Savage : King's Wolves MC- Book one by Emmaleigh Loader

Author:Emmaleigh Loader [Loader, Emmaleigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-25T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Maleia

“I’m sorry.” I don’t recognize my own voice. It sounds inside my mind, not yet spoken into the universe. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Not that anyone would hear it. Not over the fine suits, hollering their undiluted joy into the cold, large space around us. A pounding beat starts within my ears, throwing me off balance as the battering of a hammer splinters me from the inside out. It isn’t coming from an external source. The echo is the sound of my galloping heart, fighting to break free from its confinement. My throat burns, dry from the humid air, which strips me bare.

Jade staggers where she stands. Her short black hair stuck to the side of her head, matted and slick from grease and blood. Her eyes are shallow, sunken into her skull and rimmed black from her lack of energy and sleep. The knowing. The truth that anything ugly, can be painted as casual. Contorted and twisted into something our minds deem acceptable. If only you look deep into the depths of the dull images our minds protect us from.

I don’t have the luxury of standing from a distance, making conclusions of little things I see but cannot make sense of. Because that’s what these men do. It must be. How else can they stomach such a thing without distorting it within their minds. I deliver another blow which shatters her nose so forcefully, particles of bone fall at my feet. A gut-wrenching wheeze escapes her, short lived as she struggles to breathe at all.

“That’s it!” The audience shouts.

“Make her bleed! Make her scream!”

“Hurt her, hurt her real fucking good!”

“Do it! Finish it! Kill her!”

“Kill her, kill her, kill her!” The disembodied voices sequel and chant, following my movements, unrelenting as the phantom catches me like the plague. I turn it off, all of it. The part within me that cries and implores that it’s an injustice. I shut it down. Unseeing of the wild, frantic plea with her eyes as I allow her to connect with my jaw. I allow the blow to my rips, the tug at my hair, the kick to the side of my head, and the knee to my gut. I stand, cut, bloody, and tainted. I allow it, because it breeds false hope. It fills her with excitement, the idea that she has a chance. It fuels blind comfort protecting her so she doesn’t see what comes next. So, she doesn’t see the human body I host, crack and part down the center. So she doesn’t see the insidious, callus, blood-thirsty maniac which emerges from the housing of my flesh, coated in blood and salivating at the mouth as it pounces.

My forehead connects with hers, as I send her flying onto her back. The foot of my heel, crashing down upon her already broken nose sends fractions of bone and cartilage into her brain. Rendering her so dazed and so out of her fucking mind, she has no true conept

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