Colt (Devil's Nightmare MC #10) - Lena Bourne Page 0,7
a good girl and pay off my debt.
I dig the tin can I keep it in from under my smelly mattress and pull out the wad of cash. Less than two-hundred dollars. But it should be enough to get me away from here. I’ll spend it all on a bus ticket to somewhere as far away from here as this money will buy. I’ll worry about everything else later. Or never. It’s time I started that new life I tried to start with Josh six months ago.
The front door of the clubhouse banging open, followed by thudding footsteps in the hallway and shouts of, “Where is she? Where’s the bitch?” interrupt me while I’m putting on my jacket.
They’re looking for Stormi! They gotta be.
The door of my bedroom is kicked open and I’m just standing there, one of my arms halfway inside the sleeve of my jacket, transfixed by Griff’s angry glare and frothing mouth.
“Where’s that bitch friend of yours?” he barks at me. “Who helped her get away?”
He barges into the room as he says it, and I instinctually step back from him. I almost landed flat on my ass as my feet get tangled up in the comforter.
A sour smell is coming off Griff, and it’s more than just unwashed old man stink. Fear? But why? Stormi meant nothing to him.
I glance at the men who came with him, desperate to find Piston among them. This is the moment I’ll find out if my charms worked on him at all. But he’s not here. The only thing I see on the faces of the man crowded in the doorway of my bedroom is hate.
“I have no idea where Stormi is, or what you’re talking about,” I say as I right myself, and pull my jacket on all the way.
I have no time to even be afraid as he lashes out, grabs a fistful of my hair, and drives the other one into my stomach. The blow takes my air, takes my vision and hearing too before it all returns with a whoosh accompanied by explosive, fiery pain that just keeps on growing. I’m on my knees and only vaguely recall them buckling. He’s still got a hold on my hair, the stinging pain an afterthought to the one radiating from my stomach.
Despite that, I look up at him and almost snarl that I’ve been hit worse by better men than him.
But that’s stark raving crazy in his eyes. They’re more white than dark and bulging, and he’s panting. I know there’s very little stopping him from beating me to death right here. So little I don’t know if it even exists.
“Please, Griff, I have no idea where Stormi is. I tried to find her last night, but she wasn’t here,” I say in my best poor wounded woman voice. “Whatever she did, I had no part in it. Please, please believe me.”
Tears are streaming down my face. They’re from the pain in my stomach and my scalp since his vicious grip on my hair only grows and grows. Slowly, so very slowly, his eyes lose the crazy glare.
He drags me towards the door by my hair, and as much as I don’t want to show him how much pain he’s really causing me, I scream from it anyway.
“Lock her up,” he tells the men. “She might come in useful.”
He finally lets go of my hair and the guys by the door part to let him exit. Then two of them grab me, taking one arm each, and start dragging me out of the room. Every cell in my body wants to fight. But Griff doesn’t need a very big excuse to kill me right now, and I’m not gonna give it to him. No matter how terrified I am of being locked back in that stinky dark cell I started my time with the Sinners in. The cell where I spent my first night here listening to Josh’s screams and knowing me and Stormi will be next.
What the fuck didn’t I just leave last night? Why the fuck did I think any of these monsters had any pity for me?
Lisa is smoking a cigarette by the door outside the clubhouse, and that’s fear in her eyes, not glee as they drag me past her. Funny, I thought she hated me.
If the two guys holding me weren’t clutching my arms so hard I’m starting to get tingles from lack of blood flow to my hands, I’d probably try to