Malice's Possession(7)

“Come on, let’s get her inside,” Marx said, and just like that everyone else went back to what they were doing.

Malice followed Marx into the clubhouse, past all the club pussy that was draped over other members, and continued to the back of the building. Marx pushed open one of the doors and gestured for Malice to enter. Once he had her on the bed he forced himself to take a step back. Everyone was silent for a few seconds, and he knew he wasn’t the only one that had his gaze locked right on the frail woman on the bed. He ran a hand over his eyes, feeling really damn tired all of a sudden. He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his pants and raked his gaze over her body. She was pretty much covered with the blanket, but her bare feet poked out from the end of the material. The soles were scraped, and there was dried blood now covering them since the rain wasn’t washing it away. He looked back at her face, and all that anger rose up once more like a violent wave.

“You know who she is?” Rock was the one to ask Marx

Malice looked over at him and saw the other man shake his head.

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. She could be a wanderer from one of the towns over, or live in the debilitated part of Fairview. Believe it or not, even these country towns have shitty areas.”

No, Malice knew about that. Hell, River Run had beautiful parts, but then there were businesses less favorable in the downtown area. “Lucien knows what’s going on, but he’s holding back until we give him word that we need back-up.” It wasn’t that the three of them needed the support of their charter, because they were with Marx’s crew, and had been close with this charter for a decade. It was more of sticking with the brotherhood and just being there. Also, if things did go bad, meaning Malice found out who had done this to her and dished out the retaliation, his crew would be there for him. They’d be the ones handing him a cloth to wipe off his bloody knuckles.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do with a woman that is beat up to shit?” Marx ground out and moved over to the bed. He stood over her, but didn’t say anything for several seconds. “We already got the fuckin’ church people down our backs with the pussy for sale, picketing right in front of our clubhouse, and the cops trying to bust us for bullshit reasons. I certainly don’t need you bring this shit to our door.”

Malice was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and one foot braced on the wood behind him. “Listen, there wasn’t any way I was going to leave her out there. She’s obviously running from someone, most likely an ex-boyfriend or husband given what her face looks like. I can be a bastard, but in these kinds of matters I am not going to look the other way.”

Marx exhaled loudly and ran his hand over his long, thick white beard. “No, I’m not saying you should have left her, but shit.” He then proceeded to run both hands over his long hair. “She’s young, really fucking young.

“She could be my kid’s age.”

They all turned and looked at Beady, who was sitting in one of the chairs with a joint between his lips. “Some motherfucker beat the living hell out of her.” Beady looked over at Malice. “She say anything to you before she hit the floor?”

Malice nodded and looked back over at her. “She just asked for my help.”

“Well, whatever bastard did this to her needs to get a lesson on how to treat women.” Beady stood and walked over to her. The other biker might be one of the meanest assholes around, but he also had a daughter this girl’s age, and that had to hit a little too close to home. He reached out and brushed a piece of her still damp hair away from her face. “She’s a pretty little thing. Damn shame someone thought it right to do this to her.”

Malice didn’t miss the way Beady clenched his hand at his side. Hell, it was the same thing Malice was doing—had been doing since he had seen her. He couldn’t explain what it was about her that called to the protective male part of him, but seeing her hurt, knowing someone had lifted their hand and beaten her had this homicidal rage filling him. That anger would soon explode and come from him like a murderous demon intent on blood. He couldn’t help how he felt, and knew that even trying to figure what the fuck was going on with him was fruitless. He’d get answers from her when she was awake, and then he would have to go out and do some hunting. Vengeance was what he was good at, and the retaliation he was going to deliver to who had harmed her would be sweet and dark pleasure.





Chapter Three




Adrianna jolted up with a start. Her heart raced, sweat dotted her forehead, and she couldn’t catch her breath. The dream that had woken her had been horrible, because it had been too real. In fact, it had felt like she was still living it, like she was back at Phillip’s house, fighting for her life, yet knowing she was going to die. But then she had seen that razor blade go into his neck, felt the gush of sickening warm blood cover her, and then fled because she hadn’t been able to stand the sight of him dying at her feet. She rubbed her hands over her face, felt the sweat that coated her skin, and breathed out. Dropping her hands to the bed she was on, she looked around. Everything was still so fresh in her mind concerning Phillip, but after that everything was a slight blur. She remember leaving his house, of the rain coming down fast and hard over her, and then of seeing a man standing there watching her. The man’s face eluded her, but she remembered his presence, and this sense of danger, but also protection that came from him.