Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,69
ounce of courage, strength, and fear drains out of me into the ground. I can’t remember how to fight. My body is frozen as Cohen’s blue eyes stare at me.
“Cohen, please—” He smacks me across the face, and I tumble to the ground, my hand falling on a small cactus. My cheek aches, and I try to crawl away from him, but his foot lands in the middle of my stomach. My knees and hands give out from under me, and I lay face-down in the dirt, Cohen straddling my back and gripping me by my hair.
He jerks my neck back, and all I see is the side of his face and the twinkling stars above. Even in the midst of violence, constellations still shine, and the light inside me slowly dissipates. “Go ahead, bitch. Beg. You know I love it when you do.” He licks my cheek and inhales the scent in my hair. “I should kill you, drain your blood right here and now.” He dips his tongue into my ear, and I whimper. The noise sets him off, and he stabs the blade into my left hand. As I open my mouth to scream, he covers it with his own, forcing his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like eggs and smoke, which makes me gag as I cry out because the knife is pinning my hand to the ground.
His dominant hand, the one that always leaves the final blow on his opponent, is still around my neck, squeezing me, while his other hand fondles my breast.
“I’ve missed this body, bitch. I’ve fucking missed it so much. Can’t wait to get you back in bed where you belong, ass up and pussy open for me.”
I rear back and my head connects with his nose which makes him fall off me. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” I try to get my hand free, but even as I pull on the handle, I can’t get the blade out of the ground. I wiggle and panic, watching as he starts to come around. He shakes his head and blood drips down his lip. I open my mouth to call out, but he tackles me to the ground and yanks the knife from my hand, laying the bloody steel against my throat.
“Make another fucking sound. I dare you. You’re tempting me.” He clicks his tongue. “You’re tempting me to kill you. I don’t like your disobedience, Dawson. Have you learned anything?”
“Fuck. You,” I spit in his face as I struggle to breathe.
“Oh, you will. Maybe right here, right now.” His hand lowers down my belly and lifts up Skirt’s shirt, and cups my pussy through my panties. “Maybe I’ll slice your goddamn throat and while you bleed buckets, I’ll fuck you, using your blood as lube. Do you want that?” he sneers and then spits in my face, right on my lip.
I don’t say a word. I’m too scared to move. If I push him far enough, he’ll do whatever he wants to me. I want to open my mouth to scream, but I’m afraid he’ll kill me and then I won’t see Aidan or Skirt again.
“Be a good little bitch, and I’ll take you to your son.”
“You have him? Where is he, you sorry son-of-a-bitch.” I struggle against him, my left hand throbbing from the cut. I try to unwrap his hand from my throat, but he exhales, completely annoyed by me. His left fist flies through the air, smashing against my other cheek.
He stands and picks me up by my throat as he pushes me toward the back of the property. “Don’t fucking talk. Don’t fucking ask questions. Do what I say, okay?”
I struggle to look over my shoulder, but I get a glimpse of the small cabin Skirt built for himself. If there is any chance for me to come back to him, I have to obey. I miss him already. Will I see him again? Were the two weeks here the best and worst of my life? Best because I fell in love, the worst because Cohen has my son.
Or will I die never knowing what a future will be like with them?
My feet trample through the dead brush, the dry twigs, and sharp pins stick me. I’m whimpering with pain, tears pouring down my face, and the further we get away from the clubhouse, the chance of survival decreases.
When we get to the iron fence around the edge of the property, I see there’s a