Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,15

opponent kills Cohen.

Wishing for death on someone isn’t kind, but I’m okay with that. If it earns me a front row seat on the ride to Hell, so be it. It can’t be much different than my life now. I welcome the change.

With my son in mind, I know I need to get out of here and get to him. What if he has a seizure while I’m gone? He only has a few days of his medicine left, and it’s so expensive. Cohen already said he wasn’t going to buy the pills for Aidan anymore.

I don’t know what I’ll do, but Aidan needs his medicine and I’ll do anything within my power to take care of my boy. Lie, cheat, steal, kill—Aidan will live.

I slump against the beam against the wall when fatigue hits me out of nowhere. My entire body feels like I was thrown out of a van.

Oh, wait… I was.

The steps are high and intimidating as they escalate further into the unknown shadows. Only a faint glow of light from the crack at the bottom of the basement casts along the steps. I take a minute to catch my breath.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Why is life so hard? It isn’t supposed to be this way. Life isn’t meant to be a constant struggle or an exhausting journey through quicksand to try to overpower you. There are hard times, I’m not naïve to that, but when does good balance the bad? Is that the way the universe works? Where’s the goddamn good? Where’s the break?

I roll against the wall and push myself off, closing my eyes when the pain throbs on my left side. My fingers grab the hem of my shirt and lift. “No wonder,” I say under my breath when I see a big black bruise spreading over my ribcage. I tug my torn, dirty shirt back down, and take the first step up the staircase.

“Fuck.” I slump against the wall as the pain possessing my body becomes too much already. Aidan. I have to get to Aidan. The bottom of my foot finds the wall, and I push off. My foot slips on the slick staircase, and my hand flies out to catch myself before my body hits the hard surface. I bite back the cry of pain as my ribs burn with agony. My nostrils flare and bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it down.

Nothing perseveres more than a mother fighting to be reunited with her son.

I lean against the wall for support and take aching slow steps by lifting each leg until I’m at the door. I’m sweating, my stomach is turning, and my mouth is watering. Any second now, I’m going to puke. Closing my eyes, I bring up Aidan’s face in my mind and focus. His bright green eyes staring at me with love and warmth. His memory, his need for someone to protect him is enough for me to reach for the door handle and turn it. I take my time opening the door. I peek my head through and survey the room.

I’m alone.

I’m staring at a kitchen with yellow curtains and updated appliances. The dining table has seen better days. It’s worn with carvings and scratches, the stain of the wood is faded in certain spots, and the left corner is jagged from being broken off. I look left and right, but most of the noise is coming from the front of the house. Soft rock music is playing low, and the clank of balls tells me someone must be playing pool.

Which also tells me not to go in that direction. I slip out the door and flatten my palm against the grainy wood, then push it shut. I close my eyes when it clicks. My pulse spikes with a rush of adrenaline as the possibility of being caught crosses my mind. I don’t wait to find out.

I slip to the left and take the sharp turn down the hall. There’s a door at the end, and light shines through the window in the center. It’s stained glass with reds, blues, and greens. Sunlight shines through, and a kaleidoscope of colors glitter along the floor. I haven’t seen something like that in a very long time. I didn’t know people still cared about the simplistic beauty of stained glass.

Granted, even from here, I can see the skull artfully designed in the middle. If the goal is beautiful and intimidating, they have achieved it.

There are photos scattered along the wall, ranging