Free Purge (Death Crusaders Motorcycle Club) by Sandy Kline Page A

beautiful.”
    “You’re insane if you think
they make me look anything even close to beautiful. They’re ugly, rough, and
lack sensitivity. What about that makes me pretty?”
    Instead of answering me he
gets up off his stool and comes to stand in front of me. I inch away from him.
His close proximity is making me nervous.
    “Show me.” He says.
    “What?”
    “I want to see them. I mean
really see them.”
    “No freaking way. And
besides, you already have.”
    “Well…not really. It’s always
been under dim light and/or during sex. I really haven’t just studied them.”
    “And why would you want to?
They don’t need to be looked at or studied under bright lights. I’m not a
little white mouse in some laboratory Blade.”
    Instead of answering he
reaches out and takes the bottom of my shirt in his hands and begins to lift.
    “What are you doing?” I ask
through clenched teeth.
    “I’m getting reacquainted
with you Ms. Clarkson.”
    I start to grab my shirt to
keep it down but for some reason I just can’t move. I’m frozen…but not in
terror. I just can’t seem to refuse him. When the hem of my shirt reaches my
bra I find myself raising my arms so he can slide the thin material over my
head and I am struck with a sudden desire to turn off all the lights. It’s too
bright in here for this kind of exposure. My shirt falls to the kitchen floor.
I’m trembling from head to toe and somewhere in the back of my mind I see the
flash of a belt followed by searing pain. Blade reaches out and places his right
arm under my knees while his left circles around behind my back. He lifts me
off that stool with ease and carries me down the hall towards his bedroom. I
burry my face in his long blond hair and fight the tears that are beginning to
seep from the corners of my eyes.
    He sets me gently on the edge
of the bed but prevents me from lying on my back to hide my scars. Instead he lays
me on my stomach. I feel exposed. I feel helpless. I feel like that little girl
again waiting for the fall of the whip. I start to roll over. I can’t be seen
like this by anybody; even Blade, but he holds me in place. I have slacks on.
Please don’t remove my slacks I beg him silently. He reaches around and works
the zipper before sliding the thin fabric down over my hips exposing my ass. I
start to turn over but again he prevents it.
    “You’re beautiful he breathes
in my ear. Every last crisscrossed line and scar is beautiful.”
    I want to scream. I want to
lash out at him and make him pay for what he’s done to me. I hate him for it. I
want to kill the son of a bitch for torturing me. But I can’t. It’s not Blade
that’s done this. He’s here and now and somehow it feels like if I strike out
at him I’ll somehow feel better.
    “Stop!” I cry out. “You don’t
need to see more.”
    I start to kick but he just
pulls my slacks down around my ankles preventing me from doing anything to stop
him. His hands are crawling all over my body. My scars tingle beneath his
fingers and that’s a surprise to me. I have never had any feeling where that
tough raised tissue is. Slowly my energy drains and with it my constant
struggle against him dies out and I begin to feel something else.
    “You’re so beautiful.” He
breathes in my ear as his hands caress the lines running up and down my calves.
    My legs twitch in response to
his touch and it actually feels good. I’ve never actually had anyone even
appear to take pleasure in caressing me where my scars are concerned.
    “What are you doing?” I ask.
    “Getting to know you.” He
replies.
    “But you already know me.”
    “Not really Jen. I have just
known the front you put up for everyone to see. We’ve fucked but we’ve never
made love because all you could focus on was what you consider to be your
flaws. These lines, the patches of skin grafts, they are beautiful.”
    “I look like a giraffe back
there.” I complain.
    “Giraffes are beautiful
creatures