All Chapters of In Bed With The MC President: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

JustinThe sleep didn't help. The talk with Reaper didn't help. Nothing helped.My sister was in a penthouse with a man who wanted her dead and I was sitting here, ordered to stand down like a prospect.The rage was eating me from the inside out. I needed to break something. I needed to bleed. Or I needed to fuck until I couldn't remember my own name.I stormed out of the main bar, ignoring the few brothers still hanging around, and headed toward the back hallway where the private rooms were. The bass from the speakers vibrated through me. I shoved open the door to the VIP lounge. It was a dark space usually saved for big-money card games or private dances.It was empty, mostly. Except for someone in the corner. The lights were dim, just a red neon sign buzzing on the wall, but it was enough to see her. She was standing by the long mirror with her back to me. She was bent over a bit, messing with the strap on her heel. Her skirt was so short it was practically a belt, barely coverin

MilaThe guy turned to face me so slowly. Up close, I saw the scrapes on his knuckles, still red and raw. He had definitely been throwing punches recently.His eyes were dark, real dark, and my stomach did a weird flip. I felt a clenching low in my body. Reaper. He checked me out, his eyes lingering on my red dress and my scared face. He noticed how hard I was breathing.“You look so good in red, Princess.” he said in a low and dangerous voice. The confined space made it more intimidating. “Like a target.” He reached for my ankle, yanking me closer until we were so close I could smell his cologne. “Think you can mess with me and hide in you husband’s little shadow?” He breathed, his hand sliding up my leg. “I am the monster, remember? And monsters always find their way into the shadows.”“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. I waited for him to tell me to get back to the club, or to start yelling about me running off.But Reaper didn't answer. He just stared a

MilaThe city became blurry as we sped across the Queensboro Bridge. The wind lashed at my bare legs, but I barely noticed. I was too aware of the engine's warmth between my thighs and the solid, leather-clad form of Ryan in front of me. “Ryan.” I screamed inside my helmet, the sound lost in the roar of the exhaust. It felt like casting a spell. Each time I said his name in my head, the memory of Caleb's suffocating penthouse seemed to crack a bit more.He didn't slow down. He weaved through the standstill traffic like a pro, reckless, yet precise. We sped from the fancy streets of Manhattan into the more industrial Long Island City. He turned sharply, heading towards the skeleton of a huge, unfinished skyscraper that stood over the waterfront like a dead giant. My heart pounded against his back. Where was he taking me? But I didn't ask.He dodged the barriers, guiding the motorcycle up a rough concrete ramp. We climbed, floor after floor. There were no walls, only steel beams

ReaperMila stumbled slightly without my support, but she caught herself. She reached out, her hand hovering. "Ryan…""Don't think giving you that name mean something." I barked. "And don't look at me like that."She blinked as the confusion blurred the adrenaline in her eyes. "Like what?""Like I am a hero." I spat. "Like I am the white knight in shining armor who is going to swoop in and rescue you from your big bad husband."I paced away from her and kicked a loose piece of rod across the roof. It clattered loudly. The sound echoed. I turned back on her, letting the monster took over, letting her see the cruelty I used to survive. "You think because I have a club and a bike, I am freedom? You are delusional, Mila. I am not freedom. I am just a different kind of cage."I gestured to the dark city below us. “You are a tourist here. You are a bored, rich little girl playing with fire because you hate your life. But you don't know what fire does." I walked back to her, looming over

HavocLyla.Gunner’s little sister. The one he bragged about. The one he showed pictures of at Christmas. The one holding a biology textbook. “She is gonna be a doctor,” He would say, puffing out his chest. “She is the only good thing we got.”And I had just bent her over a pool table and treated her like a two-dollar whore.I looked down at my hand. Fifty bucks. Maybe a hundred. I had paid the Sergeant-at-Arms’ sister for the privilege of ruining her.Bile rose in my throat. I pushed away from the door, stumbling slightly. The hallway felt like it was tilting.I had to get out of here. I had to scrub my skin. I had to burn these clothes. I turned the corner toward the main bar and froze.Gunner was there.He was standing at the end of the hall, leaning against the wall, laughing with a prospect. He had a beer in one hand and was gesturing with the other. He looked happy. He looked like a brother who trusted his family.He looked up and saw me. “Havoc!” he shouted over the music, r