Blood (Kings if Sin MC #1)

17. Revelations

CHAPTER 17

REVELATIONS

I unfold my hand, smoothing out the crease in the top rocker, and hold it up to the blank spot where it belongs. Some of the loose threads are still hanging there.

“Your dad.” I choke on the words. My mind is spinning.

“It’s his cut, yes.” There are defensive notes in his tone.

“He killed her.” My teeth clench. My thoughts scream and I feel my muscles coiling. Her image, dead with bruises up her neck, crashes over me like a tidal wave colliding with the shore, stirring up everything beneath it and dragging it out to sea.

“No,” he snaps, tossing the cut onto his bed. “That makes zero sense. She was a kid for fuck’s sake. That’s not who he is.” His hands go to his hips. Frustration forms a wrinkle across his forehead.

“Then how do you explain this?” I wheeze, picking up the cut and throwing it at his chest. The evidence is right there.

He catches it before it falls to the floor and seethes. “Maybe she found it. Maybe someone gave it to her. I don’t know, but you can’t jump to conclusions.”

I’ve gotten careless, forgetting I’m in a ring with a King. Loyalty will always go to his patch, his brothers, and his father. I feel like he’s doused me in gasoline and lit a match. “You sound just like him.” I lift my chin, eyes squinting.

“Like who?” His muscles twitch.

“Tyler,” I taunt, irritation spiking in me.

“I’m nothing like that bastard.” He dumps the cut and paces again. Resting his hands on the dresser, he dips his head.

“He said the same thing. Wouldn’t take action,” I say to his back.

“This is why you came here. You thought you’d find her killer and…do what, exactly?” He throws his arms out, facing me again.

“Kill him.” I stretch to my entire five-feet-six-inches.

“Then what would happen to you?” His eyes search mine.

“I don’t care.” A tear slips free. My arms curl around my body to keep me from breaking. The used towel from his shower last night lies in a heap by the end of the bed. How different things seemed a few hours ago.

“It’s fucking reckless. Tyler just let you go off with this suicide plan?” he roars, swiping his arm across the dresser, knocking everything to the floor. I leap as coins pelt toward my feet.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The sound of our heavy breathing fills the air. “I don’t need Tyler’s permission. I can do as I please.” I want to believe that.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” He smears a hand across his mouth. That’s what Tyler said too.

“Do you make it a habit to kill women?” I scorn, gnashing my teeth. It’s a low blow, but I don’t care.

“Only if they push our hand.” He looms over me, the reaper flashing in his dark eyes.

I’ve been so busy craving him, falling for him, that I’ve forgotten who I’m dealing with. A killer. “Is that what Harley did?”

“For fuck’s sake, Rogue, we didn’t have anything to do with her murder. We don’t butcher kids.”

“‘There’s no mercy for sins against a King,’” I say, repeating his argument back to him.

“What was her sin?” His stance is wide, tall, confident.

“I don’t know—the fact that she was a Devil? Her insignia tattoo got cut from her skin.” A cold snake winds around my body, squeezing.

“That sounds more like something her club would do. Maybe you need to be having this conversation with them.” His chin juts out. I blanch, the accusation an assault. My childhood plays through my mind, a movie of memories.

“That’s absurd. They raised her—loved her.”

An unamused snort jerks his head. “Yet, here you are, alone, searching for her murderer.”

Tears sting my eyes, the hollow hole widening. All the fight sags out of me, exhaustion taking over. We’re getting nowhere.

“What about you?” he asks, the predator in him taunting. “If being a Devil means a sin against a King, wouldn’t I kill you?” He waves a hand over my body.

“Maybe you will.” It feels a hell of a lot like death right now.

“Do you have this tattoo?” One look at me, and he sees the answer in my eyes. He shakes his head, irritation ticking his jaw. “Where is it?” He sneers, his large stature embedded in the center of the room. Silence. “Show it to me.”

“No.” I cross my arms and turn away from him, going over to his bed and sitting.

“Show it to me, Rogue,” he demands, waving an impatient hand in my direction.

“Fuck you,” I spit out.

“I think you would have if you weren’t hiding a tattoo,” he rumbles. More truths.

“Fine.” I stand. The room falls silent, the atmosphere thickening. Kicking my sneakers off, I pull my sweats down my legs. Leaving them wrapped around one ankle, I raise my free foot, plant it on his bed, then shift to allow him to see my inner thigh. Without panties on, everything’s on display for him. My heart hammers against my chest. An appreciative sound climbs up his throat as I hold my breath.

“So, that’s why you wouldn’t let me between your thighs.” His eyes glass over, pinned to the apex of my thighs.

“Not the only reason.” Liar. Lust soaks my body, setting off a throb below.

“Really?” he questions, taking one step, then two. I tense as he continues to make his way toward me, his movement predatory. A panther sneaking up on prey with precise strides, muscles flexing, eyes owning. “What’s the other?”

“Well…you’re a King, and I’m—”

“What?” He’s so close, a shiver races over my body.

“I’m here to kill you, not fuck you.” I sound pathetic. We both know it.

“And you haven’t done either.” He lets out a husky growl as he swipes his hand between my spread legs. My eyes close, my mind warring against my body wanting to surrender to the feeling.

“So much talk, Rogue, yet you’re soaked for me.” His chuckle pisses me off and turns me on at the same time. Bastard.

“Daddy was being quite the charmer before I came in here.” His fingers brush my clit, and a gasp falls from my lips, a plea sitting on the tip of my tongue.

“You could be covered head to toe in Devil tattoos and I’d still fucking want you. Still ache to taste you.”

Flames lick over my skin. My hands twitch. The urge to force his fingers to keep moving over me is overwhelming. “Just like you ache to taste me,” he groans.

I do. It’s becoming a sickness. I’m burning with fever.

He tilts my chin, the pad of his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. “I want to feel these fat pink lips around my cock while I fuck your throat until your tears stream down your cheeks and your eyes beg me to let you breathe.”

My lips tremble as I try to suck in oxygen. The frantic beating of my heart roars in my ears. “Take you to the edge and fill your pussy up until you can’t take another inch of me.”

“Callan.” I gulp. My clit throbs. My nipples ache.

“I want your throat raw from screaming my name—your pussy swollen and sore from taking my cock, fingers, and lips until you come over and over.”

“Use me.” It’s a whimper, an imploration. My core is on fire. I’m sick of fighting the fear.

“What?” His brows pinch, like he isn’t sure he heard me right.

“Use me,” I say, my voice stronger. I drag my teeth over my lip. Saliva floods my mouth. I drop my leg and lower to my knees. A hiss passes his lips. “Fuck my mouth like you own it, Callan. Make yourself come inside me. Show me what you’re made off.”

“Shit.” He’s practically vibrating. “You want to be my little fuck slut?”

“Yes,” I pant. My hands tear at his jeans, and I free his cock, inhaling his scent. He fists my hair, raising my eyes to meet him. “Are you a hungry little slut?”

“Famished.” I lick my top lip. He grasps his cock and paints my lip with the pre-cum glistening there.

“Open your mouth, Rogue. Suck my dick.” I wrap my lips around his bulging head and glide my mouth lower, sucking, slurping, devouring. He pushes me farther down his shaft, controlling my movements. “How much can you take?” His voice sounds strained, his eyes glassy.

All of it. I gag as the tip of his cock touches the back of my throat. Tears prick my eyes, spurring him on. He slides his cock out, then urges me down his entire length. Spit slavers around my mouth, coating his cock as he fucks my face.

Gathering the rest of my hair, he creates a ponytail with his fist. “Look how perfect you are.” He grunts, bucking his hips forward. Tears stream my face, and I can’t get enough. I hollow my cheeks and moan around him until he stills in the back of my throat and warm cum spurts down my gullet. He drags his cock across my tongue as he pulls free. His cum, both sweet and bitter, coats my lips.

“Get on the bed, Rogue.”

Our breath comes in pants. “How do you want me?” I ask, pulling my top over my head and standing utterly bare before him. This is it, no going back. It will change everything.

“On your back, legs splayed. Let me look at you.”

My legs barely have the strength to carry me the couple feet to his bed. I crawl over the comforter and roll to my back, planting my feet, my legs bent at the knees.

“Spread those legs for me, Rogue.”

I shift my feet wider apart.

“More,” he demands, aggressive possession thickening his tone.

I drop my knees hesitantly, opening myself to his mercy. It doesn’t matter which club we belong to or what led us to this moment. My body and mind are finally in sync, accepting the only truth that matters right now: we both fucking want this.

“You’re not a Devil or a King.” He kneels on the bed, grips under my thighs, and jerks me down the mattress toward him. “You’re a queen.” He kisses his way up my calf, knee, and thigh.

“Does that make you my King?”

“No, baby, it makes me the lucky bastard who gets to worship at your throne.” His teeth bite down where my tattoo paints my skin, and the rush of pain drugs my blood.

“Give me all you’ve got.” I arch my back, sensations sparking through every inch of me. His warm, wet tongue swipes over the indents, soothing the burn.

“Why aren’t you mad?” I’m breathing heavy and desperate for him to move that mouth to my pussy, but it dawns on me that he’s been so fucking bent out of shape over Tyler and not that I’m a Devil or that I have the tattoo. I grasp a hand into his hair, drawing his gaze to mine.

“What?” His brow furrows, lips wet and gleaming, cheeks flushed.

“You’re not mad that I have a Devil tattoo.” I bring my legs together against his colossal frame. Silence, his lips move, but words don’t come out. He’s trying to think of something to say, a lie to placate. Oh my god. I sit up and scoot myself backward away from him. “You already knew?”

“No.” He shakes his head.

“Liar.” I gasp.

A growl climbs up his throat. “I didn’t know all of it.”

Holy shit . “What does that mean?”

My heart freefalls into my stomach.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“We’ve met before…”

An alarm blares into the room, and Callan leaps from the bed, zipping his pants. “Put your clothes back on.”

“What is it?” I hurry off the bed, picking up my discarded top and sweatpants.

He checks his phone, frowning. His glare cuts to me, racking over my attire to make sure I’m covered before he marches to exit the room. My stomach knots I race toward him, grasping his arm. “What is it Callan?”

Grinding his teeth, he holds up his phone. The moving image is of the outside of the compound. The front gate is in focus and there, waiting beyond its walls, a car.

“There are cops at the gate.” He sneers.