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

I am. I’ll be unreachable. If you need me . . . life or death need . . . you know where I am.”

We never turn our phones off, so it was a big sign that I was fucked up. I didn’t just ghost everyone, and they’d been handlin’ everything while I was out west anyway. Hazard knew how to find me.

I was just comin’ up on my office when I heard noises from inside. What the fuck is that about? When I walked in, Rattler was slammin’ Candy from behind. She was wearin’ the silly nun costume and holdin’ on to the sides of the St. Andrew’s Cross. Blind rage took over instantly when I thought of Gingersnap and what could happen to her. I grabbed Rattler by the shoulders, ripped him outta that skank’s pussy, and pulled him toward me. He was still wearin’ his jeans in the middle of his legs, so he fell back and I pounced hard on his chest and started to pummel his face. After the first hit, I got nothin’—no memory of how many times I hit him. I just kept seein’ Gingersnap bein’ poked and prodded by the greedy priests as they examined her to see if she’d been tainted by the unholiness of my cock. I could see disgust and shame on their faces when they realized she wasn’t a virgin in front of a room full of high-bidding scumbags. In the midst of the horror show in my head, I felt hands yankin’ me away and Hazard was up in my face, yellin’.

“What the fuck, man? I thought you were gonna crash out when Candy came screamin’ down to me that you lost your mind!”

I wasn’t thinkin’ straight—lost my mind a long time ago and left a huge chunk on the floor of the champagne room. I couldn’t be held accountable for any of the shit I might do after what I’d heard about Fi. When I spun around and saw blood comin’ outta Hazard’s mouth, my face musta given my thoughts away.

“Yeah . . . you caught me with an elbow in the face. Crucifix, bro’, you gotta chill the fuck out!”

That wasn’t the time for me to walk into my office and see a nun gettin’ her cork popped by Rattler or any other motherfucker. I wouldn’t have fucked her at that moment even if ya paid me.

“Everyone get the fuck outta my office! Tend to your battle wounds anywhere but here. Spit-roast the bitch if the three of ya wanna, I don’t fuckin’ care. Just don’t do it here! I’ve seen enough fuckin’ nuns for one night!”

I didn’t apologize to Rattler. Motherfucker shoulda never been in my office—he has his own fuckin’ corner and coulda gone just about anywhere else in the whole club. Fuck him!

Thank God I had a bottle of JD in my file cabinet ‘cause I spilled the whole fuckin’ glass when I lost my shit. I needed to drink and knew I wasn’t gonna sleep anytime soon. I kept tryin’ to think back over the sister’s words for somethin’ that might help. She said she’d give me more info when she got it, but it didn’t sound like we had time to sit and dick around. I told her I’d handle it my own way, and that’s what I was gonna do.

Wealthy parishioners.

B.I.N.G.O. and FOCUS was his name-o.

I lit a smoke and pulled out my phone. It was 1:13 AM in California and FOCUS would still be up and causin’ someone grief. I dialed and waited for him to answer—two rings. Dependable as fuck.

“Hey, brother! What’s shakin’ in the big ol’ Rotten Apple? Ya miss my hillbilly ass or what?”

I slammed a mouthful of Jack and said a prayer that he could help.

“Of course I miss ya, that goes without sayin’, but this ain’t a social call. I got an issue.” I took a drag of my smoke and sipped at the whiskey. “You been talkin’ with Bish at all lately? That guy’s like smoke and I can never get a read on what’s happenin’ between you two.”

The Bishop—Bish—was one stealthy and sly motherfucker. I wouldn’t want him anywhere but in my corner. He could kill a guy and sit down, pour a drink, and use the guy’s head like a table. If I have less than zero fucks to give—The Bishop just never had any to begin with.

“Of course, I’m always in touch with Bish. You should know that, brother. Why? Whatcha got goin’ on?”

I turned my chair to look at the monitors and saw the rest of the place was dark and empty. I didn’t want any surprise guests and maybe I shoulda checked before callin’ FOCUS, but at least I was actually alone.

“I won’t go into it in any great detail on the phone . . . but you’ve said he has some kinda special boardin’ school upstate, right?”

Read between the lines, motherfucker.

The Bishop buys, sells, and trains slaves at his place, Rosethorne Academy. Even though that cold-blooded, sadistic, combat vet has a colorful rep, he’s still well-known and respected in the BDSM community. Although it sounds bad, he doesn’t do anything without full consent. It’s all straight up. He’s not like the fuckin’ priests even though he seems to be lacking some fundamental pieces inside.

“Umm . . . yeah. That’s a strange thing to call about at one somethin’ in the mornin’. You lookin’ for someone to beat? Don’t you have enough chicks to punish at the Mounds?”

There was too much that could come back to haunt us if I said too much, but I’d give him just enough. I wish you wcere fuckin’ here, man.

“Yeah . . . yeah, nah, it’s nothin’ like that. All I can tell ya, and I’ll trust you to catch my meanin’ here, so pay attention, ya thick