Koyn – Royal Bastards MC Read online K. Webster

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Biker, Dark, Erotic, MC, Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
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I want to be there for her. To save her. To hold her. To promise her everything will be okay. I can’t, though, and that realization cracks me down the middle. My sanity bleeds from me, mixing with my wife’s blood on the floor. My child’s screams echo through me as the man tears through her innocence. As he takes what was never his. As he destroys her. I can’t watch him. I’m a failure as a father—I can’t even watch her demise. I’m a coward. I’m empty.

My blood runs cold as I harden myself.

When I die here shortly, I don’t want my last thoughts being of my daughter being brutally assaulted by a psychopath. She cries and cries and cries until she doesn’t cry anymore. The grunting and slapping flesh become distant in my mind. Everything is black. Everything is black. Everything is black.

The same sickening sounds the knife made as it ended my wife can be heard once more. This time, in my baby girl’s neck. The blood. So much blood.

Death.

Death.

We’re dying.

My family is dead.

I want to go with them.

Blackblackblackblackblack.

Rancid’s laughter haunts my soul and then his knife is on my face. Carving. Slicing. Gouging. The pain is nothing compared to the pain inside me. Blood runs down my cheeks, heavy and hot.

I get a good look at him and smell his dank breath. Looks just like the other motherfucker. Wears the same leather vest. BBB is embroidered in the material over a skull.

“X marks the spot,” Rancid says, pressing his thumb between my eyes, digging into where he cut me, and shoving me to the floor. “All the treasures hidden up there in that expensive brain of yours. It’s a shame we can’t use that.”

The men laugh and I watch with disgust as the other man pulls out his dripping cock, soaked in the blood of my daughter. Her lifeless body slumps to the floor, landing on her dead mother. My two stars have faded to black.

Mine.

They took mine.

They. Took. Mine.

Rage, explosive and out of control, detonates. No longer being held down by Rancid, I use the moment to my advantage. I burst to my feet and launch myself at Rancid. My shoulder connects with the middle of his back. He slams into the other guy, who’s still trying to put his dick back in his pants. They stumble, tripping over the other. I raise my foot and kick Rancid hard, sending his head popping against the coffee table. When he doesn’t get up, I charge the other guy.

His knife is still buried in my daughter’s neck. Thanks for helping Daddy, baby girl. I head-butt the guy and he falls on his ass. Not wasting any time, I slam my foot down on his nose, loving the sick popping sound of it breaking. Over and over I smash my dress shoe into his face. He manages to roll away from me.

“Fuck!” he yells, his eyes landing on Rancid as blood gushes down his face. “What the fuck did you do to him?”

Rancid’s head lies at a funny angle, his eyes open and dull.

Snarling like a bear, I charge this fucker again. He scrambles back. And then he turns away to run. I kick him right in the spine, making him howl, but he keeps running. Why the fuck is he running?

COME BACK HERE, MOTHERFUCKER!

But he’s gone.

The back door slams and then I hear the distinct sound of a motorcycle revving.

I should be dead.

With them.

My eyes land on my girls and a ragged sob escapes me. I need to hold them. I need to fucking hold them. With hot tears in my eyes, I back up and gently relieve my daughter of the knife in her neck. It takes some difficult maneuvering and I gouge the knife into my arms several times, but I eventually cut through the rope. As soon as I’m free, I yank off the tape and then cradle my girls. I pull them into my arms, squeezing them tight as I scream until I’m hoarse.

I scream and scream and scream.

And when their bodies feel cold, I dig my hand into my slacks pocket. With shaky fingers, I call the only person I have left.

“If you changed your mind about Thanksgiving—”

And I scream again.

Koyn

Present…

Goddammit, this kid is going to be the death of me.

“Sorry, Prez,” Nees grumbles as he picks up his wrench from the garage floor and darts his eyes to the dent on the fuel tank.

I swear to fuck, Copper better come get this klutzy motherfucker before I cut his hands off and feed them to him. His eyes widen and he takes a step back, nearly knocking my 2020 vivid black Sport Glide Harley over. A growl of warning rumbles through me.

“Yo, Prospect,” Filter says, strutting over to us from his own bike. “Why don’t you go grab a water and take a break? You look about ready to shit yourself. And if you knock over Prez’s bike, you’re going to be shitting through about forty hollow-point holes in your ass.”


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