Link: SATAN’S SINNERS’ MC: TWO

by Akeroyd, Serena

  The ten-minute walk in four-inch heels was one I knew well. Though we were relatively new to the area, I’d left the house this way every day of the three months we’d been here.

  If there was a chance I’d run into my father, I’d find a way around it. Meeting him usually ended up with me slathering on foundation to cover a bruise on my face, and while I was adept at it, I wasn’t a masochist.

  Staying out of his way was the key to surviving this hellhole.

  When I reached the garage, my heels tapped against the concrete floor. Spotting Luke’s Lamborghini, my lips curved in a sneer as I let my fingers drift over the sleek lines.

  I was tempted, oh so fucking tempted, to take that car out, but if the news hit my father’s ears, I’d have matching shiners. So, instead, I went for another sports car. One my father didn’t mind me driving—a Porsche Carrera. It was a few years old, and that was why I was allowed to drive it.

  My father believed women drivers were a plague, so we weren’t to be trusted with the best in his stable.

  I pulled a face as I leapt behind the wheel and reversed out. I drove past twenty million dollars’ worth of cars on my exit, and only when I was through the gates did I release a sigh of relief.

  Getting out of there always felt like I was escaping a looming storm cloud. It was a weight off my chest that made me feel like I could breathe properly for the first time since I’d made it back here the night before.

  When my security detail pulled up behind me, I ignored them. They were always watching, always following, so I just pretended they weren’t there. Tonight, however, I’d need to find a way to make sure they weren’t as on the ball as usual.

  That would mean endangering their jobs but, truthfully, they were dicks anyway. I didn’t care if their careers were in the can after the moves I was going to pull tonight. My brother had security too, and they knew what he was up to.

  Knew it because they followed him just like they followed me.

  Bastards.

  Of course, they were probably dead bastards by now. My father had undoubtedly paid someone to wipe them off the face of the Earth, lest they ever think to blackmail him for the shit Luke had pulled.

  My hands tightened around the wheel as the ever-present rage washed through me, flooding me with more emotion than I knew what to do with. I’d been locked up tight since my mother’s murder, and subsequently Luke’s death—and the shit I’d inadvertently discovered about him—was creating holes in my control. Emotions were spluttering toward me, and I couldn’t deal with them. I only knew I had to do something, anything, to help.

  Making it into town was easy. We lived just on the Caldwell-West Orange border, but the ride was always smooth, and I enjoyed the wind in my hair and the loud music I let blare through the speakers. It was still ringing in my head as I cut the engine when I was parked and, humming to the beat, I climbed out after I grabbed my purse. Once I was standing, I stared at the bar up ahead.

  My father had been very vocal in his fight to stop a local motorcycle club from gaining the required licenses to open this particular mall but, for once, he’d lost. I was curious how that had happened, because it meant the MC had more tokens with local councilors than my dad did, and that was impressive.

  If I had a hat on my head, I’d take it off to them because, yikes, beating Donavan was nigh impossible.

  Dear old Dad had been particularly pissed the day he’d heard of the licenses going through, and he’d been doubly pissed when, barely six weeks later, the club had managed to get some of the businesses up and running. That, right there, told me they had money to burn. Nobody got several businesses functioning that quickly, not unless they were willing to hemorrhage cash.

  There was a diner, a strip joint, a garage, and a bar. It was the latter, Daytona, that was my intended destination. The place didn’t look trashy. Sure, it wasn’t swank, not like the bars at the country clubs I usually haunted, but I wasn’t here to get drunk. Wasn’t here to have fun. There was a method to my madness, a method I was praying someone within the confines of those walls could help me with.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I took off, crossing the road with such purpose that I almost missed the car that was pulling around the corner. The sharp honk of the horn had me jerking to a halt, and I was on the receiving end of a glower and a fist shake as the driver, a woman in her seventies, passed me by.

  Heart in my throat at my stupidity for not checking for traffic, I tried to ask myself what the fuck was going to happen if I died before the shit I knew could be passed on to people who’d help.

  There’d be blood on my hands, that’s what.

  Blood that would haunt me even into death.

  Breathing deeply, I carried on after looking right, then left, and made it, safely, to the other side of the road. Not messing around, I moved into the bar and, once I’d checked it out and had spied a kind of area that was cordoned off with bike parts—what the hell was that about?—I couldn’t fail to notice all the men in leather cuts, jeans, boots, and Henleys. It was like a uniform or something. Only a few had on wifebeaters that were surprisingly white.

  As I wondered if they did their own laundry, or if it was totally like Sons of Anarchy and they had women who did it for them, I headed to the bar and placed an order. “Can I have a vodka, please? Neat.”

  Though my request got me a funny look, the server just shrugged when I shook my head at his, “Not on the rocks?” and within a few minutes, I’d chugged down the clear liquid and felt it going to my head in a manner I seriously needed.

  While I burned from the alcohol, my mouth tingling from it in a way that loosened my tongue, I caught the bartender’s eye again and leaned forward to say, “I need your help.”

  Frowning, the guy leaned into me and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  I shot him a tight smile. “Two men are going to come into the bar soon. They’ll order lagers. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars to pour two shots of vodka into each of their drinks.”

  “You know that’s illegal?”

  My mouth tightened further. “They’re my security detail. I need to divert their attention.”

  “I’m not going to lose my job just to help some rich bitch lose her guards—”

  “You work for the MC here, right?” I jutted my thumb toward the seating area behind me. “I have information for them. Information I think will help them. I can’t give it to them if my guards are watching.” Of course, that was half a lie. The MC might not give a damn about some innocent women’s plight, but I was hoping they’d help just to get dirt on my brother. Boy, dirt didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Almost to punctuate my comment, the doors swung open, and I didn’t have to turn around to feel the stares of the two guards who followed me around. They weren’t supposed to drink at all, but Paul and Alix knew I was, relatively speaking, a good girl. I never got into trouble, never stirred shit, so they could relax. When I went to the country club, they took it in turn to be DD, while one always got hammered on my daddy’s dime.

  The bartender’s eyes cut to my security detail, and then his gaze flashed over to the guys in the MC, who were seated in that odd concoction of bike parts.

  The place was half Western saloon and half parts shop. I didn’t particularly like it with its coarse wooden tables and sleek banquettes, but I didn’t have to like it, did I?

  This wasn’t about to become my local haunt.

  “Make it two hundred, and I’ll dose them up,” the server whispered, as he poured me another shot of vodka.

  I’d have paid a grand to get Paul and Alix off my back. “Okay. Make it three shots then. I’ll double the money if, every time they order, you do the same.”

  He shrugged in what I took to be agreement, then moved forward when he saw me slide some money under my empty glass. Eyes connected, we both nodded as I retreated, heading over to a corner booth. I watched as Paul took up a table at the opposite side of the room, his gaze on the door, while Alix put in an ord
er. The bartender must have told him he’d bring their drinks over, because he soon joined Paul. I found a spot in the mirror behind all the liquor on the back wall of the bar where I could watch them without seeming like I was.

  I gnawed on my bottom lip as the server poured their beer. I couldn’t see anything from over here, not in the dim lights anyway, and I hoped three shots would be enough to impair them. They were big men but, far as I knew, they only drank lager. Would three shots make them tipsy? I had to hope it would. Even better, I had to hope it would give them a thirst for more.

  Once the drinks were served and Paul and Alix had sipped at them, I stopped studying them in a mirror. Though they’d pulled a face at the first sip, it hadn’t stopped them from downing the rest of their beer and, thank God, putting in another order. Tonight’s designated driver had evidently decided it was time to get hammered.

  The bartender smirked at me as he filled some beer mugs for them, and I darted my gaze away from the bar just in case they thought my interest in their order was suspicious. As I watched a couple shuffling around a space that was for dancing, I learned two-stepping to Guns and Roses wasn’t impossible.

  My mouth quirked up in a smile, though, as I took in the couple’s tight embrace. They looked happy, relaxed in one another’s company, and I’d admit to feeling jealous. I’d never felt like that around another person. Not even my mom, and I’d loved her more than anyone else on this planet. But trust wasn’t something you could have in my family. We were all backstabbers, myself included.

  I gnawed on my lip as sentimental nostalgia, undoubtedly aided by my second shot of vodka, made me a little teary-eyed. I shouldn’t have to do what I was doing tonight, and yet, here I was, trying to get my guards drunk and all so I could speak to men who were the type of guys I actually needed protection from.

  The MC brothers were loud, raucous, and rude. That much I’d seen in my forty minutes at Daytona. They drank too much, laughed too hard, and swore like sailors on coke. I didn’t like them, but they were my only hope.

  There were around ten of them in the booth, and every now and then I’d let my gaze drift around the red, laughing faces, trying to figure out who was the best to approach for help.

  Each time, I caught sight of the guy in the corner because everything about him was like metal to my magnet. He had his arms slung over the back of the booth on each side, and he was slouched down. Though he laughed, his eyes were alert, and twice he’d caught my gaze with his own, his mouth twitching in a smile a split second before I looked away.

  He wasn’t drunk, even though I’d seen him down two bottles of beer and a couple of shots, and from the heat in his eyes, I figured he thought I was trying to work out which of the men I was going to fuck.

  My stomach churned at the prospect. I knew from my own circle of friends that they’d often come here to, as they called it, ‘rough’ it. Fucking one of the Satan’s Sinners appeared to be a rite of passage in these parts, but I wasn’t here to fuck anyone. The last thing I needed was one of these bikers thinking I was here for a quickie in the restrooms.

  Gah, just the notion made me scowl into my vodka.

  I’d never understood the desire to have sex in a public restroom. Not only were they gross, but ugh, it was filthy and loaded with germs. I wouldn’t have sex in my bathroom, and I knew for a fact that Conchita steamed most of my quarters to keep me happy.

  When a loud bray of laughter burst out from the other side of the room, I first thought it was one of the bikers. They’d been making weird noises for a while now, so it fit, but when I glanced at them, they were cutting a look in another direction—my guards.

  Paul and Alix were wasted. Alix was snorting out a laugh as Paul was slapping the table with the palm of his hand as he, too, snickered at whatever inside joke they had going on.

  I studied them for a few minutes, watched as they turned toward one another and began arguing over something. It was a friendly argument though, and I figured it had to do with sports. I knew they both supported the same football team and had often heard them discussing stats and the like when they were on detail.

  Getting to my feet, I decided to try and make a move. The restroom was my first port of call, just to see if they noticed I’d gone. I’d taken note of the signage the second I’d taken a seat so, as I walked past them, maneuvering my way through the roughly hewn tables that were made out of slices of trees, I hitched a breath as I wondered if I’d made it.

  When they didn’t snap out a hand as I brushed past them, I knew I was good to carry on with my plan.

  The second I made it to the hall that led to the bathrooms, I almost crumpled as relief hit me. For a second, I just leaned against the wall, ignoring the picture frame that dug into my back as I did so. Pressing my hand to my forehead, I sucked in a breath, calmed myself down, then straightened up. As I did, I jerked in surprise.

  The brother from the booth was standing there. Inches away.

  Watching me.

  I gulped, tense from surprise and uneasiness.

  He was close. Too close. In my space, and I couldn’t move back.

  He tilted his head to the side, his eyes catching mine before they drifted down to my mouth. He was big. Huge, in fact. And even though he was handsome, as handsome as the Devil himself, he was scary. But I was used to that.

  My father wore a mask for the public. He donned expensive suits and watches that cost more than some people’s homes, and he’d wave at the photographers, a big ole smile on his face as he beamed at the world because he owned it. Or, at least, a chunk of it. The world was his bitch, and he rode it hard and wet.

  It was only when he came home, when the front doors were closed, that things changed. That smile turned dark. Twisted. It was even worse when he’d grab my hair and slam my face into his fist. Worse still when he’d pushed my mom down the stairs that night, all with that cruel smile on his face.

  This man?

  He wore no mask, yet there was something going on with him.

  He was white blond, but it was natural. Not from a bottle. It was kind of like mine, but a little more strawberry, I guessed. He had it slicked back in a loose, stubby ponytail that dragged most of it off his face. It would be, I knew, a tousled mess that waved around his jaw when released, and it looked like silk. Honest to God silk.

  He had a broad brow, with dark gold eyebrows that accentuated his bright green eyes. His nose was strong, and it led to a set of lips that would have made a saint want to sin. Around that wicked mouth, he was stubbled from his moustache to the rest of his jaw. He wore the leather cut all the MC brothers did, a white wifebeater, and a pair of jeans that, from that one quick glance, I knew he filled out well. Around his neck he wore, of all things, a rosary.

  To say the sight surprised me was an understatement. It had wooden beads on it and a crucifix. All of it was rough, and any polish came from him worrying it with his hands.

  But for all that he was beautiful, those green eyes of his?

  They disturbed me.

  I couldn’t say why, just that they did.

  “What do you want?”

  Those four words should have come from me, only they didn’t. Hadn’t. He asked them, and sweet Lord, his voice was just as beautiful as the man himself. It was raspy and deep, and it seemed to sink into my bones, settling there like mercury, weighing each of my senses down until I had no choice but to press my back harder into the wall behind me.

  Turning into a puddle of goo in front of a man like this would do me no favors. I’d been around enough men like him to know what he was—a predator.

  He might think I was prey, but I wasn’t. I was a predator too, but I knew how to play a part. I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and I would only reveal that when I was ready.

  I cleared my throat. “Why are you asking?”

  “Because Cody behind the bar told me what you’re paying him to do.”

  My head tilted to the side at that. I hadn’t seen Cody approach the boo
th. The other server had though. But he’d said Cody, and I distinctly recalled the button on the shirt of the bartender I’d dealt with. “When?”

  His lips curved and fuck, what that did to those eyes? Holy shit. It was like looking into a cat’s eyes. They were kind of blank, yet somehow managed to transmit exactly what he was thinking which, I knew, was a paradox. But still. Maybe that was this man. Paradox with a capital P.

  “Ever heard of the miracle of phones?” He quirked a brow at me. “Text messages are a miracle, aren’t they? Now, what do you want?”

  My throat tightened as I realized, inadvertently, I’d gotten my wish.

  I was speaking to a Satan’s Sinner brother, and all without Paul and Alix being able to report it to my father.

  For a second, my vocal cords froze. Words I’d been planning on uttering for days in the aftermath of Luke’s death seemed to choke me. I had so much to say, so goddamn much, but I was speechless.

  Until the guy stunned the shit out of me and murmured, “Take a breath.”

  I stared at him, wide-eyed, then he stunned me further. He blew out a breath then slowly inhaled, and I stared at his mouth, rounded and perfect, and followed his lead.

  At that moment, everything grounded to a halt. The world itself seemed to stop spinning on its axis. The music blaring behind me, the noise of a toilet flushing in the near distance, the raucous crowd who was spending the evening getting drunk…it all faded into the ether.

  I saw nothing but him.

  Felt nothing but him.

  His peace in the face of the chaos of my life.

  His calm in the presence of the turbulence that brought me here.

  I could hear the breath rasp from between my lips, heard his as it gusted from his mouth, and slowly, my heart stopped racing, my lungs stopped burning, and time clicked back into being.