16
Cutter slumped down on the ratty sofa in Kingdom’s new office. His thigh muscles burned from his workout, his right leg pulsing with a dull throb. He stretched his hands out and made a fist, inspecting his torn knuckles. Been a while since he used the punching bag till his hands rashed up, but there was no other way of shaking off the dread tugging at him since he spotted Greta’s tattoo a week ago. The shadow of fear in her eyes had gutted him. For the past week, they’d been rutting whenever they got a chance. In the morning, after f*****g her into oblivion, he walked her through the clubhouse with his arm over her shoulders. A wake of open stares and slack jaws followed behind them. He didn’t give a f**k. He was branding her any way he knew how.
A powerful MC like the Dark Horsemen d
