Prologue
Hurt
Rosalie
He spit on me.
I felt it land on the side of my chin and slide down.
I didn’t move to wipe it away.
I couldn’t.
Lying on my side, curled into a ball, the pain screamedthrough me.All of it—and there was a lot of it—demanding attention, I couldn’tconcentrate, couldn’t think, couldn’t move in case it got worse.I couldn’t doanything but lie there and pray that it was over.
It wasn’t.
He bent over me, grabbed my hair, yanked it back, and I felthis hot breath hit my face.
“See if he wants you now, you stupid bitch,” he hissed.
He let my hair go and I felt him retreat, but he stillwasn’t done.
He kicked me so hard with his foot in its heavy motorcycleboot, my body slid across the cement.
I was too far gone even to grunt.
I felt something bounce off my hip, clatter to the floor,and then his voice came back, this time from further away.
“There you go, baby,” he drawled.“Your line to Chaos.We’redone with you.I’mdone with you.Now they can have you.”
I heard boots on cement, more than just his, his Bountybrothers in the club.I sustained a couple more kicks as they passed.One ofthem grabbed the underside of my jaw and shoved my head back into the cement,also spitting, his hitting my neck.
And then they were gone.
I lay there, my focus on breathing and continuing to do iteven though each breath was not only an effort but an agony.The fear I’d feltearly when he took me, how he’d taken me, the way he’d handled me and I knewhe’d figured it out, had dissipated as pain took its place.Now, the fear wasreturning that they’d come back and dish out more.
He’dcome back.
Throttle.
No, to me he was Beck.My boyfriend.Gerard Beck.He hatedthe first name Gerard so everyone called him Beck.All his life.Or since hecould demand that happen and not allow anything but that.Even his mothercalled him Beck.
Until he got his club name, Throttle.All his brotherscalled him that.When I was with him when he was with his brothers, I alsocalled him that.
But when we were alone, at home, he was Beck.
My Beck.
My man.My lover.My protector.My future.
The man who’d just spit on me and kicked me.
But he’d done more before that.
He’d grabbed me from work and delivered me right to them,right to where I was right then.Even starting it, choking me until I thoughtI’d blank out, then clocking me in the temple, then on the jaw, then on mycheekbone.
Throttle.
