"Looking back, I'm not entirely sure if Dean knew or not. He was so sure that what we were doing was right, just, that he didn't care about the collateral damage. Didn't give a damn that he was trying to save lives overseas but was taking them out on our own soil...
"The first bomb went off, and it was then I heard the screams. Two guards were down, and it was just sheer bad luck that they were where they were.
"I heard them, stopped to help them, but Dean didn't give a shit. He took the gear we needed toward the security door, rigged it up, but I heard the chatter on the guards' radios. They knew why we were there, or at least suspected, and were heading that way.
"I knew the layout like the back of my hand, and the guards were dead even though I tried to help them. There was nothing I could do, but I could stop the others from being hurt. So I rushed to the door, started to take the gear down, and only the fact I was wearing a goddamn visor to cover my face, stopped me from getting injured up here." I pointed with my finger, circling around my head. "I'd rigged it in a certain way—" I winced. "I won't get technical on you, but I knew that when I got to the door, it might need a larger or smaller dose of explosives, so I could adjust the strength.
"I managed to reduce it by seventy percent, but Dean, who’d run for cover, came at me when he realized what I was doing, and stopped me from deactivating it. We got into a fist fight, and I was a lot more of a wimp back then, so he managed to drag me away. The guards got there, didn't realize there was no time and..."
"How many died?"
"All of them," I said roughly. "Apart from the two who stayed in the security office."
I didn’t tell her that Dean was another casualty of that night.
When I’d tracked his ass down in Ecuador, I made sure he paid for his sins, and no mistake.
"Jesus, Cruz." Her hand moved to my shoulder, while the other moved to cup my chin, tilting my head forward so that I was looking her in the eye. "You need to tell the council you're not going to build anything for them, except maybe the clubhouse."
"The Italians…” I gritted my teeth. “The MC, they're all I have, Indy—"
She shook her head. "No, they're not. You have me now."
And with that, she pressed her mouth to mine and shut me up.
Twenty-Seven
Indy
The last thing Cruz was, was a little boy.
I knew that, appreciated, in fact, that he was very much a grown-up, but as I looked at him while he told me the sorry tale of a friendship that had soured, of choices that took him down a path that led to me, of insane decisions he’d made that cost people their lives, in his eyes, I knew he was lost.
I'd never imagined he had a past like that. A history loaded with tragedy.
It should have repelled me. Should have made me turn him away, but the more he talked, the more I remembered.
The information leaked that year had revealed a level of corruption that had stunned the world. Even me, tits deep in trying to fuck my way free of my past, had heard the news.
I wasn't about to say that the guards’ lives were worth those revelations coming to light, because they weren't, but... I'd be a hypocrite if I hadn't heard about those reports that revealed war crimes to the world and didn’t think that was vital too.
My bloodline consisted of career criminals. My friends and family-by-choice were cut from the same cloth.
They made righteous kills, I knew that, knew that was how Nyx managed to get to sleep at night, but more than that, they committed crimes every day of the week. Their morals weren’t like an average person’s in society. Neither were mine, simply by association.
The same family wished to retaliate in a way that would kill only God knew how many. As much as I was discouraging Cruz, it was only because I didn't want him to...
What?
Didn't want his new road name to be Bomber?
Didn't want to fuck a man with so much blood on his hands?
Was it simply that I knew once he did it, there was no going back.
He would become a part of the Sinners’ arsenal, and if he was cold-blooded, maybe I'd have been okay with that. Less with the fucking of said cold-blooded killer, but I could accept it.
Only, Cruz had demons.
I wasn't saying that he prayed every morning for atonement, neither was I saying that the guilt forged him into being a better man, but I knew the cross on his back, as much as the one on mine, was his hope for a better Cruz to come out of the past.
I knew for a fact his morals were questionable. He'd thought nothing of cleaning up my mess, did it on a regular basis for the club, and he wasn't wasting away under the weight of his history.
Not physically, at any rate.
But his soul?
For the first time, I'd seen it. As he revealed a secret that, to him, made him a monster.
To another woman, perhaps he was.
To me, however, he was perfect.
I was a wretched mess, my soul twisted and warped. It was selfish of me, but I couldn't deal with somebody normal. I needed someone as wretched as me. Together, two negatives could make a positive. Now, I truly knew we could be together.
But only if he said no to the council.
Which meant I had to remind him what it meant to be with me.
Needing him to know the ugliness of his past didn’t deter me, that it was his future, our future that mattered, I lifted both my hands to cover his cheeks as I kissed him, simply at first. A gentle peck, before I edged him backward, pushing him so that he lay flat on the chair.
As I did so, I thrust my tongue into his mouth, surprised when he didn't really kiss me back, not at first. I wasn't used to him being passive, but I took advantage of it. Did what he would never allow me to do when I was tied up or cuffed to the bed.
I didn't know how long he'd allow me this level of control, of mastery, over him, but there was no way I wasn't going to let it play out.
I teased his tongue with the tip of my own, flickering it here and there, tempting him to play, taunting him into action. As his new beard tickled me, I sampled the roof of his mouth, fluttered around the root of his tongue, slid the two together, enticing him out of the cave he was hiding in.
He was slow to respond, deadly slow, but his hands moved to my hips, and gradually, the digits tightened about my ass. I could feel each one digging in, and I'd never been more grateful for the flirty miniskirt I was wearing.
The box pleats crumpled under his grip, but even they didn't protect me from the force of his clasp. And like that, I was tethered.
To him.
My nipples beaded, rubbing against the embroidered silk bra that covered them, and my pussy, that even though my skirt was a little too short for comfort, began to grow wet.
I loved that he’d ordered me not to wear panties, adored the mini rebellion.
In a society where people died, crimes were committed, homes were bombed, there were few rebellions remaining. A bare pussy was my way of flipping the finger to the world at large.
My own hands began to smooth down the rippled concoction that was his chest.
He'd said he was a wimp before, a weakling, well, that wasn't the truth anymore. He was stacked. His pecs so firm, they were as juicy as muscles could get. The need to bite them hit me, and I thanked God he was naked from the waist up, because I could ease my mouth from his, and kiss my way to them even as I was careful because we’d removed his banding so I could ink him.
Because he hadn't taken charge yet, with a final thrust of my tongue against his, I pulled back, and descended to his throat. The tendons there beckoned me like a siren song, and unable to help myself, I traced the hard lines before I found the scars with my lips.
His inked throat could be ugly to some, but never to me. His tattoos were beautiful, and I knew how hard negative ink could be so the technician in me appreciated the skill of his artist.
But what I appreciated even more was knowing the truth behind them.
Cr
uz thought he was a dead man walking.
A true Grim Reaper who cleaned up the messes other people made.
I found each scar, discovering them was easier with the sensitive pads of my lips, and each one, I bestowed with a kiss. Because they brought me to him. And brought him to me.
I could never be thankful for his past, but without it, we'd never be together.
He would be in an office in Manhattan like I'd mused earlier.
Either that, or stuck in a lecture hall, a geek I'd never have had the chance to meet.
My life was different now because of him. My brother knew the truth, and I was liberated from my own past because of him.
His history untangled my own, and even though I wished he’d never had to go through that, that those innocent people hadn’t died, I was grateful that we were together. So I kissed his scars, the physical representations of what tainted his soul, before I started down his chest.
His torso was relatively free of ink. On his side, toward the left, he had another negative tattoo, a massive one that showed his rib cage and between them, he had a black heart forever inked onto his skin. It was, I'd noticed the first time I'd seen it, slightly shriveled, but now I knew why.
Yet if anybody had a large heart, it was Cruz.
So big that it was a wonder it fit inside his ribcage.
I made my way down there, tracing the outline, trying to kiss the ‘boo-boos’ better like he had mine, before I took what I needed and nicked the firm ripeness of his pec. He didn't even jolt, so I nipped the other side even harder which made him grunt under his breath.
He didn't stop me though, didn't grab my hair or drag me away as I moved to torment the other side.
Sucking on his nipple, I flitted the tip of my tongue around the tiny point, leaving it erect under my ministrations.
Nibbling on it, not nasty enough to hurt, I started my way down again, over bruised flesh, along the line of his abs, around the divots of his six-pack, enjoying just how fucking sexy this man was.
He wore just a pair of boxer briefs, having stripped down earlier thanks to the positioning of his tattoo. My brand on him. The elastic edged down at an angle, cupping the family jewels, preserving his modesty.
Although, why he bothered to preserve it, I'd never know. I'd seen every inch of him, kissed every inch of him.
The thought amused me, because I realized he had to have done it for my benefit. Still, it gave me easy access now so I wasn't about to complain.
Dragging the waist down, I found a dick that was throbbing with his own need. The sight made my mouth water, because even though he was so still that it was almost like he wasn't enjoying what I was doing, I had the proof of his response to me right in front of my eyes.
Before he could complain or grumble, I attacked. Pursing my lips, gathering saliva in my mouth, I let a long strand trail down his cock, moving my head so that the line of spit seeped down his length. Then, I pressed a kiss to the tip before I opened my lips and began to slurp him down.
He tasted like Cruz. Like the soap he used, the faint fragrance still there even though it was late, and as I made it all the way down, so my nose was buried in his groin, he scented even more like the man I loved.
He was a big man, but I was used to blow jobs, used to using them as a means of getting guys off so they’d leave me alone.
But at that moment, I cherished his dick. Gave him everything I'd never given another man, needing him to know he was special to me. Needing him to know what he gave me, and what he’d lose if he made a dumb-fuck decision. I wasn’t impatient, I savored. I enjoyed every inch of him. Reveling in my ability to please him, as arousal had him tensing, muscles bunching deliciously as I gave him what he always gave me.
Moving my hand so I could cup his balls, I rolled them in my palm, just waiting for the moment... That wonderful moment he snapped.
When it came, it was wondrous. A thousand times more enticing than anything I'd done before.
Making me realize that, as much as I enjoyed him like this, I loved the other side of him. The side that grabbed my hair, that curled it around his fist before he tipped my head back.
Every move he made took me to the brink of pain, and a slight sting did—as it always would—grounded me.
Made me feel the earth beneath my feet, an earth I shared with him.
He dragged my head back, growling under his breath, "Are you teasing me, Indy?"
I shuddered at that note in his voice, a note I recognized from upstairs. But we'd never done this at my workstation, ever, and call me stupid, but it made it just that little bit more delicious.
I rubbed my thighs together, reveling in how it pushed my pussy lips together, revealing just how wet I was.
The ache in my roots shot straight to my clit, and that bite of pain had me quivering as I whispered, "I'm sorry."
"I. Don’t. Believe. You."
Each word was punctuated, and each punctuation was like his fingers attacking my clit. I groaned, unable to stop the sound from escaping me, even though I knew it would likely annoy him.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy my pleasure, because if he didn’t, he wouldn't work so damn hard to unravel me, but he didn't want it now.
He hauled me up by my hair, which had a yelp escaping me as I quickly scrambled higher, moving so that I could straddle him.
When the molten heat of my pussy collided with his equally as wet dick, I groaned again, and his hand slipped down, letting go of my hair as he cupped my throat.
I let him take the weight, let him support me, as his spare hand drifted down, cupping my breast along the way, pinching the tip, hard enough to make me squeal, before he descended further.
As his hand tunneled beneath my skirt, I tensed in preparation for the moment he would connect with me.
When he did, it didn't disappoint.
His hand tightened around me so that air couldn't flow in as easily as it should, but I didn't mind. As I gasped, ecstasy began to ricochet around inside me as he rubbed my clit. Hard. Fast. Enough to have the nerve-endings behind my eyes sparking with lights as he sent me soaring to the stars.
Just by touching my goddamn clit.
I almost melted on top of him, would have done if he didn't keep me upright with his hand on my throat, and when he grabbed his dick, and pushed it inside me, tears pricked behind my closed eyelids.
It felt so good. This was how sex should be. A smorgasbord of experiences, pleasure and pain mingling together until knowing where one ended and the other began was impossible to discern.
As his hardness plowed into me, I let my hands settle on his pecs, the tips digging into the muscles once more as I waited for his command.
The urge to ride him was powerful, overwhelming, but I knew how this worked.
He decided. Not me.
And though that gave him power over me, it was power I willingly relinquished.
I didn't want to make the decision.
My body might, but my mind didn't.
So when he drawled, "Slowly," the moan that escaped me was my response.
In tiny increments, I began to ride him. The only way I could move so slowly was to clench down on him, but as I did, it intensified the movement. Making each tiny thrust ten times more powerful.
I would have sagged against him, a molten vat of goo, only his hand tightened again, just as he moved his fingers further down, to the tightly packed slit that was already full of him.
I moaned as he prodded the tight ring of my pussy, trying to shake my head in denial at what he was about to do, but he ignored me. Carried on as he willed, not stopping until the tip breached me.
It was nothing in the grand scheme of things, but fuck, it had me speeding up slightly. Ever so slightly. But his reaction was to pull out, flip my skirt up, and just before it fell down, he slapped me on the peach of my ass.
"I'll tell you when to go faster," he growled under his breath, before his hand moved around the flesh of my butt, and found its way
between it. When the tip of his finger parted my asshole, I shivered, and as he pushed in, using my own arousal against me to lubricate his path, the gentle fullness was intoxicating.
"Faster. Now!"
Relieved, excited, exhilarated, I obeyed. Riding him harder, faster, slamming down against him so that my cheeks clapped as they collided with his thighs. As he pushed down against that thin sliver of flesh that separated his finger and his dick, I squealed, well aware that a second orgasm was within reach.
Like he knew, as if he knew my body better than I did, he whispered, "Not yet. Not yet." But it was between clenched teeth, and I knew the pleasure was as excruciating for him as it was for me.
The thought set me off faster than a million fireworks. It hurled me toward the precipice because knowing that he got off on this, something that for us was pretty vanilla, just as much as me, was a sweet torment.
"Now!"
And just like that, I came.
Clenching around him so hard that I saw stars, that I knew I'd ache in the morning.
His hand moved from around my throat, denying me the grip that I needed, but he grabbed my ass, grinding me into him with a force that had me shrieking with delight.
It felt like it was never-ending, felt as if I was melting into him, merging into him until our cells were going to unite.
What we’d experienced together in the past was beautiful, but it was nothing to tonight.
Nothing could compare, not now that the secrets were bared, the truth was out there, and it made him easier to love. Not harder.
His past was grimy.
Mine was too.
Weren't we perfect for one another?
Cruz
There were many things in my life that I was ashamed of. Some of them petty, some of them, quite literally, explosive.
But as Indy collapsed on top of me, her body sinking into mine without restraint, showing me complete and utter trust, I was ashamed for being a pussy.
Cruz : A Dark MC Romance (A Dark and Dirty Sinners’ MC Book 5) Page 37
