I take off and leave him to follow after, moving over to the edge of the deck and down the stairs, into the thick of the party where most of the drinking and dancing is occurring. The music is so loud that it drowns out my thoughts.
Once I’ve got a beer in hand, I look back to see if Grainger’s still following me. He is, selecting a spot about fifteen feet away. Also, he’s talking to a girl.
I grit my teeth.
“If you let him behave like that, he’s gonna keep on doin’ it,” a voice says from the shadows beside me. If I were anyone else, I’d jump at that. Only, I know who it is: Beast. My Beast, in particular.
I sip my beer and watch as Grainger throws on the charm the way he did to me in the clubhouse bathroom that one time, when he hadn’t yet realized who I was.
“I knew as soon as I saw you that night that you had to be mine. Period. Nothing else was acceptable.”
He’s baiting me right now, and I refuse to rise to the occasion, downing my beer and placing the bottle aside for a prospect to clean up. Normally, it’d be the hang-arounds doing that type of menial work, but Cat’s closed down the compound. In and out privileges are strictly controlled, and nobody’s allowed on the premises but for members, their families, and prospects. No dealers, no contract workers, no hookers, no hang-arounds.
“You think I should reel him in some?” I ask as Beast moves up to stand beside me and hands me another beer. I want so desperately to ask where he’s been, if he’s found anything, if he knows where Reba is. But we don’t need words, me and Beast. I know that he’d tell me any and all of those things if he thought I needed to know. I glance back at Beast’s face, impassive but contemplative, always thinking, always calculating. The light from the bonfire paints him yellow and orange. “Don’t you want me to dump the rest of them?”
Beast crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s actually giving some level of thought to my question.
“I want you to pick me,” he repeats, glancing back at Grainger. “That’s all that I want.”
He moves away, and I resist the urge to scream. What the flipping hell does that actually mean anyway?
I let him disappear in the crowd, knowing full well that wherever he is, he can still see me. I meant to confront him about the ‘pact’ thing, but as per usual, he distracted me with that annoyingly affable stoicism of his.
My eyes swing back to Grainger. No part of me actually believes he’d pick up a groupie tonight. First off, he’s on guard-duty. In fact, only these four men are ever on guard-duty. I’m assuming they’re volunteering for the positions; my father wouldn’t normally waste his officers on such a menial task.
Second, I … had some sort of misplaced faith in him?
When he reaches out and tucks the girl’s hair behind her ear, that’s when I really start to get angry. Slamming my beer down on the table next to me, I head straight that way, past a group of out-of-towners and get my very first glimpse of the girl’s face.
It’s Dena Muller.
I come to a stop about three feet away from her. Currently, she’s still too engrossed in Cade to pay much attention to me, but as soon as her blue eyes swing my way? Shock. Disbelief. Malice.
“You,” she hisses at me, but she must know better than to start shit with me while on club property. I mean, Dena’s always been an idiot, but she has some level of social decorum.
“Me,” I confirm as Grainger’s brows draw together and he glances between the two of us. “You didn’t think you’d run into me here?” My voice gets disturbingly dark, and I recognize that I’m about two wrong words away from punching Dena in the face. “My father is the club president.”
Dena shrugs her shoulders and tosses her glossy hair, giving me a look.
“I came to a party one night after you fucked all of us up with those bad drugs,” she says, watching me but reaching up a hand to touch the front of Cade’s chest. I blink through the angry haze in my vision and try to focus on what she’s saying. I have yet to learn what the plan behind me destroying what little reputation I had with my classmates might’ve been. Still, even though I was always an outcast with Reba as my only true friend, I fit in in my own way. People liked seeing me, liked having me at parties.
Now, all of that is over. My senior year ruined and cut short. I feel a bit like I’m drifting all of a sudden and reach up to rub at my forehead.
“And now what? You’re a club-whore?” I ask, and Dena frowns at me.
“I’m eighteen,” she explains, as if I care. She has a fancy lawyer for a mother, and a million opportunities out in the world just waiting for her, and she’s here. I feel a bit like Sin must. Wanting her to leave. Feeling sorry for her. Being jealous. “I can do whatever I want.”
“You can get your hand off of my fucking man,” I tell her, and Cade laughs at me.
“Your man?” he queries back, and I look him dead in the face.
“Do not play with me tonight, Cade Grainger,” I warn him as Dena blinks stupidly between the two of us. With another smirk, a cocky laugh, and a shake of his head, he lifts up both hands, palms out like he’s surrendering.
“Whatever you say, Gidge,” he mocks, gesturing at Dena. “She’s your friend; do what you want with her.” It’s a lame excuse, a way for him to back off of Dena without revealing his real hand: he was never interested in her in the first place.
“Dena,” I say, affecting the voice and wisdom of a much older woman. “I want you to go home.” I turn to Grainger and give him a look. “How is she even here? I thought new girls were banned from the property?”
“I brought her here.”
I turn to see Gaz making his way through the crowd. He is most definitely not pleased to see me here; it’s as if we keep ruining one another’s plans. He killed that girl, that poor Rhea Bundy. My brother strangled her, and here he is with a new girl not a week later. I want to kill him. I so very, very badly want to kill this man.
“I was actually just asking Dena about that very fact,” Grainger says, and his smarmy smile turns into a harsh dark line. His eyes flash with rage, and I can see that he, too, would very, very much like to kill Gaz. “She was telling me all about her association with you.” Cade taps his fingers against the light pole beside Dena. She’s still leaning back against it in her short, pink dress, her blond hair shiny and perfect. She hasn’t quite figured out what a dangerous situation she’s in.
Also … Grainger. That fucker. He’d figured out that Dena’s presence was sus long before I did. He wasn’t flirting for any purpose other than milking information out of her.
Gaz is staring at us both with that narrow-eyed look of his.
“What does it matter if I bring a girl in for a party?” my brother asks, staring his sergeant-at-arms down in a way that tells me that he isn’t afraid of Cade Grainger.
But he should be.
“It matters because I said only people affiliated with the club could be on the compound today,” Grainger tells him, glancing down at Dena before looking up at me. This is no coincidence. One glance at Gaz confirms that for me. He smiles, and the expression sends chills down my spine.
Now I know why Beast is back. He followed Gaz here.
“Anything of yours is now mine,” Gaz says, reaching out to touch my hair. Grainger snatches his hand before my brother can touch me, squeezing it so hard that Gaz actually grunts in pain and Dena’s shiny pink lips part in surprise. “It’ll only take one word from me to ruin everything you’ve got going here. Even Beast can’t save you from the truth.”
He yanks his hand from Grainge’s grip—but only because the latter allows it.
“You want the girl?” Gaz asks, gesturing at Dena. “You can have her.”
He takes off as I curse under my breath and shove at my forehead with the heel of my hand.
“We need to get Dena home,” I tell Grainger, but he’s so focused on Gaz that he isn’t paying much attention to me.
“Where is Reba?” Dena asks me, almost conversat
ionally. But there’s an accusation in her voice that says she suspects my involvement in this. “She won’t answer any texts; she hasn’t been at school. Nobody I know has seen her.”
“Maybe she finally acted on the seething hatred she’s had for you for years?” I say, but I’m lying. Reba doesn’t hate anyone except maybe Grainger, Gaz, and Cat. She definitely doesn’t hate Dena. But I sort of do. “Let’s go.” I take her arm, and she tries to pull away from me.
“I came here to party,” she says, but I just laugh, dragging her across the pavement toward the parking lot. I can see Crown from here, talking in a low voice to several other men. He notices me as I approach, pausing his conversation to lift a brow.
“This is Dena. You’ll remember her from the pool party at my house that one afternoon. She needs to get home.” I yank Dena forward, bringing her ear near my lips. “If I ever see you on this compound again, I’ll fucking kill you. If I ever hear about you seeing my brother, Gaz, again, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand all of that?”
She balks at me, but there’s an undeniable menace to my words that can’t be denied.
As well as a dollop of social skills, Dena must also have a very good sense of self-preservation.
“I didn’t know he was your brother!” she scoffs as I hand her over to Crown.
Part of me feels bad for intimidating her, but … even though I said I hated her—as well as Chardou and Amiya, Dena’s pretty cronies—I don’t. I’m worried about them. I’d rather not have another soul on my conscience. Stay away from all of this, I urge her silently.
Crown waves the other men away and then glances over at Grainger as he comes up behind me.
“And how, exactly, did she get on the property?” he asks, but Cade’s already cursing and shaking his head.
“Gaz,” he growls out, pacing back and forth for a moment. He lifts his head to stare at Crown, eyes flicking down to Dena.
“I’ll call an Uber or something,” she whines, but Crown just lets out a tired exhale.
“I’ll find a trustworthy guy to get this one home.” He gives his brother a sharp look. “I’m guessing you’re not able to deal with Gaz for the time being?”
Grainger gives a sharp shake of his head and Crown grunts, dragging Dena away with him.
“Gaz brought Dena here to intimidate me,” I say, putting my hands on my hips and looking back toward the party.
“He picked her because of her association to you, but really, he brought that girl here to prove to me that he could. And that I’d do fucking nothing about it.” Cade grits his teeth and closes his eyes for a moment. “If you got in touch with your shitty, little mafia friend, you think you could find more information out about Gaz?”
I give Grainger a look as he opens his umber eyes to stare at me. After a moment, I give a short, brief nod. Grey will know. But how do I contact Grey? How do I find him? If I don’t, then Gaz will continue to do whatever it is that he’s doing.
Then the club could … lose to the mafia?
The idea of it infuriates me.
I might not be willing to hurt Grey, but I sure as shit am not allowing the organization responsible for my sisters’ murders to decimate the club that these four men belong to.
Because if it goes down in flames, they’ll ride to their deaths on chrome stallions right along with it.
And I … I will follow.
The strength of the punch nearly takes me off my feet, but I manage to catch my attacker’s fist in my palm.
“Holy crap, that hurt,” I groan as Beast withdraws his hand, and I shake out my own. Pain ricochets through my joints, making me grit my teeth. He’s just that strong. “Should you really be punching your wife-to-be like that?”
“You need to learn this,” he starts, standing so close to me that he can probably smell me. I’m sweating like fucking crazy, my muscles sore and quivering from the twice daily sessions with Beast—or, if he’s not available, one of the other guys.
The thing is, if he isn’t watching Gaz, one of them has to, and that only happens when my brother is on the property. We’ve been at this for about four days now, but all I can say is that my muscles are sore as hell, I’m in constant pain, and I’m most definitely out of shape.
I really do need this, don’t I? If for no other reason than it helps distract me from the fact that Reba is still missing.
“We can’t always be around, but you will always be in danger,” Beast tells me, nodding his chin to indicate that we’re done for the day. I sigh dramatically, rubbing my sore hand against the front of my tank top. I’m a damn good shot, much to Crown’s chagrin. I can use a knife, too, although Grainger can still kick my ass. Sin hasn’t had much chance to teach me anything.
“Hey.”
The sound of his melodic voice draws my attention around. Sin is waiting nearby, his back against the trunk of a tree, one boot propped up against the trunk. He’s watching me, the muscles in his arm rippling beneath the American flag tattooed there as he lifts a cigarette to his lips.
For four days, I’ve been training with the men. Helping Nellie with stupid wedding stuff. And definitely not getting my brains fucked out. Mostly, it’s because we’re all exhausted. By the time I get upstairs and collapse in bed, I’m half-asleep. Same with the guys. Grainger actually fell asleep in the chair near the fire and got his ass chewed out by Crown last night.
That doesn’t mean, however, that I wouldn’t be down for a nooner. Or a three PMer. Or a whenever-the-fuck fuck.
“What brings you here?” I ask, trying not to be unpleasant. I’m glad Sin told me about their stupid pact. It makes sense. If I’m being honest with myself, it makes a lot of sense. I was sixteen. The youngest of them was twenty-four; the oldest was thirty-two. I also know that love doesn’t mean giving into every single thing a person wants. Sometimes, you have to push back or say no.
Yet, the whole thing seems a bit … overbearing, overreaching, a bit patronizing.
I was heartbroken then. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was. I was devastated.
I grab the towel that’s tossed over a nearby stump, dousing it with water from my water bottle, and doing my best to wipe some of the sweat from my face.
“I’m here to teach you,” Sin tells me conversationally, sauntering over to stand beside me while I clean up and chug the water. Droplets of it escape my lips, rolling down my chin, my neck, between my breasts. Sin’s silver eyes catch and follow them before he looks away sharply.
I announced to all the women that these four belonged to me. They’ve bitched me out a bit—well, not Beast, but the others—but that’s about it. Does that mean they’re okay with it? Could we work this out? I have no idea. Beast hasn’t mentioned it one way or another.
Part of me is afraid to ask. If he tells me that he wants me to be his and his alone then what? How do I handle this?
“Teach me what?” I ask, glancing back to see that my future husband has disappeared yet again. Beast’s good at that, slipping in and out of shadows. He’s been trying to train me to do that, but at this point, I wouldn’t try to sneak up on a herd of elephants; they’d still hear me coming.
The way Sin’s crooked mouth twists up in a smile makes me feel a bit dizzy. Why does he have to be so pretty? Not that I think it would change the way I feel for him or any of them really, but they might be easier to resist if they weren’t glorious columns of muscle and shadow and ink.
“To drive a bike,” he says, lifting a single finger to his lips. “Just … keep that big mouth of yours shut on this one, if you would.”
I frown at that, even though I know he’s being practical.
I sigh and sling the towel around my neck, lifting my wet hair out from underneath it. Sin studies me carefully as I shake it out and comb it through with my fingers.
“If you’ll recall, I know how to drive a bike,” I retort, lifting my chin proudly. All that one need do to know that I’m a goddamn liar is turn their gaze down to my ruined legs. Sin
does exactly that before lifting his gaze back to mine.
“You know how to take a fall that would’ve killed lesser men,” he says to me, and even though I don’t want to enjoy the compliment, I do. Too much. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Was that your first time driving a motorcycle?”
I give him a look.
“Dude, come on. You know me better than that.” I start walking toward the house because, as I learned that fateful day, one should not wear shorts or skirts on a friggin’ motorcycle. It wasn’t like I had a choice last time, but I will never get on another bike without leather and denim slathered across my body. “Reba’s cousin, Ryan, taught me last summer.”
“Ryan?” Sin repeats with a dry laugh. “What did he ride? A fucking moped.”
“Actually, he had a Harley,” I say, lifting both brows and giving Sin a smug look over my shoulder. “He was good in bed, too. Huge cock. Big balls.” I squeeze my hand, wiggling my fingers around like I’m massaging Ryan’s pretend sac. Sin doesn’t need to know that the guy wore a promise ring and played bass in a worship rock band, one of those ‘be the glory of God, motherfuckers!’ sort of groups.
Even though he knows he’s being played, the insinuation annoys poor Colton Young.
“Well, Ryan best keep his Harley and his giant cock and balls to himself, or I’ll bury him underneath the rhododendron out back of your gram’s house.” Sin stabs his cigarette into the ashtray as we pass, following me into the house. It smells like cookies in here, but when I pause beside the entrance to the kitchen, I don’t see Nellie.
Instead, there’s a tray of cookies on the floor, pieces of them scattered around and crushed. Adrenaline surges through me as I glance back at Sin. My Magnum—which now remains strapped to me at all times, courtesy of Crown’s instructions—is in my hand within seconds.
“This shit is in your blood, isn’t it, Gidge?” Sin murmurs, drawing his own weapon. He takes the lead, moving through the kitchen toward the back doors. They’re both open, and we hear voices before we even set foot outside.
“Goddamn it, boy,” a voice snarls, and I know right away that it’s Cat. A shiver tears down my spine, but I shake it off. It isn’t me that’s being admonished this time.
I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2) Page 26
