Prologue
Whizz with Alan
“Do you really think a woman will want you now?”
Whizz pressed his head against the tile floor wishing for some reprieve. His jeans were down to his knees, and he hurt everywhere. Not one part of him was better off than the other. Alan was a sick fuck and delighted in torturing him. Beside his head was the vomit he’d brought up seconds before. All this because Zero couldn’t keep his temper. Not that Whizz was pissed. From the look of Alan, Zero had gotten him fucking good, better than good.
“Fuck you!”
He growled as Alan grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. If Whizz had any strength length he’d kill the bastard in front of him. He’d be drugged, beaten … he couldn’t bring himself to think of what else he’d been through. Whizz knew he’d get through this. He got through everything. His time at The Lions had taught him to push the pain down, to ignore what he actually wanted to do. “I already did. Maybe I need to go again. I heard you bikers like your fucking.”
Alan let him go, landing a kick to his gut.
The club will come. They’ll come for me, and I’ll be safe.
What’s safe anymore?
Gasping for breath, Whizz didn’t want to have to deal with the shit going on inside his head. No one was going to want him, not even the club. Who would want a man who let this happen to him? He certainly didn’t. No amount of fighting could undo what happened. He was totally fucked.
“You know, Zero’s the one to blame. I wanted him, and yet you’re the one that was lying in wait. It’s almost as if you wanted me to come and get you.” Alan laughed, the sound sinister and echoing around the room. None of the men paid them any attention while Alan beat him. The moment they were alone, Alan became even more evil. There was no escaping the sadistic asshole.
How are you going to survive this?
Whizz kept his eyes closed, trying to think of something, anything that would take him away from this pain.
He thought about the club. Not The Lions. He’d never truly been part of them and had spent more time trying to get away from them. Whizz had done shit for them just like Killer, but he’d never been willing. The shit he’d done was in the past as he’d taken a spot in The Skulls. Tiny was a hard-assed leader, a fine president, and Whizz was loyal to him. He thought about the club, and throughout all the pain it grounded him.
“You really think your club is going to come for you?” Alan asked, drawing him back onto the chair.
Whizz sat down even as it was painful. He was a mess. There was no need for a mirror when the pain was all he needed to know that he was changed forever. Alan certainly liked his knives.
“You can’t ignore me.” Alan grabbed his hair pulling his head back to slide the knife he held across his neck.
Whizz was past caring. Did he want to die? No, he truly didn’t, but he wouldn’t beg this sick fucker for his life. Whizz had learned never to beg. Begging didn’t garner respect. Begging took everything away. He believed in his club, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they bargained for him. Even if Tiny didn’t come through, Killer would, or at least Zero.
Minutes passed, hours, perhaps days. Whizz knew he was dying. The blood loss was starting to become a problem. Through his mind he thought about the club and everything he’d miss. He’d miss Lash and Angel, especially Angel. She was such a sweetheart and rarely saw the bad in people. Lash was overprotective, and it was strange to watch the fierce biker worry over his woman. Murphy, he was like a brother to him, along with Killer. He’d even miss Tate. Her mouth made him laugh at times.
No, he couldn’t think about how much he’d miss otherwise he’d never be able to cope with what was truly going on in his life.
He needed to get out.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her. The woman with blue hair who had torn his world apart. She wasn’t supposed to be here. No, she didn’t come into his life until much later.
****
Whizz woke with a start. He was covered in a layer of sweat, and he opened his eyes to see Lacey glaring down at him. She straddled his waist, and he couldn’t help but respond to her closeness. From the moment he’d first seen her in that café he’d wanted her. She was nothing like any of the other women in the club. Lacey was an entity all of her own, special, and all his.
Seconds passed, and he became aware of the blade she had pressed to his neck. He had left the blade for her to grab on purpose. It had been a week since he’d hurt her by luring her away from the Savage Brothers, to kill the whole of her club while they left her alive. Whizz had wanted Lacey and couldn’t bring himself to let her die. They were staying at the club house, and he kept a lock on the door. He was surprised she stayed within the room seeing as she could have easily destroyed the lock.
“You were having a nightmare,” she said.
He didn’t move. The hand holding the knife against his neck was steady. She wasn’t nervous about killing him. He didn’t blame her, as he’d helped Tiny take out all of her club, the Savage Brothers, while they’d also been taking care of Gonzalez. Murphy was still in the hospital because of the damage.
“I’m used to them.”
Usually he woke up soaked in sweat or with one of the club members shaking him awake. When he did finally wake, they’d take him back to their room where he’d spend the rest of the night wishing his life was different. He should have died when Alan took him. All he’d become was a burden to the club. What kind of life was he really living when he spent it like a child in another’s bed?
He moved his hands to her thighs. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at him.
“Are you going to do it?” he asked.
Whizz wasn’t angry with her, even though he should be. She could have killed him at any time over the last couple of weeks, even before he’d brought her to the club. Lacey hadn’t touched him. The threat was always there, but she didn’t go any further other than pressing the blade close. The other day he’d left his gun, and when he walked into the room, he’d expected her to fire the weapon. She hadn’t. Lacey, for some reason, couldn’t kill him.
“I should. I should kill you for what you did to my club.” The tears fell down her cheeks. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and to him, she was more beautiful than ever before. The blue hair covered up her brown locks, but he didn’t care. Lacey was a beautiful woman who’d been handed shit all of her life. He’d added to that, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t let her go. It would be easier for the two of them if he just let her go, gave her some money, and sent her on her way. He couldn’t do it. Tiny had advised him to get rid of her or claim her. Whizz hadn’t claimed her as his whore or as his old lady.