By: Sam Crescent


As always I want to thank Evernight for giving The Skulls a home. You're an amazing publisher and I love being one of your authors. I've got to thank Karyn White, my editor. She's truly a wonderful editor and has helped me so much throughout, The Skulls. Thank you so much.

Also, I have to thank my readers for your continued support. You all mean so much to me.


Whizz with Alan

“Do you really think a woman will want you now?”

Whizz pressed his head against the tile floor wishing for some reprieve. His jeans were down to his knees, and he hurt everywhere. Not one part of him was better off than the other. Alan was a sick fuck and delighted in torturing him. Beside his head was the vomit he’d brought up seconds before. All this because Zero couldn’t keep his temper. Not that Whizz was pissed. From the look of Alan, Zero had gotten him fucking good, better than good.

“Fuck you!”

He growled as Alan grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. If Whizz had any strength length he’d kill the bastard in front of him. He’d be drugged, beaten … he couldn’t bring himself to think of what else he’d been through. Whizz knew he’d get through this. He got through everything. His time at The Lions had taught him to push the pain down, to ignore what he actually wanted to do. “I already did. Maybe I need to go again. I heard you bikers like your fucking.”

Alan let him go, landing a kick to his gut.

The club will come. They’ll come for me, and I’ll be safe.

What’s safe anymore?

Gasping for breath, Whizz didn’t want to have to deal with the shit going on inside his head. No one was going to want him, not even the club. Who would want a man who let this happen to him? He certainly didn’t. No amount of fighting could undo what happened. He was totally fucked.

“You know, Zero’s the one to blame. I wanted him, and yet you’re the one that was lying in wait. It’s almost as if you wanted me to come and get you.” Alan laughed, the sound sinister and echoing around the room. None of the men paid them any attention while Alan beat him. The moment they were alone, Alan became even more evil. There was no escaping the sadistic asshole.

How are you going to survive this?

Whizz kept his eyes closed, trying to think of something, anything that would take him away from this pain.

He thought about the club. Not The Lions. He’d never truly been part of them and had spent more time trying to get away from them. Whizz had done shit for them just like Killer, but he’d never been willing. The shit he’d done was in the past as he’d taken a spot in The Skulls. Tiny was a hard-assed leader, a fine president, and Whizz was loyal to him. He thought about the club, and throughout all the pain it grounded him.

“You really think your club is going to come for you?” Alan asked, drawing him back onto the chair.

Whizz sat down even as it was painful. He was a mess. There was no need for a mirror when the pain was all he needed to know that he was changed forever. Alan certainly liked his knives.

“You can’t ignore me.” Alan grabbed his hair pulling his head back to slide the knife he held across his neck.

Whizz was past caring. Did he want to die? No, he truly didn’t, but he wouldn’t beg this sick fucker for his life. Whizz had learned never to beg. Begging didn’t garner respect. Begging took everything away. He believed in his club, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they bargained for him. Even if Tiny didn’t come through, Killer would, or at least Zero.

Minutes passed, hours, perhaps days. Whizz knew he was dying. The blood loss was starting to become a problem. Through his mind he thought about the club and everything he’d miss. He’d miss Lash and Angel, especially Angel. She was such a sweetheart and rarely saw the bad in people. Lash was overprotective, and it was strange to watch the fierce biker worry over his woman. Murphy, he was like a brother to him, along with Killer. He’d even miss Tate. Her mouth made him laugh at times.

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