Rory (Savage MC-Tennessee 3)

“King—”

“You care about my boy,” he says, sounding as if he didn’t expect that. Then again, maybe he didn’t. People—even a child he claims is his—are just possessions to King. My brother, the one I loved, no longer exists. Ryan is right. This man is a monster.

I don’t answer, not verbally, but my hand moves behind me to gently touch Ryan, hoping to reassure him as his trembling increases. That’s the only thing King needs. I know it when I see the glint in his eyes.

For as long as I can remember, King and Tony both loved to prove to me that I was stupid. They liked to punish me, took great pleasure in it. They would find reasons to do it. I would leave a towel hanging haggardly on the bar in the bathroom, that brought punishment. It was usually in the form of a hit, sometimes being locked in my room and sometimes… sometimes worse.

I blink those memories away, before they get time to settle inside of me. I fought those for so long, I can’t allow them space in my head again. I can’t allow them to hide inside of me, taking away the self-worth that I’ve fought to build. It’s not easy. Being back in Virginia, being back in this house and back in my brother’s control… it’s a struggle not to give into the past, into the worthlessness that he makes me feel. Sometimes it’s so strong I feel like I’m drowning, but I can’t. I have to keep my head above water. I have to do it… for Ryan and for my child.

I don’t have a choice.

“Are you willing to take Ryan’s punishment then, Rory?”

My eyes flash to his hand, which is gripping his belt tightly—so tight that his skin has turned bright white just from the strength of his hold. Then, my gaze travels back to his eyes so full of sick pleasure that my stomach churns and I try not to gag. Slowly my eyes travel to his lips. Thin, almost blue and moved into the form of a smile that is filled with evil.

“Rory—”

I squeeze Ryan’s arm gently, hushing him. I close my eyes as I make a decision that is impossible to make. King is going to make this hurt. I know it from that look and I know it from our past. He looks even more twisted than he was back then. How do I choose Ryan and put the child I carry at risk? How do I not?

“Are you?” the monster baits.

“No! Rory, no!” Ryan begs from behind me.

“Let Ryan go back to his room,” I tell him, my voice soft but steady. I take pride in that, because inside my soul is trembling, crying and screaming.

“He’ll never learn like that,” King says and I know in that moment that nothing I say will change his mind. He flicks his head and too late I notice a man standing in the corner. It’s the same man that I’m fast associating all my nightmares with. He’s my brother’s new second in command, obviously taking Tony’s place and it’s a toss-up, but I think he’s even more twisted inside than Tony was.

Wolf.

He comes to me and I prepare my body, but it’s not me he grabs. He grabs Ryan, pulling him from me and then goes to stand by the window. Ryan is trapped in his hands, as he plasters the little boy to his front.

Ryan will be forced to watch.

I want to beg King to not let that happen, but before I get the chance King’s belt comes down. I twist at the last second, trying to protect my stomach and the leather sears into my skin.

“Take your dress off, Rory.”

“King, don’t—”

“You’ve forgotten since you’ve been gone.”

“I haven’t,” I argue, and I haven’t. It’s all burned in my brain.

“You don’t get a choice in this, Rory,” he growls.

He grabs me by the hair and pulls me to the table, slamming my face down into the glass. I can hear Ryan in the background, but his voice sounds so far away. My head is cloudy, I’m more than just dazed and I can’t seem to clear it. I hear the ripping sound of my dress. Then, I feel the harsh leather burning against my back, the blows so forceful my body jerks with each hit. I can feel the metal of the buckle lacerate into my skin. I close my eyes and pray it’s over soon. I pray for protection over my child. I pray that Ryan has somehow managed to hide his face.

I just pray.

Each hit is more painful than the last, each hit makes me lose touch with reality a little more. I almost feel like I could float off in a shroud of misery and pain. I don’t fight it. I don’t want to stop it. It’s better to be out of my head and I embrace that. I let it happen.