Corrupting Cinderella by Autumn Jones Lake

Author:Autumn Jones Lake [Lake, Autumn Jones]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: MC President, MC Romance, Motorcycle Club, biker romance
Published: 2014-12-02T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Every part of my body hurts. But nothing compares to the pain in my heart when I go in the house by myself. The horror of last night keeps playing over and over in my head. Taking a hot shower doesn’t make a dent in my aches, especially since I had to put plastic baggies over my hands to keep my stupid bandages dry.

I crawl into bed, and all I can think about is how much worse things could have been. It’s selfish, but I think about what might have happened if I’d broken my leg. What if Rock had broken his back or been killed? So many horrible possibilities. I lost my dad when I was a teenager, and I’m already a thirty-three-year-old widow. I’m well aware of how fragile life is.

Someone deliberately ran us off the road. As a direct result of my involvement with Rock and his club, I’d almost been killed.

What’s happened to me? How did I get here?

What am I doing?

It hurts to admit, but I’m not cut out for their life of danger. I couldn’t even figure out how to use a stupid gun. It looks so damn easy on television. Trinity had to take it from me. I couldn’t remember even basic first aid to do a damn thing for Wrath.

I’m useless. My lack of any practical life skills is probably a huge hindrance to Rock. No wonder his club brothers are so wary about letting me into the fold.

What am I going to do? I’ve fallen so deep in love with him, so fast. Losing him will kill me, but I need to start preparing myself for the inevitable.

Rock’s indifference on the drive here hurt like hellfire. He’s probably pissed for getting involved with someone weak like me. I wanted to invite him in, but it was clear he had other places to be.

I roll over and curl into Clay’s pillows. His scent is long gone, but it still comforts me knowing he used to sleep on them. I pray like hell he’s not watching over me. He’d probably be ashamed of me.

“I’m sorry I’m such a fuck-up, baby. I miss you so bad,” I whisper before crying myself to sleep.

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