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

by Serena Akeroyd

  And that meant a fuck ton to the MC.

  “What did he do?”

  Hawk’s belligerent tone didn’t altogether surprise me, not when his back was to the wall. Hawk hadn’t been given that much charm, instead, North had gotten the lion’s share of it in the womb.

  “Slapped her.”

  “Tried to slap me,” I corrected with a frown, not pleased with him sharing this story when I’d wanted to keep it to myself.

  “That supposed to make it better? A second later, and his hand would have connected with your face.” He glowered at me, even as he carried on walking around the counter, not stopping until his hand was on my ass.

  That was how he greeted me every day.

  Like we hadn’t just woken up in bed together.

  Like he hadn’t just eaten me out before making me scream down the house as he fucked me before I had to make breakfast.

  His ‘hello’ was a hand on my butt.

  It surprised me by how unoffended I was by it.

  Any other fucker, and I’d have squeezed their balls in retaliation. I didn’t like invasions of privacy, but Nyx was one big invasion, and I kinda liked it.

  I was even going to miss it when he went on the run tonight.

  I didn’t know what was going down, didn’t know when he’d be back—there was too much déjà vu for my liking, because it just reminded me of when I was a kid, and I hadn’t known when my dad was coming back home or if he’d be coming home at all—but, oh, the irony, it was just a part of the life.

  And I couldn’t believe I’d allowed the thought to cross my mind.

  Fuck, I hated it when my mom had said that to me, and I was using that BS to console myself now.

  Jesus Christ.

  “What did you do to make him want to slap you?”

  The question didn’t surprise me, but it had Nyx’s biceps bulging in a way that didn’t bode well for my older brother.

  Sure, it was a dick question to ask, but Hawk was a dick.

  “Do you think women deserved to be slapped if they backtalk?” Nyx asked, his tone quiet, but Hawk would have to be a fucking moron if he didn’t hear the deadly poison dripping from each word.

  “No, but Dad...” North sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “That’s how Dad works.”

  “And that’s how domestic violence passes through the generations,” Nyx growled. “If I hear of you beating any of the women, slapping them around, I’ll have your fucking guts hanging out on the front lawn to feed the opossums.”

  “I didn’t know opossums were carnivores.” If my tone was musing, then so be it. I was curious.

  “That’s all you have to say to that threat?” North sputtered.

  I shrugged. “I hope he does it too. Dad’s a dick, but that doesn’t mean you two can be dicks as well. Whatever’s left of you after Nyx slaughters you, I’ll piss on. How about that for a neat and tidy bow?”

  “Opossums are carrion-eaters,” Nyx inserted, his tone helpful now that my brothers were gaping at us both like we were the next episode of American Horror Story.

  I could deal with that.

  I’d always been the bloodthirsty one. It was why my stepfather had resorted to bitching at me about my weight after he’d tried making a pass at me.

  My kick to his balls had been hard enough to rupture his testicle, and after a lot of surgery, and many doctor’s appointments, he’d had one removed.

  That was why my brothers knew to be wary around me.

  I was a ball buster.

  And proud of it.

  “Anyway,” I carried on, “he was bitching at me for not coming around to meet his new Old Lady.” I huffed. “Like I was even interested in meeting her.”

  Nyx shrugged. “Katy is cool. Cooler than Dog,” he grumbled. “And if that’s how he takes rejection, then I’d better visit her and find out if he’s treating her right.”

  North muttered, “She seemed happy enough when we met her.”

  “How anyone could be happy with him is beyond me.” I sniffed, then flipped the bacon once more to make sure it was extra crispy, the way Nyx liked it.

  Double whipped.

  Sheesh.

  “Does he know about Lance?”

  Hawk’s question had me snorting. My brother was digging as well as trying to shit stir. “He knows of the situation, yes.”

  “Bet he doesn’t know you’re more than capable of defending yourself.”

  I didn’t bother shooting him a warning look, because that would just fire him on all the more.

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Nyx retorted.

  “It isn’t. We helped teach her, we just taught her too well.”

  “Is that possible? If she’s good at defending herself, then that’s—”

  North raised a hand to stall him. “No way she told you all about Lance.”

  “I saw no need to discuss his surgery,” I said with a grumble.

  “Surgery? And who is Lance, anyway?” Nyx demanded, finally moving his hand from my butt so he could fold his arms. I didn’t think he was scared off because he didn’t back away, just leaned against the fridge and waited, impatiently, for my brothers to tell their story.

  And hey, who was I to butt in?

  I wasn’t ashamed of the tale, but I half expected he’d be running away by the end of the conversation. My brothers always looked queasy when they talked about this shit, and for some reason, they talked about it a lot. I figured they were, in a weird way, proud. But male camaraderie meant they had to be grossed out by it too.

  “Lance is our stepdad. He’s a dick,” North replied, pulling his face.

  “If he’s a dick,” I butted in, “then he’s a small one.” I waggled my pinkie finger. “The smallest of the small. We’re talking micro penis.”

  Hawk snorted. “You’d know more than us.”

  Sure, it was an insensitive thing to say, but when Nyx growled, stalking forward like a puma on the hunt, I quickly grabbed his arm and stopped him from slamming my brother’s head into his knee.

  “It’s okay. He didn’t mean it that way,” I insisted quickly, glowering at my dick of a sibling all the while. “I kneed him in the balls when he tried to touch me.”

  He grunted, “Good.” But he was still throbbing with tension, and I knew he really wanted to smack my shithead of a brother.

  “She didn’t just knee him,” North corrected. “Deservedly,” he tacked on, his hands raised in surrender at the stone-cold killer glare Nyx aimed at him. “She ruptured his fucking testicle. Bastard had to have it removed.”

  Nyx stilled, then he shot me a look. “How did you do that?”

  “Well, I kneed him in the balls,” I repeated warily.

  “You’re forgetting the stiletto,” Hawk chimed in.

  “You stabbed him in the nuts?”

  Okay, so I definitely wasn’t mishearing the appreciation in his voice now.

  Some of the tension I’d been feeling since my twin brothers had decided to be dicks eased. “Not with a knife. With a stiletto heel.” I shrugged. “I kneed him hard, then when he was on the ground, I stood on him. I had a good aim.”

  Nyx grinned while my brothers still looked pretty green around the fucking gills.

  “Pussies,” I hissed at them, as Nyx curved his arm around my shoulder and hauled me into him.

  Of course, I was too flustered to appreciate the first PDA we had.

  Not too flustered, however, to appreciate Cammie’s stunned expression when she wandered into the kitchen a second later.

  If my smile was smug when I turned the stove off, then it was smug.

  Fuck it.

  Nyx was mine.

  For the interim.

  And I didn’t mind if people knew that. Especially not if the shit about Lance’s nut got out. Hell, I’d be safe as houses.

  ❖

  NYX

  WHEN WE SET off down the interstate, I’d admit to being uneasy.

  I didn’t know why I was u
neasy, or at least, I knew why, but I wasn’t happy about it.

  This was the only night in twelve days that I hadn’t been watching over Giulia at the bar, and it was the first of six that I’d be away on a run. That was what I didn’t like. Even if news of her abilities in castrating a man did ease my mind, I was still on edge about leaving her when I knew how many come-ons she fielded every fucking evening.

  If I had the right, I’d have demanded she stay back at the compound, but she wasn’t my Old Lady, and the MC wasn’t a charity. The bar was a good business, just like Rex had predicted, and it needed its team to be working at full steam ahead.

  Even if it did put the Satan’s Sinners MC in a piss-poor mood.

  Truth was, all the new storefronts were booming with business, even if the country clubbers weren’t happy about the type of locale we’d introduced into the town, it didn’t stop them from spending their dough with us.

  The strip joint was busy every night, and I knew Storm was finding it hard to get enough girls to cover all the shifts, especially as personal lap dances were proving particularly popular.

  The garage was busy, thanks to our mechanics’ expertise, and throw in the custom jobs we were rolling out, we’d already had interest from people all over the country who knew of Link’s skills where that was concerned. He and Steel were working together on that project, with Steel behind the scenes in the chop shop, and I was glad, because the garage was pivotal to our money laundering and distribution plans, and I had enough on my hands at the minute.

  The diner was packed every day, something else Steel had his hands on, and the bar was crammed at night with the diner running late to cover the bar food we’d started serving under Giulia’s direction.

  So, yeah, business was definitely booming, but it was all a front. We still had shit to do, and that was why I was away when I didn’t want to be. The Enforcer, me, and the Road Captain, Link, went on every run, and as we headed into the city to pick up the merch that would have our group splitting up, one heading back home with Link, and the other going up to the Canadian border with me, I had to admit that taking off into the night was both exhilarating and irritating.

  Exhilarating because there was nothing like being on the open road, the wind in your face, the moon overhead, the throb of the engine between your legs as you drove on, what was essentially, your commute to work.

  But I knew that Giulia would be working at the bar, and I’d gotten used to watching over her. Sure, she did all the work, but I got shit done too, during the early hours and the later ones, when the booth wasn’t filled with brothers taking advantage of the discounts they had on drinks.

  It was a good place to watch the men, to monitor shit on Rex’s behalf. Mutiny—even in a well-run, well-oiled MC—was rife, and I wasn’t about to let that happen on my watch.

  Listening to the fuckers get drunk, complaining about their jobs or praising the council for the recent additions to the books, was a good way to ascertain the status quo.

  Especially as the recent changes were coming into being.

  One of said changes was where we were headed now.

  The deal with the Five Points Gang wasn’t something that I was easy about. Mostly because it involved dealing with the Rabid Wolves, who were a Quebec City-based MC.

  I understood the Five Pointers’ perspective though. They wanted maximum bang for their buck all over the upper North Eastern seaboard, and by joining with us and merging with the Wolves—even if they were rabid by nature as well as by name—they’d be getting into Canada, as well as gaining reach as far west as Montana and as far south as Oklahoma, thanks to our sister chapters, who were getting involved in the distribution too.

  The idea was simple, and although I wasn’t a simple man by nature, I did like my business to be of that variety, especially when we were going to be crossing state lines with a few products on board.

  The Pointers would handle the actual gathering of the merch. We weren’t interested in that side of shit. They dealt with stealing the cars which, over time, would drift to our garage in West Orange, where we’d chop them into smaller parts, then load them up with drugs, which we’d use to transport across the country.

  See?

  Simple.

  What I wasn’t including there, of course, was the fact we had to get the drugs from their main warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen, and cross from New York and into New Jersey before we even got shit started.

  Still, no one ever said making a cool two hundred thou a run was easy, but I was on red alert, and even if Link was as laidback as any of the brothers were, he was tense too. This was too big a deal to lose, but there were a lot of variables that could go wrong. It was the nature of the game, and normally, I enjoyed it.

  Shame for me that nothing was normal in my life right about now.

  It took just over thirty minutes to get from our compound to Hell’s Kitchen, and the worst part was Lincoln Tunnel. Of course, that was only compounded by heading into the city itself, because, fuck me, I hated how close everything was. West Orange wasn’t in the middle of nowhere. Not even Giulia would call it Buttfuck, New Jersey, but there was a shit ton of green everywhere, and I liked that. I liked to feel like I was surrounded by nothing but trees, because the notion of being surrounded by people just made me feel like I was suffocating.

  I wouldn’t say that I hated people. If I did, it was weird that I chose a life that put me in the heart of a community of men and women who chose to live together. But I just hated the societal bullshit that came from one-upping the Joneses, as well as the pressure of the rat race.

  Some folk were made for that, and I wasn’t one of them.

  The streets were busy, even at one AM, and I’d admit to missing how, in West Essex, shit was closing down for the night at this time.

  There was nothing better than being on my bike on an empty road, but now, I was trapped between a Buick, a fifth wheel, and a fucking Porsche. Not my favorite kind of sandwich.

  When we approached the main warehouse where the initial pick up was going down, I eyed the security setup and would admit to being impressed.

  The place was arranged like a prison, with high gated walls that had barbed wire for trimmings around the top. I had no doubt that in the light of day, broken glass would glint on the surface as well.

  In fairness, it looked exactly like what it was—somewhere that shady business went down.

  It didn’t put me at ease thinking some federal agents were taking shots of my ass as we drove through the gates and into the compound, but that was the nature of the business.

  And for myself, it was just part one of tonight’s escapades.

  We drove into the outer keep, and thirteen of us parked toward the main doors. The building was the architectural equivalent of a brick shithouse. It was square, red brick with white plaster that had chipped away over the years. There were windows, but they were shuttered up with metal frames, and the only way in and out was that one large door.

  It was almost like a castle, except castles hadn’t been built to current safety standards. Saying that, as I eyed the distinct lack of fire safety specs, I recognized that this place hadn’t either.

  As our engines died, the doors opened, and two guys walked out. I recognized one of them. Declan O'Donnelly.

  Mean bastard, and he had a wicked temper, as far as I remembered. He wasn’t the brains of the outfit, but he was more than just the fists. He was good at organizing shit, and half of today’s run had been keyed in by him, which was unusual, but the Five Points were on our side, and they were running point with the Wolves, because MCs didn’t usually play nice together.

  The guy at his side wore a slim-fitted suit that screamed tailoring. In contrast to Declan’s jeans, white wife beater, and leather jacket, he looked like he was heading into the city to offload a fuck ton of orange juice futures.

  When, glowering at Declan, he turned away, I caught sight of his face full blast because of the spotlights that shot on, my
brows instantly lowered because the stranger looked like the patriarch of the line, but at least thirty years Aidan Sr’s junior.

  Another brother?

  I thought I’d met them all last spring when Rex had come up to the city to do a deal with the Five Points.

  With the rest of the brothers hovering by their bikes, waiting on orders, Link and I strode forward, shoulder to shoulder, as the Five Points’ guys headed toward us. When Declan held out his hand to me, I shook it, then he greeted Link.

  He turned to the stranger and stated, “Finn, this is Nyx and Link. They’re Sinners’ councilors.”

  Finn shot us a tight smile as he shook both our hands. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you guys, but my wife’s in the hospital, so I’d like to keep the conversation to a minimum so we can get the fuck on.”

  Because personal talk was the last thing I’d expected, I blinked at him. “Is she okay?”

  “Expectant dads,” Declan mocked. “Worse than expectant moms.”

  Finn glowered at him. “I’d like to get this shit underway so I can get to Mount Sinai in time for my heir to be born.” Had he really just called his kid his heir?

  When Declan snorted, I figured it was a joke so, uneasily, I shot Link a look, and was relieved to note he looked just as fucking wide-eyed as me.

  Personal business was exactly that. Personal. Was this a move they were pulling? Sure, they were on our side, but I didn’t take chances when my family was involved.

  “We have everything ready for you,” Declan replied, his tone hardening as he did as Finn requested—got on with shit. “The two loads are prepared.”

  I dipped my chin, relieved to be back on solid ground. “I’m heading to Quebec and Link is taking the other back to base. He’ll catch up with us once he’s made the drop.”

  “Good. We’ve paid officials to turn a blind eye, but once you get to the border, the Wolves are in charge, and it’s down to them.”

  My ears pricked at the irritation in his voice. Was he not happy with the other MC?

  “We only have to get the merch to the border, yeah?”

  Finn nodded. “Then it’s on them whether they get caught or not. They have the contacts on that side.”