Sergeant-at-Arms: Responsible for club security, policing and keeping order at club events. Reports unseemly behavior to President and VP. Responsible for the safety and protection of the club, its members and its Prospects.
Treasurer: Keeps records of all income and expenses. Keeps records of all club patches and colors issued and taken away.
Secretary: Responsible for making and keeping all club records. Must notify members of emergency meetings.
Prospect: Probationary member of the MC. Goes on runs, but banned from attending Church.
“For fractured souls are like magnets.
Drawn to collide into an impossible bliss…”
Prologue
“Did you kill anyone else out here?”
I watched the little black-haired bitch—Mae’s sister—ask Prez if we’d slaughtered anyone else in this motherfucking cult hell.
Prez nodded his head.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
Prez didn’t respond, and my head twitched and my skin pricked as her green eyes narrowed.
“Please! I need to see him!” she shouted. Her pale face had gone bright red and her hands had begun to shake at her sides.
Prez pointed into the woods, and in no fucking time, she hightailed it into the trees. My jaw clenched and my hands fisted as I watched her go.
Viking leaned in, stopping just short of touching me. He knew not to fucking touch me. “You carved that fucker up Krueger style, didn’t you, brother?”
I stayed staring at the woods, catching the bitch’s dress disappear in the distance.
“Flame?” Viking pushed.
My teeth gritted, remembering piercing that fuck with my blades and I snarled. “I fucking hacked him up good. That bible pedo fucker deserved to die like that.”
“So that’ll be a yes. A huge fucking yes to the extreme makeover, Krueger edition.”
But I didn’t respond to Viking. Didn’t respond because the black-haired bitch was walking back out. And I watched her all the way. I counted her every step as she moved closer. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven…
I watched her chest rise and fall. She was breathing hard. She was fucking breathing so hard. Surely she wasn’t pissed that the disciple pedo was dead?
“Sister?” Mae ran over to her, but the little bitch’s green eyes were on Prez.
“Who killed him?” she asked, pushing past Mae. Her face moved from one brother to the next, looking each in the eyes.
And I stared. I stared and I twitched, and felt my blood begin to boil.
The fucker had deserved to die. I’d fucking got hard watching that fucker die. I’d watched the life leave his eyes. I’d watched his blood spill. And I’d motherfucking loved it.
Then the little bitch reached me. Her tiny frame stood below me and those huge green eyes looked right up into mine. “Was it you?” she asked.
My blood rushed faster through my body, and I nodded my head. “Yeah, I killed the fucker,” I spat.
I tensed, my muscles jumping, waiting for her to defend that cunt. To tell me I was evil, wrong and a killer—shit I already knew.
But before I could fucking think, a cry left her throat and she jumped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. My heart fired in my chest like a fucking cannon and my hands fisted and rose into the air as her hands touched my skin.
I couldn’t be touched. I couldn’t be fucking touched. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, I started to count, waiting for the flames to hurt her. Waiting for the pain… eight, nine, ten, eleven… My eyes snapped down as I reached eleven, expecting to see her pain.
Eleven.
But she wasn’t hurt.
Eleven.
I’d gone past eleven.
The little bitch’s arms tightened around my waist and I looked down in shock. I saw her thick black hair. I saw her back rise and fall with her breaths.
“Thank you,” she whispered and pressed her cheek against my chest. “Thank you so very much.”
My lungs froze as she thanked me. But I didn’t understand. Like always. I didn’t fucking understand anything.
Why wasn’t she hurt from my touch?
Why was she fucking thanking me?