Pulling my shoulders back, I whispered, “Doesn’t matter what you think. It doesn’t change the fact that you now belong to me.”
Mo’s eyes widened, his leather jacket creaking over his muscular bulk. “No one fucking owns me, asshole.”
This was it—the first standoff—and I had to show my strength. I had to be dominant—to show them I deserved the right to be at the top of the pecking order.
Pulling my fist back, I smiled with grim satisfaction as it cut through the air and crunched against his nose.
The man collapsed to a knee, holding his gushing bloody face. If his crooked nose wasn’t broken before, it was now. “What the fuck—”
I might not know what pussy felt like, but I’d been in more fights than I could remember. The prison boxing team had been education for my body while Wallstreet tweaked my mind.
Grasshopper stooped and grabbed the guy beneath his armpits. “Leave it, Mo. You were being a dick. Kill is our new Prez. He takes orders from Wallstreet and no one else. If you’re so fucked off at having to obey a dude younger than you, pretend it’s Wallstreet you’re mouthing off to and we’ll see how long that shit will fly.”
Mo glowered, his dark eyes watering. I guessed he was in his early thirties. In my book, an IQ like mine and the body of a tried-and-true fighter would win every time.
“You’ve got some nerve, kid.”
I inspected my knuckles, loving the slow comprehension that I was free. Really, truly free. My life was my own again. And today marked the first day of my retaliation program.
“Name’s not Kid, it’s Kill.” Swiping a hand through the hair that I’d let grow in prison, I muttered, “And if you know my track record, you’ll know I earned that nickname for a reason. Best listen to your mate.”
Eyeing up the bike behind Mo, I said, “Do I get my own or are you riding bitch?”
Grasshopper let his brother go, punching me in the bicep. “You’ve got balls, Kill. I have a feeling you’re going to be the iron fist the Club needs.”
That’s the plan.
“You make them pay for disobeying me. Clean it out. Tear off their patches. Put an end to their fucking nonsense.” Wallstreet’s instructions were clear. The Corrupts were done. It was time for a new name.
“What happened to the guy I’m replacing?” Wallstreet had special plans for him.
Hopper grinned. His blue eyes glinted with a hint of evil. “You don’t need to worry about him, dude. I took care of it.”
My stomach twisted. “That wasn’t your call to make. It was my job.”
“Gut him, Kill. Make a point with him—so other rejects know what happens when they mess with you.”
If I didn’t have anyone to maim, how would I make my point?
Mo jumped in, swiping a hand over his sandy-blond hair. “It was him or Hopper. Shit got heated. It’s done. He’s been dead for two days—alligator bait, and dealt with.” He stepped into my space. “You got an issue with us cleaning up shop for you?” His voice lowered to a rasp. “Don’t forget, newbie, we still only take orders from Wallstreet and he told us to ensure it was safe for you to take over. Well, we made it safe.”
Rage boiled in my blood. If anyone had got as close to me in prison as Mo was, they would’ve been unconscious by my feet. My entire body wanted to annihilate him before he became a threat.
That’s not how shit works out here.
Taking a deep breath, I dangled the keys to the bike in Mo’s face. “Wallstreet has high hopes for his brothers. I’m just delivering them. Grasshopper was right to end the old Prez if it was a matter of self-perseveration, but from now on, if you don’t obey me, you don’t obey him. And if you don’t obey him, I have full permission to hurt you.”
Mo’s eyes burned into mine, willing me to back down. “You’ll hurt me, huh?”
Lowering my brow, I growled, “You don’t want to know what will happen if you piss me off.”
I was done being used, abused, and thrown away to rot.
The air hazed with anger. I waited for him to strike—my muscles bunched, hands clenched. But then the tension dispersed as Mo rolled his shoulders and grinned. “I like you, newbie. You got guts, and whatever life did to you to get you in the slammer—you’ve come out better for it.” Holding his hand out, he shook my grip in welcome. “Get on the bike; we’re going home.”
Home.
I wouldn’t let anyone stand in my way ever again.
It was time to start my new rule.
“Will she do?” Grasshopper strolled into my new quarters. I’d commandeered Wallstreet’s old rooms at the compound in the Keys. It backed onto the Everglades, all one level, with barbed-wire fencing hemming us in like animals.
I knew it was to protect us from other gangs or idiot druggies, but the second I walked through the patrolled gates and into the courtyard of the run-down, paint-peeling hellhole, I wanted out.
My skin crawled. My soul screamed for freedom. I didn’t walk free from prison only to chain myself back up again with a bunch of leather-wearing bikers.
The inside of the compound wasn’t much better with graffiti spray-painted on the walls, cigarette-burned couches, and bedrooms that reeked of sex, pizza, and dope.
Wallstreet’s room hadn’t been used—so that was a fucking blessing—but it still had bars on the windows, mildew in the carpet, and an adjoining bathroom that made my metal shitter at Florida State look like a fucking suite.
I can’t stay here.
Already the walls hemmed me in—my temper rising with every breath, preparing to fight for freedom.
“You won’t like it when you get there. I’ll hazard a guess it’ll be completely run-down and like a fucking dump site by now. But no matter where you want to go, you can’t leave. Not until you’ve got full control. Then you can live off-site if you have the men you trust acting while you’re gone—but not before, Kill. You’ll stay there until you’ve taken care of things.”
At the time, it’d been no hardship to swear. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than prison. So, like a fucking moron, I swore.
Now I wanted to revoke that promise. But I couldn’t. I’d given my word, and Wallstreet was the only one deserving of my loyalty.
“Kill?” Grasshopper brought my attention back to him. Striding farther into the room, he dragged a blonde with him. She had a big rack and wore a skintight tiger-print dress and heels that turned her from midget to model.
She fit the seediness of the room perfectly.
She’s not her.
My heart twisted and I gritted my teeth.
“She’s great. Thanks.”
Grasshopper grinned, shoving the girl toward the king-size black-covered bed. “Had her on standby. Know what it’s like to get out of the slammer and need a welcome party.” He winked. “You got the rest of the night. Go nuts, Kill.”
I smiled, remaining silent until he’d closed the door.
Striding over to where he’d disappeared, I turned the dead bolt and spun to face the whore. “What’s your name?”
Fuck, what am I doing?
All I could see was Cleo. All I could hear was Cleo. All I fucking wanted was Cleo.
Her eyes drifted from the top of my head, down my chest, to my cock. She licked her lips, stumbling forward in her ridiculous shoes. “You can call me whatever you want, Prez.”
I held up my finger. “I’m not the president until the ceremony tomorrow. Call me Kill. And I’m going to call you…”
Buttercup’s name danced on my tongue. Her smile blazed in my brain. Her laugh echoed in my ears.
Fuck.
I was so fucking horny—had been for ten years. I’d wanted to take her, to make love to the girl who’d had my heart the moment I saw her. But out of decency for our families, and our ages at the time, I’d avoided taking things too far.
I wasn’t a guy who wanted to whore around. I knew how precious Cleo was. I knew that the moment I took her, she would be mine for eternity and I’d be hers. I’d wanted it to be perfect.
You were a dick for waiting.
Now, I was about to lose my virginity to a Club bunny who’d sucked more cocks and slept with more bikers than minutes I’d been alive. 12,622,776. Okay, maybe not that many, but still—a fucking lot.
“I’m not picking your name. Give me one and I’ll use it.”
She smiled, resting her fingertips against my chest. “Okay, call me Meadow.” Her body shifted closer, pressing her large tits against me. The softness of her body sent a need so damn strong through my blood I knew I wouldn’t last long.
Placing my hands on her shoulders, completely fucking dwarfing her small frame, I walked her backward till the backs of her knees hit the bed.
She fell, sprawling onto the covers, a small laugh escaping.
Meadow’s laugh was nothing like Cleo’s. It was all kinds of wrong and almost threatened to kill my hard-on.
My mouth ached to kiss; my tongue wanted nothing more than to taste. But not this woman. Not a whore who I didn’t want. Only the girl from my past.
The first time I’d kissed Cleo—the first time I’d broken my stupid rules and let her win—I’d known. My fate was sealed to hers and she had power over me more than anyone.