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More smacks follow, one after the other. He doesn’t stop until I taste the familiar flavor of metal. I’m sure I’m going to pass out from the loss of blood. Once he’s finished, I hear his sigh of contentment as he moves off me, and I’m finally able to breathe again.
“Best be checking on dinner,” Rogan tells me as he zips up his jeans and leaves me on the bed.
I know I had the stove on low, but I’m pretty sure dinner is ruined now. Forcing myself to move, I don’t bother righting my clothes he’d ripped from me. Instead, I find the soft material of my beach wrap and tie it around me. I don’t dare touch my butt because I know it will only cause more agony.
In the kitchen, I flick off everything, thankful that nothing is burned too badly. He won’t notice because he won’t eat. The sound of a glass tumbler from the living room of a drink being poured is the only evidence I need to know he’s not interested in what I’ve made. He’s still drinking, which means he’ll soon be passed out in the armchair with the television blaring.
My torture for today is complete, and I’m able to shower and try to clean myself. The cool water doesn’t really soothe me, but it washes away the blood. With every movement, I feel him. It’s why he does it—to remind me of who I belong to. He needs me to know that no matter where I am, or who I’m with, I will always be his. That’s what he told me the first time it happened.
Leaning against the cold tiles, I close my eyes and try to calm my constantly erratic pulse. But that’s when the shattering of glass startles me, and I slip to the floor with my eyes snapping open in surprise. The shower door is in pieces around me. Smaller shards cut into my skin.
Rogan’s boot is already closing in, and it slams into my ribs.
“Fucking little bitch. The food is burned.”
His words no longer unravel me, because my vision is beginning to blur. I blink a few times, but I can no longer see him clearly. Everything goes cloudy, as if I’m in a steamy tunnel. There’s nothing I can focus on. And then, everything goes black.
SIX
SULLY
The Present
When I finally get home, I find the apartment empty. I’m pretty sure Clover is still at the pub, which means I can clean up and head down there. She’s been on my mind all day. Even though I’m still waitin’ on Tye ta get back to me with intel, I’m goin’ta go see my girl. I haven’t told her what I’m doin’, and I don’t think she’ll be happy when she finds out, but I have to do it. There’s no way for me to ignore the fact she’s mine, and I’m not goin’ta have her live in fear of that bastard findin’ her.
In the bathroom, I strip down and step into the shower before turnin’ on the taps. Icy water hits my back, causin’ me ta wince. As it warms, I lather up ta get the stench of death from my skin. But I know, no matter what I do, it will always be there. I can’t change the fact I’ve killed in the past and I’m a cleaner for a motorcycle club, so I’ll never be rid of the blood on my hands.
Once I’m done, I head into the bedroom and get ready to go out. The pub isn’t far from my home, and it still surprises me, after all these years, I’d never actually been inside until the night I found Clover there. The guys always told me it wasn’t a bad place ta get a good pint a Guinness, but I never bothered goin’ in, preferrin’ to drink alone in my flat or at the club instead.
With spring on the way, the weather is slowly changin’. I don’t like hot weather, but thankfully, we’ve had some mild summers over the past few years.
“Sully.”
My name is called, and I turn to find an old acquaintance that I’d rather not introduce to Clover.
“Been a wee while, Cormie,” I greet, offerin’ him a smile, but it’s a plastered on expression in the hopes of gettin’ rid of him quickly.
“I hear ye’re still ridin’ wit the Bastards,” he tells me. It’s something everyone knows.
Belfast may be a city with a large population, but people know what goes on, especially when it comes ta those they deem are either breakin’ the law or aren’t doing what they should be doin’. The Bastards have their reputation to uphold in the city, and they do it well.
“Aye, what’s it to ye?” My gut churns with annoyance and frustration.
He’s one part of my past I wanted to leave behind. When I walked away from that life, from the gang, I never turned back. Ronan may have helped me out of a sticky situation, but he wanted my soul in return. I had to do jobs fer him. When he witnessed how ruthless I was at such a young age, he knew he could exploit it. I was a slave to him because I didn’t want anyone findin’ out what I’d done—killed someone with my bare hands.
