Lethal (The Disciples 1)

Everyone in the large living room stops as we enter. Blade doesn’t seem fazed, yet I can’t help but cringe and stare at his back. His cut has the large logo of the cross and wings along with numerous patches. We walk up the stairs and I risk a quick glance downward and wish I hadn’t. What was I thinking? These people are a group, a family. I’m a carnival rat, a gypsy, and I don’t belong. Never have. The women seem to sense it.

Well, it’s not like I have a choice, so until I can somehow support my father and pay off my brother’s debt, I’m kind of stuck here. As we reach the top of the stairs, the talking starts again. My throat is on fire where he branded me and I swallow. Wait a fucking minute. This son of a bitch branded me like I’m cattle. Or a piece of meat, like he owns me. What the hell am I thinking?

“What, babe?” His voice sounds tired as he opens the last door on this floor—it’s black and thick.

“You branded me!” I almost stutter. I wave my hand at my neck, positive it looks as bad as it feels. “It fucking hurts.”

He pulls me in, flips on the light, and grabs my chin. I try to jerk away but his grip is like a pit bull’s.

I’m panting because… well, I don’t know why. This guy does this to me. He makes me breathless, gives me false hope. Deceives me with his incredible looks. I mean how can anyone who looks like him be bad, right?

Also, I like the way he smells. Clean even though he’s covered in dirt and grime. Spicy, smoky. God, I’m losing it. My face burns. Either that or I have a fever. I have to stop myself from bursting into tears. And I never cry. Well, almost never.

He sighs, like I exhaust him. “Go take a shower.”

I lick my dry, parched lips nervously as I glance around this room. It’s the biggest bedroom I’ve seen in my whole life. Huge in fact—probably the size of two trailers. The walls are the color of putty and huge, thick-glassed windows face what I assume is the backyard.

His bed is giant-sized with some sort of comforter that makes me want to steal it. And holy shit, I snort in fascination at the hideous art or whatever this is called.

On top of his bed is a huge wooden-framed velvet painting of a naked redhead sitting on an old Harley Davidson, her wild red hair and large breasts on display. Her private area is thankfully concealed by the seat.

I swirl around to face him, but he is texting on his phone. I continue to look at his walls. Turning to the one closest to me, I notice it has a bunch of old black-and-white photos of Harleys and a poster of another redhead. This one is in panties and what looks like Blade’s cut on her. Her fake boobs are spilling out. It’s signed,To Blade,

I love you today, I love you tomorrow,

I love you forever

CrystalMy eyes snap to his. “Are you married?”

“Go take a shower. Last time I say it.” He raises a brow at me.

“Fine, I need to get away from all this anyway.” I point at the picture. I can’t help but take a quick glance at the rest of his room. He has a pool table. A pool table. And a huge black couch that looks so comfortable I want to curl up like a cat and never leave.

I don’t have time to see more as I lock myself in his bathroom, turn on the light, and almost snort. It’s big of course, but it has a massive Jacuzzi big enough to hold at least three people. “Typical,” I mumble. He probably has threesomes in here.

Oh my God, is that what he wants me for? To share me with his wife, the redhead? Didn’t he say he had someone who takes care of him? It must be the redhead.

Turning on his glass-encased shower, I look enviously at the tub. I have never actually taken a bath. Living in a trailer, I took showers in what consisted of a small box with lukewarm water.

I barely have my filthy clothes off when I realize I have no fresh panties. I can’t stand the idea of putting anything dirty on after being able to take what looks like the most amazing shower. But I also can’t go without panties. Grabbing the black thong, I bring it into the shower with me. I’ll hand wash it. The thong is a tiny bit of material and it’ll dry fast. I don’t wear thongs to be sexy. I wear them because they are the easiest thing to steal. Half the time, I simply wad them in my hand and walk out of the store. Steam billows out of the shower. I’m so used to having to wait for hot water that I almost burn myself testing it. Obviously he has good plumbing. Whatever, he’s a thug, a drug dealer. So, this is the nicest place I’ve ever been in. Doesn’t mean I’m impressed or anything.