out of it.
I made a mistake.
I gave in.
One night, over a year ago, before she took off, I let myself fall to her temptations. I fought it, God knows I tried, but Prinie has a way of unraveling me. She sees me when I’m weak, and she used it against me to get inside.
I fucked her.
I lost myself, then I fucked her.
It wasn’t sweet.
It wasn’t emotional and tender like Prinie deserves.