Sweet Sin: A Wild Hawks MC Romance

by K. S. Ellis

  'We just have to fold these two together,' I point at the two mixing bowls and he frowns intently at them, and I can almost see the thought bubble appearing over his head.

  'It just means to mix them together without stirring or beating. You want to keep the air in it.' He picks up a plastic spatula, looking doubtful, and I giggle. Guiding his hand, we scoop about a third of the egg-white mixture out into the first bowl, and I help him with the folding movement until he has it under control, and he folds the rest in like a pro.

  'Piece of fucking cake,' he grins at me, winking. If I could run a cooking class with all these hot bikers demonstrating the cooking techniques, I could be a millionaire.

  Once he has placed the cake in the oven, Aric straightens and turns to me, a smile quirking his lips, and he runs a hand through my hair, before tightening and tugging my head back so that he can kiss me.

  'You're enjoying this,' he growls, his lips brushing mine. I grin, my good hand under his shirt, trailing up his abs and resting on his chest.

  'So, so much,' I murmur back, kissing him.

  Chapter 28

  ARIC

  The insistent buzzing of my phone wakes me, and I reach over to the bedside table, groping around for it, trying not to disturb Lena as I attempt to untangle our naked limbs.

  'Yeah?' I growl into the phone when I finally find it.

  'We've got Fenton,' Killer says, and my eyes snap open. 'Bruiser's tying him up now.'

  'I'll be there in fifteen,' I growl, tugging on my jeans and pulling a shirt out of the dresser. Lena turns over in the bed, and I move to drop a kiss on her brow, my eyes sliding over her plaster cast. Yeah, I'm going to fucking enjoy this today.

  'I've got a lead on Channing,' Killer continues. 'I'll call once I've got him.'

  I end the call, kissing Lena softly and murmuring that I'll be back later. Today is going to be a fucking good day.

  When I get to Bruiser's little house of horrors, I park my rig and take the stairs two at a fucking time to get up to the attic. He's waiting for me, leaning against the wall outside the high tech door into the soundproof room that has a keypad entry. It looks totally out of place in the small landing, with its pine wood floors and faded green striped wallpaper.

  'Let's do this,' I breathe as I reach him and he grins evilly, pushing off from the wall and punching in the code. The heavy metal door swings open inwards, and we step through into the brightly lit room, where a single, wooden, bloodstained chair is bolted to the floor in the middle of the room, with Jason fucking Fenton strapped to it using metal fishing wire. He has a gag strapped in his mouth, and on the table against the wall in front of him, Bruiser has laid out the tools of his brutal trade with the precision and cleanliness of a fucking surgeon.

  When the gag is removed, a litany of colorful curses spew from Fenton's lips. Motherfucker is scared, as he well should be. He knows that there is no way he is walking out of this alive. He's also not going to go out looking like a human being either. By the time we're fucking done with him, he's going to be a bleeding sack of shit who is going to wish he'd never fucking set eyes on Lena.

  Fenton's still yelling as I get settled against the wall, narrowing my eyes and watching as Bruiser runs his tattooed fingers over the array of knives, almost like a loving fucking caress, before they curl around the handle of the one he wants and he turns to Fenton, his blue eyes burning ice cold. The first cut has Fenton even more fucking riled up. By the third, he's panting, and cursing Bruiser's mother. By the ninth, he's fallen silent.

  A text message causes my phone to vibrate against my thigh and I work it out of my jeans, my eyes still glued to the series of patterns Bruiser is carving into Fenton's chest. Glancing down, I see that it's from Killer. He's just sent an address, and I smirk. Glancing over at Bruiser, and his gruesome work, I nod to him.

  'Keep fucking going. I want him crying for his Mommy.' Bruiser grunts, and a creepy smile crosses his face.

  'Give me a few more hours,' he grins. Fenton just whimpers.

  Killer is waiting for me, propped up against his rig, his booted ankles crossed as he watches a two storey house with a porch in Pinedale, a city just south of San Remo. We're in the suburbs, and it's a nice suburb too. The kind where every house has a white picket fence, a pool in the backyard, and a fucking swing hanging from the branches of a tall tree in the front yard. This is the kind of neighborhood Alex grew up in, when we were kids. The kind of neighborhood I've never felt fully comfortable being in. We stick out like a sore thumb here.

  'He's in there,' Killer nods at the house, his eyes still glued to the front door, as I prop myself up against my rig too. A middle aged woman, probably around Mom's age, wearing the kind of dresses Lena always wears, with her hair looking like she just stepped out of a salon, leaves the house, climbs into a shiny silver sedan, and drives away.

  'Pretty sure that's Lena's Mom,' Killer tells me, and I narrow my eyes. Lena is hiding out in fucking industrial San Remo with us, while fucking Cory is eating home cooked meals at her momma's house? If I ever meet Mrs Allman, she and I are having fucking words about the different way she treats each of her children. She needs to sort out her fucking priorities.

  Once the taillights on Lena's Mom's BMW have disappeared out of the street, Killer and I move in on the house. Jesus fucking Christ. The front door isn't even fucking locked. Cory Channing is either one fucking cocky bastard, or, for some reason, he thinks we won't fucking touch him at his Mommy's house. Stupid fuck. We sweep through the lower level of the house, guns drawn, but it's empty. There are photos of Lena everywhere, but she looks kind of sad in them all, like she wishes she was somewhere else. The only one she looks happy in is where she looks about eight, and she's sitting on her father's knee, her mother holding her hand. I pocket that one, just in case she wants it.

  We move up the stairs and he's in the first room on the landing. This door isn't fucking locked either. Before he can even react, Killer cracks him over the head with the butt of his gun and ties him up. Killer waits with him while I complete a sweep of the upper level. I pause when I get to Lena's room. It looks completely fucking different than our room at the clubhouse, and for some reason, that makes me happy. This one has flowered wallpaper, and a flowered bedspread and white furniture, and looks like it belongs to a six-year-old. Fuck that. Our girly purple suits her way fucking better.

  By the time we carry Channing's dead weight downstairs, Conrad has pulled up out the front in a van. We chuck him in the back, none too fucking gently, and Conrad follows us as we head back to Bruiser's cottage. When the van doors open, Channing is awake and, surprise fucking surprise, shouting the house down. When he spots me, all the blood drains out of his face and I'm pretty sure he fucking pisses himself. That's right, you motherfucking wet cunt. You're going to fucking die tonight.

  We drag him upstairs and into the attic, where Bruiser stands aside so that Channing can see his partner in crime. When he sees what Bruiser has done to Fenton's chest, the soppy asshole bends and fucking pukes his guts up. Killer swears when his shoes get splashed, and he kicks the back of Channing's knee. The fucker goes down heavily onto his knees, kneeling in his own vomit. I pull out my gun and hold it in Channing's face. Pretty sure he fucking pisses himself again. Killer swears again and moves away from the fucking mess on the ground.

  'I can give you information on him,' Channing squeals, nodding his head in Fenton's direction, and I can see a look of disgust cut through the pain on Fenton's face as he regards his fucking associate.

  'Always knew fucking rats turn on each other,' Bruiser sneers, stabbing his knife down to the hilt into Fenton's shoulder like he just needs a place to put it. Fenton howls with pain and Channing blanches, as a foul smell fills the room. Yeah, the pussy ass motherfucker just shit himself.

  'I don't give a fuck about him right now,' I snarl, 'he's the Prez's fucking problem.' Channing turns to me, his eyes more white than black, they're so fucking wide with fear.

  'You
fucking blackmailing, weak cunt,' he blinks as I spit in his face. 'You tried to use the woman I love because you're not enough of a man to get out of your own fucking messes.' He looks like he's about to faint as my words register. 'You're fucking lucky I don't have the patience to put a fucking mark on your body in every place that she had one.' I step forward and the barrel of my gun presses against his forehead.

  'This is for Lena,' I growl, and then I pull the trigger.

  Killer spits out another fucking curse when he's splattered with blood and brains.

  'It's just not my fucking day,' he groans, frowning down at his soiled jeans and boots.

  Chapter 29

  LENA

  The door swings open and Aric walks in, throwing me a quick glance and a reassuring smile before he stalks over to the bathroom, closing the door behind him and I hear the shower running. I'm pretty sure that he had blood spattered on him, but I don't really want to think about it. I'm curled up on the sofa, Googling attrition rates for cafes in their first year of opening. My bare feet are tucked up underneath me and are hidden by the flowing skirt of my tea length dress. Black, with white polka dots and a modest V neck that stop just below my collarbones, this has become one of my go-to dresses while I still have my cast on, as the sleeves are rather loose, and fall to just below my elbows. The large buttons down the front also make it much easier to get in and out of than a zipper up the back. I can't wait until my cast comes off. Just one more week. First thing I'm going to do is use both my hands when I suck Aric's cock, I smirk, throwing a glance over to the bathroom door before returning my attention to my phone.

  I think I'm starting to go stir-crazy, locked up in this clubhouse. Aric and Holton don't want me going out until after they've cleared this thing with their Phoenix chapter up, and I'm totally on board with that. I just wish that it would happen soon before I start dressing like Lady Macbeth and wandering around like a psycho. I talked to Tammy-Lynn about maybe working for one of the businesses, but she seemed doubtful. Apparently, Aric wouldn't want me working for any of them, and to be honest, I don't really want to work with a litany of women he has bedded.

  Which has led me to Googling cafes; how to start a cafe, common pitfalls when starting a cafe, and of course, their attrition rate. It's depressingly high, the amount of cafes that fold within three months of opening. Maybe I could start one here? Not in the clubhouse, because they wouldn't appreciate that, but at least close? Because they have all those soccer moms who drop off their cars and hang around flirting with the guys working at the auto garage. To have somewhere they could sit, maybe still see the eye candy, as it were. But somewhere shaded, air conditioned, and where they could pay for food and coffee. Pour more money into the club’s coffers. Food is my passion, but my career is as an administration temp. Which isn't really the best for starting a business, but at least I'd know the best stationery place to print the menus? I sigh, tossing my phone aside, rubbing my eyes in frustration. Tipping my head back and closing my eyes, I try to picture what my cafe might look like, if I ever manage to open one.

  A light hand on my knee brings me back to reality, and I smile down at Aric where he is crouched in front of the sofa, wearing fresh clothes, his hair still damp from his shower. He has a look in his eye, part sad, part determined.

  'Hey,' he smiles up at me, his fingers finding my good hand and tangling with mine.

  'Hi,' I murmur back with a smile. He lifts my hand to his lips, and I can feel the heat of his breath, and his lips as they move against my skin.

  'Cory's dead.'

  I suck in a breath, focusing on the feeling of Aric's warm breath on my hand as I try to process how I feel about Cory's death. We were never close; he was a few years older than me when our parents met. He used to pick on me awfully; he was kind of a bully. And then there was everything with Brett's death, and then his blackmailing, and then him selling me out to the Phoenix chapter. Aric is watching me carefully, and then he speaks against my hand.

  'Do you want me to go?' He sounds unsure of himself, and rather nervous. I gently shake my hand free of his, and his face falls, as he moves to get to his feet.

  'Will you sit with me for a while?' I ask, wrapping my hand around his and tugging him down towards me. With a look of relief crossing his face, he settles himself on the sofa and tugs me so that I'm curled up against him, my head resting on his chest, and his cheek resting on the top of my head. We sit for a while, as he plays with my hair and I close my eyes, listening to the steady beating of his heart beneath me.

  'Was it you?' I ask at last, and his hand stills in my hair. Neither of us moves, and I can both hear and feel his breath blow out.

  'Yes,' he says at last, his voice tight, his whole body tense. Sitting up, I place my hands on the sides of his neck, catching and holding his gaze.

  'Thank you,' I tell him, and he slides his hands up mine, holding them against his neck.

  'I love you, Lena,' he draws me in, kissing me softly, before settling me on his chest once again.

  'I love you too, Aric,' I murmur, my fingers tracing a soft pattern on his chest through his shirt, over the blood red magnolia tattoo that I know is covering his heart; to represent the hold I have on it, and on him. I smile gently, turning my head and pressing a kiss against his wrist that is cradling my shoulder.

  'I stopped by your Mom's house,' he says, looking down at me, and I tip my head back up to look at him again. 'Your mom wasn't home,' he clarifies, then he reaches over beside the sofa and hands me a framed photo, and I feel a smile breaking over my lips. It is of me, Momma, and Daddy, when I'm about eight.

  'Thank you,' I whisper, and he presses a kiss into me hair.

  'Of course,' he murmurs back. I'm going to put this on my bedside table.

  Aric keeps stroking my hair, but when I glance up, I can see that his eyes are focused on the framed photograph that is lying in my lap. He notices that I’ve picked up on his distraction, because he nods towards the picture.

  ‘You looked sad in all the other pictures,’ he murmurs, his fingers sliding through my hair and cupping the back of my neck. ‘But not that one. How come?’

  Blowing out a breath, I pick up the photograph and study it carefully, my fingers brushing over my Daddy’s smiling face.

  ‘My Daddy died about five months after this photo was taken,’ I whisper, and I feel Aric’s lips press against my temple.

  ‘I’m so sorry, angel,’ he murmurs. ‘What happened?’

  ‘They said it was a brain aneurysm,’ I reply lightly, suppressing a sigh. ‘Momma was devastated, but she said that for appearances sake we had to keep our chins up. I remember her getting so mad at me for crying at the funeral in front of everyone. I was only nine,’ my voice wobbles and trails off, and I can hear a faint sound of teeth grinding coming from Aric.

  ‘When did she meet Channing senior?’ he asks after a long moment and I bite back yet another sigh.

  ‘When I was ten. They married just before I turned eleven and when Cory moved in with us, Momma was over the moon. She’d always wanted a son, and now she had one.’

  ‘What about you?’ Aric’s fingers are stroking the back of my neck now, and it’s rather soothing.

  ‘There was always some way I could look nicer, act politer, be better,’ I mutter with a shrug. ‘She didn’t like the way I dressed, or the way I cooked, or the way I spoke.’ I hear the crack in my tone when I voice my deepest belief. ‘I don’t think she likes me very much. I certainly don’t think that she loves me. Not really. Not how you would expect a Momma to love her child.’ Aric’s breath hisses between his teeth and his fingers tighten almost painfully on my neck. I stroke my Daddy’s face again, feeling the cool glass of the frame beneath my fingers. ‘I think that maybe my Daddy was the only person who has ever loved me and expected nothing in return.’

  Aric’s fingers disappear off the nape of my neck and he quickly lifts me off his lap, setting me down on the sofa and turning me so that I’m facing him. Then he f
rames my face with his hands and tilts it upwards until I’m looking into his eyes.

  ‘I love you and don’t expect anything in return,’ he tells me, and I can see the sincerity burning in his eyes. He truly believes that, I realize with a jolt to my stomach.

  ‘I don’t mean physical things,’ I whisper, worrying at my lower lip. ‘I mean,’ my eyes dart to his chin, because I can’t look in his eye when I say this, ‘if I decided that I wanted to cut all my hair off and move to India, my Daddy is the only person I know who would have helped me buy a plane ticket.’

  There’s absolute silence, and then my eyes move back up to Aric’s and he’s watching me with dark, inscrutable eyes.

  ‘Lena,’ Aric blows out a breath and swallows. ‘I know that I told you that the club would never let you go, and neither would I.’ He pauses then, running his thumbs over my cheeks, his eyes still burning into mine. ‘But if you truly wanted to leave, to leave me,’ Aric swallows again and there was the tiniest crack in his voice on the word “me”, which has my heart soaring, ‘I would do everything I could to make that possible. Fuck, angel,’ he groans, ‘I’d smuggle you out of the fucking city myself and then come back to face a fucking firing squad.’ His face looks tortured at the thought of my leaving, but he continues. ‘You would just have to say the word. I’d even help you pack.’ I half sob, half giggle at the idea. Then I reach my good hand up and trace my fingers over his lips.

  ‘I don’t ever want to leave you, Aric,’ I whisper, and he immediately tugs me into his arms.

  ‘Oh thank fuck,’ he mumbles into my hair, his arms like iron bands around me.

  Chapter 30

  LENA

  We leave the hospital, and I absentmindedly rub my wrist, thankful that the cast is off at last. Our next stop is at the OBGYN, so that I can get my next birth control shot. As we sit in the waiting room surrounded by pregnant women, small children, and older ladies, Strafe looks completely out of place; lounging in his semi-uncomfortable waiting room chair. I can see that our fellow patients are sneaking him glances as he holds one of the models of the female reproductive system, examining it with interest.