Cruz : A Dark MC Romance (A Dark and Dirty Sinners’ MC Book 5)

by Serena Akeroyd

  The back door to the coffee shop opened, creaking loudly as it collided with the wall. A muttered, “Shit,” told me whoever it was hadn’t intended on letting the door smack into the brick as it had.

  The light, which had already been dying as night fell, was close to non-existent now, but a glow spilled out of the opening, puddling around Dog like a soft, muted blanket. I saw the back of a head, hair tugged into two stubby pigtails, a waitress’ pink apron dancing around slender calves, before I heard a scream.

  The woman ran at Dog, nearly skidding as her knees collided with the ground. That she didn’t run off, or run back into the coffee shop made me realize she knew him. And knowing what Dog was like, even though he was an ugly fuck with a belly that hung over his jeans, I had to figure she was the reason he was sneaking down this alley.

  Shit.

  People tumbled out of the back door at her scream, crowding around the corpse as I jerked into action, making my way toward the truck once more. As I did, I kept my head tucked low, just in case any CCTV picked up on me, and I leaped behind the wheel once more.

  What I’d just seen, I’d never unsee. Not the death, that was a common sight in my world. But Lodestar’s behavior…

  Everyone knew she’d sneaked into the Fridge and had done something to Lancaster that had made him talk, that made him routinely scream like a banshee in the middle of the night.

  When you looked at her, it was easy to see a pretty woman. Seemingly mild-mannered. Her features pleasant, her clothes non-descript.

  But she wasn’t just a woman. Wasn’t just a soldier. She had moves. James fucking Bond moves.

  Goddammit, I was lucky I’d made it out of that alley with my brains inside my goddamn head, and my balls still attached to my body.

  Gritting my teeth as I recognized that today wouldn’t be the first and last I heard of Dog’s death, my truck’s engine shrieked as I jerked out of my parking space and surged into traffic. My plans for the night were irreparably altered; I needed to get back to the MC, blend in. Monitor Lodestar and make sure she wasn’t writing a death wish with my name on it.

  But if this week was going to be my last, if Lodestar was just biding her time, waiting on a moment to get to me—I knew why she’d left now, after all. She’d known the woman was due to head out of the coffee shop—then I wasn’t going to waste a second more.

  Indy, while she didn’t realize it, was gonna end up in my bed sooner rather than later.

  No ifs, buts, or maybes.

  If I only had days left to live, then those days were gonna go down in her pussy. My priorities had just shifted, as had my life expectancy.

  Fuck.

  Indy

  The next morning

  I wasn’t in the best of moods, but then, I never was when I slept. Nightmares were an endless plague, and whenever I was embroiled in the past again, it was difficult to shake off the mindset of being a terrified little girl.

  I was a woman.

  I was strong.

  I was empowered.

  “If I tell myself that enough, maybe I’ll start to fucking believe it,” I grumbled to myself after I climbed out of the shower, and started getting ready for the rest of the day.

  Staring in the steamed up mirror, I saw a not-bad face, a pretty bitching body thanks to genetics and the fact I forgot to eat when I was working, but mostly, I saw my ink.

  They were the parts that defined me.

  The parts I liked because I had a choice in them.

  Choice meant a lot to me.

  Choosing whether to remember to eat or not made my ass tight, but it didn’t define me, did it?

  My ink, on the other hand, did.

  Maybe it wasn’t the most original stuff, a phoenix rising from the flames, its wings and tail as well as its fire wrapping around my forearm, circling higher and higher around my bicep, then down over my shoulder and onto my front. I liked to think it signified what I was—someone constantly trying to rebuild themselves.

  Never succeeding, but always trying.

  Then there was the ‘It Never Rains But It Pours’ quote on the back of my neck, and the cross that was a work-in-progress as it wasn’t complete since Laruso, my mentor, had died and I didn’t trust anyone else with it. There was also the sakura, Japanese cherry blossoms, wrapped around the Sanskrit word for Nirvana on my stomach, dancing down to my hip and upper thigh.

  I’d never experienced nirvana, and the nearest the cherry blossom analogy helped me was that it was my favorite flavor of mochi, but whenever I looked at myself, they were the parts I liked and that didn’t outright disgust me. They also hid my scars, so they were a thing of beauty that hid something ugly.

  Cruz suddenly flashed into my thoughts, because his tattoos were far more aggressive in nature than mine were. What was he hiding? What was the meaning behind his ink?

  Pursing my lips as I shrugged into a black sports’ bra, I jiggled my tits to make sure they were sat in each cup correctly. As I did, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was that fascinated men about a rack… Well, what fascinated Cruz in particular.

  Wincing at the thought, I shoved him mentally aside, then pulled on the pair of yoga pants I’d grabbed earlier, as well as a Van Halen cropped shirt, one of the only hard rock bands I liked, which promptly went on over the bra.

  With that done, I swiped on the wings of cat eye eyeliner, then opened the medical cabinet where I stored my make-up and selected a green lipstick. It made my mouth look as if I’d sucked off a tree, but I liked it, so fuck everyone else.

  Opinions were like assholes.

  Every fucker had one, and they all goddamn stank.

  Grunting at the thought, I headed out of the bathroom and slipped on my black and white Vans that were waiting on me by the door, then I made my way downstairs to my place of work.

  When I unlocked the door between my private quarters and the tattoo parlor, I was surprised to see David, my assistant, wasn’t there yet. He was always weird, but he’d been weirder than usual for a while.

  Reminding myself to chastise him for being late again, I grabbed the landline and checked the messages before I took some notes on upcoming requests for appointments.

  Humming under my breath at the nice intake of clientele, I took some money from petty cash then palmed my phone as I slipped in my earbuds and connected a call to Stone.

  As I headed out of the tattoo parlor, locked up, and wandered over to the diner, she finally answered, her voice groggy, “The hell are you doing calling me now?”

  Relieved she was at the clubhouse now and not in the hospital anymore, I grinned at nothing. “Says the early riser.”

  “I’m more of a night owl right now,” she rumbled, sounding gruffer still after she yawned.

  “More something. He dick you down, yet? That’ll get you to sleep,” I joked.

  She grunted. “None of your business.”

  I sniffed. “I’ll be the first person you come to if he can’t get you off.”

  “Look at Steel and tell me he can’t get a woman off.”

  “Men are all about the tits and the clit, but when they got ‘em, they don’t know what the fuck to do with them. You know that as well as I do.”

  “Okay, I do, but he had enough goddamn practice. Surely he knows what to do with a clit.”

  “I dunno,” I retorted, pulling open the door and heading into the diner where I sat my butt down at my regular booth. As Wanda wandered over to me, I winked at her glum features which, as ever, were dour, pointed at my order on the menu, then gave her a thumbs up. “Most men think they do, but they don’t.”

  She snickered. “Most men aren’t Steel, remember?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the table, unsure if they’d fucked or not now. I knew they’d been sleeping together, like, literally, but she was on bed rest which wasn’t likely to put a person in the mood for sex. “You’re really going to hold out on me?”

  “Not for long, just for the moment. You know, when he isn’t lying
next to me, glaring at me. Shit like that.”

  Content now I thought she’d give me details, I murmured, “Good girl.”

  “You’re at the diner, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Bitch.”

  I smirked. “You could come. You don’t have to be in bed all the time.”

  “True.” She heaved a sigh. “Just most of it. I miss huevos rancheros. Giulia’s a great cook, but everything’s pasta this and pasta that right now. She must be craving it, because that’s all she fixes.”

  “Boo fucking hoo,” I retorted. “What I’d give not to have to cook.”

  “Like you couldn’t eat here every day if you wanted to.”

  I sniffed. “And have all those fuckers up in my business and in my face?”

  “Then you don’t get free food cooked for you.”

  “You’re the one bitching about how boring it is.”

  “I wasn’t bitching, just saying variety is the spice of life.”

  “Not for you it isn’t, not anymore,” Steel rumbled, loud enough for me to hear down the line.

  Though I rolled my eyes, her giggle was so unlike Stone who lived up to her name in nature, that I’d admit her laughter made me happy for her. I loved her like a sister and she deserved a good man—I was just unsure if Steel was that for her.

  The Sinners weren’t exactly good men, after all. But I had a different qualification of the word ‘good’ in relation to people in possession of penises. Not because I hated all of them, but because a guy with a big heart didn’t always wear a bright red, crushed velvet suit and yell, ‘Ho, ho, ho.’

  “I’m going before he says anything else sappy.”

  “You woke me up for no reason at all?” She huffed. “Thanks, friend.”

  I grinned, because even though she was casting shade, she wasn’t. Not really. And this was exactly why I’d needed to hear her voice after waking up with the memory of that fucker’s words ringing in my ears, of his breath gusting in my throat…

  God.

  My voice turned gruff. “You know you love me.”

  “Good fucking thing.” She heaved another sigh. “When are you coming to visit?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “About time.”

  “I saw you yesterday,” I sniped.

  “Yesterday was a long time ago. I almost died, Indy,” she whined. “I think I deserve daily visits.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Stop being a baby. The whole dying thing happened ages ago,” I teased, even though it hadn’t. Christ, we’d almost lost her.

  She snorted at my joke like I knew she would. “I’ll see you tomorrow, you pain in my ass.”

  “Stop being a stitch in my side.”

  “You know that’s true.”

  Then she cut the call, leaving me smirking down at the coffee mug Wanda plunked there.

  “How’s it hanging, Wanda?” I asked as she poured me my first cup of the day.

  She shrugged. “Boring as ever.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  Another shrug before she drifted off again—Wanda wasn’t exactly cheerful but I liked that.

  I preferred grouchy wait staff to the friendly, perky kind who never stopped fucking hovering around you while you ate.

  Slouching into the banquette, I watched the world pass by as regular folk started to appear on the sidewalk, heading out from the office buildings in time for lunch.

  Regular, in my opinion, sucked.

  I didn’t know if that was my past speaking or my upbringing, or if that was just because I wasn’t made for a pencil-pushing job—not outside of drawing tattoos, that is—but the idea of living a normal life made me cringe and be grateful for weird hours and clients who called at three AM with ideas for new ink.

  The diner door opened, letting in a whiff of gas from the road and the noise from the slowly building lunch crowd who were making an appearance in the diner. Grateful I’d placed my order before them because I needed to fill up for the busy day ahead, my gaze clashed with Cruz’s when he walked inside.

  The prick was self-assured, I had to give him that. He didn’t dip his chin in greeting or smile at me, just walked my way and, without even asking, took a seat at my table.

  I arched a brow at him. “Did I invite you to sit down?”

  “I won’t talk if you don’t.”

  That had me frowning, because I wasn’t sure if he was being rude or not. I mean, I knew Cruz, but he wasn’t the most ebullient person. He kept to himself, I thought, but he never got into trouble because, if he did, Nyx would have bitched about him to me at one point or another.

  Before I could tell him where to go, Wanda appeared with my breakfast and Cruz shot her the sweetest smile as he placed his order and sweet-talked her.

  Fucking sweet-talked the most miserable waitress in Verona—right in front of me.

  I wasn’t even sure how he did it, because he didn’t exactly say much. Didn’t tell her she looked pretty or anything, but his smile was electric, and his eyes never left hers until, heaven above, she turned pink.

  Her cheeks burned with goddamn heat!

  Wanda was actually blushing.

  Gaping at them both, I flickered my attention his way when she walked off to put his order in, shoving his in front of some other orders she’d put on the board first, her movements a lot bouncier than when she’d left my table earlier.

  That mega-watt smile didn’t exactly disappear, and I bit my lip as he turned it on me for a fraction of a second before he dimmed it down.

  So, what? Waitresses got smiles but I didn’t?

  When I was sharing my goddamn table with him?

  Huffing, I dug into my breakfast and spent the next twenty minutes with him in silence.

  When he said he wouldn’t talk if I didn’t, he meant it.

  And, when I finished and called for the check, that was the first time he spoke: “I’ll pay that, thanks for letting me sit with you.”

  I gaped at him, not used to men paying for food without expecting a BJ after it on a damn date, never mind when he’d only shared a booth with me. “You don’t have to do that,” I said uneasily, not wanting him to think I owed him something.

  “Sure I do. This place is full—I’d never have gotten a seat, and I was starving.” No shit, considering the size of his stack of pancakes would fill a T-Rex. “Anyway, can I come in later and speak with you about touching up some ink?”

  I squinted at him. “You trying to butter me up?”

  “You’re Nyx’s sister. Don’t think butter works on you.”

  That had me scowling. “Think that was butter I just heard.”

  His lips twitched, and he didn’t bestow me with the mega-watt smile but definitely one that was high voltage.

  Despite myself, I bit my lip because it packed a damn punch.

  How had I never noticed that before?

  It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen him around. He was a bit of a gofer, not like a Prospect who got the shittiest of jobs around the MC, but definitely the kind of guy who was at the council’s beck and call…

  But there was seeing a guy as a piece of furniture and then there was seeing him smile that goddamn smile.

  I cleared my throat. “Sure. Last appointment ends at nine tonight, be there on time or I’ll lock up and I won’t open it until tomorrow.”

  He nodded. “Should be fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you then.” I climbed out of the booth, then asked, “You sure you don’t mind covering my check?”

  “I’ll see you later, Indy.”

  For whatever reason, that had me gulping.

  Because instead of sounding like a farewell, or just a throwaway comment that didn’t mean anything, it sounded like a promise.

  And something, I wasn’t sure what, told me Cruz never broke a promise…

  Cruz

  Getting some ink touched up was an act of subterfuge, but if that was the means of getting closer to Indiana, I’d do it.

 
My initial worry Lodestar was about to kill me had died a small death. Mostly because, soon after I’d returned to the clubhouse, I’d heard her and Maverick arguing in the attic about the original MS-DOS, and I didn’t think that was a likely debate if she was homicidal.

  Of course, I was pretty sure that, yesterday, pre-Dog’s murder, she’d been hollering something at him about tracker bugs… maybe that was her way of working herself up for the kill?

  Either way, when I’d headed into Verona this morning, I didn’t feel like I had a set of crosshairs on my nape, so, breathing easier, I’d carried on. Making it into the neighboring town, I’d seen her sitting at that diner booth, and the instant urge to bone her had disappeared.

  Reconciling myself with her past, well, it didn’t make her less fuckable, not when she was a walking wet dream, but it meant that I couldn’t just treat her like another piece of ass. Of course, she made it worth my while too.

  The second I sat down, she’d given me shit.

  After being fawned over by clubwhores, call me a masochist—which I wasn’t—but I liked a woman with bite.

  I’d promised her we wouldn’t speak, and had felt her distrust and discomfort throughout her meal and mine. Not unsurprisingly, she had trust issues, and rather than feel like an insurmountable task that wasn’t worth my time and effort, not for a one-night-stand, instead, I was pretty sure there was gold in them there hills.

  That was why I was here, at nine as promised.

  The assistant, a guy called David, glowered at me like I’d done something wrong, and while I usually had, as far as I was aware, tonight I’d done shit so I ignored him. He was a weirdo, one that Nyx often complained about, and I understood why.

  A creep, he was probably in love with Indiana and was pining from afar.

  “You’re not down on the schedule.”

  I shrugged at the accusation. “I talked with her earlier.”

  “She never told me.”

  I shrugged again. “Not my problem.”