Ruin & Rule (Pure Corruption MC #1)

Grasshopper pulled out a chair for me.

I inched closer, unsure.

“Guys, this is Sarah.”

I trembled at the familiarity and homecoming of my name. I quickly glanced around the room, looking for him.

Nothing.

The men ranged from early twenties to late forties, all wearing the brown leather jacket of the Pure Corruption MC and all at ease with each other—unlike the first night I’d arrived.

“Hey,” some said, while others nodded in greeting.

I clutched the front of my bronze dress, sitting awkwardly in the chair provided. “Hi,” I murmured.

Sitting primly, I narrowed my eyes, inspecting each biker. Friendly hazel, blue, and green gazes met mine. Each man sat comfortably in their chairs, assured of their position and right to be there. The kinship in the room didn’t hide anything malevolent, and I let the tension ebb from my limbs.

Then my eyes met his.

And my world went instantly bleak.

Brown eyes, deep-set in a face that spoke of handsomeness but couldn’t quite disguise the evil in his soul. Thin lips, long hair tied in a greasy ponytail, and a tattoo of an alligator on his neck peeked from the collar of his leather cut.

He nodded, his lips curling at the corners. Something flickered in his hands, drawing my attention.

A lighter.

The tension I’d released shot straight back into my muscles tenfold. Gripping the lip of the table, I never looked away as he flicked the lighter, releasing a small lick of orange flame.

My mind twisted behind the locked door, hurling itself in panic against the amnesiac barrier. My fingers went unwillingly to the fresh burn on my forearm, rubbing at the painful searing that’d sprung from nowhere.

Him.

He was the one who burned me.

That night.

The night they stole me.

Try as I might, I couldn’t remember anything more or how I came to be kidnapped, but I knew with utmost conviction—he was the one to grace my body with yet another scar.

Was it the new burn that set off another episode of amnesia? Could my brain be so traumatized by fire that the barest of flames on my skin made me turn inward and hide?

My heart raced.

Not only was I dealing with remembering one past but it seemed I had two to unravel. A past where my home was England and Corrine and a brown-eyed boyfriend I couldn’t recall, and a lifetime before that one… a childhood of motorcycles, family, and green-eyed lovers who helped me with homework.

Will I ever know the truth?

I jumped as the sandy-blond guy, Mo, sprawled in his chair beside me. His arrival snapped the awareness between me and Lighter Boy, breaking whatever panic attack I might’ve had.

Mo grinned. “Been staying with the boss, huh?” He whistled. “Kinda a big honor to go home with the Prez, you know. What did you do to fuck it up?”

My nostrils flared, body stiffened, and I refused to reply. My eyes skittered back to the asshole playing with his lighter, but he dropped his attention to the table, blocking me from reading his thoughts.

Grasshopper sat on my left, scowling at Mo. “It was always only temporary, dude. She’s the sixth sale—remember?”

The door opened behind me and the scents of grease, cheese, and salami filled the room. The men around the table smacked their lips, eyeing up the huge pizza boxes that were deposited onto the table by a younger member with no patch.

There weren’t too many men—twelve, fifteen, and most of them seemed open and friendly. But I couldn’t shed the horrible feeling of dining with the devil with Lighter Boy across from me.

How did he take me?

How did all of this happen?

And where the hell did they kidnap me from if I’d been living in England? There was no way they could’ve smuggled me internationally. Could they? But most of all—what was the point? Why me? Why the girl who couldn’t remember but had some inexplicable link to their boss? The boss who slaughtered a rebellion the night I arrived.

It all felt like a chess game where everyone knew the rules but me. I was a pawn. Being slid left and right until someone smacked me from the checkered board and killed me off in a brutal checkmate.

“’Bout fucking time you got here, boy. I was wasting away I was so damn hungry,” one biker growled, his goatee bristling. He reached across and flipped up a lid, stealing a piece of delicious-looking pizza.

I was suddenly thankful for staying at Kill’ s place. At least he ordered healthy food—even if he didn’t cook. I doubted I would’ve enjoyed a calorie-controlled diet if I’d been a guest of the compound.

Mo stood up, leaned over his brothers to fill a paper plate with two pieces of pizza, then skidded it down the table to me.

I caught it, unable to stop the growling in my stomach. Margherita and Meat Lover’s. I would’ve preferred Hawaiian but the flavor dancing on the air made my mouth water.

The room went quiet as the men helped themselves to pizza and someone brought in a cooler full of beer. I refused the offer and nibbled on my food while watching the rest of them.

My eyes kept returning to Lighter Boy, wishing I understood. The rest of the men looked dangerous with scars and piercings and the occasional feral glint in their eyes, but they were also… normal. They laughed and joked, spoke of mundane things while eating—chatting about family, grumbling about wives, and household chores. I found it mildly unsettling to be around such everyday life when society had already painted them with the “outlaw rebel” brush.

“Buttercup, eat your spaghetti. The meetin’s coming up and you know you can’t be here.”