Page 16 of Blade

I squeeze my eyes shut, the anticipation of my father walking in with his belt and his Bible making me sick to my stomach. How many lashes will I get this time? How long will his sermon on my sinful ways be? Last time, it was over an hour, and I had a muscle spasm in my leg from standing tense for so long. Not that my father believed me. It was just another way for me to rebel in his book.

The first tear falls, and I curse myself for being so weak.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…

CHAPTERSIX

BLADE

As soon as Sonya is out of the bar, I grab Chains by the collar of his shirt and drag him outside, tossing him down on the gravel with a thud.

“What the hell?” Chains grunts as I hover over him.

“Women are to be protected, not assaulted!” I shout.

Chains tries to crawl away from me, but I pin him to the ground with my knee on his chest.

“She was showing off the goods,” he protests. “She wanted it. She was just being a bitch and playing games with me.”

I’m fucking livid. Does this man want to die? Crimson frames my vision, and I seriously consider stomping this asshole’s face in. Sonya doesn’t need to see that side of me, however. Instead, I punch Chains in the nose, grunting in satisfaction when it snaps.

Blood pours from his nose and mouth, but I’m not done yet. Standing, I wait until Chains tries to get up before sinking my boot in his stomach. A pathetic cry falls from his lips as he curls up into the fetal position.

“You’re suspended until further notice. The officers and I will meet in a few months to decide the fate of your membership.”

“Are you fucking kidding–”

I lunge toward him, and he wisely shuts his mouth. “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind and put you six feet under.”

Chains struggles to get to his feet, limping across the parking lot to his bike. I watch as he shakily gets on his motorcycle and peels out.

Taking a deep breath, I wipe my bloody hands on my shirt and roll my shoulders. Goddamnit, that’s not how I wanted to greet Sonya after not seeing her for four days.

My men and I got back from a run a few hours ago, and I immediately went to the clubhouse to check on Sonya. Her door was locked, which I knew meant she was still sleeping. As much as I wanted to beat down the door and crawl into bed with her, she needed her sleep.

I puttered around the shop for a while, then returned to the clubhouse to work on a few things in my office. By the time I made it back out to the bar, Sonya was there, and she was about to be assaulted by one of my men.

I fucking snapped. No one,no one, is going to violate my woman and get away with it. Just thinking about the scene I walked in on has my skin prickling and my feet itching to chase after Chains and put a bullet in his head after all.

But Sonya needs me. I was harsh with her when I told her to go to her room, but my mind was racing with all the ways I wanted to hurt Chains. Getting Sonya somewhere safe was my priority, and I knew she’d be safe in her room while I dealt with her attacker.

Sonya is in a vulnerable position. From what I've gathered of her past, she’s had a lifetime of people yelling at her. I hate that I’m one more person to tell her what to do, and I need to ask for her forgiveness once I ensure she’s okay.

I make my way back to the clubhouse, jogging around the back so I don’t have to face questions from my men. Getting to Sonya is the only thing on my mind. Stopping quickly in the bathroom, I scrub the blood and sweat from my hands and face, then grab a clean shirt from my office and throw it on.

Standing in front of Sonya’s door, I take a grounding breath as I think of what to say. When I hear a sniffle on the other side of the door, I burst through, not caring about the right words as long as I can see her and hold her.

I’m not prepared for the scene in front of me, however. I furrow my brow, unsure why Sonya is standing against the wall in the corner of the room. She’s shaking as silent tears stream down her cheeks.

I rush over to her, but she flinches away from me as if I’m going to strike her. Jesus, that hurts. My chest feels like it’s being ripped open at the thought of Sonya being afraid of me.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her softly. Well, as softly as a gruff, bitter old biker can manage.

Sonya doesn’t look up at me, instead fixing her eyes on the floor.

I kneel in front of her, my palms raised to show her I’m not a threat. “I’m sorry I yelled,” I continue. “I wasn’t mad at you. I just needed you to get to safety.”

Sonya doesn’t acknowledge my words or my presence. I look at the beautifully broken woman in front of me and realize she’s not here with me. She’s having a flashback, reliving part of her traumatic past.