Property of Drex (Book 1) (Death Chasers MC Series)

by C. M. Owens

  “You want to know this right now?” he asks, sounding somewhat amused.

  I look up from my comfortable placement on his chest, and he grins down at me.

  “You ruined me. I literally can’t move very many things on my body, so yes. I want to talk right now.”

  He laughs while rolling his eyes, but I see the gentle Drex in this moment—the one no one else ever gets to see.

  After a minute, his smile falls, and he blows out a breath. “She died when I was little.” My heart breaks for him, but he immediately shakes his head when he sees my eyes. “Don’t give me that look. I can’t even remember much about her, so I’m over it. Have been for years. I don’t need pity.”

  It’s impossible not to feel sympathy. It’s not pity.

  I reach up, stroking the side of his jaw. His eyes dart back to mine, as though he’s gauging me and my intentions. Sheesh. It’s just a show of affection.

  “What happened?” I ask, still stroking his jaw.

  I lean up, propping against the couch back a little so I can see him without getting a kink in my neck. My hand lazily drifts up to his hair, and despite the gelled tips, I start working my fingers through the strands.

  He relaxes under my touch as though he enjoys it, and his arms loosely wrap around my middle, holding me to him.

  “She overdosed.”

  My ministrations pause, and I suck in a surprised breath. Something I haven’t seen inside the Death Dealers club is drug use. I didn’t give it much thought until now, but it’s surprising there isn’t any of that going on.

  “We don’t do business with junkies,” he continues, even though the conversation seems to veer off course. “Junkies are unpredictable and can’t be trusted in business. But sometimes, in our work, the ones on the sidelines end up getting messed up along the way. Mom was a casualty. She couldn’t deal with the life without the help of drugs. The addiction grew until it killed her.”

  He says it flatly, without any emotion. It’s as though he’s somehow put up a stone wall around this section of his life, not allowing the memories to penetrate his emotions.

  It’s like Drex is an island no one can touch, even if he’s right in front of you.

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly, resuming my strokes through his hair.

  He leans into my touch, and a small, peaceful breath leaves his lips.

  “What about your sister?” he asks. “Marks worked for us for a while, and I never knew he had a family. I also didn’t know he had a daughter who died.”

  I’m not detached from my emotions the way he is, so the mention of Isabelle is like a knife slicing through me. My chest gets heavy, and the tears teeter on the edge. I fight hard to answer him without crying.

  “I was an uh-oh child,” I tell him, which causes his eyebrows to arch. Shrugging, I continue. “Mom got pregnant with me when she was sixteen. Dad was eighteen. They got married immediately, because, well, they were young and thought that’s what you had to do.”

  It’s not what he asked, but he lies under me, patiently waiting for me to elaborate. My hand slides down from his hair, and I start tracing the hard lines of his chest, moving down the flow of his golden tanned abs and back up again.

  “It was rough on them. But they survived the struggle. Mom thought it made them stronger, but I think my dad just got weaker. My sister was the next uh-oh. The doctors had told my mother that it’d be almost impossible for her to get pregnant again. They were wrong. She was pregnant within two months of getting off her birth control.”

  I roll my eyes. “Then later she had twins. So, needless to say, she can still get pregnant despite the fact it shouldn’t be possible.”

  He shifts, sliding his hands down my waist to start drawing his own sets of lines.

  “Isabelle wasn’t like me. She was wild, carefree, and didn’t give a damn about what the world thought of her. She was two years younger than me. She had this ability to outshine everyone and everything when she was around.”

  Sighing, I lean back down, resting my head in the crook of his neck. I feel his lips on my forehead, and I snuggle into him even more. The day Isabelle died is the day I stopped smiling… until I met Drex. It’s also the day I stopped looking for rainbows in a sky full of nothing but dark clouds.

  “One night she got busted at a frat party. She’d wanted me to go with her, but I’d told her I had studying to do. I’ll never forget how annoyed she was with me that night.

  “My parents went to pick her up. I stayed at home with the twins like the good daughter I always tried to be. Mom and Dad were arguing with her about what she’d done, telling her that they’d had enough. Dad never saw the other car in his lane until it was too late. He tried to jerk out of the way, but it only caused most of the impact to hit the front corner where my mother was in the passenger seat.”

  I breathe him in, finding comfort in his scent, before managing to finish.

  “It was quick, according to the report. Mom suffered more damage, and barely survived. She still has a limp. My dad didn’t suffer any damage at all. Isabelle wasn’t wearing her seatbelt, and it threw her from the back seat and out the front windshield. Oddly, she barely had a scratch on her, but her neck was broken.”

  He holds me tighter, and I absorb the comfort. He kisses my head again, and I thread our fingers together while staring at the connection. It feels good to talk about it without being a sobbing mess.

  “So Ben started dating you around the time your sister was killed?” he asks.

  “About six months before the accident—give or take. Needless to say, he had to be patient after that. It was pretty much a non-existent relationship for a while, then I struggled to find the ability to stay with him after that. I felt like I owed him for being there for me though.”

  “Do you feel like you have to be here with me?” he asks, sounding adorably vulnerable at the moment.

  “No,” I answer honestly, looking up at him, then remember what is really going on. “Well, yes, considering the circumstances, but I also want to be here.”

  He grunts, but doesn’t say anything else as he gets lost in his own thoughts.

  “Why didn’t someone say something about my dad working for you sooner? I assume he did something bad, since you all think I’m so untrustworthy.”

  It’s starting to sting that Drex doesn’t trust me. I don’t give a damn about the others, but I do care about what he thinks. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it’s been months.

  He tenses for a second, as if he’s deciding whether or not to tell me anything. Again, that sting is there, but I try to act unaffected.

  “He stole from us. Close to eighty million. It would have ruined our club; that’s how substantial that loss could have been. We pay our guys on the side, and they have their own civilian jobs. We also use that money to fund our other business purchases, and we were in the middle of several at the time.”

  He blows out a breath before continuing.

  “We found out quickly the money was missing. I’d never trusted him, so I had been discreetly watching our accounts, since he had full access to them. It still amazes me that he managed to keep his family a secret, because I dug into every part of his life—or so I thought. He covered his ass really well, which lets me know he cared enough about you to keep you a secret.”

  That doesn’t even sound like my father.

  “I stole a pack of bubblegum once,” I say, probably sounding random. “When he figured it out, he had me take it back and apologize to the store clerk. He said stealing was the quickest way to lose your self-respect, and that he was raising me to be better than a thief.”

  He purses his lips, looking down at me. “People change, Eve. My mother wasn’t always an addict. Life has a way of beating all the good shit out of you sometimes.”

  He’s right. I sure as hell never thought my dad would take his own life and leave his family with no way to take care of ourselves.

  My lips press against his chest, a
nd I peer up once more. “Did it beat all the good out of you?”

  His smile quirks up, and I run my fingers along his shoulder.

  “Never had any good to get beaten out,” he says, sounding so honest that it hurts.

  It’s a lie, though. He’s always careful with me, always gentle even when he’s rough. He’s a tall guy with more muscle than it appears, yet he’s always taken care with my body. I’ve never even had a bruise, even though sometimes I could have sworn I would. The times he’s the roughest are my favorites.

  And he can’t stand the thought of someone else hurting me. He’s good enough, even if he can’t see it. Because he’s the only reason I’m still me instead of a shell of myself.

  Every day, he lets me feel safer to be a little more of myself. In fact, he seems to enjoy it.

  “This is pretty good,” I tell him, barely stopping myself from waxing poetic nonsense aloud.

  He laughs lightly, but it’s a weighted sound. “Yeah,” he mumbles, sounding reluctant to admit it. “It is.”

  I start kissing a trail down his chest, and I’m rewarded with a rumble from his chest before he takes a sharp breath. My panties are still hanging mid-thigh, forgotten.

  He doesn’t let me get to where I want to be, though. He’s too busy pulling me up, and he starts kissing my neck as my hips slide down. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pushes me down on him, and my body stretches around him.

  I moan, reveling in the feel of it all. Maybe we can spend a few weeks just getting lost in each other.

  Chapter 24

  EVE

  For two weeks, I’ve been in Drex’s home, and we’ve spent most of our time in the bed. Not that I’m complaining. Being with Drex in his home is… surprisingly nice. Easy. It’s like we’ve found a groove, and everything is natural.

  Not to mention, nothing illegal is getting done in the bedroom. At least I don’t think so. It makes it less stressful and almost… normal.

  We haven’t even left for groceries. Apparently there’s a little grocery fairy by the name of Maria who keeps his house stocked but never gets seen. I’m starting to think she’s a myth.

  My lips strum across a semi-long scar on his side, and he makes a low noise in his throat while continuing to trace lines on my back.

  “Chicks dig scars,” he says, smirking down at me.

  Frowning, I shake my head. “They aren’t sexy to me.”

  When his face falls, I immediately add, “I mean, you’re still sexy, but the scars are sad.”

  He runs his hand through my hair lazily, while keeping one hand behind his head, angling up so he can see me better.

  “How so?”

  I trace the scar I was kissing with my finger, while shrugging and staring at it, taking my eyes off him.

  “Because it’s a reminder that you live a dangerous life. It lowers your life expectancy.”

  A throaty laughter surprises me, and I look up to see him grinning down at me now.

  “You must really like me then if you’re worried about how long I’m going to live.”

  Rolling my eyes, I prop up on him a little better.

  “Why do you do it? Why take the risks? Surely you have enough money by now to just get out, if Dad stole so much from you. I’m assuming you got it back since you’re not the ones who killed him.”

  Thank God for that.

  He shrugs, looking up at the ceiling. “What we do isn’t as high-risk as the drug dealers and arms dealers. It used to be some seriously shady shit before we changed things up. I like the gray area. I’m never going to be a guy who sits at a cubicle and lives the American Dream life, Eve. It is what it is.”

  For two weeks, we’ve discussed mostly my life—every detail of it. I think he’s trying to trust me, which is improvement. I want to know about him without knowing everything.

  “Danger excites you, though. So I think I need to keep doing what I’m doing just to keep you wet,” he adds, winking at me as heat blooms across my chest.

  I don’t argue that first part, because I’m twisted and all, but I do wish he wasn’t doing anything dangerous. Whatever that is. It’s a constant reminder that this is temporary, because I’m not cut out for this life. I also haven’t seen or heard about any long-term commitments between the other guys and women.

  “I can think of something I’d rather you did with your mouth than kiss old scars,” he says suggestively.

  My lips twitch, and I start moving lower, kissing my way down his stomach. His smile falters, and his eyes grow hooded as I lick the lines of that perfect V between his hips.

  But before I can work my mouth down to where he wants it, there’s a loud, obnoxious banging at the front door. I squeal, he curses, and the banging persists.

  “Who the fuck is it?” Drex demands, lifting me off him as he grabs his jeans and starts stabbing his legs into them.

  “It’s Drake. Let me in.”

  Drex’s eyebrows go up in surprise, and I quickly dress as he walks out of the bedroom, leaving the door open. I can see the front door from here as Drex rushes to it.

  I don’t have time to get my bra on, so I just pull my shirt on seconds before Drex swings open the door.

  “What the hell are you—”

  Before he can finish that question, Drake barges in, shutting the door behind him. He glares at Drex before handing him his phone.

  “My phone has been blowing up with threats all day. Hell Breathers got wind of your visit to me, probably think we’re playing them or some shit. Benny and his gang of douchebags just sent me that last message a few minutes ago.”

  I don’t know what it says, but Drex’s nostrils flare as he reads it. I move into the room with them, adjusting my shorts and staying out of the way. It’s not like I can’t overhear everything from inside the other room anyway.

  “I’ll call Pop. He should know they’re making threats. I’ll call Axle first and tell him to meet up with us at the warehouse.”

  “I’m coming with. These fuckers are threatening me, so I’ll definitely have something to say when this is taken care of.”

  Drex seems hesitant, but I’m so damn confused. What the hell is going on?

  “Drex?” I prompt.

  He walks over to me while pulling out his phone. His hand cups my chin, while his thumb slides up and down my jaw, stroking it as he starts talking to who I assume must be Axle.

  “Yeah… Drake is sending you some stuff. We need to meet you at—”

  His words are cut off by glass shattering and explosions thundering across the house. I hit the ground hard, the breath heaving from my lungs as black dots speckle my vision.

  It takes me a second to realize Drex has just thrown me to the ground and that the explosions weren’t explosions at all—it’s gunfire. A lot of it.

  Holes appear in the walls around us as Drex yells to Drake across the room. Drake slides a gun across the floor, and Drex grabs it, keeping me covered with his body as he lifts his head to see out the window, firing with Drake back at something.

  In the movies, it all plays out so clearly. You see the bullets zipping by. People are screaming, and you can distinctly hear the loud sounds of rapid gunfire, isolating each bullet that slices through the air.

  In real life, it’s all a blur of motion and noise, and seconds turn into hours, each ticking by so slowly that you can taste death on the tip of your tongue. And the gunfire is just loud noise that all muddles together to create the constant roar of a storm.

  Right now, Drex is cold. The care and concern in his eyes from earlier is completely gone, and he fires back at whoever is unleashing hell on us right now.

  Drake does the same, but suddenly more guns are shooting, because the noise drones on, getting louder and louder.

  Drake curses when he grabs his arm, dropping his gun in the process. Drex ducks down and curls his body around mine, wrapping me up completely as someone tries to turn the house into a sponge.

  He reaches over and grabs a small table leg, flipp
ing it so that it crashes beside us, and I see two grenades taped underneath. With quick, jerky movements, he tosses one to Drake, who makes even quicker work with throwing it out into the madness.

  Drex cover my ears just before I feel the ground jerk beneath us, the house vibrating viciously as something thunders through the air. Dirt blows inside, filling my lungs and forcing me to cough. It was already hard to breathe before the dirt assault.

  Drex is suddenly off me, and I see him launch the second grenade. He dives, but the explosion kicks back sooner than it did earlier, and it rocks the house harder, letting me know it hit closer as well.

  Drex crashes into the coffee table, and limply collapses to the ground. Drake is grabbing a gun, firing it with one hand while his left arm hangs at his side, blood slowly oozing from a bullet wound near his shoulder.

  Drex is exposed, lying out in the open in front of the window, so I scramble up on my hands and knees, clumsily crawling to him as Drake takes on the army on his own.

  His dead weight is too heavy to move, so I do the only thing I can and turn the coffee table on its side, blocking the easy view they have. If the walls won’t stop their bullets, I doubt this table will, but at least it hides him better.

  I cover him with my body the way he did me, and I softly chant his name, begging him to wake up. But he’s out cold. His head is trickling blood from where he hit it too hard against the table when he was thrown back.

  More gunfire from a different angle kicks in, and I shiver, worrying more have joined. But no new bullets breach the house.

  “Fuck yes,” Drake breathes, belly-crawling toward us and wincing when he has to use his injured arm. “The Calvary has arrived.”

  My focus returns to Drex, but he still won’t wake up.

  Almost at once, the gunfire stops or my ears have been deafened. I scratch that last theory when I hear tires squeal. Only a few stray shots continue being shot, but the door is kicked in before my relief can sink in.

  I scream, but it dies when I see Axle rushing over.

  “Is he okay?” he asks, but I can’t answer. I’m still on top of Drex, keeping him covered as though Axle is going to open fire at any second, even though I know better. My mind and body aren’t exactly communicating, so I don’t move or speak.