Page 9 of Ruthless Obsession (Royal Bastards MC Chicago, IL Chapter)

I inhale sharply. “I was almost raped when I was eighteen. By a Chi Hellraisers MC prospect. That’s why I’m still a virgin. My brother saved me. I haven’t seen him in seven years.”

Mavis cups my face with surprising gentleness, wiping away the tear I didn’t know had fallen.

“I need to plate the rest of the food,” I say quickly, stepping out of his arms.

“Where’s the guy who tried to hurt you?” he growls behind me.

“All you need to know is—he’s not a threat anymore.”

“You sure about that? Because if he’s still breathing, I’ll end him myself.”

I glare over my shoulder. “I took care of it.” I’m careful not to implicate my brother in anything.

“You flinched when I mentioned bikers the other day,” he says. “That’s why. Because of what he did.”

“Exactly. So imagine what it feels like to be kidnapped by one.”

He moves in close, palms my stomach, and presses his face into my hair.

“You’re attracted to me. You felt the connection the moment we locked eyes.

I’m sorry someone tried to take what wasn’t his.

You and I Sophie are forever. I know you felt it in our kiss earlier and just now.

You can’t stand that the man you’re attracted to is a biker. ”

“You’re right. I don’t want to be with a biker. Ever,” I grit out.

His hand slips below the waistband of my shorts into my panties. The truth is revealed in just how wet I am for him. He glides two fingers through my drenched folds.

“Fuck your so wet…For me,” he whispers in my ear. “Fucking soaked.”

“Have you ever been this wet before?”

I press my back into his hard chest.

“No,” I moan truthfully.

He removes his hand, steps to the side, and makes a show of sucking his fingers clean of my juices.

“You taste like your mine. Therefore you are.”

“I’m only going to wash my hands because I don’t want my brother smelling my woman’s sweet pussy that’s only meant for me.”

Watching him was so sexy. I want to run upstairs and please myself to knock the edge off. Fuck, I hate the way he makes me feel. I have to get away from my biker captor.

∞

My eyes blink open and I slide my hand across the massive, cold king-sized mattress. Empty. Again.

After dinner, Mavis and Psycho disappeared to handle club business, leaving me to my own devices.

I wandered through the house, eventually raiding the wine cellar.

Half a bottle of red later, I ended up in his office, fingers trailing over the map on the wall.

Every dot, every red line connected to Toby.

So many clubs I’d been to—businesses I didn’t even know he owned.

Tomorrow night, I’d slip into Cruella’s through the back entrance and slit his fucking throat.

He was keeping other women. He wasn’t just cheating—he was selling them.

And that deserved death. Women are to be loved not sold to some sick fuck.

I glance at the glowing red numbers on the nightstand clock that reads 3:00 a.m.

Perfect time to run.

I peel back the sheet, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and head to the closet before moving into the bathroom.

I need to be both quick and careful to leave his property before he comes back.

Once I’ve packed only the things I brought with me into my messenger bag, I sling it over my shoulder to rest at my hip.

I pull on a hoodie to conceal the bag as much as possible and quietly make my way down the steps in my sneakers.

Darkness consumes the living room. I slip down the hall next to the stairs.

My heart pounds as I approach his office.

Last night, the wall of surveillance cameras was exposed; I hope it still is.

Heart pounding, I glance left in his office. The cameras are hidden. Damn.

I didn’t have a chance to check the garage to see if his bike is there.

It's eerily quiet, as if you could hear a pin drop. I don’t think he’s back yet.

I carefully make my way through the dimly lit dining room to the patio door that stretches across the back of the house.

I slide it open, slip outside, and close it behind me.

With caution, I approach Mushes' doghouse.

“Hey boy,” I whisper.

He whines softly, licking my hand. I hook his leash and lead him toward the side of the house. I plan to sneak around the perimeter, praying that the walk-through gate at the front opens from the inside. If not, I’ll have to break into the house and steal keys to one of his cars.

“Mush, you’re a good boy,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. He could protect me if anyone came for us. I’d return him later. I just needed him for a little while.

A pang hits my chest. I didn’t want to leave Mavis.

Not really. But I couldn’t stay either. That would be Stockholm syndrome.

Falling in love with my captor. No fucking way.

He’d find someone else—maybe that thirsty chick from the clubhouse who looked desperate for his attention. She had enough fight in her.

The gate is almost in sight when I round the corner and slam into a hard muscled chest.

I stumble back, heart in my throat.

Mavis leans against the house, one ankle crossed over the other. His white RBMC shirt stretches across his chest, contrasting with his gray jersey shorts. One hand grips a Glock casually. His other palm rests on top of it.

“Good morning, doll. Going somewhere?”

Fuck.

“We’re standing at the edge of your property, and you’re just holding a gun like it’s nothing?” I mutter, chest heaving.

He smirks. “Scream if you want. My cousin, the Prez of our MC, lives next door. And Viper our VP lives in the cul-de-sac too.”

I swallow hard. “Mavis…” Terror climbs up my spine.

His smile vanishes. “Stealing my dog, huh, baby?”

“Stop with all the terms of endearment,” I order.

He leans in, eyes dark. “You’re in no position to tell me what to do.”

His scent hits me. That damn cologne. My knees go weak.

“You weren’t curious about the closed door in the wine cellar?” he asks.

“Yes, I was,” I whisper.

“You want to be a nasty, stinky little captive?” he growls. “I can tie you up and keep you in my torture chamber.”

I step back. Mush doesn’t budge. He sits, waiting for his command like a good soldier.

The leash slips from my fingers.

“You’re still fighting it. But I know you want me.”

“I don’t want you,” I snap, voice cracking.

He grabs me, lifts me like I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around his waist. “We could’ve been good together.”

Then he kisses me—hard, demanding, fucking desperate. I melt into him, gripping his hair, kissing him back until I gasp for air.

“I can’t fall for you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t respond. Just carries me inside.

I feel the Glock pressed against my ass as he carries me through the house and down the basement stairs.

My heart races. “Mavis, no—”

At that moment, I realize Mavis is gone. Only Ruthless the biker is in my presence.

He opens a heavy door and throws me onto a cold steel table. My wrists are strapped down before I can fight him off.

“No!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

So he didn’t really care about me? He’s about to kill me.

He waves the Glock like a man unhinged. “You kick me, Sophie, you won’t like the outcome.”

He places the Glock at the bottom of the table.

Tears blur my vision. He slides down my leggings and folds them neatly on another table. The room smells like bleach. There’s a cabinet on the wall—probably filled with his torture tools.

The room reminds me of a makeshift operating room.

He releases my wrists only to strip away my layers—hoodie, bag, shirt—leaving me exposed in my bra and panties, goosebumps rising on my skin.

The Glock glides along my cheek. “The woman I chose as my forever just can’t give in to how she fucking feels,” he snarls.

Tears stream down my face.

“You’ll stay here now,” he mutters, lifting me again.

He opens a second room—bare cement floor, toilet in the corner, no bed.

I bolt. He grabs me, throws me back in like I’m nothing. Mavis's eyes are empty as he retrieves a zip tie from his back pocket. He slaps it around my wrist and connects it to the adjustable brown metal ring. The zip tie bites into my flesh.

I slam my fist into his chest. “No, please—Mavis!”

He doesn’t flinch.

“You’ll stay down here as long as I see fit.”

He secures the door. The slot in it resembles one you'd find on a prison cell, making me feel like I'm in solitary confinement. It's just the right size to pass a food tray through.

“Mavis! Please—don’t do this. Take me to the clubhouse. I won’t run. I promise!”

No response.

I hear the main door slam shut.

“Mavis! No!”