War (Kings of Sin MC #2)

1. Questions

CHAPTER 1

QUESTIONS

ROGUE

Most women would run away now or throw a fit. Fuck that. Fuck her and fuck him.

It’s painful, but I’ll lick my wounds later when they can’t see the damage they’ve evoked.

“Hope you like how I taste,” I lie. It’s petty but gets the reaction I want. A spear of insinuation thrown across the room, stabbing her through the chest. Hurts, doesn’t it, swamp troll?

A thousand lies race to my mind to make him jealous with, but I won’t be that woman.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes, not sorrow, rage. Why mess with me if he was going to end up here with her?

Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.

The walls close in around me, the windows to the fort I built in my head are shattering, shredding me with the pieces. I left the door open, and the devil walked straight in consuming and now destroying what was left of my already damaged heart.

Dammit, how could I let this happen?

“It’s not what you think,” Callan says, almost bored. He zips his fly and glances at me, then at Kitty, who’s seething, glaring at him with her arms crossed.

Isn’t that what they all say? “It’s not what you think.” Jackass.

“Then what is it?” Kitty asks the burning question that’s scorching through my brain like wildfire.

Georgina stands wearing only a towel. She curls her arm around Callan’s and strokes his shoulder in ownership.

Nausea stirs my guts as flames lick my anger.

Pinching his nose, he sighs. “She came in to clean up…”

I’ve been there. I’ve showered in his shower to clean up, and probably wore that same towel. I want to launch something at them both. Something heavy with sharp edges. Argh, I hate this. I need to escape.

“No one cares,” I lie. “Talk to your sister. She has questions you might actually answer. I’ll be at my motel when you’re ready to answer mine.” I scoff, giving Georgina one last look and forcing a smirk from my lips before turning to leave. If he wants to fuck poison, then let the venom take him out. I’m done. They can both kiss my ass.

“Rogue.” He says my name like a warning.

Fuck no, I will not heel at his boot. I spent too long being a doormat for Tyler. I won’t be one for him too. I’m not that girl anymore.

“Let her go, Callan. She doesn’t belong here anyway.” Georgina purrs.

Maybe she’s right. I don’t stick around to hear more, but their raised voices hum down the hallway as I depart. I’ve been stabbed with hot pokers and doused in acid. I need to sleep for a thousand years and forget I ever met the man whose road name now makes sense.

Pain .

He inflicts it with deadly precision.

The party has spilled outside. Laughter carries in the air while my insides rot. Fresh oxygen fills my lungs, helping to clear the alcohol fog. I desperately try to cling to my pride as I stroll up to the gates. They open for me to leave, and even though I’m choosing to go, I feel dejected all the same. This must be how club sluts feel the next day, used up and sent on their way. It sucks.

Tears I’ve been holding back drip down my cheeks. The cool breeze scatters goosebumps up my arms. I clutch them around myself to ward off the chill. The vast trees sway, whispering to the full moon. It’s so big, it’s almost intrusive in the night sky, a reminder of how small we all are. How fragile.

Thoughts manifest without permission, filling my head with visions of Callan with her, inside her—holding her—loving her. I could rip from my skin and howl at the moon like a fucking wolf. I don’t want to feel this way. I can’t take any more pain. I want to cut it out until I’m numb.

I don’t know how far away the motel is on foot, but I don’t stop moving. I pick up my pace until I’m jogging and then flat-out running, putting the club far behind me. Him behind me.

When I get to the closed road sign at the bottom of the road, I slow to a stop, gasping for breath as my muscles scream in protest of the impromptu cardio. My insides twist, and saliva floods my mouth. Acid burns a path up my throat, coating my tongue. Retching, I double over as sickness spills from my lips to the dirt at my feet. Gathering my hair into my fist, I purge everything inside my stomach until there's nothing left.

If only cleansing my heart was as easy.

My legs feel shaky when I begin walking again. There’s an ache throbbing across my ribs and my mouth tastes like I’ve been drinking toilet water.

Swiping another errant tear, I blow out a shaky breath. My reasons for going to the Kings got too clouded, and I allowed them to fill all the empty spaces inside me. How foolish I’ve been. Look where it’s left me? Alone in the dark, hurting.

Anger and sadness engulf me. I should have been smarter. Playing with fire, what did I expect but to get burned? I got too close to the damn flame, utterly dazzled by the glow.

This will leave a scar.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice the car parked in the shadows of the trees until red and blue lights blast into the night, followed by a whooping sound. I whip around to see a police officer getting out of their car.

“Ma’am.” Dammit . This is the last thing I need.

It’s not either of the officers from earlier at the club. It’s a different, heavy-set guy with graying hair and dull eyes.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” I defend before he says anything.

“Why are you out here alone?” He looks up the dark road and then back to me.

“Why are you out here?” I counter, Callan will lose it if he finds out they’re lurking around for people to start piling out the club. Most brothers have rooms or will crash wherever they fall by the end of the night. If this cop is hoping to catch drunk drivers with loose lips, he’s going to be disappointed. I subtly slip my phone from my pocket to text a warning to the club that cops are lurking, but my phone battery flashes a red signal and then dies. Great.

“Do you remember that some officers came to the clubhouse today?” He asks as he approaches, narrowing his gaze on me.

I nod in reply. My mouth feels sticky and dry. It’s a chore to speak. My fight or flight instincts are kicking in. This doesn’t feel right. My heart begins to race as I scan my surroundings and realize maybe I shouldn’t have left the club without a ride.

“It was Officer Spears you spoke with today. I’m Officer Larkin. I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” Shit. He looks in the direction of the club that’s completely obscured by trees in the distance before crossing the road to where I’m standing, his frame towering mine. It’s then I notice he’s not in uniform. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater and stinks of bourbon. He holds up a phone with an image grab of me on the screen. “This is you, right?”

“You waited out here for me?” I furrow my brow. Why does he have a screen grab of me on his phone?

“I know club whores get thrown out at dawn,” he spews, his hand outstretched with the phone, face screwed into a sneer. “Spears showed me his bodycam footage of you. I took a picture, so I’d know what you looked like.”

Grabbing my upper arm, he begins towing me toward his vehicle. I attempt to yank free, my stomach tightening in trepidation.

“What the hell are you doing? I’ve done nothing wrong.” His hold tightens, pinching my flesh to the point of pain. Bastard.

“Then you won’t mind answering some of my questions, will you?” He opens the back car door and flattens his meaty palm on my head, ducking me and shoving me inside with little effort. The door slams shut behind me and my nerves begin vibrating beneath my skin.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The asshole folds himself into his seat and turns the engine over. I grab the handle, but it’s locked. There’s a cage-type barrier between me and the front. If this fucker thinks he can get any answers to his questions from me, he’s going to be sorry he wasted both our time. This isn’t my first rodeo. Maybe it’s a good thing he thinks I’m just a club slut.

“This is harassment.” I smack my hand against the metal divide.

“Who are you going to complain to?” He guffaws, picking up a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels from the passenger seat and twisting the cap off with his teeth before guzzling the bottle like a baby would milk. I should have found Tim and gotten him to take me home

I squirm in the seat whenever his eyes clash with mine in the rearview mirror. We drive around silently for about five minutes past heavy brush and thick tree lines, the car straddling both lanes before pulling up to a dirt road. My throat tightens. A new wave of dread gnaws at me.

“This isn’t the way to the police station.” My pulse pounds in my ears when we pull to a stop. There’s stretches of gravel and dirt on all sides and nothing else but darkness. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in warning.

His eyes pin mine in the mirror, the margins of his lips twisting. “Observant whore, aren’t you?” He scoffs, exiting the car and pulling open the back door. I’ve been in enough situations and around many an asshole to know this prick isn’t going to be playing by the rules tonight.

I scoot across the seat, kicking my feet at him, making contact with his chest and shoulders. “Fucking bitch,” he yelps before clasping my ankle and dragging me across the seat and out of the car like I’m weightless. A whoosh of air washes over me as my back hits the dirt, pain shooting up my spine. I manage to keep my head from slamming against the ground as he drags me, tiny rocks scraping into my flesh and shredding my shirt. Kitty’s shirt .

A strangled scream rips from my lungs. I dislodge from his hold and scramble onto my hands and knees, attempting to flee. He’s on me instantly, his weight straddling my back and knocking the wind from me. Lungs burning, eyes streaming, I thrash back and forth, trying to get him off me. A hand wraps in my hair. My head pulls taunt almost snapping my damn neck. “Stop fighting, and I’ll let you up.”

My battle cry dies inside me. I nod, fearful he’ll kill me if I don’t. He lifts his weight, and I suck oxygen into my lungs. Gripping my hair tighter, he wrenches me to my feet, making me whimper.

My ribs howl in agony as he slams my back against the car and surrounds me, trapping me with his body. “Spears said you spent the night with Cox?” He’s so close, I trace every wrinkle on his face with my gaze. Dark circles act as a cushion for his dull, dead eyes. Stale sweat drenches the air around him like an aura.

“Yeah, and?”

Grabbing my jaw, he pushes my gums into my teeth until they puncture the flesh and blood fills my mouth. I yelp, trying to shake him off me. My heart sprints in my chest. “And I think you’re full of shit. Last night, we have you on surveillance camera near the Motel Motor Inn.”

“So?” I breathe anxiously as he loosens his hold on my jaw. “That’s where I’m staying. I met Callan close to there and we went back to the club.” Warm rivets of blood dribbles from my lips, coating his hand.

“Did you go to Ray’s?” His spit sprays my face, the overwhelming scent of whisky burning my nostrils. His other hand clenches the material of my shirt, pushing his knuckles into my tit.

“No. It was closed by the time we met up.” Ray’s doesn’t have cameras. The only one they could have picked me up on is the camera at the crosswalk, but that doesn’t show Ray’s bar.

“Did Cox leave the club last night at any point?”

“No.” I heave, finding it hard to draw breath. My gaze darts around our surroundings, trying to devise a plan of escape. But I have nothing, I can’t think.

Breathe, just breathe.

“Hey.” He releases my shirt and jabs me in the gut, making my legs go weak with the need to bend over and ease the throbbing pulsating through my abdomen. “Did you fall asleep? Could you have missed him leaving?” the pads of his fingers dig into my skin making my teeth rattle.

“No.” I sob, attempting to shake my head, hoping he will take pity on me.

“You’re fucking lying. I know it was him.” Releasing my jaw, he clenches his hand into a fist and punches me in the side of my face. My head whips sideways, sending searing pain through my cheekbone. My brain fuzzes, eyes dotting with darkness. He reaches behind him and produces a gun, digging the barrel into the cheek he just hit. “Why are you protecting a killer? He killed my boys. I fucking know it.”

Sweat beads all over my body. I need to escape. Run. Fight. Survive.

Help me. The two words drum in my brain.

“Maybe you’re more than a club whore if you’re meeting at night. That’s why you’d lie for him.” Some of his words slur, but he’s still strong and coherent despite being intoxicated. He pushes the gun harder into my face making me cry out. He’s going to kill me.

“Please,” I beg.

Sliding the gun down my cheek across my lips, he forces it into my mouth, his glassy eyes lighting up. He likes this.

My muffled cries hum around the steel barrel until he drives it so far back that I gag around it, my body convulsing.

“Fuck,” he cusses, yanking it out of my mouth and pushing me off the car and into the dirt. I skid on the gravel tearing open my skin. Rearing his leg back he kicks his boot into my stomach. “Just tell me what I want to know.” He aims the gun down at me as I cough and wheeze.

“Please,” I repeat, trembling, raising a hand in hopes he will show some mercy. My vision blurs I search my mind for a plan to get me out of this, but my brain won’t cooperate.

Larkin turns his gaze from me to his patrol car, raking his hands through his hair and kicking at the tire. He holsters the gun, and I know if I don’t make a move now, I may never get another chance.

Kill or be killed.

I won’t go out like this. A flood of adrenaline washes through my veins, helping me get to my feet. I rush him, jumping onto his back. A shocked grunt hisses from his lips as I bite down on his ear, tearing at his flesh like a crazed animal. Blood pisses from the chunk I rip away and spit to the dirt. His hands grapple behind him, trying to pry me loose, but I cling on for my life. Digging my nails into the skin of his face and shredding.

Spinning our bodies, he jerks back, slamming me against the car hood. All the air flees my body, and not only do I feel the crack of my ribs, but I also hear it. Staggering away from me, Larkin checks the damage to his ear and face in the window’s reflection. I roll off the hood into a heap by the tires.

I’m barely able to catch a breath before he grabs my foot again and drags me along the road toward some heavy brush. My top shreds completely off my body, leaving me in a torn bra. My right boob is on display—the road rash causing my skin to scream in distress.

This is how they’ll find your body.

Coming to a stop, his blood drips all over my bare flesh as he leans over me. Raising his arm up, he backhands me across the temple almost stilling my consciousness. “Look at you, half-naked like the whore you are.” He reaches for the waist band of my jeans and wrenches them and my panties down my legs, having to yank hard to pull them over my shoes before tossing the fabric away leaving me bare. “I’ve seen a million whores like you giving it up to those criminal bastards. You want to be a whore.” He grasps a fistful of my hair again, heaving me up. I run my palm through a gathered cluster of pebbles, clutching a handful. “I’ll use you up like one and leave you out here to die, let the wildlife live off you. It’s all whores like you are good for.”

“Fuck you.” I spit a mouthful of blood at him before scrubbing the stones in my hand into his face.

“Argggghh,” he bellows, lurching away from me and frantically wiping at his eyes. “Fucking bitch.”

Limping with the last of my will to survive, I shove into his body, knocking him off kilter causing us both to topple over, me on top of him. He rolls us, crushing my body beneath his, his heavy palm covers my face, restricting my airways. Panic turns my bones to stone. Is this what Harley felt? What are the odds of me ending up murdered like her? Left in the wilderness like trash. My nails scratch at his hand but it’s futile.

“You don’t deserve to live when my sons’ lives got stolen away.” He growls, tears blurring the dark of his eyes.

His other hand fumbles with his buttons, his knuckles digging into my stomach as he attempts to free himself.

No. No. No.

The world becomes a vacuum around me. His lips move, but there’s no sound. Harley’s image bursts into my mind, followed by Kitty’s and Callan’s. It can’t end like this. The thought offers me a surge of strength. A roar vibrates my chest. My hands come up to Larkin’s face and I gouge my thumbs into his eye sockets. With every last ounce of fight left in me, I force my thumbs in deep until he can’t take anymore and wails in agony before clambering off of me.

I take the reprieve and scrabble toward his hunched-over frame, my eyes drawn to his unclipped holster. Within the next heartbeat I seize his weapon and pull it free. Exhilaration fills me at the feel of the heavy weapon in my palm. He attempts to grab me once more, but I stumble away just out of reach, aiming the weapon at his stunned fucking face. Hands splayed, eyes wide and bleeding, he’s dumbfounded at how I turned the tables on him.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

“Put the gun down.” His voice has dropped to a soothing whisper, starkly contrasting the threatening tone from seconds ago. Blood and stones cover his face as he wobbles on his feet. He looks ridiculous. God knows what I must look like.

“Put the fucking gun down, cunt.” The insidious intent has me stroking my finger over the trigger.

“Fuck you, you animal.”

The sharp crack of the gun warps through the air, over and over, as I shoot five shots into his legs and groin, dropping him to his knees. He attempts to move, but I stop him instantly with one final shot to his forehead. His mouth is agape, a red hole blossoming. He falls like a stone from a cliff, hitting the road with a thud, sending a cloud of dust around him like smoke. Silence follows. The night appears so calm around me. A scream claws it’s way up my throat as I collapse, terror streaking through me, seeping from my pores. My body vibrates like I am caught in an electric current, and the realization of what’s just happened sends ice crystalizing up my spine.

I just killed a cop. I’m going to jail for the rest of my damn life.

He was going to rape and kill me. It was self-defense, but who will believe me? I’m a Devil club member playing girlfriend to a King club member. No judge will take pity on me. Cops won’t care or believe that I had no other choice. My chest constricts and I sob, horror clawing inside me, pain bursting from the seams of my soul.

When I finally return to myself, my eyes are crusted shut, and my body aches and throbs all over. I push myself to my feet and wince. Not knowing what to do, I pick up clothes and delicately pull my jeans back on. I find my torn top and hold it with my panties against my chest before I begin walking.

I don’t stop until I find my way back to the compound gates. They take a couple of minutes to open, and I almost turn around, but Tim comes jogging toward me, concern etched across his face.

“Rogue? What the fuck.”

“I need to speak to Callan.”

My words don’t sound like my own. They’re distorted and my lips feel too big for my face.

Will he even listen, or will he dump me on the curb?

I killed a cop .

The blaring alarm rings in my head.

“He’s not here. He went looking for you.”

“What?” I look up into his caring blue eyes.

“Tell me what happened.” I don’t notice that he’s walked me up to the club door until it opens, and Dodger spills out, holding a couple of beer bottles between his fingers.

“What the hell? You okay, Princess?” He looks me over, squinting one eye, trying to focus.

“No,” I state, a tear streaking my cheek.

“Tim, what the fuck happened to her?” With a gentle shrug of his shoulders, I find myself entering the clubhouse and walking down the corridor to Callan’s room with Tim and Dodger following.

Tim calls out to someone out of view. “Go get Kitty. Now.” I push open Callan’s door, and relief sags my limbs. His scent is everywhere. It’s like walking into a hug. I limp over to his bed and sit, keeping my shirt pinned to my chest.

“Has she said anything?” Dodger asks.

“Nope. I didn’t even know she had left. The front gate called me when she strolled up to it. Said she’d been gone a couple of hours.”

Hours? My head whips up to Tim.

Footsteps pound from the hallway before Kitty enters the room. Her mouth drops. “Rogue?” She rushes toward me. Tears prick her eyes, as she crouches before me. “Where did you go? Tell me what happened.” Her hands hover over my body as if afraid to touch me.

She whips her head to Tim and Dodger when the words won’t come. “Look at her!” she cries out. “Who did this?”

“Whoever it was, we’ll string them up by their balls,” Dodger states.

I look at him. “Something terrible happened.” I choke. All three sets of eyes fall on me as more people enter the room. Diamond, followed by two of the triplets and Daddy.

“Who hurt you, Princess? They’re fucking dead,” Daddy booms.

“Everyone out. Let’s give her some space and get her cleaned up. Where’s Callan?” Diamond asks. My heart is fit to burst through my chest. They care.

“I messaged him,” Tim replies.

She ushers everyone out of the room but her and Kitty.

“I’m going to take this shirt from you, okay?” Kitty asks, her voice strained. I loosen my hold on it, hissing when the material sticks to a wound.

“Shit.” Kitty whitens. “We’re going to need medical.”

“I’ll call Doc.” Diamond turns to leave.

“No! Just clean it for me, Kit. Please.”

“You look like you’ve been dragged down the road without clothes on.”

I have .

“It’s fine. I just need to get clean.” Diamond nods to Kitty and then leaves the room.

“Tell me who did this to you. I promise I’ll believe you and kill them myself if you say it was one of us.”

Tears erupt, spilling faster than I can grasp. My chest heaves, and I pin her body to mine as I come undone.

“I killed him,” I whisper. She pulls away, stroking her palm down my sore cheek.

“Who?” She tosses my ruined shirt to the bed, and my panties fall out of it.

My stomach dips as she snatches them up, staring at them like they hold all the answers she doesn’t want to believe. “Who did this to you?” I track the tear that bleeds down her cheek.

“He didn’t,” I gag on the words. “I didn’t let him get that far.” I finish, choking past the rock in my throat.

The door bursts open, making us both startle. Callan’s terrifying frame fills the space.

“Rogue?”

His tone is pained. I stand and rush to him, gripping the lapels of his cut. Fear grips me in a chokehold, the words refusing to come. What if he throws me away? What if he doesn’t care? “I killed him,” I weep.

“I know.” He nods, grasping my face in his hands, brow furrowed, eyes searching.

“What?” my palms cover his.

“The cop? He’s been found.”

No…