Down & Dirty: Dex (Dirty Angels MC Book 8)

by Jeanne St. James

“Plan on it. Just gotta trust me. Trust us to do the right thing.” He hesitated. “Need you to do somethin’ for me, though.”

  She turned her blue eyes up to him and his breath caught. He steeled himself against the strange feeling that went through him. The one he couldn’t identify. Or maybe one he didn’t want to.

  “What’s that?” she asked softly.

  “Need to see your mom’s diary.”

  She didn’t say anything for the longest time, instead her gaze shifted to somewhere else in the room.

  After a while, he said, “Need to read the part that’s important. Not the whole thing.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Babe, I believe you. Just need to be able to say what you read’s the same shit I read. He ain’t gonna be able to face his accuser, so just wanna be sure.”

  “What will you do with him if I show you her diary and you agree what I read really happened?”

  She wasn’t going to like his answer, but it needed to be said. “Babe, that’s club business.”

  She lifted her head. “Dex, it’s my business, too. If what my mother indicated is true...” She shook her head. “I’m the result of his actions. His actions which changed my mother’s life. Which brought me into the world. His blood runs through my veins. And I know your club is all about loyalty and blood.”

  “It is.”

  “So maybe I should get a chance to face him. Make him look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”

  “Ain’t gonna tell you the truth. Ain’t gonna admit shit.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  No, he wasn’t sure. And if it was him, Dex would want to face his mother’s rapist, too. But the woman was wicked with a gun and he wouldn’t put it past her to plug him right between the fucking eyes.

  No matter what, he felt the need to protect Brooke and he couldn’t tell her that. Fuck no. That would get her madder than a pissed-off hellcat.

  “Get it. Gotta read it.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”

  “Nope. A please an’ thank you was on the beginnin’ an’ end of that question.”

  “There sure wasn’t and that wasn’t a question.”

  “Heard it. Need your ears cleaned out.”

  Brooke snorted. “Remember that ball-gag you had in your mouth last night?”

  Dex tipped his eyes down to her, put his fingers against his jaw and wiggled it again. Yep, it was still achy. “Fuck yeah.”

  “Didn’t like it, did you?”

  “Fuckin’ loved it.”

  She grinned and tweaked his nipple. “Liar.”

  With a sigh, she pushed away from him and rolled out of bed. He watched her the whole time because... hell, she was naked.

  And her body was fucking hot.

  And so was her pussy. And those tits.

  Fuck.

  How the hell was he rolling out of there today?

  He lifted his head and groaned when she bent over to dig something out of a bottom dresser drawer, her ass and everything else pointing toward the bed.

  His hand automatically went to his dick. But when she straightened and turned he released it quickly, giving her an innocent smile.

  “Were you touching yourself?”

  “Nope.”

  She shook her head and threw whatever she had in her hand onto the mattress. He stared at the small book with the hard cover. It was clear what it was since “Diary” was embossed in gold lettering across the front.

  Well, damn.

  She moved around the bed and grabbed the robe hanging from the back of her bathroom door, sliding it over her shoulders and tugging her hair out from underneath it.

  Heading toward the bedroom door, she tossed over her shoulder, “I’m going to make breakfast.”

  “Don’t wanna be here when I read it?”

  She shook her head, but didn’t look at him. “I can’t. Not again. Just put it back in the drawer when you’re finished... please.”

  “Yeah,” he grunted, waiting until she left before letting his fingers slide over the cover. As he heard Brooke head down the hallway, he picked up the diary and flipped through it.

  He only wanted to read the part that pertained to Pierce, and he had no idea where in the diary it was.

  As he flipped through, he realized the diary was empty. He closed the cover and began again, slower this time.

  Cursive handwriting filled the first page, both front and back, the same for the second, the third, then the fourth... But that was it.

  Four pages.

  In the whole fucking diary.

  He closed his eyes and sucked in deep breath, paged back to the beginning and began to read...

  Chapter Eleven

  “Fuck,” Dex muttered. He rubbed his hands over his face and wanted to scream. Instead he rolled out of bed and went to retrieve the diary he’d thrown across the room.

  Four fucking pages.

  Four.

  The fucker needed to die. Stripping the colors off his back wasn’t nearly good enough.

  At first glance the words could have been interpreted as Brooke’s mother had an affair. She blamed herself time and time again within those four pages.

  But when you read between the lines, everything her mother wrote had a deeper meaning. And he read it twice to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

  He wasn’t.

  Even though he was not mentioned by name, the DNA proved there was no fucking way it was anyone but Pierce. Hell, maybe her mother didn’t even know his name.

  Pierce was Brooke’s father. That was proven.

  And Pierce was Brooke’s mother’s rapist.

  That was proven, also, by the last line on the fourth page, which was added months after the original entry.

  My sweet, innocent baby girl should never be burdened by the actions of her father.

  Picking up the diary, Dex stared at it. There were things mentioned in her passage that he recognized and Brooke wouldn’t. And there were things mentioned, like a party, that Ace or Grizz might remember. Maybe if one of them read it...

  Fuck, he was sure she wouldn’t let him take the diary. But he needed the evidence so the membership could vote on removing Pierce from the DAMC.

  Quickly. Permanently.

  Those damning pages, along with the DNA results, were more than enough evidence. But he needed those pages. He glanced toward the open bedroom door and listened carefully to make sure Brooke was still busy in the kitchen.

  He could hear her clanking something around. A pot, a pan, a dish.

  He dropped his gaze to the diary and blew out a breath.

  “Fuuuuuuuuck,” he groaned. He opened the diary and ripped out the four pages. He quickly grabbed his cut which was tossed over the chair, folded the pages up and slipped them into a slit cut into the lining. Then he hurried back over to the dresser, pulled open the drawer and shoved the diary back under some folded clothes.

  His heart was thumping ferociously. If... fuck, when she found out he stole those pages, she might never forgive him.

  But it needed to be done.

  His loyalty laid with the club first. Not Brooke.

  With another glance toward the door, he reminded himself once again: the club came first, not Brooke...

  A pounding came from what sounded like the front door. So loud it could be easily heard from where he was at the back of the house.

  What the fuck? Had Diesel come looking for him?

  Dex searched the floor for his jeans and found them in a pile with the rest of his clothes. Jerking them out from underneath his boots, he tugged them on as he heard Brooke mumbling to herself.

  “You expectin’ someone?” Dex yelled out.

  “No. You?”

  “Fuck no,” Dex mumbled to himself, checking his back pocket for his knife. He jerked his head up when he heard her voice echo off the high ceiling in the foyer.

  “Don’t answer the door ‘til I get there!” he shouted.

 
; “Why? I—”

  The woman never fucking listens...

  The door slammed shut and his heart skipped a beat when he heard her call out to him.

  “Dex?”

  The obvious shake in her voice wasn’t normal. This woman wasn’t afraid of shit. He froze and the blood rushed through him as he looked around the room. He had no idea where she kept her Sig. He should’ve asked.

  Fuck.

  He held his breath for a second, listening.

  But he heard nothing. In fact, it was way too quiet.

  “Dex,” she said again. Definitely not normal, but more controlled this time.

  Taking a deep breath, he cautiously checked the hallway, which was clear, and rushed down it. As he turned the corner to head toward the front of the house, the business end of a handgun was jammed into his temple.

  A deep male voice said, “Nice an’ slow, fucker. Don’t be reachin’ for shit.”

  Fuckin’ motherfucker.

  As slow as he could, he pivoted his head just enough to see who held the gun.

  “Hands to the back of your fuckin’ head.”

  When he didn’t move fast enough, the Shadow Warrior jammed the gun into his temple again. “Ain’t no joke, motherfucker. Hands to the back of your head. Now.”

  He slowly raised his hands and did what he was instructed.

  “Interlace your fuckin’ fingers. Sure you know the drill,” the gruff voice demanded.

  Again, he did what he was told because he needed time to think, he needed a plan to get Brooke and him out of this fucking mess. And he needed to know if Brooke was okay first.

  It would also help to know how many of these asshole Warriors were in her house. He didn’t want to do anything stupid that would get them more in a jam or get Brooke killed.

  He had to keep his patience and his temper, even though he wanted to squeeze the shit out of this Warrior’s throat.

  “Move.”

  “Need to see my woman,” Dex said, trying to sound more confident than he was. Depending on how many Warriors were in the house, they may be screwed six ways to Sunday.

  “Oh, you’re gonna see her. Move!”

  The Warrior jammed the gun deeper into his temple. As soon as Dex stepped out of the hallway into the living room, his eyes landed on Brooke.

  He stopped short and the Warrior yelled at him, “Keep movin’!”

  He ground his teeth and took a few steps closer toward another Warrior who held Brooke tightly against him. The biker had an arm wrapped tightly around her throat and another trapping her arms to her side in a bear hug. Her back was pinned to his chest.

  But the most shocking thing of all was that Brooke’s eyes weren’t wide with fear. Fuck no, they weren’t.

  They were narrowed.

  She. Was. Fucking. Pissed.

  Dex had a feeling the Warriors would soon be wearing ball-gags, nipple clamps, cock cages and have a huge butt plug shoved up their asses, while she got out a bull-whip and shredded the skin on their back.

  His balls shriveled a little at that image.

  The Warrior shoved him forward, causing Dex to stumble and fall to his knees on her thick carpet.

  “Keep your fuckin’ hands behind your head, keep your fuckin’ fingers interlaced an’ cross your ankles.”

  Dex peered up at him. “Sure you ain’t an undercover pig?”

  The Warrior, who had salt and pepper stringy hair and a long bushy beard, answered, “Fuck no.”

  “Sure sound like it.” He eyeballed the Warrior who held Brooke in front of him like a body shield and asked him, “Sure he ain’t undercover?”

  The Warrior standing over him jabbed him with the gun. “Shut the fuck up. Would put a bullet in your fuckin’ brain right now if I didn’t need you alive.”

  Well, thank fuck for that. He preferred to remain alive, too. “For what?”

  “Wanna have you watch.”

  Oh fuck.

  His eyes met Brooke’s. She was glaring at the Warrior holding the gun on Dex. Just out and outright glaring at him as if she’d like to rip the windpipe right out of his throat.

  His woman was a fucking badass.

  However, when she opened her mouth, he realized she was a reckless one. “What are you going to do? Rape me? Is that going to make you feel like a man?”

  The Warrior holding her grumbled, “Shut up, bitch.”

  “You need to have him,” Brooke jerked her chin toward the Warrior standing next to Dex, “watch while you do it? You need to have other men watching you to get it up?”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

  She addressed the one holding Dex at gunpoint next. “Do you like to watch other men getting it on, biker boy?”

  Her riling up the Warriors and pushing them like that was not going to help their situation.

  The long-haired, greasy biker holding Brooke’s neck squeezed his arm tighter. He appeared strung out on meth, which could make things so much worse. “Don’t fuckin’ talk to my prez like that.”

  Dex kind of agreed with that suggestion, however, he wasn’t going to be the one to make it to Brooke.

  Dex’s gaze slid to the Warrior who held the gun on him. His patch did say “president.”

  Shit.

  Was D’s crew getting rid of so many Warriors, making their numbers low enough, that the president of their club was getting his own hands dirty?

  “How the fuck d’you know I was here?” He’d moved his sled into her garage not long after he’d arrived. Not only because it was December but because he knew some of those asshole nomads hung around Harrisburg. Where Brooke lived wasn’t that far from where they had snagged Slade. So his sled couldn’t have tipped them off.

  “Don’t know what you did to piss off your former prez but he’s gotta hard-on for you.”

  Dex went solid at the MC president’s words. “Whataya mean?”

  “Musta done somethin’ to piss him off. Why else would he give your ass up like this? An’ your ol’ lady’s.”

  Dex’s eyes met Brooke’s again. She had no idea that her father and the former DAMC president were one and the same.

  If she was mad now...

  But what kind of bullshit was that? Why the fuck would Pierce give the rival MC a head’s up on where he was?

  Did he get wind about Brooke? Was he trying to prevent the truth from coming out?

  Fuck. Pierce could take out Dex and Brooke but keep his hands clean by using the Warriors. It couldn’t get easier than that.

  If those fuckwads killed him and Brooke, the club wouldn’t have any idea Pierce was behind it. They’d assume it was just the fucking Warriors being their typical dick selves.

  They were more screwed than he originally thought.

  “So here’s the thing, Dexter. Gonna take turns havin’ a lil fun with your snatch there while you watch. She’s hot as fuck, ‘specially in that robe she’s wearin’ an’ nothin’ else. Ain’t that right, Crank?”

  Crank. That was fitting for a fucking meth head.

  Crank smiled and dropped the arm he had around Brooke’s throat and shoved his hand inside her robe, grabbing her tit and shaking it.

  Oh fuck. Even from where Dex knelt, he couldn’t miss a fire light in her eyes and her nostrils flare.

  She did not scream, she did not cry or shake, she did nothing but stand there and let it happen.

  Dex could see the fury bubbling under the surface. Like a volcano ready to blow.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Crank agreed with his president.

  Dex needed to do something. Kneeling on the living room floor wasn’t doing shit to get them out of this. And, fuck, it certainly wasn’t helping Brooke with her situation.

  Her robe now gaped open, and both of her tits were exposed.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw and he swore a vein popped out along his temple as the Warrior continued to manhandle her with his dirty fucking hands.

  No doubt about it, these fuckers were going to die.

&nb
sp; “For as long as you touch her, that’s how long you’re gonna suffer before you die, motherfucker,” Dex growled.

  “Goddamn, her tits are fuckin’ nice,” Crank said, chuckling as he pinched Brooke’s nipple hard.

  The only reaction Brooke showed was a slight grimace.

  Dex was proud of how brave she was being.

  “Gonna have to switch places, Crank. You ain’t gettin’ her first.”

  Crank frowned, apparently unhappy at the thought of coming in second place. “Wanna eat her snatch first, Sandman, bet it’s trimmed up real nice an’ pretty. Lemme see...”

  When he jerked at the tie that held Brooke’s robe loosely together, Brooke suddenly moved and it was so quick Dex froze, unsure of what the fuck she was doing.

  With precise moves, Brooke kicked Crank in the shin, causing him to scream, twisted in the man’s arms, kneed him in the nads, and as he fell to the ground, clutching his crushed jewels, she elbowed him in the back of the head, leaned over his crumpled body and yanked something out from under the back of his cut.

  Spinning in place, she raised a gun and Dex dropped flat to the floor as she took her shot.

  One. Two.

  Blood splattered over Dex and the Warrior’s gun dropped to the floor. Dex dove for it as Sandman collapsed next to him with a groan, gripping his right shoulder. Sliding the gun under his body out of Sandman’s reach, Dex twisted on the floor until he could sit up. He grabbed the gun and pointed it at the man who was now in a pile on the ground, cursing, with blood flowing heavily from both shoulders.

  Fuck, she was a good shot.

  “Shoulda killed the fucker,” he yelled at her, not taking his eyes off the downed Warrior.

  “Really? You’re going to tell me what I should’ve done? What the fuck did you do?”

  Good point.

  He slowly got to his feet, the gun still drawn on the Warrior’s prez. “Don’t you fuckin’ move, ain’t a good shot like her. Might miss an’ just maim your ass.”

  “Don’t kill him,” Brooke said.

  “He deserves to fuckin’ die, babe.”

  “I agree. But do you want to go to prison for it?”

  Fuck no, he didn’t. “Ain’t callin’ the pigs.”

  “Oh, we’re calling the cops. These fuckers broke into my house, wanted to cause me bodily harm. Wanted to do the same to you. This was self-defense, plain and simple. And as long as our hands are clean, we’ll be fine.”