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This isn’t my first time being bound and tortured.

Chances are it wouldn’t be my last.

Never is there a doubt in my mind that I’m going to die there.

Never.

My gag is removed and I hear the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. I almost laugh to myself because I know what’s about to come.

But he doesn’t.

He laughs to his friends when he shoves his fat little cock in my mouth. I fight the bile rising in my throat. My reflex to fight. I stay perfectly still for one, two, three seconds.

The longest three seconds of my life.

I close my teeth around his cock until they meet in the middle. When he screams and tries to pull away I hold on tighter and jerk my head to the side.

Warm copper fills my mouth and I can’t help but laugh as the man hops around in pain.

My laughter is out of control as his blood pours down the sides of my mouth and I spit out what’s left of his little cock onto the ground.

The sound of gunfire erupts and bodies around me start to fall. There is an explosion and the bonfire sends me sailing into the air. I land with a dull thud on the grass and wait to be untied.

Because I know it’s King.

I know he’s come for me.

And I know it’s just killing time now.

In a flash King is dragging a tied up and half conscious Eli into his truck and I’m putting a bullet in the last of Eli’s men on the dock when I hear a voice. And then suddenly I’m not covered in blood and ending a life. I’m sitting next to the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life.

My best friend’s girl.

King’s girl.

“I would have been a good biker whore for you,” she says, and my cock practically leaps to attention inside my pants. Her large blue eyes are unfocused. Her pupils the size of the fucking moon, but somehow the way she’s staring up at me makes me believe that she is looking past me. Past my bullshit. Past the biker and to the man inside. At that moment she’s the only person in the world who can see past the cut and I must be suicidal because I’m willing to suffer the wrath of King to be with her.

I don’t even care that she’s drunk, it will make what I have to tell her easier. But right now I don’t care about anything but putting my lips to hers. Pink, plump, beautiful. I imagine them wrapped around my cock and my jeans get tighter when my cock decides that he likes the idea as much as I do. When I hear the click of a gun behind me I know it’s King. The click is a courtesy because I’m a friend. I know first hand that most who find themselves at the end of his gun aren’t extended the same courtesy of a warning. I look back at the girl they call Doe and I want her so bad I can almost taste her on my tongue.

I contemplate ignoring my friend and taking the bullet.

I think she could be worth it.

She’s angry at King, and has every right to be. She just walked in on him and some bitch. I almost want to deck the motherfucker myself for making her so upset. But oh the fuck well.

I’m going to tell King to fuck off. Tell him to shoot me if that’s what he really wants. As I see it, I’m about to right a wrong. I should have never sent her up to King at that party. I should have taken her to my bed and kept her there the second I laid eyes on her.

Instead my dumb ass sent her up to King to put a smile on his face.

Like that fucker ever smiled.

Doe turns and looks up at King and even through all the hurt and anger on her face I can see clearly how she feels about him. I’ve never seen real love before, but I know that this is it and it makes my stomach turn because I know right then what I am seeing is the real thing. Shit, I can feel it. Like static electricity zapping the air between them.

It physically pains me to unwrap my arms from around her because I know it’s the last time I’d ever touch her because she didn’t belong to me. Never did.

Never could.

I walk past King and barrel into him with my shoulder, giving him a polite ‘fuck you’ shove. When I get back up to the house I almost keel over when I feel the sting in the very center of my chest. It hurts so bad I think for a second that the motherfucker changed his mind and shot me after all. Either that or I’m having a heart attack.

But when I open my eyes and look down I’m staring at my best friend Preppy, blood pours from his chest and he’s dying in front of me all over again. The life drains from his eyes and the pain in my chest intensifies. I look down and the blood stain on my chest matches Preppy’s. The pain becomes unbearable.

But the pain isn’t because of any bullet.

It’s because I couldn’t save him.

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