Clubwhore (Devil's Renegade MC #1)(57)

Watch her…

Bryce worried I might have reached my limit when I got angry the other day. He knows that anger is my last felt emotion. Still, it wasn’t enough. He’d deserted me. Left me at the mercy of a man who was not only unaware of my condition, but under strict instruction to not touch me.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Cook whisper-shouts, looking around for something—anything—to help him. “Delilah, talk to me.”

“No…no, no, no, no…” I push his hands away from me, digging my nails into my skin, and whimpering at the tiny sliver of release. “I’m so stupid!” I cry, stinging tears falling down my cheeks. The hate I feel toward myself is the same I’d felt all those years ago when my mother insisted my father’s leaving was my fault.

I’d finally understood it was…just like now.

This…me falling apart over a man who doesn’t love me…this is my fault. I can’t blame Bryce for not loving me. How can he? I’m not worthy of love.

“Delilah!” Cook grabs my shoulders, shaking me hard. The feeling is delightful.

“More,” I whisper. I feel him tense. Then I’m thrown over his shoulder and he’s walking down the hall, back to my room. He sets me on the bed, keeping one hand on my arm while he presses buttons on his phone.

“Don’t call him,” I say, knowing he’s wasting his time. But I’m too late, and can hear the ringing through his cell.

“Something’s wrong,” he snaps, anger flooding his voice. “What the fuck is goin’ on, SA?” His voice becomes more and more distant, as if he’s speaking far away. “I can’t—” His words are cut off, and I wonder if Bryce interrupted him, or if I’m slipping further into the darkness, quicker than I’d imagined.

Pain spreads deliciously through my arm, and my vision clears. I look down at Cook’s hand to see his grip has tightened. “Delilah!” He snaps, holding the phone out to me. “Talk. Now.” He pushes the phone next to my ear.

“Love?” I whimper. “Can you hear me?” I nod, dropping my head and letting my tears pool in my lap. “An answer, Love.”

“I hear you,” I whisper. “Why did you do this to me, Bryce?”

“I…I needed some space to think. I shouldn’t have left so long. But I’m coming, Love. I’m on my way. I’ll be there in the morning.”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t want you. I won’t let you hurt me anymore.”

“Delilah, please.” His voice is pained, but it’s too late. He doesn’t get to love me because he feels guilty. It’s not fair.

“Stay away, Bryce. I’m done.”

“Listen to me, Love.” His voice hardens, and I listen because he still yields that kind of power over me. “Calm down, and try to sleep. Cook won’t leave your side. I’ll be there before you wake up.”

“I get it, you know,” I say, completely resigned. “My mother, my brother, Mario…you. There’s one common denominator with all of you. And it’s me.”

“Delilah…”

“It’s not your fault, Bryce. I’m not mad at you. I just wish you’d told me sooner. But again the blame falls on me. I should’ve known when I told you I loved you, and you left, that what I’ve always believed was still true. I’m undeserving.”

“That’s not—”

“Good-bye, Bryce.” Pulling the phone from my ear, I hang up and power it off. I’m aware of Cook’s eyes on me, and his hand still on my arm. “Cook,” I say, meeting his gaze. Pity is there—shining bright in his dark brown eyes. “I understand you have a certain duty to your club. But I’m tired.” Tears pool in my eyes again. “I just want to go home.” I crumble inside at the word. Home. It has no meaning to me, because it’s something I don’t possess.

“Please,” I beg. “Don’t make me stay here.”

He stares at me a long moment, then pulls a set of keys from his pocket before laying them on the dresser. With a small, sad smile, he wordlessly turns and walks into the bathroom—shutting the door behind him.

I grab the keys along with the stash of cash from my drawer. I don’t bother to look back as I walk through the clubhouse for the last time.

I’m behind the wheel of Cook’s vehicle, miles from Hattiesburg, when I realize where I’m going is the one place I don’t want to be. But I continue on. After all…

It’s Sunday.

But through the thick haze in my mind, I can hear a voice telling me this isn’t what I want. This is not who I am anymore. I’m stronger than this. So I fight against the urge to give in to my weakness as I drive.

My mind drifts back to the last time my beast surrendered. I’m at the river, tied to the tree. Bryce’s soothing voice is coaching me—telling me to choose. Promising me the pleasure outweighs the pain. But I can’t focus. There are too many distractions. Headlights on the highway…speeding cars as they pass in a blur.

I feel myself slipping into the darkness, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “No!” I shout, searching for that river, that tree and Bryce’s face once again. I need to find it. I need to be there. I need to revisit that place that, and live in that mindset where I fought my beast and I won.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second and it’s there—I’m there. I can hear the water. Smell the scent of Bryce’s skin. Feel his hands on me. But when I open my eyes, it fades.

Relaxing, I check my mirrors to see no one is around. I’ll rest my eyes for just a moment…just long enough to find the strength to fight…

Just for one second…

That’s all the time I need.





CHAPTER 28



I open my eyes and a bright white light stares back at me. For a moment, I think I’m dead. The thought is paralyzing, and as my other senses slowly wake to the sound of a steady beep, and the scent of iodoform, I realize I’m not dead at all. I’m in a hospital room.

Something tightens on my arm, and I drop my gaze to the blood pressure cuff surrounding it. It begins to hum as it inflates—the Velcro crackling loudly in the large, open area where I lie alone. I lift my hand and find something similar to a clothes pin clamped on the tip of my finger.

I start to take inventory of my limbs. Two legs, two arms, I can wiggle all my toes and fingers. I can see out of both eyes, breathe on my own, and there’s not a tube down my throat. In a nutshell, I think I’m going to survive. Nothing even hurts.

There’s some kind of contraption attached to a cord with a button on the end of it, laying next to me. Out of pure curiosity, I press it. The IV bag next to my bed hooked into my arm makes a whooshing noise. Moments later, I feel myself getting drowsy. Ahh…a morphine button. I’d heard about those…

“You’re awake!” I am now. The annoyingly cheerful voice belongs to a middle-aged woman who wears pink scrubs and has a short, stylish haircut that frames a face that’s quite pretty. I wonder if she…

“How do you feel?”

“Where am I?”

She frowns at my question. “I should get the doctor. One moment.” She disappears and I close my eyes. Sleep begins to take me almost instantly.

“Well, hello!” Are you fucking kidding me? This time, the annoyingly cheerful voice belongs to a much older woman in a white coat with a stethoscope dangling from her neck.

“I’m really sleepy,” I admit, hoping she’ll disappear and let me rest.

“I know, but let’s take a look at you first.” Shit. “Do you remember how you got here?”

I shake my head. “No.”

She presses the end of the stethoscope to my chest and listens a moment before speaking—just as I’m starting to drift. “Well, you had a wreck, and you’re at Slidell Regional Medical Facility. They airlifted you around five thirty yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday?” I croak, taking another quick inventory to make sure I didn’t miss something that would require me to be out for over a day.

“Yes. You crashed into a bluff just off of interstate fifty-nine. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“So, what’s wrong with me?” I hold out my arms that feel heavy, noticing my hospital bracelet. “And why does my name say Jane Doe?”

“Well, you didn’t have any identification on you, and the truck you were driving was registered to a deceased man.” Cook’s father…he’d died several months back. “The police haven’t been able to get in contact with the next of kin, but promise to keep us informed. As for the other, you had some internal bleeding and brain swelling. But we ran another catscan this morning and the swelling has decreased. We managed to stop the bleeding with a minor surgery. You should be fine in a couple weeks.”

“Was anyone else in the wreck?” I ask, trying to force myself to stay awake. But my efforts are slipping.

“No. Just you.”

I close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief. She asks my real name then, but I’m too far gone to answer.





Pain wakes me this time. My entire body throbs with every beat of my heart. I search frantically for the button, but it’s not here. Pressing the intercom on my bed, I page the nurses—not stopping until someone replies.