“You don’t get to control me anymore,” she said softly.
His eyes hardened. “You don’t get a choice in the matter, princess.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “I do.” His hand moved toward his waistband, and that was the moment she’d been waiting for.
Trixie moved fast, grabbing the small knife she had tucked into the back of her waistband, and slid it into her palm in one swift motion. Before he could react, she drove it forward with every ounce of strength she had. Straight into his side. He grunted, more surprised than hurt. His hand lashed out, striking her across the face hard enough to send her stumbling backward.
“You stupid little—” He looked down his body at the blood that had covered the side of his white shirt—his blood. She took some deep satisfaction that she was the one who had done that to him. But Trixie couldn’t stop there. She needed to take him down if she ever wanted peace again. Years of fear and pain, along with years of being told she was nothing, all exploded inside her.
She lunged at him again, and this time, the blade sank deep into his stomach. Her father’s eyes widened. For the first time in her entire life, he looked afraid. “You ungrateful?—”
She shoved him backward as he lunged for her, forcing him to stagger against the wall. “You don’t get to say another word to me,” she said, her voice shaking but strong.
His hand clamped over the wound, blood spilling between his fingers. “Trixie,” he rasped. “You think they’ll love you when they know what you are?” Her chest rose and fell as she stared at him. Cyclops’s face flashed through her mind. The way he looked at her and the way he believed in her, and suddenly, the truth was crystal clear.
“They already do,” she said.
Her father laughed weakly, though blood bubbled at his lips. “Then finish it,” he sneered. “Prove you’re just like me.”
Trixie stepped closer, and for a moment, the frightened little girl inside her trembled. But then she thought of every night she’d spent terrified of this man. Every bruise he’d given her. Every cruel word he had said to her. And every life he had destroyed—including her own.
Her grip tightened on the knife. “I’m nothing like you,” she spat as she drove the blade straight into his heart. His body jerked once, and then went still.
The compound noise faded into a distant blur as Trixie stood there, staring down at him. His blood covered her hands and the blade that she still clutched as though it were her lifeline. She was waiting for the fear or the guilt that she expected would follow, but what she felt instead was something she’d never experienced before—freedom.
The knife slipped from her fingers, clattering to the ground. “Trixie!” Cyclops’s voice cut through the compound. She turned just as he came running toward her, his single eye wide with panic. His gaze dropped to the body at her feet, and then back to her face.
“Trixie,” he breathed. For a split second, she thought he might see her differently now. She worried that he might see the monster her father always said she was. But Cyclops stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, holding her tight. “You’re safe.”
Trixie buried her face against his chest as the tears finally came. “You came back,” she whispered.
“I told you that I would,” he murmured. “Every time.” She rested her forehead against his chest, trembling with something that felt like exhaustion, fear, and something dangerously close to love.
“It’s over,” she whispered. Cyclops pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Yeah, baby,” he said softly. “It’s finally over.” And for the first time since she met him—since she walked into his bar and turned his life upside-down—Trixie believed something she never believed before. She was worthy of his love. She was his. And he’d be hers. They didn’t need patches or titles to know that much about each other. It was just them—together, and that was all she ever needed.
The End
I hope you loved Cyclops and Trixie’s story! Now, buckle up and get ready for another Road Reaper! Venom (Road Reapers MC Book 7) is coming soon from K.L. Ramsey!
VENOM
Venom didn’t believe in fate. People liked to say that the universe had plans for them. They’d say that it was destiny the way things ended up or that karma led them to do it. All those were just pretty words that folks used to make sense of getting wrecked by life. Venom knew better. Life hit who it wanted to and when it wanted, and it never apologized for the mess it left behind. Still, nights like this made him wonder if something or someone out there had a personal grudge against him.
The air was cold enough to sting his lungs. The thick fog clung to the ground like smoke from an invisible fire. The compound behind him was quiet with its lights low, engines cold, and prospects lingering in doorways pretending they were keeping watch.
Venom leaned against his bike at the far edge of the compound, the place where the tree line pressed closest to the property line. The cigarette between his fingers burned down slowly, and embers flared with every drag he took from it. The forest beyond the fence was too still. There was no wind, nobirds, and even the damn crickets had gone mute. Quiet made some men relax, but it made Venom feel dangerous.
He didn’t feel much these days—cold, fear, joy—none of it. All that went out the window with the last person he’d ever loved. One bullet he never saw coming took her from him. One scream he couldn’t forget that rang through the night led to the one mistake he couldn’t undo.
The Road Reapers patched him anyway, as their Enforcer. It was a mistake because they shouldn’t have trusted him enough to make him a member. Hell, he didn’t even trust himself that much, most days. But most clubs used that title for muscle and intimidation. Enforcers were men that they sent in to handle things when a deal went sideways. The Road Reapers used Venom differently. Venom had muscle and precision, but that didn’t make him good at being the club’s enforcer. He was good at that job because he was ruthless in a way that most men with a conscience couldn’t be. But he had lost that too when he lost her.
He finished the cigarette and flicked it into the dirt. The ember died instantly.
His jaw clenched. He knew that something was coming. He felt it before he heard the footsteps behind him. Ink. Venom didn’t have to look to know who it was. No one else in the club walked like he did, all restless energy and coiled humor ready to snap.
