Techy (Devil Souls MC Book 2)(4)

He cries, begs, and pleads. I click the safety off and pull the trigger. As he slumps against the floor, I stare at her mother. She stares into space still. Fucking pathetic.

I hand my gun to Butch, the sergeant-at-arms. He nods and stuffs it into his pocket. He will get rid of it for me and make sure it will never be found.

I walk over to Alisha and pick her up off the floor.

I carry her from that fucking hell. No looking back. I climb on my bike, and Trey takes her from my arms, turning her around until she is front-to-front with me. He lifts her legs and sets them on top of mine. I tuck my leather jacket around her and wrap my arm around her, holding her to my chest. Fuck, she’s fucking tiny.

“Call Myra and have her meet me at my house.”

Trey nods and picks up his phone. I look at the girl in my arms, who is out cold, and my heart clenches. I start my motorcycle, tighten my grip on her, and get out of this fucking place.





I wake up in a soft bed. Hands are touching my body, and my eyes fly open. I connect my gaze with a pair of soft-brown eyes. I take in the woman sitting in front of me. She is wearing a white doctor’s shirt, so I am assuming she is here to check me out. I relax into the bed and look around the room.

This is not a hospital.

I’m in a bedroom at someone’s house.

“Where am I?” I ask the woman, my throat dry.

She hands me some water, and I greedily drink it up.

“Techy rescued you and took you to his home. I am here to check you out,” she explains.

But I am confused. Techy? It clicks—she means Jordan.

“Is she okay, Myra?” Jordan asks as he enters the room. Then he stops dead in his tracks once he sees I am awake. He walks over to the bed and stops right at the head of it.

I look up at him and smile. His expression softens, and he smiles gently.

“How are you feeling, angel?”

“I feel okay,” I tell him, and I do.

When I move my arm, something taps against it. Looking up, I see an IV, and then I look at the doctor taking care of me, who I am guessing is Myra.

“I gave you some morphine,” she confesses.

I nod.

“Thank you, Myra.”

She smiles. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she tells me and slips two bottles into Jordan’s hand. “These are some pain meds and a strong antibiotic to kill off anything that we don’t know about.”

“Thank you.”

She smiles before walking out of the room. A huge man is standing at the door, waiting for her. He takes her bag from her, and they walk down the hallway together. This house feels huge, but I guess even a normal house would feel huge to me after living in a trailer my whole life.

I turn my gaze back to Jordan, who is staring at my face, and I can feel his anger. “I am okay, Jordan,” I assure him. One would think I would feel nervous around him considering the fact that the only time we have talked is on FaceTime.

I just feel like it will be okay.

“Welcome home,” he says and smiles widely at me.

“Home?” I say under my breath. I don’t know what that is. I barely know Jordan. I mean, we FaceTimed a lot, but we have never met in person before.

Still, he has gone to great lengths to get me out of the situation I was in. He has shown me more care than I have gotten in my entire life.

Every single day, we would FaceTime for hours, talking about anything and everything and getting to know each other. I know the littlest things about him, like how he eats his spaghetti with a spoon and how he cuts it up into small bits. I know how he likes his steak and that he hates onions.

A hand touches my hair, and I look up at Techy. He’s lying beside me in bed, staring directly at me. I feel so shitty right now; I can only imagine how horrible I look.

“I wish you would have told me sooner about the life you had. I could have gotten you out sooner,” he tells me and grabs a piece of my hair, twisting it between his fingers.

I close my eyes and turn away from him, my eyes brimming with tears.

I wanted more than anything to be away from the life I had. I was constantly beaten and always had at least one bruise on my body from my father. All the men in my father’s life were exactly like him: strung out and evil.

I wanted my mother to have a good life, to get away from him, but my father got her hooked and the addiction took her life over. Her main goal in life is finding that next high and doing whatever she possibly can for that next fix. My father took advantage of that and pimped her out for almost nothing.

My house was the place where those men used her. I remember that, when I was a kid, porn was always on the TV and my mother would just lie there naked as one man after another used her and my father reaped the benefits. He would shoot up and shoot her up while she was being used.