Forgotten & Found: A Dark & Dirty Sinners' MC Boxset

by Serena Akeroyd

  ❖

  GIULIA

  THE WAY he looked at me?

  I’d never been looked at like that before. Like he wanted to devour me.

  Consume me.

  And Jesus, how I wanted to be consumed in his fire.

  I’d never wanted that before. Ever. I was still young, but I’d been popular at school. I had more tits and ass than I knew what to do with, and half of the football team had spent most of high school trying to get into my panties.

  Not one of them had managed it.

  Why?

  Because I saw what the kind of looks I had did to a woman. I saw it because I looked like my mom, and knowing what she’d gone through, it didn’t make me predisposed to easily let a man between my legs.

  I wasn’t a virgin, far from it, but I’d always been selective about who I fucked, and guys like Nyx? Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Not only because he was a brother, and I knew what they were like with women—shit, only a few minutes before he broke my dad’s nose he’d had that slut’s lips around his dick—but because Nyx was exactly the kind of man I didn’t allow into my body.

  He was hard, dark, twisted even. I saw that in his eyes. Saw it in his face. There was a pain there that I hated because it called to me. That stupid feminine part inside me, that integral part every woman had since we were cavewomen running around after hairy Neanderthals, wanted to fix him. Wanted to help heal him.

  But I knew better.

  There was no healing this kind of man.

  No fixing him.

  Whatever he was, he was fucked up inside, and I saw that, recognized it in him, and knew to back away.

  Or, at least, to try.

  Trouble was, when a man like Nyx got you in his sights, there was no getting away from him.

  One thing I’d noticed this past week was just how barbaric these guys were. Not that it was news to me, but a reminder? Sure. It was like going back to medieval times. The women were there for sex, food, and cleaning. And as far as I was concerned, there was barely any cleaning going down, and the food, well, what they’d eaten before I wouldn’t have fed to pigs. But the sex? Yeah. It was like living in a frat house that had a brothel incorporated into it.

  I’d come across more couples fucking in the past seven days than I’d seen in porn.

  And I’d watched a lot of porn in my time. A lot, a lot.

  No one needed to pay for porn in this place. Fuck, they should set up a studio and get paid for it!

  Which was even more of a confirmation why I should back the hell away from Nyx, run kicking and screaming for the hills because he was one of them.

  A frickin’ Viking, who didn’t care that he went around pillaging because that was his right…

  Well, he had no rights to me.

  I lifted my chin and pushed back so he’d drop his hand and stop touching me.

  Of course, that would have worked on any other normal guy in the fucking universe, just not this one.

  His eyes narrowed, and I saw temper flash in them. A temper that should have scared me, but instead, had me narrowing my eyes at him in retaliation.

  Most of the brothers treated me with indifference. I was, to them, the kitchen sink. Except more useful because I made edible food. They nodded at me, didn’t talk the same shit about me as they did the club sluts, and basically let me be a ghost around them, and I wasn’t about to complain about that.

  But Nyx?

  He didn’t do that.

  He watched me.

  Maybe I should have anticipated this. Maybe I should have taken notice of the way he watched me.

  But I wasn’t a possession.

  “Your cock is wearing another woman’s lipstick, Nyx. You need to think about that before you take a step closer to me.”

  His lips curved—that came as a surprise. I’d expected anger.

  “You watched. I knew you did,” he murmured, sounding pleased.

  His tone had me frowning. “I saw a lot of sex going down in that clubhouse. Of course, I noticed.”

  “What color lipstick is my dick wearing?”

  A bright, trashy as fuck pink.

  My top lip curved in a snarl. “I wouldn’t know,” I told him stonily.

  “I bet you do,” he breathed, bridging the gap between us by taking a step closer to me, until he was in my face, in my space, and I had no alternative but to back off. When I did, I wanted to groan in irritation, because it pushed me up against the clubhouse wall, which meant I had even fewer places to go than I had before.

  “Nyx—” I started.

  “Tell me, Giulia. Tell me what color lipstick I’m wearing on my cock.”

  I sneered at him. “Hot pink.” I sniffed. “It isn’t your color.”

  When his thumb tapped my tacky bottom lip, I wasn’t surprised when he replied, “I’d prefer it was wearing clear gloss instead.”

  “Vaseline,” I retorted. “I don’t do makeup.”

  His eyes scanned over me. “You’re lucky, you don’t need it.”

  “Maybe.” I pushed my hands against his chest—sweet Jesus, how were his pecs that hard?—and tried to shove him away, but there was no moving him back, no ducking out from under his arm and getting the fuck out of dodge.

  No.

  I was here until he let me go.

  The weirdest thing of all?

  If any other guy had me pinned like this? I’d have worried about what was going to happen.

  Rape was something every woman had to fear.

  But I knew I wasn’t in danger. I knew Nyx meant me no harm, if, for no other reason, I was Lizzie’s daughter.

  I clung to the thought with both hands. “Why did you defend my mom back there?”

  The emotion in his eyes changed, shifting from hot and heavy to irritated. “What?”

  “You heard me,” I insisted, relieved to see that irritation. “Why?”

  “Because I liked your mom. She was cool.” His chin jerked up. “I was sad when she left, and I was sad to hear that she’d died so young. She didn’t deserve that.”

  “No. She didn’t.” I bit my bottom lip and, even though I was relieved I’d toned things down, the way my bottom lip trembled wasn’t feigned. “I miss her.”

  He released a sigh, and his hand—loaded with calluses, and all the better for it—rubbed against my cheek, raising more gooseflesh and making the hairs on the back of my neck leap up to attention. “I’m sorry, Giulia.”

  God, the way he said my name made me want to melt.

  My smile was tight. Both from the grief and the weird attraction I had for a man who was so far beyond wrong for me. “Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” The charge in the air had gone, but I still felt the effects of it, even knowing I’d been the one to calm things down.

  When he pulled back, I missed the heat of him against me. He’d pushed his belly into mine, his hardness into my softness. Was it weird that I was disappointed about not feeling his cock?

  In fact, screw that. Of course, it was weird.

  I’d only just been thinking about Cammie with her stupid mouth around his dick, so I had no reason to want his hard-on butting up against my body.

  Apparently, I was a contrary bitch because yeah, I was a little mad at that.

  When he dumped me at the bunkhouse, muttering a churlish, “Goodnight,” I was relieved because I hadn’t thought I’d— That I’d what?

  Escape him?

  Was that what I meant?

  He wouldn’t force me. I knew that like I knew my face in the mirror.

  Every sordid act the brothers did to the clubwhores was consensual, and it was all the more mindboggling for it. I’d come across women being ass-fucked over the bar, on their knees sucking someone off in the yard—it was endless. But it was all with consent.

  That went unspoken.

  The clubwhores wanted it. Loved it. Even seemed to crave it.

  I didn’t understand, but then, I didn’t want to. That
was their course, not mine, and yet, to have a man like Nyx in your bed, it figured that some women might go to any lengths.

  When I shut the door behind him and turned to look at the bunkhouse where I was staying with my brothers for the interim, I thought about just how beautiful Nyx was. All darkness, all power. All damn man.

  Gnawing on my bottom lip, I pressed my back into the wall beside the door to keep myself upright. My legs felt shaky, and nothing had even happened.

  I reached up, cupped my chin where he’d touched me, then whispered to myself, “You just crossed into Narnia.”

  Hell, Narnia couldn’t be any more fucked up than this place.

  Blowing out a breath as I traced where he’d touched me, I looked at the simple armchairs that had seen better days, and the worn futon, table, and chairs that this place pretty much consisted of.

  Nyx had told us, that first night, this was where visiting clubs, other Sinners’ chapters, lodged while they stayed at the compound, and where we’d be residing until my brothers earned their patches, and me? Well, I wasn’t sure. I’d be here until I’d either earned enough to get a place in town or if I had to save more to go further afield.

  We weren’t far from New York here, and I had to admit, I was tempted to stay here for a while. Maybe not forever, but at least for a few months.

  The city that never slept?

  After Buttfuck, Utah?

  Hell fucking yeah.

  Still, the notion of leaving this place, of being without my brothers, was just a little too hard to handle at the moment. I had shelter, I had a wage—quite a generous one too, considering all I did was cook—and I was safe.

  Yeah, safe.

  Like a gazelle amid a pride of lions, but, and it was nuts, I knew I was the only gazelle that the lions wouldn’t touch.

  All except for one.

  Apparently.

  I closed my eyes, and thought once more about why letting Nyx anywhere near me was a bad idea. There were a thousand reasons, and the major one was—

  The door rattled to my left, and I jerked in surprised when it pushed open. Half expecting my father, because I knew my brothers would be partying all night long, and only the hell knew what they’d be getting up to in the bar, I started to shove it closed.

  What was I just thinking about being safe?

  Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Then, I blinked when I saw it was Nyx.

  He was wet.

  At least, his hair was wet, his skin dewy, and I stopped fighting because damn, he was pretty. Like beyond pretty. Like so fucking crazy pretty that I just stared at him for a few seconds, unable to process why I’d been telling myself it was stupid to even think he was this damn gorgeous.

  As he crossed the threshold, I staggered back, because it was either that or get trampled.

  “Why are you wet?” I rasped, unable to clear my throat enough to get rid of the frog currently taking residence in there.

  He shrugged. “I took a shower.” His lips twisted into a smile so fucking hot, it about made my panties melt. “My cock is no longer wearing lipstick.”

  I’d been in a stupor long enough for him to take a damn shower?

  And, what? He wanted me to be pleased about the fact there was no other slut’s DNA on his penis?

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You better not be here for what I think you are.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His lips twisted. “What do you want it to mean?”

  “God, I hate non-answers.” Even if I was the Queen of them. Grunting, I swirled on my heel and headed just past the shitty table and chair set, and toward the wall of cupboards and the counter space that made up the kitchen. “I’m making hot milk. Do you want some?”

  When there was no reply to my question, I turned to look at him over my shoulder. When I found him gaping at me, I had to laugh. In fact, I had to more than laugh. I chuckled so damn hard that I almost peed my pants.

  “Milk?” he blurted, glaring at me like I’d offered him cyanide.

  “Hot milk? I have a reputation.”

  “So do I,” I retorted.

  He narrowed his eyes on me, taken aback by that. “What kind of rep?” he questioned warily.

  “I don’t put out.”

  Instead of making him back off like I’d thought, his eyes burned as they traced over me. Not one inch was spared from his perusal and, God help me, between my legs and deep in my belly, I felt the pressure of that look. I didn’t even need to touch myself to know I was sopping wet, my body preparing itself for his touch.

  Nyx was bad news, but my body didn’t give a shit.

  “That’s good to know,” he rasped, his voice low and husky enough to make me whip my head around and carry on to the kitchen just so I could close my eyes and process how fucking hot he’d sounded.

  Mouthwateringly hot.

  I hadn’t even known a voice could do that to me.

  “You should work on a sex line,” I muttered.

  More silence, then, way too close to me for my own good, he choked out, “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “I guess.” I twisted to look at him, saw he was barely a foot away, and groused, “You take up a lot of room.”

  That didn’t prompt him to move, if anything, he carried on eying me as though I was a new species of wildlife and he was a zoologist that needed to write a paper on me.

  Blowing out a breath, I dove into the fridge to grab some milk. Was I surprised when his hand cupped my ass as I bent down? No. And though it made my core clench, I whipped around to glare at him.

  “Hands off, Nyx.”

  He shrugged but—and I wasn’t sure whether this came as a surprise or not—he backed off. “Can’t blame a man for touching something that pretty.”

  “Remember the rep? I don’t put out. Now, do you want some hot milk?”

  “I’d prefer something stronger. Like water.”

  Even though I was mad at him for touching me without my permission, I had to laugh at that. “Water, I have.” Once I poured some milk into a mug and shoved it in the microwave, I grabbed a bottle from the fridge, but instead of bending down, I tucked my ass in and kind of shuttled downward then back up so he couldn’t touch my butt again.

  When I passed him the bottle, there was mirth in his eyes, and I shook my head at the sight as he cracked open the lid.

  “What are you doing here, Nyx?”

  He shrugged, then took a sip of water, which had me focusing on his throat for way too long. “I’m not sure, but I figure I’ll find out soon enough.”

  His words didn’t put me at ease. “I. Won’t. Put. Out,” I repeated, trying to get the message across. “I don’t care if you bleached your dick or not, it’s not going to happen. Not now, not ever.”

  The second I uttered those last four words, I regretted it.

  What the fuck had made me say that?

  Why had I been so goddamn stupid?

  A challenge?

  A fucking challenge?

  I might as well have thrown down a beef sirloin in front of a pack of hungry dogs.

  At my statement, he laughed, but I saw the intent on his face, and knew it for what it was. “We’ll see about that.”

  Six

  Nyx

  "I HAVE A QUESTION."

  I cocked a brow at her as I slouched back into the too small sofa. This place was uncomfortable as fuck, but in all honesty, my room wasn't exactly comfortable. It consisted of a bed and that was pretty much it.

  Bikers didn't tend to worry about soft furnishings.

  But Giulia? She was female, and females and furniture went hand in hand.

  I half wondered how long she'd put up with the rudimentary digs she had, but rather than ask that, I muttered, "Shoot."

  Her lips curved. "Don't tempt me."

  "Didn't realize you were armed."

  When her eyes twinkled, that thing happ
ened again. That whole punch to the gut shit. Since she'd arrived, we'd been in a verbal war, and yet, after that little scene with her cunt father, she'd calmed down some.

  I had no idea how long it would last, just knew I wanted the ceasefire to continue.

  "I know how to handle myself."

  Interest piqued and cock hard at the idea of her with a gun in her hands, I muttered, "You carry a gun?"

  "Not anymore."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I moved to New Jersey. I'll get my license when things are more settled."

  "When you're ready, tell me. I'll take you to a decent gun range."

  "You'd do that for me?"

  To keep her safe? Hell, yeah. Armed, I wouldn't have to worry about her so much. She'd at least be able to protect herself.

  "Of course," I said gruffly, not liking my reaction to her breathless words. She was all big-eyed at my statement, which told me how little she was used to being helped.

  "Thank you, Nyx," she whispered, tugging at the hem of her shorts, plucking at some loose thread that was coming away from the denim.

  "Like I said, no problem." Clearing my throat and eager to change the subject, I questioned, "Anyway, what did you want to ask?"

  "Is it true what I've heard about you and extreme sports?"

  I blinked. "Where the fuck did you hear about that?" Then, it dawned on me. "Oh. Your father."

  She nodded. "Well, the twins told me. Not him. Dog used to write them a lot about this place."

  "And I was included in his letters home?" I snorted. "Because we're so close."

  Shrugging, she admitted, "He didn't write often, but when he did, they pretty much scoured every letter and learned it word for word."

  "I don't get it." I didn't. Dog wasn't much to look up to.

  She snickered. "Neither do I, but their hero worship is on them, not on me. I'm not blinkered."

  "If they loved him so much, why didn't they come back?" I queried, twisting the cap of the water bottle she'd given me before, to stop myself from reaching for her.

  I had to fight the urge to touch her leg, to stroke where she was stroking. The way her fingers danced along her hemline was both enticing and a fucking torment.

  "Because Mom made them promise they wouldn't become bikers."