Cycling Club's Naked Milestone - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading Cycling Club's Naked Milestone, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of Cycling Club's Naked Milestone.
Never thought Vincent would have the balls to contact me again.
His voice on the line made me see red.
"Didn't think Sophia would crack so easy. Twenty guys—and half were meant for you."
I screamed every curse I knew.
He just chuckled, then dropped the hammer:
"That night? Wasn't just me and Nathan. Wanna know what the other two were doing?"
"8 PM tomorrow. Athena Hotel, penthouse. Wear what I sent you."
"Behave... or you'll wish you had."
My blood turned to ice.
How was he walking free after what he'd done?
Then I understood—he had ammunition.
An unknown number sent videos. Grainy but unmistakable—me in the spring.
The "missing" guys had been hiding, filming us the whole time.
Vincent was blackmailing me for round two.
Terror hit. If my parents saw these, it'd wreck them.
Traditional. Conservative. My upbringing? No sex before marriage, no "shameful" acts.
In college, I'd caved to pressure and lost my virginity.
After that? Pandora's box. I couldn't stop.
But I'd hidden it all. Even Daniel—two years together, and he only met my parents after our engagement.
Their disappointment would destroy me.
So at 7:50 PM, I stood outside the Athena.
Trench coat hiding Vincent's "gift."
Deep breath before knocking.
Nothing could've prepared me for the eight men inside.
Vincent—once in charge—now groveled in a corner, playing errand boy to some bearded kingpin.
When he saw me, he perked up, shoving me forward.
"Boss, she's the real deal. Try her tonight. Not good enough? I'll get you an upgrade."
I glared. He ignored me, ripping off my coat and jabbing a finger at my chest.
"Look—100% natural, D-cup at least."
Grinning, he flicked a lighter for the boss's cigar—missing my hand sliding into my coat pocket.
Now.
While he was distracted, I drove the knife between his legs.
His shriek harmonized with cops battering down the door.
Sophia was in a coma for two months.
By the time she woke, Vincent's crew was rotting in prison.
Turns out they ran a "sports club" front—luring women, then breaking them into their twisted games.
Sophia fought too hard. They thought they'd killed her, dumped her in the woods.
But she survived—and handed the cops enough evidence to bury them.
When I told her, her hollow stare finally broke.
Tears cut tracks down her face as she laughed—a bitter, broken sound.
"Good. They got off easy."
His voice on the line made me see red.
"Didn't think Sophia would crack so easy. Twenty guys—and half were meant for you."
I screamed every curse I knew.
He just chuckled, then dropped the hammer:
"That night? Wasn't just me and Nathan. Wanna know what the other two were doing?"
"8 PM tomorrow. Athena Hotel, penthouse. Wear what I sent you."
"Behave... or you'll wish you had."
My blood turned to ice.
How was he walking free after what he'd done?
Then I understood—he had ammunition.
An unknown number sent videos. Grainy but unmistakable—me in the spring.
The "missing" guys had been hiding, filming us the whole time.
Vincent was blackmailing me for round two.
Terror hit. If my parents saw these, it'd wreck them.
Traditional. Conservative. My upbringing? No sex before marriage, no "shameful" acts.
In college, I'd caved to pressure and lost my virginity.
After that? Pandora's box. I couldn't stop.
But I'd hidden it all. Even Daniel—two years together, and he only met my parents after our engagement.
Their disappointment would destroy me.
So at 7:50 PM, I stood outside the Athena.
Trench coat hiding Vincent's "gift."
Deep breath before knocking.
Nothing could've prepared me for the eight men inside.
Vincent—once in charge—now groveled in a corner, playing errand boy to some bearded kingpin.
When he saw me, he perked up, shoving me forward.
"Boss, she's the real deal. Try her tonight. Not good enough? I'll get you an upgrade."
I glared. He ignored me, ripping off my coat and jabbing a finger at my chest.
"Look—100% natural, D-cup at least."
Grinning, he flicked a lighter for the boss's cigar—missing my hand sliding into my coat pocket.
Now.
While he was distracted, I drove the knife between his legs.
His shriek harmonized with cops battering down the door.
Sophia was in a coma for two months.
By the time she woke, Vincent's crew was rotting in prison.
Turns out they ran a "sports club" front—luring women, then breaking them into their twisted games.
Sophia fought too hard. They thought they'd killed her, dumped her in the woods.
But she survived—and handed the cops enough evidence to bury them.
When I told her, her hollow stare finally broke.
Tears cut tracks down her face as she laughed—a bitter, broken sound.
"Good. They got off easy."
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