Revenge had given him the will to live. Revenge against Viper and the Jacks. Revenge against Jagger and the Sinner’s Tribe. Once he was free, his wrath would know no bounds. He would surrender himself to the beast within until it had drunk deep of betraying biker blood.
But yesterday was different. Viper was excited. His dark eyes glittered in the semi-darkness of the dungeon beneath the Black Jack clubhouse that had been Holt’s home for countless months. Viper pulled out equipment he had never used before, tortured Holt without needing a break to rest his arms or to laugh or talk with the men who always accompanied him for what he called his “workout” sessions.
He was going to have a woman he had wanted for years, he’d said.
A girl he’d tasted once and never forgotten, he’d said.
The daughter of the sweet butt who had inconvenienced him by dying in his bed.
A replacement for the woman Holt had snatched away with his ridiculous sacrifice that had landed him in Viper’s dungeon and opened his eyes to the fact the Sinners were not the loyal brothers Holt thought they were.
All of which meant Viper didn’t need Holt any more. He would be working out his stress between the poor girl’s soft thighs. His whip would taste her smooth, creamy skin. His chains would circle her slim wrists. Her blood would stain his sheets. And he would drink the nectar of her screams.
Today was a bad day. The worst of all days. There was no pain Holt didn’t feel, no breath he didn’t fight for, no beat he didn’t have to squeeze from his heart. Today he wondered if there would be a tomorrow because even revenge was losing its battle to sustain him.
Holt stared at the cut on the wall. The Sinner’s Tribe patch was barely visible in the thin light that shone through the outer door. He remembered the day Jagger had given him that cut. The bar filled with his brothers, chanting his road name, “T-Rex.” The pride that swelled his chest when Jagger threw the cut over his shoulders. And later, the emotion that welled up in his throat when his best friend, Tank, gave him the dagger. It had been the best day of his life.
His chest seized, and he gritted his teeth. This is why he fought back the memories. Nothing hurt more than emotional pain.
Light flickered against the wall, and the door scraped open. Holt drew in a deep breath and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light.
This was it. The last day had finally come. He felt no fear, no longing, and no sadness. Nothing but regret that he hadn’t had a chance to exact his revenge. If he’d been a praying man, he would have prayed that this would be the end of his suffering. But he wasn’t. So he closed his eyes, and he made a wish.
His wish didn’t come true.
“Fucking bitch.” Viper shoved a woman into the dungeon so hard she fell to the floor. “You’re mine now, and you’ll damn well learn to behave. Blame your mother for dying with a shitload of debt. Your new place is in my fucking bed with your legs spread wide, your pussy wet, and your mouth open only to suck my cock. And if you ever try to pull that kind of crap on me again, you’ll be joining your fucking mother in her grave.” He slammed the door shut, plunging the room into darkness.
For a long moment, the woman didn’t move, and Holt wondered if Viper had hurt her. He opened his mouth to speak, but, with his tongue dry and swollen, no sound came out.
An ear-splitting scream filled the dungeon. He heard the rasp of her breaths, fists on metal. Through the thin light streaming beneath the door, he could make out the barest outline of her body as she let loose a string of curses that would put even the most hardened biker to shame.
Holt wanted to go to her, tell her she was wasting her breath. No one would find her in Viper’s dungeon. And even if someone heard her cries, no one would come to her aid. But with his wrists manacled and one ankle chained to the floor, he couldn’t move. Weak from hunger, thirst, and loss of blood, he couldn’t even rattle the chain to let her know she wasn’t alone.
Sobbing, the woman bent down and slid her fingers under the door. She cursed again, filthy words interspersed with such rapid breaths he wondered if she would hyperventilate.
“It’sokayit’sokayit’sokayit’sokay.” She curled up beside the door for a few minutes, muttering to herself. And then she sprang up, her hands sliding over the door and the wall beside it, searching, shouting so loud Holt’s ears rang. “Help.”
She still hadn’t turned around, and he thought this was a dangerous thing. If she had any sense, she would protect her back. But this woman wasn’t thinking about the dangers in the dungeon. Between sobs and shouts, she railed against Viper as if she couldn’t contain the fire inside her no matter how hard she tried.
If he could have moved his lips, he would have smiled.