Page 38 of Bad Luck, Hard Love (Heaven’s Rejects MC #6)
He begins unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, methodical as a surgeon preparing for an operation.
His movements are slow and deliberate as he rolls up each sleeve with precision, revealing tanned forearms adorned with an expensive watch that catches the harsh light.
The calculated patience of his movements terrifies me more than any rage ever could.
“You're going to watch. You're going to see what she really is. What she's always been.”
He moves toward me with predatory grace, and I feel myself shrinking into the mattress, trying to disappear. The restraints bite deeper as I pull against them, panic overriding everything else.
His hand cups my cheek in a grotesque parody of affection. “Shhh, Charlotte. You said you'd be mine again. Time to prove it.”
The bed dips as he sits beside me, his weight pulling me toward him like a black hole I can't escape. His fingers trace my collarbone, dancing across bruises he's already left, before sliding lower to the tatters of my shirt.
“I've always loved how you beg,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to Thor. “Does she beg for you too, biker? Does she whimper your name when you fuck her?”
His fingers grip the remnants of my shirt, tearing it completely off with a swift, violent motion. The cool air hits my exposed skin, raising goosebumps across flesh already marked by his earlier assault.
“No,” I choke out, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
“Orders, boss?” one of the men holding Thor asks, struggling to contain him as he thrashes against their grip.
“Break his fingers if he keeps fighting,” Terrance says without looking away from me. “One by one. But make sure he can still see.”
Thor goes still, his breathing ragged and harsh in the silence that follows. Our eyes lock across the room—his filled with helpless rage.
“That's better,” Terrance purrs, running his hand up my inner thigh. “Now we can proceed without interruption.”
His touch leaves trails of revulsion on my skin. I try to retreat into my mind, to find that dissociative space I used to go to during our marriage, but the drugs have stripped away that defense. I'm trapped in my body, feeling everything with horrific clarity.
“Not like this. Not in front of him.”
Terrance's smile widens, revealing teeth that seem too sharp. “That's exactly why it has to be like this. He needs to understand what you are.” His fingers dig into my flesh.
“Look at me,” Terrance commands, seizing my chin in a vise-like grip. “I want you to remember every second of this.”
My body is a traitor, too weak from the drugs to fight him as he positions himself between my legs. Behind him, Thor's agonized roar is muffled as one of the men shoves something into his mouth—a bandana, I realize, watching him gag against the fabric.
“Just like old times.”
He crushes me into the mattress, his cologne suffocating as he presses his mouth to my neck. I feel his teeth scrape against my pulse point, not gently, not with passion, but with ownership—marking territory, nothing more.
“Stop,” I manage.
His laugh vibrates against my skin. “Already begging?
We've barely started.” His hand slides up to wrap around my throat, applying just enough pressure to make black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
“Maybe I'll let him have what's left when I'm done. A parting gift before I put a bullet in his head.”
I feel his other hand working at his belt, the clink of metal and rustle of expensive fabric a death knell. My muscles seize with remembered trauma, my body bracing for invasion even as my mind fractures.
“That's it,” he encourages. “Fight me. It's so much better when you fight.”
His free hand traces a path down my stomach, each touch leaving a trail of revulsion in its wake. I try to buck him off, but he only laughs, pressing more firmly against me.
“Remember how I taught you to be still?” he asks, reaching into his pocket. The glint of metal catches the light—a switchblade, its edge winking cruelly as he flicks it open. “Maybe you need a refresher course.”
The cold press of steel against my ribs steals the breath from my lungs. The blade's edge kisses my skin just below my breast, not cutting—not yet—but promising pain if I move.
“There's my good girl. Still as death, just like I taught you.”
Through my terror, I hear Thor making muffled sounds of rage behind the gag. The zip ties binding his wrists must be cutting deep. I can hear the wet sound of his blood dripping onto concrete as he strains against them.
“Don't worry, biker,” Terrance calls over his shoulder. “I'll make sure she screams your name. For old time's sake.”
The knife traces a delicate line across my ribs, not deep enough to scar but enough to draw blood. I bite down hard on my tongue to keep from crying out.
“Beautiful,” Terrance murmurs, watching the thin line of red well up on my skin. “Pain looks so good on you, Charlotte. I'd forgotten how much I missed this.”
I close my eyes, trying to disappear into the darkness behind my eyelids. But he grabs my face roughly, fingers digging into my cheeks.
“Eyes open. I want you to see what's coming. I want you to remember who you belong to.”
He releases me and moves his hand back to his fly. The sound of his zipper is drowned out by an explosion that rocks the entire building.
The concrete walls shudder as dust rains from the ceiling, and the single bulb overhead flickers wildly. Terrance freezes above me, his head snapping toward the door as automatic gunfire erupts somewhere in the distance—rapid, sustained bursts that echo through the warehouse like thunder.
“What the fuck—” he starts, but another explosion cuts him off, this one closer. Much closer.
The two men holding Thor exchange panicked glances as orders begin to be shouted in the distance. Heavy boots pound against concrete, growing louder with each passing second.
“Boss, we need to move,” one of them says, his grip on Thor loosening slightly. “Sounds like the whole fucking cavalry just showed up.”
Terrance's face contorts with rage as he climbs off me, hastily zipping his pants. “It's too early. They weren't supposed to be here yet.”
“Well, they're here now,” the other man snaps, already moving toward the door. “And they're coming in hot.”
The gunfire intensifies, punctuated by the distinctive roar of motorcycle engines. Lots of them. The sound sends a surge of hope through my drug-addled system—a lifeline in the darkness.
“Raze,” Thor growls around the gag, his good eye blazing with fierce satisfaction.
Terrance backhands him viciously. “Shut up!” He turns to his men, face flushed with panic and fury. “Get her ready for transport. We leave through the back exit.”
“What about him?” one of the men asks, nodding toward Thor.
Terrance stares down at Thor's bloodied form. “Kill him. Make it quick.”
“No!” I scream, thrashing against my restraints with renewed desperation. The metal cuts deeper, but I don't care. Blood streams down my arms as I fight to get free.
The man raises his gun, pressing it to Thor’s temple.
Across the room, Thor’s eye finds mine—and what I see there stops my heart.
Acceptance. He’s going to die, and he knows it.
But there’s no fear in his gaze. Only love.
Fierce, unwavering love...and a determination so strong, not even the shadow of death can dim it.
The warehouse shudders again as another explosion rocks the building. Closer this time. The lights flicker and die, plunging us into darkness broken only by the muzzle flashes visible through the gap under the door.
“Fucking do it!” Terrance shouts.
The gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space, but it doesn't come from inside the room. The door explodes inward in a shower of splinters, and figures pour through the opening like avenging angels.
“Incoming!” someone roars. “Get down!”
The room erupts in chaos. Gunfire strobes in the darkness, illuminating frozen tableaus of violence.
The guard's head snaps back, a crimson mist painting the wall behind him as he crumples.
The second man manages to fire twice before bullets riddle his chest, sending him sprawling across the concrete.
Terrance lunges for me, switchblade glinting in the chaos. “If I can't have her?—”
The massive figure tackles Terrance, and suddenly the room is filled with strangers in leather—not Heaven's Rejects, but something else. Their patches blur in the chaos as they storm through the shattered doorway. The only thing I can make out is a hooded figure in black.
“Clear her restraints!” someone shouts—a tall man with a salt-and-pepper beard.
A woman pushes past him. She rushes to my side, her hands surprisingly gentle as she works at my restraints.
“I'm Hanna. Medic. I'm going to get you out of these, okay?”
I can only nod, lost somewhere between terror and hope. Her fingers are nimble as she picks the locks on my cuffs. I don't know her. I don't know any of them.
“Thor,” I croak, trying to see past the bodies filling the small room.
“Focus on me,” Hanna urges, finally freeing my wrists. Blood rushes painfully back to my hands, pins and needles shooting up my arms. “The boys have him. Can you stand?” Hanna asks as she works on the ankle restraints. The metal clanks against the bed frame as it falls away.
I try to push myself upright, but my muscles betray me, trembling uncontrollably beneath me.
“I've got you,” Hanna says, sliding an arm around my waist. She shrugs out of her leather cut, draping it over my exposed skin. The leather is warm from her body, smelling of tobacco and something floral.
Through the chaos, I catch glimpses of Thor. Someone has cut his zip ties. Blood streams from his wrists as he lunges for Terrance, who's pinned against the wall by two bikers. Even wounded, even barely able to stand, Thor moves like vengeance personified.
“Get her out of here,” a deep voice commands. “Now!”
Hanna nods, pulling me toward the door. “Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe.”