MAX: The Sin Reapers MC

by April Lust

  Blade searched my eyes as though unconvinced, but after a moment, he pulled back and released my hand with a laugh. “Sentimental value,” he repeated, grinning. “Of course, of course. The Sin Reapers always had that about them. Sentimentality, right?” He laughed again.

  I frowned, but said nothing. So long as I kept Minnie’s, I didn’t care about the rest.

  We finished the meeting, everyone more or less happy with the terms—except for maybe Bills, but he was rarely happy about anything. We each took pictures of the map, just to make sure no one fucked with the drawn lines later, and I let the Slayers take the original copy with them. As they packed up, I looked over to the man who still hung suspended by a hook and a rope from the ceiling. He was finally waking up.

  My face tightened and my jaw snapped shut as I ground my teeth together. I turned to Blade and motioned towards the door as I shoved my hands into my pockets. “You guys take off. I think we’re going to linger and see about your…present.”

  Blade gave me that same wicked, eager grin and I realized just how mad he was. It terrified me just a little, and I made a mental note not to trust Blade too far. But he nodded to me and said, “You boys enjoy. It’s been a pleasure to do business with you.”

  I said nothing as I watched them leave. I let the door close behind them and it wasn’t until I heard their bikes rev and finally peel out of the parking lot that I turned to the hanging man. I put my right hand into my left and pushed until I heard the knuckles crack. “We’ve got some questions for you,” I told him.

  The fear in his slowly focusing eyes told me he knew what was coming and he knew it wasn’t going to be good.

  Chapter 7

  Lucy

  I got home late, but I’ll admit I was surprised to find Max’s bike already parked in the garage. Only a couple of lights were on, but I could hear running water as soon as I opened the door.

  I’d stayed a while with Mom even after dinner and cleaning up the dishes. We talked about random things, nothing serious, because I couldn’t handle any more of that, and watched old black-and-white movies until Mom finally fell asleep. I kissed her forehead and checked my phone for messages. A trickle of fear had gone through me when I saw there were none. Not even a quick text.

  Max’s fine, I’d told myself, but I hadn’t really believed it until I walked through that door.

  “Max?” I called, an eerie déjà vu sweeping me. Suddenly, I felt panic and fear swamp me. I almost thought about turning and running, but if this were a repeat of that night, I had to know. I had to know if Max were gone, because that changed everything.

  That changed me.

  “Here,” he answered after a moment, and as soon as his warm, heady voice filtered out to me, I relaxed. He was fine. I was being paranoid, overreacting. I was always overreacting these days.

  The here had come from the kitchen, so I headed in that direction. The house was two stories, but fairly small. Plenty of room for the two of us, but add a third person to the mix and it was tiny. I’d insisted on no more crashers, not even for a night, because there was only one bathroom and I was tired of coming downstairs to find a half-dressed biker snoring on the couch.

  The front door opened directly to the living room where there was a TV that rarely got used unless football was on and the aforementioned couch that was thankfully no longer occupied very often. There were a few scattered pictures, mostly of the guys, me and Max, my father, and of the slew of foster families Max had rotated through.

  I walked through the living room to the right where the kitchen was, a small thing that barely covered it for the two of us and would never do if we had any sort of company over. Which we didn’t, at least none that weren’t accommodated by grilling outside instead.

  The stairs leading to the bedroom on the second floor was adjacent to the kitchen entryway, but I ignored them. Max’s voice had come from the kitchen.

  When I walked in, I saw why I’d heard running water. Max had both of his hands submerged beneath the running stream of the faucet, the water running pink as he scrubbed at his knuckles and beneath his fingernails.

  I stared at his hands for a moment, realizing the cuts lacing his knuckles weren’t the same ones from before. I could see some of the old blood that had already dried, some he’d missed, and I saw the bright fresh stuff, too.

  Max was washing off fresh blood and it sent a tingle down my spine. Something had happened tonight.

  “Max?”

  He looked up at me, his tense shoulders easing slightly as his eyes found me. There was something in them tonight and I knew whatever had happened had been bad. Really bad.

  “Hey, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice soft and sweet in the dark, but the underlying tension didn’t leave as he spoke. “C’mere.”

  I did. I went to him as he turned off the faucet and dried off his hands. The towel came away red, just a little, and I watched it as he put it back on the counter. I didn’t want to ask about what happened tonight. I didn’t want to know, but something in me had to. “Max,” I repeated even as his arms opened for me and I stepped into them, letting his strength envelop me for a moment in his warmth. He held me for a long, silent moment until I asked, “What happened tonight?”

  He didn’t answer right away, instead remaining silent as he held me, but eventually he let me go, stepping back slightly. “Are you happy?” he asked me, an unexpected question, and also not an answer to my question.

  My eyebrows rose in surprise and I tried to hide some of what I’d been feeling that night. He didn’t need my worries weighing on him, too, I knew that much; besides, I hadn’t really worked through them myself anyway. But he was looking at me with those dark eyes, all seriousness and intensity, and I couldn’t not tell him the truth. I just couldn’t.

  I looked away, trying to find the right words. Ultimately, they came too simply. “No,” I said, and it came out as a whisper. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his shoulders slump and knew I needed to give a better explanation. “I’m tired of the violence. I’m tired of the fear. I want us to be in a better place.” I hoped that was enough to tell him this wasn’t about not wanting him. This was about not wanting the life we were leading.

  After a moment, he managed to get out, “Me, too.”

  Unable to stand in that silence for any longer, I went to get some ice from the fridge because it was something to do. I didn’t want to see his expression, suddenly afraid to find nothing but hollowness in his eyes.

  When I came back, he’d finally found an answer for my initial question. One we could both, maybe, live with.

  “Things got…complicated tonight. There was some trouble,” he told me hesitantly, something deep and dark flashing in his eyes. I couldn’t be sure what it was, but I knew it was bad. There was something he seemed intent on telling me, but couldn’t seem to decide if he should or not. “A lot happened tonight, that’s it. I guess I’m a little rough over it is all.”

  I reached for him, my hands trailing over his, pressing the icepack to his raw skin. He didn’t flinch away from what must have been a sharp cold, instead allowing me to help in what small way I could. I stared at those hands, the cuts on them. He’d wiped away most of the blood, but there were cuts and bruises, letting me know at least some of that blood had been his. I wondered how much.

  My eyes jerked up to examine his face suddenly, searching him for signs of injury.

  What had he been doing tonight? What had been eating him up? What gave him that haunted look in his eyes? I worried that there’d been a serious fight. With the Slayers? I couldn’t be sure. I knew there’d been talk of working something out between them, but maybe that’s all it was. Talk. My hands lifted from his knuckles to feel along his face. Was he okay? My thumb trailed over his lip and he kissed it.

  Fire slipped from that kiss all the way down my body, tingling along my spine to pool deep and dark between my legs. God, I wanted him.

  And he wanted me. His eyes were open and staring so
intently at me that he might be boring holes into my body that way.

  I felt that familiar urge to ease away that weight, if only for a night.

  He must have sensed it, because his hands reached out for me and grabbed me by the hips, jerking me to his body until we were pressed together harshly, tightly. His hard body pressed against mine, and even through the zipper of his jeans, I could feel him hard and needy, desperate for me.

  I shuddered and allowed my body to ease into him, slowly at first, but increasing in speed until I was grinding against him, his grip on my hips loose enough only for that. He leaned into me, his face pressing into the hollow of my neck, his stubble scratching at my pale skin.

  This was how it started, and I couldn’t deny that I loved every moment of it.

  I breathed him in, his scent a strong, spicy, musky scent that wrapped around me and went straight through me all at once. I knew there were things about smell that drove people to desire and passion. Pheromones, chemicals, something like that, but I thought it was more about the way he smelled. Like power and strength and need.

  My warrior.

  “Max,” I breathed, and was rewarded with a shudder and his hands clenching tighter to my hips. His face shifted so his lips found my skin, pressing little kisses against my neck and collarbone until my skin was flushed with heat. I didn’t need him to tell me how much he wanted me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t love to hear it.

  “I won’t go easy tonight,” he murmured, his breath hot against my neck.

  I shuddered again at the promise of the hard and fast fucking his voice promised me. “Okay,” was all I said, and it was all I had to say. The permission was there and that little piece of consent was all he needed.

  He picked me up, his hands moving down from my hips to my ass, gripping each cheek firmly in his rough hands. He jerked me up so I was pressed against him, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He pressed a kiss against my mouth, hot and fierce, desperation leaking through and making it clear that this wasn’t about talking anymore tonight.

  Tonight, like many nights before, my body was his release. His means of forgetting, and I was okay with that. I relished it, even.

  My eyes slid shut even as I felt him carrying me up the stairs, his hands gripping me so tightly that it was almost painful. My arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, clinging to him greedily as I pushed for a deeper kiss. I held us tightly together, my full breasts pressing against his hard muscles, the sensation arousing. I felt his tongue slide across my lips and I parted them immediately, desperate for him to devour me.

  I didn’t think we’d make it to the bedroom, but he managed to kick the door open. We did not, however, make it to the bed. As soon as we were in the room, he lost it. He couldn’t wait anymore, because he needed this now.

  My back slammed against the wall harshly and I let out a small cry of surprise. He allowed it because his mouth was moving elsewhere, placing sloppy kisses on my neck and down across my shoulders. His hands had begun to move, traveling downward and inward until I felt his fingers pressing against my inner thighs.

  I could have cursed my choice of pants that night and thought he probably could have, too, but it wasn’t enough to delay Max.

  His hands came back around so they could get to my crotch from the top. He pressed me tightly against the wall and I gripped his hips firmly so when his hands were no longer supporting me, I still remained up. His hands moved to my jeans, fiddling with first the button and then the zipper until he managed to get both undone. Not interested in waiting to get to the good stuff, his hand pushed past the waistband of my panties to find my center. Two fingers dove into me before I even had time to register that he was there and then I was screaming in pleasure. He worked me into a frenzy, his fingers coated with my natural lubricant as he shoved them in and out of me.

  It might have been enough to get me off; he had wonderful, skilled hands. But tonight wasn’t about me. He had needs that had to be taken care of, things that needed to be addressed, and I didn’t mind that his hand pulled away from my crotch only because he was urging my legs down to the floor so he could jerk my pants down past my thighs. I shimmied them off along with my panties so he could focus on his own jeans.

  By the time my lower half was bare, he’d gotten his belt and fly undone, his hand reaching into his pants to pull out his already hard, throbbing member. I licked my lips at the sight of it and gave him a look that silently asked if he wanted me to suck or fuck.

  “Not tonight, baby,” he murmured to the small space between us. He closed that distance so he could get ahold of my leg, jerking it up high, letting the knee bend over his arm so I was opened wide for him.

  He wasn’t patient that night, but I hadn’t expected him to be. His cock was poised at my entrance in a second, and before I even had time to register it, he’d shoved it inside me all the way, my walls stretching to accommodate his large size.

  I cried out again, arching my back as he wasted no time in beginning to thrust. He was right; this wouldn’t be gentle.

  His hands were all over me. Sometimes they’d hold my arms above my head so he could have his way with my body without interference, sliding his length inside until I was so full of him that I thought he might be an extension of myself. Other times, his hands would find my hips and grip so tightly that I knew there would be bruises later.

  He never let me back from the wall. He needed the leverage and the power to thrust into me with abandon, the sounds our bodies making as they came together a mix of sensual and violent.

  Finally, his hands found my breasts, reaching up beneath my tight shirt until I heard a seam tear across the bottom. He fondled them, pinching and pulling and massaging. He pressed his face into the side of my neck, nibbling and kissing and worrying at it. He thrust into me again, bottoming out, and grunted against my skin. His hot breath whispered, “Fuck. You’re soft, you’re sweet, and I have to do it, baby. I have to fuck you like this.”

  He plunged himself inside of me, burying his length so deep that our hips pressed together and my body felt like all there could ever be was him. My skin was flushed with heat, sticky with sweat and a rosy red color. Max wasn’t much better. Sweat dotted his forehead and passion burned in his eyes along with something else, something darker. His lips pressed fire into my skin and his hands trailed it along my body.

  “Oh, Max!”

  I cried out his name and begged, begged to find the end of this, wherever that might be. I didn’t care if I came, but I needed him to. I needed him to find some sort of relief in the depths of my body so I could have him back, because whatever uncertainty I was feeling, there was no doubting that I needed him.

  He let out a loud, low groan that told me he was close. His thrusts became quicker, more urgent as he built up higher towards that final explosion. The slick sounds of our embrace became more and more intense, until finally he used his whole body to hold me tightly against the wall and pressed his cock inside me until there was no room left.

  He bit me on the neck, hard, when he finally came. I felt him pulse inside me, throbbing and aching for long moments until he was finally spent. When he was done, he didn’t release me right away, but allowed for both of our bodies to slide down the wall to the floor. I straddled his lap as his cock grew soft within me and eventually slipped out.

  I held him, because I wanted him to feel this softness for a little while longer. I stroked my fingers through his hair. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a long time, and I wondered why we couldn’t have moments like this without the darkness that had pushed him to need it.

  Why couldn’t we exist like this outside of the fear that came with this life?

  I didn’t know, but I knew there were a thousand more nights like this one waiting for me. For us. There would always be someone else coming for Max, some new enemy. There would always be some night that drove Max to do devastating, haunting things like tonight had.

  I hated it, but th
at was how it would always be so long as we were here, like this.

  Eventually, he pulled himself from his stupor and helped me up off the floor. He murmured sweet things to me that were sort of apologies, but not really. He wasn’t sorry for the things he enjoyed doing to me any more than I was, but he never wanted it to reach past that to real pain. It didn’t, but I appreciated his worry over it anyway.

  We undressed the rest of the way and rinsed off quickly, washing the sweat and stickiness from our bodies, before crawling in to sleep off what was left of the night. As I lay there in bed beside him, I couldn’t help but wonder what a life without fear was. I tried to picture it, but as much as I tried, I just couldn’t.

  Chapter 8

  Max

  It took me a moment longer than it should have to realize what was going on. I was drowsy still, heavy with sleep and sated after the pleasure I’d taken from Lucy. She was still lying beside me, but, like me, had jerked awake at the sound.