It tears the weak apart from those with a specific kind of strength, where only the strongest can survive in this brutal world without losing themselves completely. I’m afraid Alisha lost herself completely. That she became someone she’s not. Addicts do crazy shit when they’re desperate, and the last time I saw her, she was desperate.
She suffered like the rest of us, growing up in the Unholy Sinners, our mother chapter.
Sinner exited with a wad of scratch and has since rebuilt his club on his own terms in the next town over. He chose to keep a lot of the original Unholy laws, which were a bone of contention between our prez and him—yet another reason I know I chose the right side. Not a prayer would I ever be okay with auctioning off my kid for power; that wasn’t the kind of president I wanted to follow.
That’s not a world I’d choose to live in, and for once in my miserable life, I had a choice. From then on, Savage became my president, and to this day, as a mark of respect,he insists on us only using his title of president during church.
“Wish the screen weren’t there.” I nod toward the bulletproof screen protecting the scumbag. He doesn’t even have the balls to turn and face us. I haven’t gotten a glimpse of his face yet; only on the television did I see an image of his mugshot.
The face of a man so evil that he became the mask of nightmares for many.
That goes for me too.
I lie awake at night, wondering what he did to her.
Did he sell her?
Did she plead and beg for him to stop as he and his sick friends took turns abusing her?
They haven’t let us in to witness the trial, so everything we’ve heard has been through the media—the whole twisted truth. The gory details of how he tortured victims before finally discarding them.
Men and women.
Some say, they were victims of a Mafia auction house on the West Coast; others say, senior members of society used them, and it’s all one big cover-up, with Benjamin Charles being at the center of it.
Hunter, our tech guy, disagrees. He believes Benjamin might have been a collaborator and no doubt took part in the warped demise of the victims, but he sure as hell didn’t orchestrate it. And I believe him.
Benjamin Charles is the key to my answers, but he’s un-fucking-touchable.
“We’ll get him, brother,” Warrior states, and I want to snort at how he thinks that is possible. The prick will be held in high security after the amount of evidence linking him to missing men and women and their brutal demise.
My leg bounces and I exhale, trying to calm the inferno rising inside me. I want to be here to witness him being sent down, at least; they owe me that much.
To redirect my focus, I look around the packed courtroom, and the people present—the news commentators, the press along with the familiar family representatives, and those who chose to keep their anger and sorrow hidden and instead, have thrown themselves into the trial.
Sniveling mothers dab at their faces and noses; fathers look lost on how to comfort them. How do you comfort a grieving mother who’s heard of their innocent flesh and blood’s torture, of their last minutes begging for help while he callously reveled in it?
My gaze latches onto a young woman sitting away from everyone else, barring the suit beside her. He looks like a fucking bodyguard—his back ramrod straight, muscles bulging from his shirt, and the way he grips the back of her chair has my focus sharpening. It’s almost like she has her own seating area. I quickly assess the room again. Everybody else is crowded together; I had to growl at some poor fucker to grab these seats.
I assumed the crowd was due to the spectacle of the trial, but now, as I eye the bare seats surrounding her, it becomes obvious those seats are empty for a reason, and I can’t help but wonder why.
Perusing her, I take her in from head to toe, and my cock pays instant attention. Her thick blonde hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, and she chews on her fingernails like it’s her last meal. She’s so transfixed, she probably doesn’t realize she’s licking the gloss away from those pouty lips as she gnaws on the tip of her finger. I wonder what her lips would taste like.
Something fruity, I bet. I lick my lips at the thought.
She’s stunning.
Leaning forward to get a look at her front, I can’t help but be mesmerized by her tits on display in a low-cut white dress and a denim jacket. Her dress finishes at her bronzed knees, and I have an overwhelming urge to push up the fabric and expose her panties.
She’s everything the club whores are not. Innocent looking, naturally pretty, and I bet she tastes as sweet as she looks.
“Think it’s the sister and their family liaison officer,” Warrior rumbles, and I jerk at his words.
What the fuck?
I clench my jaw. His goddamn sister. Why the hell haven’t they told me about her before now?
He has a sister.
