War (Kings of Sin MC #2)

7. Love

CHAPTER 7

LOVE

A naked man, bar a pair of black-rimmed glasses, is tied to a table. His body is athletically built. His muscles strain against the metal restraints keeping him contained. My legs move of their own accord, until I’m close enough to see small white scars decorating his arms and hands. Nail marks. A vice constricts my heart.

“Help me,” the man cries out, jerking his chains. The clink of the metal makes me startle. “I’m not who they think I am,” he pleads. Bruises color his cheeks. Crimson stains sit beneath his nose. I sense Callan’s presence behind me as I walk around the table, inspecting every inch of the man. Did he wrap those hands around Harley’s throat? Did he push his weight down on her as she struggled to be free? She was a fighter. She wouldn’t have gone quietly. Are those scars up his arms from her fighting him? Closing my eyes, I squeeze my hands so tight, I feel my own nails puncture the skin.

“Please,” the killer tries again.

My eyes spring open, glaring down at him. “You’ll never leave here.”

He begins to laugh, chilling the room, turning the atmosphere into a chamber reserved for hell. Evil, pure and undiluted, is among us. We’re all killers, but he has no soul. Empathy eludes the minds of psychopaths—and that makes them demons walking the earth. He smirks, inhaling like he can smell the humanity surrounding him.

“I like little girls with fire in them.” His face contorts into a sneer. “Makes snuffing it out all the more fun.”

“You’re the one dying today, asshole,” Callan informs him.

Bending, I unsheathe the knife Callan keeps on his ankle and rise to plunge the blade into the bastard’s hip. It takes more effort than I expect. I throw all my weight down on the blade, ripping into his skin and muscle, hitting bone. Blood blooms around the knife’s edge.

“Bitch!” he screeches, the veins in his head almost bursting as he recoils, shaking the bindings, spittle spraying his own face.

“You have no idea,” I taunt, tugging on the blade. I wiggle it to get it free as he grunts and spits vile words into the ether. “I know every part of the body that can withstand injury without killing you,” I whisper, walking around his body, stabbing into his other hip.

“I’m glad we get to keep her,” Monster pipes in. Dragging a chair from the corner of the room, he takes a seat.

“And that she’s on our team,” Dodger adds, folding his arms. He jerks his chin at me, a silent request to keep going.

“I had a sister.” Energy vibrates through me. Adrenaline ignites in my blood.

“Does she look like you? Because I’d love to open her up,” the bastard grits out. Callan pinches the bastard’s already broken nose, the cartilage grinding beneath his fingers.

“Would you?” I push the blade’s tip into his sternum, nicking the flesh and dragging the edge down to his groin. Anguished cries pierce the air, urging me on. I want him to hurt, to bleed.

“She had a tattoo on her thigh.” A stone lodges in my throat. “That you cut away,” I choke out.

“Tattoos are for sluts.” He bares his teeth, and Callan punches him in the jaw, whipping his face to the side. Spitting blood, the evil fuck chuckles, gurgling on the liquid filling his mouth, his glasses hanging crooked across his nose.

“Pure.” He clenches as I drag the blade back up his torso. “I only take them if they’re pure!” he hollers, the pain weakening him. “You have the wrong guy, little girl.”

“He’s a lying piece of shit,” Dodger grinds out. “Let me at him, Rogue.” He steps up to the table, pushing his finger into the knife wound on the bastards hip, making him buck.

“I didn’t kill no whore with a tattoo,” he bellows.

Monster gets to his feet and comes to stand by the animal’s head. “You’re going to kill me either way. Why the fuck would I lie? My girls are pure.”

“I believe him,” Monster declares. My gaze whips to his.

“Really?”

“Just fucking kill me. It wasn’t me.”

“All those other girls he killed, though.” Monster cracks his neck, rolling his shoulders, and walks over to a row of cabinets. Opening one up, he pulls out a tray of tools. Knives, pliers, a drill, something that looks like a bone saw…

“I’ve heard enough,” I tell Callan, handing him the blade. I turn on my heel, leaving them to take him apart.

“Take your time,” Callan instructs, handing Dodger his knife. Then he takes me by the elbow and guides me down the hall to a shower room. This torture building has everything. It’s well thought out. How much blood stains the drains here?

Shower stalls line the back wall. Every inch of this room boasts tiles, floor to ceiling. There are a couple urinals and shelves holding towels. A large cabinet is the only thing wooden in here.

“Do you think it was him?” I ask as he leads me to one of the stalls.

“If it was, they’ll get it out of him.” He rubs down my arms, coaxing me to lift so he can remove my blood-splattered top.

“And if it’s not?” Tears are in my eyes as I look up at my savior, hope growing like a seed in my chest for the first time since finding out about Harley’s death.

“Then we just rid the world of a piece of shit. And we’ll keep doing it until we find the one who is responsible.” He unbuttons my jeans, shoving them down my legs.

I kick out of them and whisper, “Thank you.” Wiping my hand across my nose, I drop my gaze. “For helping me—for doing this for her,” I weep, all my strength fleeing. The crimson stains are sticky on my hands. I want to hold them toward the sky and scream her name.

“I gave Monster one of Harley’s bullets to finish him with.” He slips off his cut and places it on a hook behind my head.

I think that’s the first time he’s said her name. If he’s been looking into her death, he would have seen her report, her autopsy, and images of her on record. We look a lot alike. I wonder the toll that would have taken on him. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done here, Callan.”

Grasping my face, he lifts my gaze to his. The intensity of his eyes causes a whimper to whisp past my lips.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to give you any semblance of peace.” Placing a hand over my heart, he adds, “I fucking love you, Rogue.” His words steal the air from my lungs. My heart accelerates, fear and exhilaration swirling within me. A foreign calm washes over me as I let his words penetrate.

“I think I’ve been falling for you since before we even met—when your image smirked up at me from a photograph. It terrifies me.”

“Why?” He unclasps my bra and drags it down my arms, discarding it with the pile at our feet.

“Because when you love someone, you can lose them. And that fear is unbearable. I can’t go through it again.” The idea of losing Callan turns the world dark. I’d be adrift forever in the abyss.

“You’ll never lose me, Rogue. I’ll always find you.”

It’s hard to fathom how quickly he’s come to mean the whole damn world to me.

“Say it, Rogue,” he demands, tearing his shirt over his head. Turning on the shower, he kicks his jeans off and tugs me beneath the spray. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice hard, commanding. I allow my happy tears to stream with the rainfall of the shower.

“I love you, Callan.” Joy expands in my chest. I found where I belong.

Slipping my panties down my legs, he says, “I’m going to fuck you now.” Our bodies collide in a heated explosion of lust, love, and desperation. We cling to each other, our bodies in sync as I wrap my legs around his waist and he lifts me, pushing me against the tiled wall.

Skin on skin, his hard cock grinds between my pussy lips, stroking my clit, flooding my cunt with arousal. My nipples harden from the friction of our bodies dancing. Devouring my mouth with his, I relish in his taste, our tongues sparring. He tastes like warm champagne on the fourth of July.

Every caress gains a response from my body, awakening every nerve-ending. I feel drunk on him. So fucking high, I can barely breathe. All the fear, sorrow, and apprehension that led us here evaporates. We embrace our nature, clawing, biting, mauling each other. Competent hands stoke the fire inside me. His large, muscled body covers mine, claiming me. He’s magnificent. Rough hands fist in my hair, snatching my head back, his teeth dragging across my jawline.

“Tell me to fuck you, Rogue. Beg me to fill you up until all you feel is me and my dick.” His voice is strained. The floodgates of the shower cascading around us camouflages us from everything happening outside this room.

The air around us crackles, the embers of our fire gaining momentum as his hands grope, explore, claim. Those compelling, dark, all-consuming eyes bore into me.

“Fuck me like you own me, Callan. Show me whose pussy this is.”

The pressure inside me is at a boiling point. There’s no guilt, no shame, just a rush of euphoria as he thrusts inside me, fireworks exploding behind my eyes. A collision of senses exploding all at once. Grinding his hips, he fucks me hard, filling me up and spreading me wide. I feel my heartbeat in every part of my body.

Bucking his hips, his girth pushes me to my limit, causing a delicious bite of pain. I feel him under my skin and deep in my soul. My heart flutters. My skin begs for his touch. My hands explore him with a mind of their own, the pads of my fingers brushing over his taunt, soft skin.

“Take my dick, Rogue. Grind your pussy on me.”

Warmth builds in my stomach, traveling to my chest and expanding up my neck, heating my cheeks. His moan against my lips curls my toes and unfurls all my senses, overwhelming me with pleasure and silencing all thoughts until I’m nothing more than sensation.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Rogue. Your pussy’s squeezing my dick—so tight—so fucking good.”

“Your cock is so big; you’re going to make me cum.” His large frame pins me in place as he fucks me into submission. It feels almost forbidden, like I’ve unlocked a secret meant only for the gods. My entire body tingles as he powers his hips into me, his teeth claiming my neck.

“Play with your clit, Rogue. Show me how you make yourself cum.” My hand slips between our bodies to the heat of my pussy, and I tease my clit while he watches. The raw emotion in his eyes tips me over the edge as his fingers curl around mine and we stroke together. My body clenches around him once more, consuming me with an intense orgasm. We stay glued together, his eyes fastened on his cock sliding in and out of me, coated in my juices.

“Give me every inch,” I pant. His length punishing me. “Fuck me, Callan—just like that.” I moan, my pussy pulsing around him as I bounce on his dick. “You’re making me cum so hard,” I cry out. An animalistic growl claws up his throat as his seed pumps into me. Nothing exists, only our pleasure as we fall over the edge.

Lowering me onto my shaky legs, he kisses me like he has the power to grant life or take it away.

I’d allow him to do either.

“You’re perfect.” He strokes his thumb over my bottom lip.

“I love your cock,” I murmur, and he spurts out a contagious chuckle.

A crack pierces the air, jolting me to the present. The gunshot signals the end of Edward Jarvis, the Blind Date Killer.

“Come on.” Callan grabs us towels from a stack across the room and wraps one around me before himself.

“We have spare clothes here, but they may be a bit big on you.”

Dusting his hands over his body with the towel, he opens a cabinet, pulling out sealed sweatpants and shirts.

“What will you do with him?” I ask, taking the clothes from him and tearing the bags open.

“We have an incinerator.” Of course they do. “Your clothes will be going in there too. I’m sorry. I know I owe you a whole new closet by now.” He pulls the sweats up his legs. We look like convicts being inducted into prison life. The sweats drown me, but I’m not here to make a fashion statement.

Footsteps enter the room, tapping against the tiles. “Oh, sorry—I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Monster announces, stark naked, covered head to toe in blood, the hair surrounding his face soaked in crimson.

“We’re just leaving,” Callan informs him, as I stand there struck silent. What the hell did he do, eat him?

“He didn’t give it up. If he killed her, he’s taken the facts to the underworld.”

What if it wasn’t him?

Then we keep going until we find him . Callan’s words buzz through my mind.

“Thank you, either way. For everything,” I say, finding my tongue.

“You’re one of us. A sin against one is a sin against all. We’ll find this fucker,” he promises before turning to the showers and blasting the one Callan and I just exited. Intertwining our fingers, Callan leads me back through the outhouse to his bike.

The sky turns dark and angry, heaven denying the killer entry. A chirping comes from Callan’s saddle bag. Shifting through the leather, he pulls his phone out and frowns, answering the call.

“What is it?” Whispers catch in the wind, the trees hissing as thunder booms in the sky. Rain begins pelting down on us, the sky darkening further. A cold chill settles in my bones as Callan stares at me, his lips parting. “I’ll be right there.” Water cascades down on us, and I shiver at the intensity of it.

Something haunts his face that has me reaching for him. “What is it?” I ask, my lips trembling.

“It’s my dad.” A crease mars his brow. “He’s awake.”