Lessons in Corruption (The Fallen Men 1)

“Need to get you to the Doc,” Mute told his best friend.

King ignored him. “Everyone out.”

Only the bikers were left inside, the others having been ushered out by Lab Rat, Blade and Boner, who were still out front keeping watch in case one of them decided to call the police.

“What?” Cy barked.

“Everyone. Out.” King shouted, his bloody hair flying as he shot unsteadily to his feet. “Nova, Cy, Bat, go help Eugene take the motherfucker to the compound so we can fuckin’ question him. Mute, go tell the other brothers they can come in and work cleanup soon as I’m done talking to my woman.”

Fuck.

All eyes swung to me, most of them confused but Tayline and Eugene’s looks were filled with wary condemnation.

They could see it, the fear hugging my back like a hovering mother. It wanted me back, had missed me for the brief time I’d been free.

“Fuckin’ now!” King demanded.

They moved.

It took them two minutes to get out and I took those two minutes to deep breathe. King waited beside me, his breath laboring through his lungs, blood dripping off his nose and splattering on the floor at his feet.

“Cress,” he said softly when we were finally alone.

But he didn’t touch me and I was so grateful, I could have cried.

If he touched me, I’d be done.

“Look at me, babe,” he ordered.

I turned to look at him and the sight brought instant tears to my eyes.

“Can’t do it,” I whispered through my aching throat.

His eyes flared, so blue against the red blood.

“I want to, please understand. I want to be there with you through the thick and the thin and the laughter and the freaking bloodshed but now that I see it can actually be like this…” I shook my head and took an instinctive step backwards.

“I might not even patch in, babe,” he said, reaching a hand out to me.

But I was too far away for him to grab me, and he needed the support of the bar at his back because he was still too fucked up from the fight to be steady on his feet.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re not in the club now and look what’s happened to your beautiful face,” I cupped my hands over my mouth and tried to fight the panic.

I kept thinking of my hands covered with Marcus’ blood, of Lysander’s face splattered with gore and brain matter after he shot my rapist in the back of the head.

“My bachelorette party,” I blurted out, desperate for him to understand why I was collapsing like the inside of an old house. “Sander took me out because I didn’t have any friends and he wanted me to have a night of fun before I got married. I was eighteen,” I swallowed painfully. “We got really drunk while bar hopping and at the last place, I met this really cute guy. He bought me drinks and stayed with me for over an hour just chatting. I thought he was so pretty, just like someone out of a Nora Roberts book. He asked me to get some fresh air and I didn’t think before I said yes.”

God, I could still feel his hands on me, the feel of the rough brick against my cheek as he’d slammed me against the wall and wrenched up my skirt.

“I was drunk and stupid and he took advantage. He was all over me and I was screaming. Sander had wondered where I’d disappeared to so, thank God, he came outside and found me. They fought, but Marcus got a good shot in and sent Sander into a pile of crates. I was frozen. So stupidly frozen against the wall, terrified.”

King growled, the sound low in his throat. “Come here, Cress.”

I shook my head frantically, back in the place that had taught me not to live on the edge. “He came at me again, had my shirt ripped open and my panties torn off in seconds. I really thought he was going to… anyway. The next thing I know there’s this loud pop pop just like I heard tonight and something wet rained down over me just before Marcus slumped against me hard and I fell to the ground with him pinned on top of me.

People heard the commotion by then and something tackled Lysander before he could help get Marcus off me, so I just laid there with him bleeding out all over me for minutes before anyone even realized I was under him.”

“If he wasn’t already dead, babe, I’d hunt that motherfucker down, kill him slow, over years,” King said, his voice nearly as low, dark and menacing as his father’s.

“Can’t do it,” I repeated, barely in the room with him, still back in that time with the bloody body covering me like a shroud. “I can’t be your Queen because I’m not strong enough to do this, the violence and the possible death. I couldn’t stand to lose you and I don’t think… no, I know I can’t stand by you knowing that the kind of life you lead, so like Sander’s, could make that a real possibility.”