Crucifixed (Royal Bastards MC: NYC Book 2) by B.B. Blaque (interesting books to read for teens txt) 📗

on my stomach . . . all that ink has to do with my pain. I was kicked out by those who think they’re so much closer to God . . . you’re one of them now and I’m so in love with you it should kill me. It hasn’t. It’s made me angry . . . hard . . . bitter. You’re killin’ me slowly, Fi. Repent for that!”

She was sayin’ all kinds of shit, but I was beyond caring. I watched the marks crossin’ over each other and overlappin’. The entire back of her body was becomin’ one swollen mass of red, angry stripes. If I’d been able to control it, I wouldn’t have given her a single stroke of the cane. I knew she’d leave me, go hide all the evidence of her punishment under that fuckin’ black gown, and have what she felt she needed. It would only make her crazy and she’d come back.

I threw the cane across the bar, shoved a couple stools outta my way and they fell like dominoes. Done.

“Get your head together, Fi. I’m done with this shit!” I took the belt off the rail and her hands fell to her sides. “No more for you. Why the fuck should your penance be a loop of pain for me? How the fuck does that work anyway? Is this my Hell . . . like the endless torment of a seductive nun? Is this the Almighty punishing me for eternity because I snatched the cherry straight outta that box? Fuck, Fi . . . why’d you ever have to confess to me?”

It coulda been any of the others and I wouldn’t have been so fucked up. Sister Antoinette started it, but if Fi hadn’t gone and confessed to me, I wouldn’t have put a finger on her.

“Gio . . . Crucifix . . . you’re calling me Fi . . . not Snaps.

I know you’re hurting too.”

I grabbed the back of her head with the veil still hangin’ from her hair and yanked it back to me. “I’m hurting too? You’ve got some set of balls hidden under that habit! You’re breakin’ me . . . hurt doesn’t even come close!”

“What do you want me to do?” she screeched and tried to spin around to me. She couldn’t move while I held her. I’d keep her forever, but I couldn’t do it like that. Against my sissy-bar, with a property of Crucifix patch, yeah. Not like that, though.

“Break for a break, Fi . . . sister.” I was at an ear and pulled her head harder toward my shoulder. Those blue eyes were filled with tears as she looked up to me. “You’re breakin’ me, bitch . . . break your vows . . . all of ‘em. Then we’ll be even, and I promise I won’t let you regret it.”

I let go and walked behind the bar to get a drink. It was probably past seven, and it seemed like the perfect time. “What’s it gonna be? I told ya . . . and yeah, I’ve told you before, but I can’t take this shit anymore. I love fuckin’ you . . . I damn sure love punishin’ you, which should still be hot and obvious on your back right about now. That’s all cool and shit, but Fi, I love you. That’s the only way you can break me. If it wasn’t for that part, I’d keep goin’ with our arrangement, but I can’t get that part outta me, no matter how hard I fuckin’ try.”

I pushed a drink over to her and watched as she slid the gown down to cover all the marks I’d made to scrub her soul clean. She’d touch them for weeks, no question in my mind, and a couple months later she’d pop back up on my doorstep.

“You know I love you too. Don’t you think it pains me to do this? It’s not your fault and I know it . . . maybe it makes me a bad Catholic, but I don’t know how to stop. I pray on it, light candles, and then I ruminate on you to the point of absolute obsession.” She pulled the glass of whiskey over and took a sip before knockin’ it back. “I won’t even confess this stuff to anyone except you . . . I’ve come close to tellin’ one of the sisters, but I just can’t. It’s only you. It’s always been you. Even when you walked away from me that didn’t change.”

Hearin’ her say all that shit flipped my switch. With a quick burst, I threw a glass at the wall and slammed my fist down on the bar.

“Well, thank you for throwin’ all that burden on me! How loving of you! You got a fucked-up way of showin’ how you feel about me, sister.” I grabbed my smokes from the end of the bar, cursin’ all the way. “I don’t think you have a fuckin’ clue about pain, Fi! You think you obsess . . . fuck, bitch, if you only knew about obsession and how fucked in the head this makes me. So, sure, g’head . . . confess it all to me so you can go sleep soundly as a good Catholic for a few months! Me . . . I’ll tell ya what I do . . . I sleep with every fuckin’ skanky whore I can and I find no peace. Non c'è pace! Zero! My dick gets off, but I don’t get peace. I get a few moments while I’m bustin’ a nut and that’s it! So, cry me a river. Stay or get the fuck out!”

She was cryin’ and even though I usually caved for that shit, I couldn’t do it. I’d never be able to get over all the years with her knockin’ my heart and dick in the dirt