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

by Serena Akeroyd

  “Nah. Not if you’re moving there too.” Unlike Tiff, I didn’t have the freedom of choice. “Might as well see what New Jersey has in store for us.” She made a puking sound. “Never thought we’d leave the city.”

  “Well, that’s what happens when people as rich as our parents get tax breaks for moving states,” I said dryly. With another glance out the window, I looked around the crowd, trying to ensure I had the name-to-faces down pat. Then, I frowned when I saw someone I didn’t recognize. “Who’s he?”

  She hummed as she bent forward, peering into the ornate mirror and smoothing her finger around her lips in an effort to keep the line of her lipstick crisp. “Who’s who?”

  “The guy with the guards.” As I stared at the man I didn’t recognize, a shiver rushed down my spine. He was in his forties, surrounded by men in black suits that were, quite clearly, packing heat. They had more bulges in odd places than a drug trafficker. “That one,” I stated, pointing to him when she peered out the window too.

  She shuddered. “Gianni Fieri. Isn’t he creepy?”

  Creepy wasn’t the word. He was, truthfully, quite handsome. In a young Al Pacino kind of way. But he was dark on dark. Black hair, black eyes, black shirt, black tie, black suit and shoes. He was like a walking shadow, for Pete’s sake. And the way he stood there like he ruled the roost? It put me on edge.

  No one did that in my father’s presence.

  Not without living to tell the tale, and yet he was permitting it. As I watched, my father even wandered over to him, laughing at something before evidently getting down to business as they both sobered up. Well, Father did, Fieri’s lips hadn’t so much as twitched at the bad joke he’d just heard.

  “Whoa, he isn’t ass-licking your dad,” Tiffany whispered, sounding just as shocked as I felt, and for a reason.

  Everyone licked my father’s ass.

  Everyone.

  That’s what ninety billion in the bank did to you. Got you rimmed on the regular.

  “No.” An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. “That’s weird.”

  “Weird? It’s unheard of.” She hummed again. “Wonder why he’s here.”

  “He must have invested in your dad’s property development.”

  She frowned. “I guess. Shit. I wish I’d listened in on all those boring conversations over dinner now.”

  Even though I was so envious of her that I couldn’t contain it sometimes, not just because she had loving parents and a familial relationship that looked like it belonged in a rich man’s version of The Walton’s, I had to smile at her. “You should listen anyway. You know your father wants you to go into the business.”

  “All the more reason to ignore him.” She pulled a face. “What use would I be in property development? I’m a therapist.”

  “You’d be fantastic at anything you put your mind to.” Tiff, though I loved her, was one of those annoying people who got A grades all the time without even studying.

  “Prefer to be married to the property developer. Would save me wrinkles in the long run,” she joked, elbowing me in the side. Though she hadn’t meant to, she connected with one of my bruises and I winced. “Sorry, love. God, your head really is killing you, isn’t it?”

  I gave her a faint smile even as I rubbed my side, pretending that was what hurt. “Yeah. It’s all good.”

  I looked down at my father then jerked when I saw I had Fieri’s attention. He was glowering at me to an extent that I jolted back in surprise, which set off a tsunami of aches in my battered body. His glower deepened, then he grabbed my father’s arm, whose attention flashed up to me.

  The second I felt his focus, I drifted back and away from the window. The last thing I wanted was to be in his crosshairs.

  “Luke’s making a fool out of himself,” Tiffany pointed out, her attention having drifted. Something I was glad for.

  “When doesn’t he?” I muttered.

  “True. Not sure why your dad puts up with him.” She trembled again—which put Fieri and Luke in the same league in her mind. Jesus Christ. What that said about Fieri, I didn’t know. As for Luke? He was a psychopath. Pure and simple.

  “He’s the golden boy,” I mumbled, staring at myself in the mirror one last time to make sure I looked perfect before I stuck on a smile. “Ready?”

  She whistled as she turned to give me a quick scan. “You look hot. In pain, but hot.” Then she squinted. “You sure you’re okay to do this? Nothing worse than feeling shitty when you have to talk to these morons for an entire evening.”

  Tiff was right. I wasn’t in the mood for it, but my choices, my wishes, weren’t important. Never had been.

  Never would be.

  So I gritted my teeth and got on with it.

  I’d have my day.

  “I’m fine. Promise.” I tucked my arm through hers. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She snorted. “Preach, sister. Preach.”

  One

  Lily

  I winced the second the beauty blender collided with my cheekbone. The wince morphed into an extended hiss as I let the pain flush through my system, only to be bombarded by it yet again as I carried on patting on the foundation.

  The bruise was shockingly bright against my creamy skin, but I was pretty good at hiding the aftermath of a run-in with my father’s fist now and could hide it with the clever application of makeup. What I couldn’t hide? How his ring had torn into the skin, leaving behind the faintest cut, which stung every time I touched it.

  There was no hiding that.

  A fact, I was sure, that would irritate him to no end. But then, I irritated him period. Always had, always would.

  And I would never not be proud of that.

  Ever since I’d learned the truth, I lived to irritate my scum-sucking father.

  I burned for it.

  I took his wrath and let him reap it on me, because I loathed him and he loathed me, but I was blood, and now I was his only heir. It was just time that would make that official, and I couldn’t wait for that day.

  Wincing yet again as I dabbed on the makeup, my attention was caught by my screen lighting up in the corner of my eye. I’d set notifications on Google for anything related to my brother’s case, and the fact that the cops were in my father’s pockets and were trying to spin it so the woman my brother had tried to rape was somehow the attacker hadn’t escaped my attention.

  I just didn’t know how to go about rectifying things.

  Which was why I was hiding a bruise caused by my father’s fist. I’d tried, and failed, to put things in some semblance of order, and he wasn’t having it. But then, he’d always thought that prick walked on water. Just because Luke was a boy, he’d received an automatic free pass to do whatever he wanted.

  And when you had money like we did, whatever took on a different connotation.

  Luke was sick. Rabid. I was glad he was dead, because it saved me from having to do it at some point in my life. The past twenty-two years had been spent working up the courage to kill my father and my brother, and I was ashamed I’d achieved neither.

  In another world, in another life, I’d be a good daughter and a good sister, but this wasn’t another world, and this was my life. My family was evil. My father was one of the malicious, fat white men who ran the world from his ivory tower, and my brother had been born in his image. They were both bastards, and even in death, Luke was being one.

  Quickly scanning the news alert, I saw the victim, Giulia Fontaine, had been brought in for questioning. Again.

  My mouth tightened, even as I focused on covering up the bruise. It took me an extra forty minutes to achieve what I could usually do in ten, but when I took a step back from the vanity, I was impressed despite myself.

  I looked as I always did.

  Pristine except for that tiny cut, which I could reason away with ease. I thought an accident while playing tennis would easily explain it. I tripped and fell against the grass, and there was a tiny shard of glass there. At that
point of the conversation, if someone asked, I’d laugh and tell them I’d fired a gardener over their inattention to detail, and everyone would laugh with me.

  Because that was the world I lived in.

  In that world, it was okay for fathers to beat daughters and for daughters to come up with random excuses that everyone accepted even though they knew what said father was like.

  Donavan Lancaster was the biggest cunt around.

  Everyone knew it.

  But he had ninety billion in the bank and, therefore, he got away with murder.

  Literally.

  That was why my mom was in the family crypt back in Manhattan, because he’d murdered her when she’d done the impossible and had asked for a divorce.

  I gnawed on my bottom lip as I stared at the bouncy blonde waves that danced around my shoulders, took in the bright blue eyes I’d enhanced with a dark slash of navy eyeliner in the corners, and the cheekbones I’d sharpened with bronzer that led to ruby red lips which gleamed in the light above the vanity.

  Taking a step back, I looked at the neat dress that clung to all my slim curves, accepted that the black did things for my skin tone and hair that made me look even more attractive, and sucked in a breath.

  I knew I looked like a china doll, and it was an image I played up to. I’d continue to do so until I found my way in and, through that, found my way out.

  Today was a step toward that path.

  An exit that involved my father’s death and not my own because, and this was the God’s honest truth, the only way out of this family was through death, and I didn’t intend to die. Not for a good long while.

  The bathroom around me was a study of marble. The light beige counter was dotted with open makeup bottles, and the floor beneath my Louboutin heels—that added a good four inches to my height and did wonders for my ass—was a darker gray. The walls were covered in a creamy white stone that had gold striations throughout which, oddly enough, made my hair appear gold rather than blonde. As I contemplated the contrast, I realized I looked like my mother.

  The thought had me twisting my lips as I turned away from my too pretty features and stepped over the mass of towels I’d left on the floor. I was messy, and I’d admit to it, but that was one thing allowed of me in this household. I had staff who’d clean up after me, and I took advantage of that.

  When I returned later on tonight, this place would look like it was a showroom once more. Now? Well, it just looked as if a Tasmanian Devil had whirled around the place, knocking stuff over, and leaving chaos in its wake.

  I ignored the rest of my suite and headed over to the patio doors at the front of my room. I had access to the grounds from here, thanks to a set of steps. It was how I was supposed to reach the pool, but I used it to sneak out.

  Not that my father cared what I did on a daily basis so long as I followed his rules, returned here every night and slept in my bed, and didn’t give my security detail too much of a run around, but I didn’t want to come across him even accidentally before I got out of here.

  The magnificent vista slipped by me. I didn’t even see it as I headed down the steps. My heels sank into the thick grass, but I strode on toward the garage. It was a little awkward to approach this way, but it was worth it. I had to step around the pool house where my brother had lived—a pool house that was like a mini mansion because Donavan Lancaster’s son deserved only the best—and slip between the two tennis courts.

  The ten-minute walk in four-inch heels was one I knew well. Though we were relatively new to the area, I’d left the house this way every day of the three months we’d been here.

  If there was a chance I’d run into my father, I’d find a way around it. Meeting him usually ended up with me slathering on foundation to cover a bruise on my face, and while I was adept at it, I wasn’t a masochist.

  Staying out of his way was the key to surviving this hellhole.

  When I reached the garage, my heels tapped against the concrete floor. Spotting Luke’s Lamborghini, my lips curved in a sneer as I let my fingers drift over the sleek lines.

  I was tempted, oh so fucking tempted, to take that car out, but if the news hit my father’s ears, I’d have matching shiners. So, instead, I went for another sports car. One my father didn’t mind me driving—a Porsche Carrera. It was a few years old, and that was why I was allowed to drive it.

  My father believed women drivers were a plague, so we weren’t to be trusted with the best in his stable.

  I pulled a face as I leapt behind the wheel and reversed out. I drove past twenty million dollars’ worth of cars on my exit, and only when I was through the gates did I release a sigh of relief.

  Getting out of there always felt like I was escaping a looming storm cloud. It was a weight off my chest that made me feel like I could breathe properly for the first time since I’d made it back here the night before.

  When my security detail pulled up behind me, I ignored them. They were always watching, always following, so I just pretended they weren’t there. Tonight, however, I’d need to find a way to make sure they weren’t as on the ball as usual.

  That would mean endangering their jobs but, truthfully, they were dicks anyway. I didn’t care if their careers were in the can after the moves I was going to pull tonight. My brother had security too, and they knew what he was up to.

  Knew it because they followed him just like they followed me.

  Bastards.

  Of course, they were probably dead bastards by now. My father had undoubtedly paid someone to wipe them off the face of the Earth, lest they ever think to blackmail him for the shit Luke had pulled.

  My hands tightened around the wheel as the ever-present rage washed through me, flooding me with more emotion than I knew what to do with. I’d been locked up tight since my mother’s murder, and subsequently Luke’s death—and the shit I’d inadvertently discovered about him—was creating holes in my control. Emotions were spluttering toward me, and I couldn’t deal with them. I only knew I had to do something, anything, to help.

  Making it into town was easy. We lived just on the Caldwell-West Orange border, but the ride was always smooth, and I enjoyed the wind in my hair and the loud music I let blare through the speakers. It was still ringing in my head as I cut the engine when I was parked and, humming to the beat, I climbed out after I grabbed my purse. Once I was standing, I stared at the bar up ahead.

  My father had been very vocal in his fight to stop a local motorcycle club from gaining the required licenses to open this particular mall but, for once, he’d lost. I was curious how that had happened, because it meant the MC had more tokens with local councilors than my dad did, and that was impressive.

  If I had a hat on my head, I’d take it off to them because, yikes, beating Donavan was nigh impossible.

  Dear old Dad had been particularly pissed the day he’d heard of the licenses going through, and he’d been doubly pissed when, barely six weeks later, the club had managed to get some of the businesses up and running. That, right there, told me they had money to burn. Nobody got several businesses functioning that quickly, not unless they were willing to hemorrhage cash.

  There was a diner, a strip joint, a garage, and a bar. It was the latter, Daytona, that was my intended destination. The place didn’t look trashy. Sure, it wasn’t swank, not like the bars at the country clubs I usually haunted, but I wasn’t here to get drunk. Wasn’t here to have fun. There was a method to my madness, a method I was praying someone within the confines of those walls could help me with.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I took off, crossing the road with such purpose that I almost missed the car that was pulling around the corner. The sharp honk of the horn had me jerking to a halt, and I was on the receiving end of a glower and a fist shake as the driver, a woman in her seventies, passed me by.

  Heart in my throat at my stupidity for not checking for traffic, I tried to ask myself what the fuck was going to happen if I died before the shit I knew could be passed
on to people who’d help.

  There’d be blood on my hands, that’s what.

  Blood that would haunt me even into death.

  Breathing deeply, I carried on after looking right, then left, and made it, safely, to the other side of the road. Not messing around, I moved into the bar and, once I’d checked it out and had spied a kind of area that was cordoned off with bike parts—what the hell was that about?—I couldn’t fail to notice all the men in leather cuts, jeans, boots, and Henleys. It was like a uniform or something. Only a few had on wifebeaters that were surprisingly white.

  As I wondered if they did their own laundry, or if it was totally like Sons of Anarchy and they had women who did it for them, I headed to the bar and placed an order. “Can I have a vodka, please? Neat.”

  Though my request got me a funny look, the server just shrugged when I shook my head at his, “Not on the rocks?” and within a few minutes, I’d chugged down the clear liquid and felt it going to my head in a manner I seriously needed.

  While I burned from the alcohol, my mouth tingling from it in a way that loosened my tongue, I caught the bartender’s eye again and leaned forward to say, “I need your help.”

  Frowning, the guy leaned into me and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  I shot him a tight smile. “Two men are going to come into the bar soon. They’ll order lagers. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars to pour two shots of vodka into each of their drinks.”

  “You know that’s illegal?”

  My mouth tightened further. “They’re my security detail. I need to divert their attention.”

  “I’m not going to lose my job just to help some rich bitch lose her guards—”

  “You work for the MC here, right?” I jutted my thumb toward the seating area behind me. “I have information for them. Information I think will help them. I can’t give it to them if my guards are watching.” Of course, that was half a lie. The MC might not give a damn about some innocent women’s plight, but I was hoping they’d help just to get dirt on my brother. Boy, dirt didn’t even begin to cover it.