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

by Serena Akeroyd

  I snorted. Me: Don’t worry, I’m not joking. I want you to meet her when things have settled down.

  Kirill: Boy, one thing you’ll learn in this life, even when you’re a retired teacher, things never settle down.

  Me: True, well, you’ve never had your ass blown up. I want to keep it that way.

  Kirill: I’d prefer it in one piece as well. Monique likes it that way.

  Kirill: I’ll be in touch when I have the gear.

  Me: Thanks, old friend.

  After I sent a message to both Sin and Link, warning them about the backfiring car that had affected their women, I set off in the truck once more.

  Thanks to that conversation with Rex, and the prospect of dealing with my she-devil of a mother, even after speaking with an old friend, all of it just made me want to be with Indy again. To be close to her.

  There was something soothing about her, even though internally she was all riled up, she was starting to be a haven for me. That didn't exactly put me at ease, because monsters didn't deserve havens, but for whatever reason, she had yet to turn me away from the solace she gave me by just breathing.

  As I trundled down the main street of West Orange and headed over the highway to Verona, I wondered if that was what love did. If it made you feel safe, if it made you feel like you had a place in this world. Some tangible tie that kept you bound to earth.

  I'd never needed that before, and it wasn't like I needed it now, but I chose that, just like I chose her, and I knew I always would. All the while, though, I would wonder if she was insane, and I would wait for the day when she realized what I was, and she tossed me out on my ass.

  But hopefully, that was a day far in the future, and I had time to make memories that would give me peace and some measure of solace when I lost her. Because lose her I would.

  My past was something I’d forever be running from, and while Indy was too, she was full of hope for tomorrow where I wasn’t. Tomorrow brought as many problems as yesterday did.

  By the time I was parking in Verona, luck being on my side as there was a space just outside the tattoo parlor– Christ, I missed my hog. Parking a truck was a son of a bitch–I saw Nyx and Giulia slouching out of the studio.

  Nyx looked wrecked, and as crazy as it seemed, I wondered if he'd been crying. His eyes were kind of red, the skin around them flushed, while the rest of him was blanched, free from any color at all.

  Peering at him, aware that he and his Old Lady hadn't noticed me, even though the truck I was in was a massive motherfucker, which spoke of the bastard's discomposure, I wondered—

  "Shit!" I muttered under my breath as I shoved open the door and slid out of the seat, barely remembering to close it behind me, never mind lock it in my haste to get to her.

  I knew of very few things that could make Nyx appear so damn wrecked, and one of those things was a woman who held my fucking heart. A woman who had a family history that belonged in a nightmare.

  When I made it into the studio, I saw her, standing with her arms around her waist, her back to the front door. Her head wasn't bowed, though, and her spine was straight. In fact, as I looked at her, the strangest idea whispered through my mind.

  I'd never expected her to reveal the truth to Nyx, had never thought she would feel safe enough to do that, but she had. Only, she wasn't sobbing like I might have imagined, her focus was on the wall ahead. A wall that was loaded with her accomplishments, the art she'd created, the history she'd made by etching drawings into living canvases.

  Her shoulders weren't hunched, her posture was erect. Enough that I saw the ‘It Never Rains But It Pours’ tat, loud and proud at her nape.

  I could feel her relief across the studio, and it prompted me to cautiously ask, "Indy?"

  She didn't turn around, didn't even tense up. The bell above the door had clued her in to the fact that someone had entered the building, but she couldn't have known it was me.

  Could she?

  "I told him."

  Her tone was somehow free from expression, yet loaded with it too.

  "I saw him on his way out," I told her carefully.

  "You should have seen him before." She twisted, so that she could look at me over her shoulder and murmured, "Telling him was never the issue. He was a big boy long before I was a big girl."

  "You were just unsure about the shockwaves," I replied, understanding without her having to clarify further. Nyx, on a normal day, made a nutcase look allergic to peanut butter.

  She dipped her chin as she moved to face me. "It's done now. He knows. I made him promise–"

  Her voice broke off at that, and unable to stop myself, I surged forward, sliding my arms around her, encompassing her in me. Letting her know she wasn't alone. Reminding her I would do whatever I needed to in order to keep her safe.

  Just like she'd said, Indy was a big girl now, she wasn't that same little girl, terrified into keeping secrets that no one should have to bear. She was a woman.

  My woman.

  She knew her worth.

  Knew what she meant to me.

  This was night and day to before.

  "What did you make him promise?" I whispered, curious despite myself. Maybe that was something between brother and sister, something I shouldn't know about, but I wanted to be kept in the loop. Wanted to monitor Nyx to make sure that he didn't break a promise to Indy, something she wouldn't have asked of him if she didn't think it was necessary.

  "To do what mom and dad never did for me, to be better, and to stop wasting his life on regrets that bloody the hands that will hold his child."

  I rubbed my nose against the fragrant silk of her hair and whispered, "You saved his life."

  She nodded, then burrowed her face into my throat. The throat that was loaded down with scars shielded by ink, flesh that bore the visible weight of the lives I'd taken, and which was cleansed by her tears.

  The tears of an innocent who fell for this monster... That, one day, would have to tell her the truth.

  And that day?

  Had to be today.

  This brave woman deserved no less than my brand, but I couldn't ask that of her, not until she knew exactly what I'd done in my life, the many mistakes I'd made, and the reason I’d been beholden to an FBI agent, who just so happened to be my mother.

  Twenty-Six

  Indy

  Though he hovered around me the rest of the day, it was interesting how I never felt as if he was underfoot. He did his thing, and I did mine.

  Having never lived with a guy since my brothers, never mind co-exist, I had imagined it would be annoying. Always being in each other's faces was my idea of torture but Cruz was like living with a walking shadow.

  I barely remembered he was there, that was how quiet he was, which I'd admit suited me. Just because I liked him to take charge from time to time, didn't mean I needed a pushy boyfriend getting in my face. Christ, that was the last thing I wanted.

  What I did need?

  His control, his dominance, him when I was at my most vulnerable. But in my studio, I was the exact opposite–I was strong. In my career, I was happy. If anything, within these walls, I was invulnerable.

  Though the day could have been a shower of shit, it didn't last long. I knew that I needed the normalcy of my regular routine, and my tattoo parlor always helped.

  Business was good, I had a few walk-ins ask for a tattoo, and as they weren't all that difficult, I handled two of them immediately, did a mockup sketch of the third and rescheduled them for another day as they hadn't expected the complex ink to take that much time. Several clients came in on regular appointments, and it was just a business-as-usual sort of day.

  Cruz worked at the desk, grumbling and muttering under his breath as he worked on the plans for the clubhouse. Whenever I watched him use a pencil and eraser, a ruler too, it reminded me of being back at school, but what he created was a damn sight more complex than a little drawing.

  It was clear to me that he knew what he was doing.


  Not only was he creating a new building, there were all kinds of squiggles—and yes, that was a technical term—stuff that went over my head, that I didn't understand, but which he clearly did.

  As much as Cruz felt like an open book to me, it was then I realized he wasn't.

  He knew how to get rid of bodies using something he called a ‘personal blend’ of chemicals to do so.

  And he tended bar for the MC.

  As a career, it didn't exactly say much about him. And with my past, my ties to the Sinners, I wasn't totally grossed out about the body stuff. Especially when it had come in pretty handy for me.

  Yet he rarely drank the liquor he served, was clean, generous with himself. He didn't use ten words when he could use three, never left stubble in the sink after he shaved, not that he had in a while and I’d admit, he was rocking that beard of his right now. He had his own soap and shampoo so he didn't steal mine, knew how to cook, and didn’t leave wet towels or dirty socks on the floor—using a word like 'perfect' was dangerous.

  But could I have the perfect boyfriend?

  He didn't use my toiletries, cleaned up after himself, knew how to dispose of a corpse if I got myself into a stupid situation (which unfortunately tended to happen) and didn't have an issue with hugs or being affectionate in general. He knew how to spank me, knew how to get me wet, and my orgasms felt more important to him than his own did.

  Yeah, pretty fucking perfect.

  Yet the technical design that was coming more and more to life each and every time I left my workstation and returned to the front desk, was proof of him being so much more than the sum of what I'd learned. It was proof of a past he hadn't shared.

  Much like with his mom.

  It was quite clear to me that he had skills, skills that required a good education. So why was he the Sinners' Grim Reaper? And why was he content to just serve them tequila for the rest of his life?

  These were all thoughts that whispered through my mind as I worked, and when the day was done, and I could close up, we headed to the diner that was a few doors down, and ordered a couple of sandwiches.

  This was pretty much the first date we'd ever been on, which I knew sounded crazy, but when you were hiding that you were dating, and then your boyfriend's home got blown up, dating didn't exactly feel like a priority.

  Was it weird that I thought people might be watching us?

  Not because Cruz was covered in ink. I always expected gawkers, especially with someone as heavily tattooed, and all on visible parts like his throat and hands, as Cruz was.

  Maybe somewhere else, that would be the issue.

  But it was his cut that drew attention, just as I'd feared.

  But that word hit me. It hit me hard.

  Feared?

  I was tired of being scared, and Cruz, even though he was a book of secrets, made me happy. He made me less scared, so that meant I had to get over myself.

  Being with a biker wasn't something I'd ever intended on doing, but I was definitely doing him, and I had no intention of stopping. Reputation meant nothing, danger meant nothing in the face of something I'd been seeking all my life—peace. Which was exactly what Cruz gave me.

  As we were both served our Reubens, I murmured, "You've been quiet today."

  He shrugged. "It's been a long time since I made such technical plans for a building."

  That gave me pause. "I didn't realize you were an architect."

  He snorted. "I'm not. But I have similar training. I majored in Structural Engineering, don’t forget. Even if it was a long ass time ago." He whistled under his breath before he took a large bite of his sandwich.

  Toying with the pile of chips that had been served with the Reuben, I wondered, yet again, what the hell was he doing in a MC? Why wasn't he tucked away in an office in Manhattan? Earning a hundred-K-a-year and getting a bad back from a less-than-ergonomic desk chair?

  He grunted. "I can hear the questions in your head without you even having to ask them," he said wryly. "It's crazy actually, tonight was the night I was gonna tell you some stuff. Just didn't think it would be the drawings that triggered the conversation."

  My brow puckered at that. "What conversation?"

  He shrugged. "Who I am, why I am the way I am, what I'm doing in the MC..."

  "Basic shit like that, huh?"

  His nose crinkled, and I'd admit it was cute as fuck. But then, even though he was covered in ink, and those he had weren't exactly warm and cozy ones what with the negative tattoos that displayed the skeletal system, he was cute as fuck. And anyone who didn't say that was a moron.

  Saying that though, the world was full of morons.

  Pursing my lips, I told him, "I realized today how little I know you."

  The sudden tension in him was impossible to miss. Around his eyes, clusters of stress lines appeared, and deep inside them, the color shifted somehow.

  I knew what it was like to be at the center of this man's focus, to have every ounce of his attention. But that was nothing to now.

  I understood how a butterfly felt as a collector pinned it to a sheet of card before framing it on the wall.

  The way he looked at me, though not aggressive, had the small hairs at the back of my neck standing on edge.

  I didn't feel in danger, just like I'd stirred a beast in its den.

  And even though that should have made me feel powerless, instead, I felt alive. So filled with hyper-awareness, throbbing with life, like before I'd been dead.

  A tremor whispered through my nerve endings, making them respond like his hands had caressed every inch of me, drawing me into wakefulness when I'd been asleep for a thousand years.

  I'd never felt anything like it before, and definitely not outside of sex with him.

  But he did this to me in a busy diner, when we were at the epicenter of a few patrons' attention.

  I gulped when he broke the charged moment with a rumbled, "You know everything that matters."

  "Do I though?" I dared ask, not because he scared me, but because I wasn't sure if he looked at me that way again, I wouldn't melt into a puddle of goo.

  Somehow, he'd tapped into my being.

  Somehow, he'd made it so that I was wet, my nipples erect, everything about me ready and open for him.

  His gaze had dropped to my mouth, and a tad nervously, I ran my tongue along the outer line, well aware that he was watching the tiny move.

  "Eat your sandwich," he ordered gruffly.

  The command stunned me, because the way he was looking at me made me think he was about to yank me out of the booth I was sitting in, so that he could plunder me against the table. Not make me eat my damn dinner.

  It bewildered me how much I wanted that.

  How much I wanted him to kiss me, here and now. How much I wanted him to take control of me.

  I was an intelligent woman. I was more than capable of making my own decisions. And yet, somehow, it was so wonderful when he took charge of me.

  All the stupid thoughts disappeared, disintegrated into dust, and sometimes, it was just nice not to have to think.

  And that was why I picked up my sandwich.

  Though there were undoubtedly questions he needed to answer, secrets I needed to learn, I took a bite into the Rye bread, willingly putting off that moment, because he commanded me to.

  He knew what was best for me, more than I did myself, and I accepted that with ease.

  As I ate, he watched me, those eyes of his seeing everything, not missing a single movement. And I basked in it. Basked in his hyper-focus. Inside, I wriggled around with glee at owning this man as much as he owned me.

  And even though it wasn't related, I came to a massive realization about myself.

  All my life I'd thought about other people. I'd protected them over me. Thinking about their reaction to something that happened to me. I'd been tied in a cage, one of my own making, and this man had found the key.

  So all of my past insecurities, every single one of
them that revolved around other people's opinions, I shed them like they were a second skin.

  I didn't care about the other patrons, didn't give a shit if he was a biker or not.

  The danger? Fuck it.

  Disapproval? Suck Satan's dick.

  Freedom tasted better than the Reuben I was eating, and it was thanks to Cruz.

  As I finished my sandwich, I told him that, "You're right, I know what matters."

  The tension that had bracketed his mouth, causing lines to form at either side of his lips lessened some.

  "I know what you make me feel."

  He dipped his chin, and murmured, "You were right to question, and I'll give you answers, but first, I need you to do something for me."

  "What?"

  "Remember those photos I showed you? I want you to freestyle one of those onto me."

  I could feel my cheeks blooming with heat at the request.

  The pictures of me naked, cum all over, mine and his, my eyes dazed, like they were drugged, drugged on him.

  But even as embarrassment stirred, it started to fade, because I realized what he was asking of me.

  "You want me to brand you?"

  "Yes." Such a man of few words.

  I licked my lips. "I haven't been branded yet."

  He shrugged. "Consider it a leap of faith. Either way, whatever happens tonight, I will always belong to you, Indy."

  Confusion hit me, moreover, concern tangled with warmth. I wanted him to belong to me, and that he was making the declaration first, considering the nature of our relationship, it meant a lot. It was more powerful than a goddamn diamond ring.

  It also meant that he expected me to reject him tonight, after he made his revelations.

  But I didn't say any of that, didn't voice the knotted web of emotions his words had caused. Instead, I murmured, "Let's do it now?"

  He nodded, and climbed out of the booth. He laid down enough money to cover our meal, and held out his hand for me to take as I slid out to stand beside him.

  "You ready?"

  Such an innocuous question, but it felt like it was studded with a million landmines.