Page 48 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
“He can't help you now,” Grainger drawls, and maybe he thinks he’s funny as he drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it out with his boot. He’s smiling, but there’s nothing pleasant about his expression.
I should've stayed safe in the cocoon of the high school. This is my lesson right here: stay the fuck in school.
Because I know they'll drag me if I resist, I start up the hill at a brisk pace. I don't even have to open the door to smell the copper tang of blood.
Please don't let this be the end of me, I think, and I know there a million ways beyond death for me to lose my soul. Grainger reaches around me and unlocks the door, his warm body far too close to mine. Crown will notice. Cat will absolutely notice.
“Get your ass in there,” he says, his mouth so close to my ear that his breath stirs my hair. I can still feel him inside of me, still feel his hands gripping my ass, his mouth on my neck. My heart races, and my chest feels suddenly tight. If we were somewhere else, anywhere else, maybe the raft of our hatred would carry us away on wild waves.
The acrid reek of blood keeps me from getting too excited though. Instead, all I feel is terror when that door swings open and I'm shoved inside it.
I toss my hair over my shoulder and level a pitying glare on Grainger. There's a reason I've always hated him. He has no manners: he's a rude, crude, asshole who has no idea how to treat a woman. No idea how to treat any other human for that matter. I don't know anything about him except he always seems hell-bent on making me as miserable as possible when he's around. Too bad all that hate makes me want to fuck him.
Turning back to face the gloom in front of me, I blink through darkness and shadows to see a kid tied to a chair. Fear lances my chest as he lifts his head to look at me, tape across his mouth, ropes on his wrists and ankles. His gray eyes meet mine, and I almost topple over. He can't be more than a year older than me at most. He's just a kid. A kid. A fucking kid.
“Baby girl,” Cat says, his voice saccharine sweet and full of mocking derision both, a disgusting dichotomy that makes my stomach roil. Slowly, I redirect my attention his way. Beast is here, so is Sin, and a handful of old-timers that I know are even more cruel than the handsome men standing on either side of me.
I'm a lamb in a wolf's den.
“Daddy,” I reply carefully, and my tone is just as mocking. He's used to that. I know what I can get away with.
“Come 'ere,” Cat grunts, waving me over to stand beside him. I can see the mangled tips of the kid's fingers, but he doesn't look scared. Instead, he stares at me with a stark defiance I well recognize. This kid is me in a different body.
I'm fascinated by him at the same time I know he's scheduled for the guillotine. If he's in this cabin, he won't survive the night, not unless the club thinks he has information they need. And even then, he most definitely won't survive the week.
It makes sense all of a sudden. I know why they brought me here. This sight, the smell of blood … they're shackles, shackles to keep me tied to Death by Daybreak. So far in my life, I've managed to avoid being in on any situation that might threaten the club. Even when the mafia attacked the house and killed my sisters, I didn't see anything that could incriminate the club. Nothing.
This right here, I can't walk away from this. I can never run. It's a trap.
My breath starts to come faster, my head swims, and I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to stay standing. They're going to kill this boy in front of me, aren't they?
“Why am I here?” I ask, because I've never been included in club business, not for anything. This is not my world, not even if I wanted it to be. I don’t, of course, but that's not the point. The point is … now that I'm here, I'll never be able to run.
The kid's hair falls across his brow, this sandy color that reminds me of the beach under a stormy sky. He's looking right at me, through me almost. I feel like glass.
“I need your help with something,” Cat says, sitting in a chair next to me. He reaches out and takes my hand, making me stiffen. It's been years since my dad's touched me for any reason other than to beat my ass. The last time I had a hug from him was … has he ever hugged me? I have one memory of being five years old and riding on his shoulders, laughing and laughing a sunny summer day away. That's about it. Everything else is a blur.
