Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)

She’d witnessed her parents’ double homicide.

She’d almost burned to death.

All because I wasn’t strong enough to save her.

And I’m not strong enough to save her now.

The agony of the never-ceasing headache hollered in agreement.

I’m a liability. I don’t deserve her.

Every mile we charged, my injuries and shortcomings became more apparent.

My head hurt like a motherfucker.

My vision was frighteningly narrowed.

My mind slothfully slow.

The joy of thinking in algorithms, the speed of dealing with figures and equations was … damaged.

I was fuzzy.

I was lost.

I hated to admit it, but the doctor was right.

There’s something wrong with me.

Everything raged inside. I couldn’t find that calm—that control. I was on the cusp of wreaking my revenge—on the precipice of having everything I’d been working toward coming true.

I couldn’t afford to be broken now.

I can’t bear to be ruined when she needs me.

The roar of another Triumph coasted beside me.

I looked to the side.

Mo matched my speed, still managing to look badass even with Grasshopper riding bitch on the back.

I felt empty, vulnerable at not having my usual weapons. But I’d refused to waste more time by returning home. Instead, I’d commandeered Grasshopper’s knife and his unregistered pistol and straddled his machine without asking.

What was his was mine. He’d get over it.

He worked for me. Not the other way around.

I’d been dead for too long believing Cleo was lost. I wouldn’t live in such hell again.

Yes, I had a shit-stirring headache. Yes, something was seriously fucking wrong with me.

But none of that mattered.

Cleo.

I have to get to Cleo.

Then, I could worry about myself.

Then, I could die happy knowing I’d finally avenged and saved her.

Fifty-four hours they’ve had her.

My mathematically tuned brain clunked and wheezed, no longer the streamlined super machine but a rusty fucking cog.

Fifty-four hours they’ll have to pay back in blood.

Hunkering over the bike, I fed another twist of petrol to the roaring engine. I didn’t need to look at the speedometer to know this speed would kill me three times over if I buckled beneath the pain in my head.

My patience snapped.

My hatred overflowed.

Nothing else fucking mattered.

Only her.

I’m coming, Cleo.

Don’t you dare leave me … not again.

Chapter Five

Cleo

He was still being a dick.

Last week, he’d wanted to hang out with me. Now he wanted nothing to do with me. I’d tried everything. I’d baked him his favorite white-chocolate-chip cookies. I’d worn my hair in pigtails like he loved. I’d even stuffed my bra so he could see that a woman existed inside this stubborn flat-chested thirteen-year-old body. But no matter how he treated me, he couldn’t hide the truth. He did care for me. I knew he would always come for me. Always protect me. I knew because he was mine. He was my guardian angel. —Cleo, diary entry, age thirteen

There hadn’t been a single moment in the past eight years when I’d awoken and wished I could forget.

Every morning had been a struggle to remember.

Every night a battle between needing to know and needing to forget.

I’d tried to trick my mind into remembering, but either I was too stubborn or too afraid, because it never worked. And … as the days turned from hell to heaven and Arthur fell back in love with me, I didn’t really mind that a chunk of my life was missing.

I had him back. Larger than life and even more perfect than any recollection could do justice.

I was content with that.

But living in the silver haze of amnesia, with no past or present, came with its own burdens and trials. It meant I couldn’t find my true self, but it also granted unusual freedom. Freedom because I couldn’t find my true self. I had the latitude to be stronger, braver—all because I had no notion of who I’d been or what I was risking by choosing certain paths.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like that indulgent laxity … that power.

It’d granted me silent strength to chase Arthur even when he seemed unchasable. And it’d helped me find the truth that I’d been missing all these years.

But now, pinned to a table with men gawking at my half-naked form, I wished I could disappear into the void where my mind had vacationed for so long.

I wished I could delete whatever was about to happen.

I struggled against the fingers around my wrists, unable to look up at the men holding me down. My cheek squashed against the table; my toes ached as I dug into the tiled floor, trying to stop myself from sliding and becoming completely helpless.

Rubix stood behind me. The heat of his thighs against my T-shirt and the roughness of his fingers sent my heart spiraling.

Please, don’t let this happen.

Rubix was many things, but a rapist? Would he stoop that low?

The unequivocal answer reverberated through my head.

Yes.

Especially if such a thing would hurt the one person he hated above all. Arthur would never be able to forgive himself if I was violated so terribly.

It will kill him.

My heart shattered into kaleidoscopic pieces at the thought of destroying Arthur in such a way. Me? I could brave it. I could heal. But him? He’d never be able to look at me again without suffering such awful guilt.