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Lethal (The Disciples #1)
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Blade McCormick is not a nice guy.
He’s pure adrenaline and smells like smoke and leather—the kind of guy you look at and know he’s going to be a combination of nasty and irresistible. The moment I allowed myself to touch his hot skin and kiss his full lips, I. Was. Done.
Like currency, I’ve become part of a transaction. Blade took me to pay off a debt. I try to tell myself, Eve, you should hate him. He’s a bad guy. But then again, I’m not a good girl. Blade’s the president of the Disciples, the notorious motorcycle club. I should be frightened, yet somehow, he doesn’t scare me. If anything, I think I scare him.
It takes a lot of work to become the club’s Queen, but I’ll stop at nothing to have the King!
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“Holy shit, they’re coming.” Strike that—he’s coming! “Where the fuck is Benny?”
The dust cloud is so thick it’s almost suffocating. I close my eyes against the dirt to keep them clear.
“Never mind.” My voice is loud over the rumble and screeching of their iron horses. “Get to my dad before they do.”
The dark-haired boy named Santiago nods. His big brown eyes hold terror. He should be scared. Hell is about to burn us open. A small twist of guilt wraps around what’s left of my questionable conscience as I look at the dirty ten-year-old who happened to have the bad luck of working in my booth today.
He bolts under the counter and takes off like the boogeyman is after him. And maybe he is, or at least after me. I watch as dirt puffs up while he runs toward my trailer. My eyes scope the neon lights, the Ferris wheel, and the Tilt-a-Whirl. The rides still move; people are still laughing even though bad men are coming. Pushing open the counter on the side of my stand, I ignore the couple whining about the darts that I’ve dropped on the plywood floor.
“What the hell? I paid you ten dollars. Where do you think you’re going?” the stupid guy sneers.
The girl covers her nose, dust swirling and dancing around us as the motorcycles spin and skid in the parking lot.
“You two need to get out of here. Shit is going down.” I reach for my knife taped under the wooden counter, grab my backpack, and almost laugh at the horror on these two idiots’ faces. Truth be told, they are probably my age. But I feel ancient compared to them.
The guy slams his fist on the counter causing the girlfriend to gasp and jump. “This is unbelievable. I’ve heard you guys are scum, but you can’t steal my money and leave. I’ll call the cops, bitch.” His light brown hair is gelled back and he’s wearing skinny jeans. That fact alone should make me let the motorcycle club take him out. I heave the backpack over my shoulder and start to walk across the loud carnival area.
“Hey! You can’t do this, blondie,” the douche screams at me.
“I don’t have time for this,” I yell over my shoulder. “Get away from here. Trust me, that’s worth the ten dollars you gave me.” My hands clench at my sides as I watch the girl wisely pull the guy away. He’s still bitching about not being able to win a disgusting, moldy stuffed animal from China.
“Fucking pathetic.” I run across the long field checking behind me as I go.
“Benny… please be in the trailer, please.”
The sun is lowering and heavy metal music blares out of the speakers. I know in my heart Benny’s gone and more than likely not coming back. Same way I know this betrayal will be the final straw for me. As I exhale, the taste of dirt lingers in my mouth. My mind scrambles with all my options, but with my dad and his lack of mobility… I’ll have to take responsibility for Benny’s actions. They’re coming, and the only person I give two shits about in this fucked-up world is my dad.
Pushing my long hair behind my shoulders, I wish I had something better on. But who am I kidding? The bikers want their money. I could be wearing a ball gown, and unless it’s covered in diamonds, it’s not going to do me any good. Though I don’t know how much Benny owes them, I only have about $500 stashed away, and I can only pray it’s not as bad as I think. Tucking my head down, I run to my trailer. I don’t even get the door open when a tan tattooed hand grabs me and jerks me inside so violently my teeth chatter.
Blinking, I try to adjust my eyes to the dark cave-like feel of our trailer. The sound of wheezing comes from the corner and my eyes bolt to my father. His once-strong frame, now shriveled and weak, is slumped over in a sad excuse for a wheelchair. Another tattooed monster stands next to him.
“Jesus Christ! He can’t breathe without his oxygen.” I go to move toward him, but that tattooed hand is still wrapped around my arm. I twist back and forth, then stop as I realize it’s pointless. What I need to do is think and assess the situation. My dad’s oxygen mask is still on, but his skin is sweaty and pale, with an almost gray, waxy look. My tears burn as I watch my sweet father take small hissing breaths.
“Please.” I look around for the first time since I was jerked into the trailer and I’m stunned. It’s been completely ripped apart. They’ve torn off cabinets, thrown the microwave and TV on the floor, and split open all the furniture. That means our piece of shit couch and chair, along with Benny’s and my mattresses in the corner, are trashed. Feathers dance around causing me to shiver at how serious this is.