Sydney Storm MC Complete Series

by Levine, Nina

  “I don’t know that for sure, and I won’t allow something I’m not one hundred percent on.”

  “Oh my God, you can be an ass!” She pushed hard against my chest, trying to move me, but I resisted.

  Taking hold of her arms, I held them by her side. “I’m not fucking putting you out there on the street for any motherfucker to do what they want to you. Do you have any idea of the kind of men who walk those streets?”

  Her eyes flashed with wild anger. “Do you realise how impossible you’re being? And that this is how you always handle me?”

  “Now you’re being dramatic. I don’t handle you.”

  “Yes! You do! It’s like you’re saying I’m a weak woman who can’t fucking look out for herself, and I’m over it. I’m not doing what you say this time, King.”

  My chest tightened at the loss of control I felt. Keeping her safe was all I fucking cared about. It was my goddam mission in life to never let hurt come to her again. Under my watch, she would never experience the kind of pain her parents had permitted. After they’d fucking rented her out as a child to men on weekends to do whatever they wanted to her, I’d looked out for her and dedicated time helping her find a way through that. And I’d continue doing that for eternity.

  My hands crushed harder around her wrists, ensuring she couldn’t leave. Not until I’d made her understand I was right. “You will do as I say, Ivy. And if you go against me, I’ll take you out there myself and show you the kind of shit that goes on. You’ll change your mind real fucking fast.”

  Her eyes bored into mine while she considered that. If hate were a physical thing, it would have been smashing into me. That knowledge scared the fuck out of me because it was the first time Ivy had ever looked at me this way.

  Finally, she nodded and said, “Fine. You win.” Jerking her wrists, she added in the coldest tone she’d ever taken with me, “You can let me go now.”

  My eyes searched hers, needing to read the truth in her agreement. “You won’t take that job?”

  “I won’t take that job.” Her voice turned flat, resigned.

  I wanted to figure out how to get us both on the same page happily, but right now I had the answer I needed, so that could wait for another time. And bringing up the fact that she sounded so down about it would only stir this argument more. Letting her go, I sat back. “Good.”

  She watched me for another moment before saying, “Get off me, King. I can’t stand looking at you for another minute tonight.”

  I ignored her attitude. All I cared about was that she’d come around to my way of thinking. She’d get over whatever anger she felt soon enough.

  She didn’t waste time leaving the room, and as she went, she glanced back at me and said, “Don’t bother coming to bed tonight. There’s no way I’m letting you anywhere near me.”

  Chapter Three

  King

  Six Months Later

  “You’re with me, King.”

  I eyed Jethro, watching him closely as he walked towards his bike. It had been just over six months since I was made a prospect, and today I’d been voted in as a full patch member.

  Ghost scowled at me. He’d made it clear how unimpressed he was that Jethro had moved me up so fast. Usually, it took Jethro over a year to agree to a vote on a prospect.

  Ignoring Ghost, I followed my president.

  “Stick close to me,” he said as he got on his bike. “We’ve got business to take care of, and then we’re meeting Breaker.”

  Breaker, the Black Deeds president. That surprised me, because Jethro usually took his VP with him when he met Breaker, but I kept my surprise to myself.

  Just under an hour later, we pulled into an out-of-the-way construction site. A lone car waited for us, the owner perched on the hood. He turned as he heard our bikes rumble in.

  “Dash,” Jethro greeted him. “You’ve got the package?”

  Dash narrowed his eyes at me before glancing back at Jethro, distrust clear in his gaze. “Who the fuck is this? We have a deal, Jethro. You come alone.”

  “King will be with me from now on.” His tone signalled he wouldn’t get into a discussion on this.

  I had no idea who Dash was or what the fuck was going on, so I kept quiet.

  Raking his fingers madly through his hair, sweat forming on his brow, Dash muttered, “Fuck, this changes shit, Jethro. If they find out—”

  Jethro grunted his displeasure with the conversation as he scrunched a handful of Dash’s shirt into his grip and pulled him close. “King’s not spilling a word of this, but yeah, if they find out some other way, you’re dead. If you don’t do as I say, I’ll fucking make sure they know about our little visits, so give me the fucking package and get on board with this.”

  Dash crossed his arms, a smug expression on his face. “You’re full of shit. You’ve got nothing worth shit on me, and without the info I’ve got for you today, you can’t prove a thing about Breaker.”

  Jethro bared his teeth as his lips pulled back in a sneer. “Show him what happens to men who don’t honour their commitments, King,” he barked.

  Over the past six months, I’d been called upon numerous times to deal with assholes who tried to fuck the club over, but this was the first time Jethro had personally asked me to step up.

  Not wasting a second, I swapped places with Jethro and landed my first punch. Adrenaline blazed through me, and my lust for violence took over.

  I smashed my fist into his face repeatedly, barely registering his cries of pain as bloodlust filled my mind. While every one of my senses picked up on his pain, I needed only the visual and touch to keep me locked into what I was doing.

  It was the blood, the agony on his face, and the feel of inflicting pain that got me off.

  And that made me want more.

  So much more.

  Most days I walked the tightrope of controlling my urges. They had grown over the last six months since I’d deepened my ties to the club. If it weren’t for Ivy and my family, I’d give in to them completely. My love for a few kept my madness in check, but it was in these moments with the club that I could surrender and own my insanity.

  Dash was unrecognisable by the time Jethro pulled me off him. Swollen eyes glued shut with blood, broken bones, teeth missing, crooked nose, and a complete and utter sense of defeat made up the man who’d dared argue with the Storm president. The message was unmistakable.

  As I fought to get myself under control again, Jethro crouched in front of Dash and said, “Give me the package, Dash, or else I’ll let him loose on you again.”

  One of Dash’s eye’s cracked open to a slit. He rattled off an address for where he’d left the package, struggling to get his words out. When he was done, his body sagged more than it already had, like a deep silent sigh of anguish. I recognised his pain for what it was because I’d experienced the same pain at the hands of my father. It was emotional more than physical. Your mind could find a way to cope with physical pain, but it could never fully survive the emotional trauma another person inflicted on you.

  Jethro called Ghost and had him retrieve the package. We waited in silence while he did so. Jethro retreated to his bike, and I rested against Dash’s car while watching him. My mind swam with questions about why we were here collecting a package, but I knew not to ask. Jethro kept his cards close to his chest and pounced on anyone who dared question him over anything. I chose to trust my president, so while I wondered what we were doing, I never doubted it was for the good of the club.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Jethro received the call that Ghost was in possession of the package. His eyes found mine as he ended the call. Coming my way, he said, “We’re good to go. Just need to take care of one last loose end.”

  Dash.

  I moved off the hood of Dash’s car and waited for Jethro to tie up his loose end. Instead of doing that, though, he nodded at me, eyes going to where I kept my gun holstered and said, “This one’s yours, King.”

  My hand slowly cu
rled into a fist, more than ready to do as he’d said.

  Dash would be my first.

  For as long as I could remember, I’d hungered for the death of someone on my hands. It had been my father’s blood I’d wanted. Even though I hadn’t seen him since I was nine, and even though he’d finally been locked up for life two years ago, not a night went by where I didn’t think about the ways I would end his miserable fucking life.

  I had plotted his death in minute detail at least twenty different ways. I’d even started trying to figure out ways to break him out of prison just so I could taste his blood on my hands. After I tortured every last part of his fucking body.

  “King,” Jethro barked. “Now!”

  Although he lay almost unconscious on the dirt, Dash made one final plea for grace. His words were incomprehensible. His attempt to save his life, futile. Once the Storm president made up his mind, he didn’t ever waver. His actions drilled into me the importance of never backing down when enforcing a plan. I’d seen the loyalty he had from all club members and the way we looked to him for leadership because of his ruthless determination and decisiveness. Jethro was the reason Storm was a force to be reckoned with; the reason why so many in Sydney feared us. And that shit right there was the reason why I did anything and everything asked of me.

  I never wanted to be in a position of weakness again.

  I would never allow anyone to hurt me the way my father had.

  I’d fight to my dying breath to protect the power my club had because it meant I too would have power.

  Dash slowly gave in, surrendering, understanding what would happen next.

  His eyes met mine, hopeless and tormented.

  I felt anything but.

  Reaching for my gun, I aimed it at his head and pulled the trigger.

  My first kill.

  The rush of power kicked in fast. A new type of high. One that obliterated so much of the chaos that flowed through my veins every minute of every day.

  I’ll never be the weaker one again.

  Chapter Four

  King

  I often wondered what the inside of my head would look like if I’d been born to different humans rather than the motherfuckers I was given. Would it be as murky as it was? Filled with as much grime and as many fucked-up thoughts? The nature versus nurture debate could probably be settled once and for all if people like me were given two lives with two sets of parents. But fuck, maybe I’d be the mess I was regardless.

  Maybe killing was in my blood anyway. Maybe it was my fate. The only thing I knew for certain, after the events of this morning, was that killing was in my blood now. One taste had unlocked a whole new room in my mind, and the views were mind-blowing.

  Jethro had watched me with a knowing look after I’d fired my gun and killed Dash. With a quick nod, he’d turned to walk back to his bike. No words were exchanged, but I had the understanding that he’d brought me with him for a reason. A test. One I’d passed. And then I’d passed another when we met with the Black Deeds president.

  Jethro had threatened him over his club’s violation of the territory agreements set in place years ago for drug deals done in Sydney. The package from Dash had confirmed that. When Breaker had refused to back down, Jethro didn’t waste a minute before taking his life. I hadn’t seen it coming—because it would stir a fuckload of shit for Storm—but I hadn’t hesitated in backing him up. My instincts had kicked in fast, and I took care of the two club members Breaker had with him before they could retaliate and kill Jethro.

  Three lives taken in one day.

  That shit fucking lit me up in ways I’d never been lit up.

  It cleared pathways in my brain that had been tangled my whole life.

  I sensed a new purpose.

  I finally knew my path forward.

  “Why are you sitting over here all by yourself?”

  I glanced up to find one of the club whores looking down at me with eyes that said she wanted my dick. I’d arrived back at the clubhouse an hour ago and searched out some peace and quiet in the corner of the bar. Lifting my almost-empty beer to my mouth, I tipped the rest of it down my throat before saying, “Because I want to be by myself.” It didn’t seem to matter how often I told her I wasn’t interested, she kept circling.

  The seductive smile she always used spread across her face as she straddled me on the couch. Making sure to press her pussy against my dick, she ran her hands up my shoulders to my neck before looping them at the back of it. “Come on, King, let me show you how much you’re missing every time you say no to me. You think your woman can give it to you good? She’s got nothing on me.”

  I clenched my jaw as I pulled her arms from my neck. “Get the fuck off me,” I said slowly, harshly. “I’m not fucking interested in you, and if you ever say shit like that about my woman again, you’ll fucking wish you didn’t.”

  She took her sweet time moving off me, grumbling about what an asshole I was. It took everything in me not to shove her off, but I managed to keep my anger in check. By the time she’d done what I’d asked, Ivy had entered the clubhouse bar and stood in the doorway staring at me with the jealousy we seemed to be bogged down in these days.

  Fuck.

  I raked my fingers through my hair as I stood and walked her way. Her eyes remained glued to me as she angrily folded her arms in the way she did when I’d upset her. It told me we were in for another fucking fight. That seemed to be the story of our lives for the last six months, ever since that night I’d forbidden her from taking the night shift job she wanted. Ivy had wrapped her disappointment and anger at me up and kept it inside. She pulled it out every time I did something wrong and every time she thought I did something wrong. Like tonight.

  “You finished work early,” I said, moving close to slide my hand around her waist. Instead of the nursing job she’d wanted, she had taken a job in a nursing home with shifts that ended no later than 9:00 p.m.

  She jerked out of my hold and smacked my hand away. “I would have stayed at work if I’d known what I was going to walk in on.”

  My patience for this old argument had worn thin, and my temper flared fast. “I don’t fuck club whores, Ivy. You fucking know this.”

  “I don’t fucking know this, King. All I know is what you tell me, but what I’m seeing is a different story,” she spat back, eyes flashing with hostility.

  “What you’re seeing is nothing. She sat on me, she tried to fuck me, I said no. You can’t keep throwing fucking accusations at me and expect me to keep defending myself when I’m not doing anything wrong. At some fucking point, you have to decide to trust me, and I’d like it if you got to that point soon because all this bitching and moaning is doing my fucking head in.”

  Her eyes widened, and she smacked my chest with both hands as if she was trying to push me away. I wasn’t fucking moving, though. No fucking way. “I hate you sometimes. Why can’t you understand what I’m going through? There are sluts everywhere here, and almost every time I come by, they are fucking on you. Can you not see how that makes me feel and why I’m struggling with this?”

  “Jesus, Ivy, you’re being fucking dramatic now. They might be here, but they’re not fucking on me.”

  “They are!” she screamed, drawing attention to us. Her body was wound tight with all the emotions engulfing her, and I knew from experience that she would likely only get louder and more antagonistic the longer we argued.

  I grabbed her arm and dragged her outside away from watchful eyes. Jethro had made it crystal clear he didn’t want old ladies causing trouble in the club. I didn’t need this on his radar.

  “Let me go!” She fought me every step of the way, but I gripped her hard and forced her away from the building towards the shed around the side. The outside lights of the clubhouse threw a little light on the area, but I steered her to a darker spot for privacy.

  When we were alone, I loosened my grip and said, “Can you calm down for one fucking minute and listen to me?”

&nb
sp; “I do listen to you. It’s you who doesn’t listen to me.” She said this with total conviction, the anger in her eyes shifting to something else. Sadness maybe.

  I took a step back, hit hard by what I saw there. The last thing I ever wanted was Ivy sad. It was clear though that she wasn’t happy and hadn’t been so for at least the last six months. Fuck, maybe more. I would have sworn against what she’d just said, but she honestly believed I didn’t listen to her.

  Scrubbing a hand over my face, I contemplated how to react. Holding her gaze, I finally blew out a long frustrated breath and asked, “Do you really believe I would screw around on you?”

  She blinked, seemingly unsure, and wrapped her arms around her body. My question managed to cut through the argument and give us the space to stop and think, to try and get our heads together and see things clearer. Fuck knew our tempers were our greatest flaws and did neither of us any favours.

  “I don’t want to,” she said, her voice quieter, the hostile edge gone. In its place was the vulnerability that shot straight to my heart every time. This was the Ivy I loved.

  I reached out and pulled her close, my hand cupping the back of her head. “Fuck, Ivy, what are we doing?”

  She buried her face against my chest, not answering me. When her body shuddered with a sob, I wrapped my other arm around her waist and held her to me. Ivy didn’t like crying. She said it made her feel weak. So I knew shit was bad if she was crying.

  I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, her long dark hair whispering across my face. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore. It’s fucking killing us. How can I make you understand that you’re the only woman I want in my life and in my bed? Tell me, and I’ll do it. I’ll do any-fucking-thing to make you happy.”