by C. M. Owens
Now I’m worried I fucked a sociopath.
This girl is a bucket of issues every time I turn around.
She rolls her eyes at me.
“They were hired guns and knew the high stakes coming in. They took the very large salaries and the assumed the risks. I had no personal attachment to them,” she tells me callously. “It’s not like these were the types who contribute to society. They were expendable.”
“And what are we?” I ask her, narrowing my eyes.
Her jaw tenses, but she shakes her head and mutters something under her breath. I think she just called me a bag of dicks. And I’m not really sure what kind of insult that is.
“You’re not expendable, or I’d happily place you in the line of fire instead of working on my bug-out plan to keep you safe.”
“That’s because of Sarah,” I remind her. “You wanted to hire us at one time. For the same thing this crew just died for.”
She groans. “No. I wanted to hire you for security, jackass. I was still working on who was going to do my grunt work when Sarah stepped in. And even so, I didn’t know you then. I just wanted to sit on your face.”
Just when I think she can’t possibly stun me silent again, she proves me wrong. It’s like she’s a bag of zigs and zags, and I prepare for a zag, only to get hit with a zig, which has me reworking my words and looking like a complete fucking moron much too often.
She grins and winks. “Don’t worry. I still want to sit on your face. I’m on birth control, by the way. Thanks for asking before deciding to get off inside me.”
This time, I roll my eyes. “I know you’re on birth control. I see you take the pill, and I’ve seen the cartridge on the nightstand multiple times.”
Her grin grows. “Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe you are interested in learning something about me. Might want to ask me if I’m clean or not.”
“Let’s skip health class,” I say. Before she can come back with another crazy remark to knock us off subject, I add, “So the guys meant nothing to you. What’s with the dancing? Or the spaz attack? Or whatever that was supposed to be, mixed in with the paint-peeling squealing you were doing.”
“Axl Rose, did you just make a joke?” she gasps.
“Do not call me Axl Rose,” I bite out, to which she grins.
“That name story would have been so much better if the nurse had been listening to Guns and Roses and Axl Rose popped into her head.”
“Different spelling, and completely…fucking stupid.” There’s sure as hell no pity in her eyes. Which is a relief, but also worrisome…again. Sociopath is definitely on the table. “What’s with the spaz attack?”
“Not enough room for me to skate, and I didn’t feel like skating around the bearded assholes downstairs, so I decided to destress this way.”
“By shaking violently and screaming lyrics?” I ask dryly.
“Not all of us can just sit around and turn sour over all of life’s little fucked up disappointments. Shit happens. This is my coping mechanism. Trust me, there’s not enough room in here for us both to brood.”
She gestures around the small-ish room, and I…I have no idea what to do with her. Still.
“Talk about the boyfriend you had tortured and executed,” I say with no preamble, and mentally curse myself for the brash way it comes out.
I’m usually not the one who has to do the talking. That’s Drex’s role. I just hit people. Maybe shoot them. Sometimes kidnap them to get beaten up. Or killed. In short, I’m the muscle. Drex is the talker. And, God help us, he’s usually the brain, too. Which means a lot of people get fucked up a lot of the time.
Fortunately, I’m cool with that. Helps get the anger issues under control when you have a viable candidate to beat down.
It takes me a second to realize Maya has gone stiff. Her eyes are cold and flat, and there’s zero expression on her face. It’s eerie, mostly because her face is too expressional…normally.
“Tell me how you got those gnarly scars,” she deadpans, not an ounce of anything in her tone.
My eyes narrow, but her expression doesn’t change.
“Why the fuck would I do that? And why are you asking that right this second?”
She cocks her head, and that’s when I see something I wasn’t expecting.
She’s not a sociopath.
Tears are in her eyes.
“Until you’re ready to talk about your scars, you have no right to ask about mine. I’m not sure where you dug up that information, but it’s not fair to pull my pain out of a box when you keep yours locked away. I don’t dig up your information, and I easily could.”
It’s like I can’t do anything right. And I swear I’ve swallowed more than my foot, because I actually feel like shit.
She’s the first person to make me feel that way. Guilt is an emotion I haven’t experienced since I was a child…until she came in like a hurricane.
She turns around, and I hear her taking deep breaths, like she’s trying not to cry. I make a mental note to punch Drex in the mouth, since I decide to blame this mess on him. After all, he’s the one who told me that.
It’s not like I have a clue what to do with a damn crying woman in my room.
So I do the only thing I do know how to do, and risk her clawing out my eyeballs.
The second I reach her, I spin her around, see the wet eyes that peer up at me in confusion, and kiss the hell out of her.
She’s rigid, tense, and definitely not up for the kissing. I still continue trying, slowly, gently running my hands over her back. My tongue glides along the seam of her lips, trying to coax them open.
Even though her body stays tight, her mouth finally gives in, and she moans into my mouth as I slide a hand into her soft hair.
When she finally softens against me, I relax a little, trying not to think about how good she feels or how easily she seems to get wet for me. Because I’m a little too close to wanting this. All of this.
To wanting her.
And that shit can’t end well.
CHAPTER 19
MAYA
Five days ago, I was reminded how human I really am. Axle brought up memories I’d rather not think of. Ever again.
Then he fucked me until I suppressed them again, which was definitely appreciated.
Four days ago, we spent most of the day in bed, still forgetting the past, both of us using the other to do that with.
Three days ago, there was a rowdy party. Axle went down for about an hour. I peeked out, but when I saw him chatting with Drex, Dash, and Jude, I decided to stay in the room. It didn’t take long for him to join me for the rest of the night.
Which was a surprise, but then it involved a lot of being naked, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised.
Two days ago, Axle found me a whole new set of expendable goons to do my bidding. Well, he found me numerous candidates, and I spent the day sorting through the files to find the ones that would work. And I set up the new deal, paying them via wire transfer, and only giving them a burner number to text. They only know my stage name—Tyler Loyd—and what to do.
Pictures are required, and then my actual guy—one of my Family’s loyalists—takes over once the girls reach the dock. He’s the only Blackbird member they deal with in person, and no one knows who he is. Blackbird is not tied to this operation. At least, not officially.
One day ago, Axle left for most of the day, and I spent the bulk of the day on the phone making private calls to the other heads of the Families, filling them in on everything, then talking down Carlisle when he wanted to fly down and just blow the place to hell.
Fortunately, he’s only a co-head, and not a full head. His sister—Kendra—sided with the rest of us mostly sane ones, reminding him that it’s not the middle east and we can’t just go to war like we own the country.
Today, Axle is wrapped around me, his body tangled with mine. Since he’s not a cuddler, I’m betting on him freaking out and jerking away when he wakes up. We sort of fel
l asleep after the shower we took two hours ago…because I’ve awoken the beast.
Axle is a lot of pent-up sexual frustration, and he’s unleashing it on me. I love it, even if my vagina is begging for a break.
He never holds me after sex. Never does any of the sweet shit I didn’t think I wanted.
But I sort of want at least a little sweet shit, damn it.
This is the sweetest thing that’s happened, and it happened by accident while we were asleep.
As predicted, the second he wakes up, he stiffens, probably realizing just how entangled we are.
“Spooning won’t give you cancer, you know,” I quip when he starts to move. “I’m almost positive it won’t cause heart disease, either.”
He grunts, and I expect him to pull away, but instead, he slides his arms around my waist a little tighter, resting his face in the crook of my neck from behind me.
A slow smile spreads over my lips, and I test the waters, sliding my fingers over his. He doesn’t move away, and I think I sigh. Pretty sure it’s a dreamy sigh, too.
“We’re supposed to be getting ready for the strip club,” he mumbles against my neck.
“Yeah. I’d hate to miss seeing a girl with all the same body parts I have as she gets naked in front of you. Sounds like a prize of a night. Sharp objects should probably be left behind for the safety of others.”
I almost pinch myself when he laughs. Axle laughs. He knows how!
It’s a quiet, barely-there rumble, but it totally counts as a laugh.
He doesn’t say anything, so I take it upon myself to fill the silence. “Does Eve not get pissed at Drex for letting another naked girl rub all over him? And does she not get pissed that he pays her to do it?”
Another small rumble of laughter has me squirming. It’s a really sexy sound. I’m not sure why my body is acting as sex-starved as his.
“No one dances on Drex anymore. He usually fucks Eve somewhere in the club. It’s just where we do our business, and we need to put in an appearance from time to time. It’s also one of our businesses where we clean our money. Speaking of which, thought you wanted us to do a job.”
I yawn, nestling into him a little farther. “I do want you to do a job. But can I make a suggestion?”
I feel him shrug.
“You lost all your money from five accounts very recently. So…don’t clean the money. I’ll pay in cash, as you should ask all your clients to do for a while, and then you should put all the money in different safes between all of you. You can run your business with dirty cash on the down-low.”
He shifts, and I fall onto my back as his face hovers over mine, taking me in with a curious expression.
“Why?”
Reaching up, I let my finger trace the scar on his lip. He doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he leans in to the touch like he can’t get enough. I really like a loosened up Axle. It’s my favorite new thing to enjoy.
“Someone could easily figure out what happens to the money if they know the legit businesses you use to launder it. And someone inside the club might have told Herrin when it was laundered. You put the money in separate safes without telling anyone outside your circle—not even Eve—where it is, and no one will touch it. Then, you’ll wait on someone to start asking questions. This is the long game—the waiting game. The person who knows you’re bringing in money but can’t figure out where you’re cleaning it will start asking questions. Discreetly at first. Then they’ll start nosing a little harder.”
He shakes his head. “Herrin had our accounts hacked,” he tells me like he’s arguing.
“And he’d need to know what accounts to hack,” I volley. “You have leaks. This is a solid way to flush this particular one out.”
His gaze sweeps over my face, like he’s taking me in, and it finally settles on my lips. I know what that means, and I’m smiling like it’s the first time again.
“I’ll tell Drex,” he answers.
“Right now?” I ask, worrying he’s about to leave without one more round.
His lips tilt up in that devastatingly perfect grin he never shows for long, but as always, it’s gone before I can truly appreciate it.
“Right now, I have to go to a strip club. You really won’t go with me?”
It sounds like he actually wants me to go, and that’s seriously tempting. But I’m crazy. I might go crazy jealous if any girl gets too close to him right now. I totally can’t be trusted to keep my composure. And they don’t need that drama.
Not to mention, it’s not wise for me to risk the exposure. Halo is crawling with Lathan’s goons. And while Phillip isn’t stupid enough to expose our identities, he’d likely have some of his close inner circle with him who know who we are.
“I’m sure,” I say with a one-shoulder shrug.
He drags his lips across my shoulder before he pushes up and climbs off the bed. I take every opportunity to admire his body, so I watch with shameless abandon as he gets dressed.
As soon as he’s finished—which is like five minutes later—he picks up his phone and texts someone.
“Eve isn’t going tonight,” he tells me as though I’ve asked. “She’s working at the shop. Wants to know if you want to hang with her and Drake.”
I don’t respond right away, but finally nod after I think about it. I guess it’d be good to get out for a while and avoid cabin fever.
I dress quickly while he continues to text. I half wonder if he’s texting Eve, and ignore the unimportant twinge of jealousy. See? I’m not completely sane.
Axle walks out first, and I lock the door behind me as I follow him. Lots of bikers are down below, but none of them check me out anymore. Pretty sure that has something to do with Axle knocking that one guy out.
Or the fact Axle normally doesn’t have a girl around, which makes me different than the usual fling they suppose the others have.
I like that.
If they knew who I was, it’s unlikely any of them would be suicidal enough to touch me.
As soon as we’re down the stairs, Axle’s arm drops around my shoulders and he steers me out of the warehouse. I’m not sure when he started touching me like this so easily, but I like it.
It’s a taste of normal. I’ve never had a guy brave enough to touch me in public. My father was always…a tad overprotective. Smitty has taken over that role nowadays.
Just as he starts to guide me into the tattoo parlor, a loud motor revs, drawing my attention.
It all seems to happen in slow motion.
I see the guy on the motorcycle seconds before I notice the gun in his hand, or hear the loud boom that echoes off the walls of the alley. My heartbeat drums in my ears as I feel myself falling, realizing belatedly that Axle has just shoved me down.
He comes down on top of me as an unbidden cry leaves my lips, forced out of me from the pain shooting through my hands and knees. His heavy weight pins me down as loud gunfire deafens me, sounding too close to my ears.
The guy on the motorcycle jerks, his gun falling as more gunfire registers. It takes me a second to piece together the fact he’s being shot.
He falls off the bike, obviously dead by now, but they don’t stop shooting. I don’t even know who they are, other than Axle, who is shooting his damn gun right above me, his body still pinning mine down.
All at once, the gunfire stops, or at least I think it does. My ears are ringing from being too close to the action in such a closed off area, so I could just be momentarily deaf.
It feels like a mountain lifts off my back when Axle pushes up to his feet. Air rushes into me as I take a big, much needed breath, and roll onto my back, wincing when I feel a sharp pain in my side.
Axle bends, his face hard and his jaw tight, as he grabs me under the arms and lifts me to my feet. As soon as I’m standing, his eyes rake over me in quiet appraisal, as the flurry of footsteps racing around dimly register to my temporarily impaired hearing.
I hiss out a breath of pain when his hand touches a tender s
pot on my face. Sheesh. I’m going to need to take inventory, but at least there aren’t any bullet holes in me.
That has me patting down my body and looking at my side that hurts. I breathe out in relief to see my shirt is just torn and the abrasions are left behind from the pavement and not a bullet.
“Just superficial stuff,” I tell Axle as he bends, getting a closer look at my side.
My eyes dart to his arm, and a sick knot tightens in my belly when I see the ripped material there and the blood trickling from his shoulder.
“You were shot!”
He bats my hands away when I try to take a look, but I’m persistent. Blowing out a breath of frustration, he lets me look closer at it.
“Just a graze,” he finally says.
I look at him like he’s an idiot. Technically, it is considered a graze. But it’s a big freaking graze from a damn bullet!
“You need stitches. And some hardcore germ-killing stuff. And antibiotics—”
“You two hit?” Drex’s voice has me snapping my head to the right as he walks up, his eyes hard and lethal.
“We’re fine. Where’s Eve?” Axle asks him, his hand moving to the back of my neck like he needs to make sure I don’t plan to walk off.
“She and Drake are inside.”
They both look down the alleyway as Drex calls out, “Get that cleaned up before the cops roll in. They’ll give us ten minutes before they send a black-and-white.”
The guys at the end walk into the garage, and back out, emerging with bleach, a tarp, and some garden hoses. They begin spraying away the blood before two guys even get the body rolled into the tarp.
Another guy starts splashing around the bleach, and they continue to spray the water, cleaning away the evidence of a dead guy. But there are plenty of bullet casings to prove something happened.
My guess is that the cops don’t really ask too many questions as long as there’s not a body present.
At least that’s how it works at home. Then again, at home, we could have four bodies strung up and there’d still be no questions.
