Their Sinner: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part I

by Akeroyd, Serena

  “She’ll be back with you soon, and then she’ll know everything is well.”

  “You’re taking her away from her father—”

  “That piece of shit scum ain’t fit to be her father!”

  “Isn’t that for me to decide?” My hands flared to either side of my head before they balled into fists I longed to ram into this dumb fucker’s head. “Look, whatever you think you’re doing—”

  “I don’t think, I know. I’m saving your ass. Been trying to do that for a long time, but you were always a few steps ahead of me.”

  Yeah, well, that didn’t reassure me.

  I’d only told Axe last night that I’d believed one of the Rebels had been tracking Ryan and me with the intent to kill us… but had it been a Knight? Only, their intent hadn’t been to kill but to ‘protect?’

  Only, protect against what?

  The gravel crunched beneath his feet as he stepped toward me. As he approached, I scented his aftershave first. Lime and mint. As I took him in, I saw that he took care of himself—he was heavily muscled, clean-shaven, and his hair had just been cut.

  Was he trying to impress me?

  His clothes looked new. Everything except for his cut at least. There was no cleaning those things. Wiping them down with a baby wipe was about as much as any brother would let you get near them, even if they probably needed bleaching every damn day.

  “What’s happening here?” I asked. “Please, leave her where she is and let me go home.”

  “That place was never supposed to be your home.” His jaw tensed. “I was gonna wife your mother, Lucie. I was. But I didn’t have any money for a ring, wouldn’t have any until I went on this run. Except we got caught and I was locked up.” He lifted a hand and ran it over the back of his head. When he cupped his neck, I saw the pain in his eyes, knew it was real, when he whispered, “Next thing I fucking know, she’s Bomber Steeler’s old goddamn lady and she’s pregnant. I knew something was fucked up, knew it and when I asked some of my boys to check shit out? The second I got a glimpse of you, I knew you were mine.”

  My throat worked as I stared at him. He bled sincerity, and somehow, that terrified me more than anything.

  Bikers weren’t sincere.

  They weren’t honest outside of their MC.

  They were dirty and rough, but this man? My father whose name I still didn’t know? He was pleading with me for understanding. Pleading with me to—what?

  Accept him?

  When I didn’t say anything, he dropped his gaze to the ground. “I had brothers check in with you every now and then. When you were four, your mother went missing. He told everyone she’d run off, but Maria would never have left you behind. Ever. Especially not with that sick fuck.”

  “I think he murdered her.”

  Pain flashed through his light green eyes. “Yeah, I believed that for a long while too. When she died, I had more eyes on you. Whatever had made him get rid of her, I was scared he’d do the same with you. Only, he didn’t. It wasn’t like I had a right to you. Getting my boys to watch over you was asking more from them than I should. I hadn’t made her my old lady, and I’d kept her on as a side piece for a while, so no one even fucking knew she was my woman.”

  “She was nothing to them,” I said dully, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

  Each club had rituals. Old ladies were inducted with our version of a marriage ceremony. It wasn’t binding and legal outside of the club, but that was all anyone needed. Wifing a woman was down to the biker. Unnecessary but not frowned upon.

  Unless a woman was an old lady, she meant nothing to the club. They wouldn’t even go out of their way for the clubwhores who serviced them on the regular. They were loyal only to those who’d been claimed by the MC, and because Maria hadn’t, by proxy, I hadn’t been either.

  “You seemed safe enough,” he continued with a nod. “Wasn’t much I could do from behind bars, but try to gain influence.”

  “Influence?”

  “You can do a lot of good for your MC when you’re behind bars.”

  Swallowing, I dipped my head in understanding. He didn’t need to say another word for me to know that he’d dealt with ‘problems’ for the club while in jail. He’d have gotten paid per hit, and respect for him would have risen each time he got away with it—not just because he’d dealt with a problem, but because he’d been clever enough not to get caught.

  That he’d told me so much—to anyone else, it might have seemed like nothing, but bikers shared nothing with their womenfolk—told me he was trying to impress me.

  It wasn’t working.

  If anything, I was more confused than ever.

  “I did it so when I got out, I’d have my ducks in a row to wear this patch. Why?” He reached out and touched my jaw. I flinched back, and he let his hand drop, but I saw his irritation and knew I had to be careful.

  Though he was presenting himself as friendly, these fuckers could turn in a flash.

  “Because I wanted Bomber’s head on a spike.” He bared his teeth. “I got out, followed you around, kept my ears open for whispers. Heard shit about Bomber that had me antsy for you, and next thing I knew you were being exiled.”

  “What shit? What had Bomber done?” I demanded.

  “You don’t have to worry about that now—”

  “I fucking do,” I growled. “That bastard destroyed my life. I deserve to know what he was into.”

  My father shrugged. “Was skimming coke from his shipments. The Guerreras were starting to sniff around, wondering why their deliveries were always running just that little bit short. Next thing I knew, you had a target on your back. I couldn’t let that slide so I had you followed and tried to make sure you were okay. You and that Ryan boy led us on a fucking song and dance.”

  We’d been followed by the Guerreras and Satan’s Knights?

  Jesus Christ.

  Not for the first time I found myself impressed with Ryan’s abilities to keep me safe. Where the hell was he to protect me now?

  I’m here, honey. I’ll always be here.

  I clenched my eyes shut at his voice. It was both terrifying and comforting that he could do this to me.

  Reaching up, I rubbed at my eyelids where an ache had gathered.

  “What’s your name?” I asked softly.

  He cleared his throat. “Martin Graves. My road name’s Lucifer.”

  I stared at him. “She named me after you, didn’t she?”

  His mouth tightened. “I figure as much.”

  It was stupid, pathetic, but somehow, that floored me more than anything. I took a step back from him then dropped to the ground. Considering the move I’d pulled earlier, I wasn’t surprised when some of the bikers surged forward, but I wasn’t aiming for a knife—I was unarmed. Instead, I just plunked down on the gravel, uncaring that it was biting into my ass, uncaring that the sun was burning hot, and that my hair felt like it was on fire with the heat of the Texas sun.

  I pressed my elbows to my knees and leaned forward, just trying to compose myself.

  Bomber had sold me down the line to save his ass, and my father, Martin, Lucifer, had started a campaign to take him down.

  “You’re at war with the Rebels because of me, aren’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  There was no doubt, nothing that could make me question his intent.

  Fuck.

  The unfairness of it all hit me. I’d been raised by a bastard who had killed my mother, who’d treated me like shit, neglecting me until he could use me to save his own ass.

  Then, my own father had shored up his power to become Prez, all so he could go to war with my adoptive father.

  He’d even gone to these crazy fucking lengths to bring me to safety.

  “You’re dedicated, that’s for sure,” I muttered to the gravel rather than him.

  Martin squatted down in front of me. “We can go inside,” he told me. “I have a place set up for you in there.” I cut the warehou
se a look and he grimaced. “Temporary residence while we fucked around with the Rebels. Our clubhouse is up in Fort Hancock.”

  My mouth worked. “Didn’t your MC—”

  “Were they pissed at me riding the Rebels hard?” He shook his head. “No. I used the intel I had on them because of Bomber to our advantage. When the Guerreras cut off the Rebels, I was there to take over their distribution lines. It’s made us a lot of money over the years.”

  “Can’t you talk to the head? Make him leave me alone?”

  Martin sighed. “I would if I could, but Carlos Rodriguez makes Bomber look friendly. Bomber sold him a story that he believed. There’s no proof to the contrary, not now that the cunt is dead, so Carlos just wants honor restored if he’s sent someone after you.”

  I licked my lips as I tried to figure out where the fuck this was going, and a thought occurred to me. “You have a rat in the Rebels, don’t you?”

  He blinked at me. “Shit, they know about that?” He reached up and rubbed his chin, then before he said another word, grabbed his cell from his back pocket and typed out a text.

  Within seconds, he had a reply that had him grunting. He texted an answer then shoved his cell back in his pocket.

  “Thank you. You saved my man’s life.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing considering the bastard, whoever he was, had given Martin the intel I was back, information he’d used to get the cartel on my ass.

  “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would you bring the cartel down on me?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Well, a foot soldier appeared out of nowhere for a reason,” I snapped.

  “Not on me.” He shrugged. “I’ve been trying to take you out of danger, not add to it.”

  Did that mean there were two snitches?

  Fuck, could this be anymore complica—

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Triple fuck.

  Jodie-goddamn-May. Holy shit, how hadn’t the guys seen that? I’d watched her last night, making a fool of herself all over a jerk she hadn’t seen in years. Sure, he was her baby daddy, but the bastard was married, had a family, according to Flame, in New York and Mexico, and then had a shit ton of bastards all over the place too.

  When I’d asked Flame if the man hadn’t heard of condoms before, he’d just smirked at me, but I knew he was laughing.

  Inside.

  That was usually where Flame laughed, and I already missed that pinched look that came over his face when he was amused.

  Tears wet my eyes and I reached up to rub them away. “Let me go home.”

  I hated that I was pleading, but I would. I’d fought so hard and for so long, had waited until my father’s death to be able to come back here. This? It was just the nail in my coffin.

  “You are home,” Martin growled. “This is your new home with me.”

  My nostrils flared in outrage. “I’m twenty-four years old, Martin. I don’t need another father. I’ve had one, even if he was shit, and the last thing I need is some other male thinking he can make decisions for me,” I yelled at him, so loud it was more of a scream. My face turned red from the strain, and his eyes flashed with a temper—that I could understand. I’d been born with one.

  “I’m your father—”

  “No. You’re not. You’re my sperm donor. It sucks,” I snapped. “I get it. It does. Especially if you loved Maria. But I never even knew her. Not really. I have zero memories of her, and to be honest, I don’t want any. I’ve had enough misery in my life to want to add more to it.” My throat tightened as one question popped into my mind. One singular question that I shouldn’t care about, but I did. I really fucking did, and the bastard sensed it too.

  “What is it?”

  I licked my lips as I pondered how wise it was to raise this topic. There was only so much shit one person could stand, and the truth was, the answer he gave me would hurt me either way, so, to ask? Or not to ask?

  “It’s okay, you can ask whatever you want,” he soothed, and the tone put my back up even as it did prompt me to reply.

  “Did Bomber know?”

  “Know he wasn’t your father?” His hardened jaw softened at that, and he blew out a breath. “I figure so.”

  “You don’t know for sure?”

  “How could I? Never even spoke with the man, never mind talked about whether he was in the know that the kid he’d raised wasn’t his biologically, but I believe so.”

  “Why?”

  “Something triggered him killing your mom. Only figures that would be it.”

  Jesus.

  Reaching up to rub at my suddenly aching eyes, I whispered, “At least, if he did know, he didn’t sell me out thinking I was his daughter. Just some bitch he’d had the misfortune of raising.” I cleared my throat, dispelling the emotion that had gathered within, and grumbled, “I need to go home now.”

  He shook his head. “If the cartel are after you, you’re in danger there.”

  “I’m in danger everywhere. We have a plan.”

  “What kind of a plan?”

  Hope sparked at his curiosity. Maybe I was stupid for sharing this with him, maybe I was dumb as shit for thinking he didn’t mean me harm, but hope was always dangerous, and it had me admitting the truth to him.

  “Carlos Rodriguez collects the fingers of those he considers enemies.” It was like going back to the Inquisition, for fuck’s sake. “The foot soldier is friendly with the club, he’s going to take mine back to him, and then we’re going to mock-up a picture of me ‘dead.’”

  Martin frowned. “You can’t think that’s going to work?”

  “Ramon came up with the suggestion. He said that was enough to get Carlos off my back,” I whispered, the hope that had sparked sinking into nothing as he shook his head.

  “Ramon? Ramon Sanchez?”

  “Y-Yeah.”

  His top lip quirked up in a snarl as he surged to his feet. He grabbed his cell once more and, squinting into the phone, tapped around on the screen before raising it to his ear.

  For a compound, even a temporary one, it was fucking quiet around here. So quiet that it was close to eerie, but it meant that I could hear Wolfe’s gruff voice snarl, “What?”

  “I think I have something that belongs to you.”

  10

  Wolfe

  I had an army at my back, an army I hadn’t been certain would ride with me.

  Over thirty men were tagging along in this, the first wave that was heading over to the Knights’ compound. I had another thirty on backup, but they were setting off later—a flotilla this size would reach the useless pigs even in this sleepy town—and the rest of the MC had been called in to protect Amaryllis and the clubhouse.

  I wasn’t sure what the fuck was going on, but I knew the Prez of the Satan’s Knights MC had called me, telling me he had Lucie, and for whatever fucking reason, Dagger wasn’t picking up his goddamn cell phone.

  With terror in my heart, I couldn’t even find it in me to be stoked about being on the back of my bike. She throbbed like a dream beneath me, but it was lost on me. The wind in my face, the sun on my head, and the heat in my veins was all lost to me. There was no thrill here, no excitement. I wasn’t even psyched about potentially taking some Knights down…

  I was just terrified.

  Absolutely fucking shitting myself.

  I sucked down a breath as we made the turn off. We’d been driving down back roads and shit that had been a nightmare on our suspension for the past thirty minutes, but we finally made it out of the lane that was surrounded by rows of wheat on either side. It was like something from an M. Night Shyamalan movie, and it didn’t exactly lighten the load on my heart.

  If they had Lucie, then that meant they’d done something to Dagger. I’d sent two teams out to try and scout the area from the town to the clubhouse, but I hadn’t had an update thus far.

  When the gates beckoned up ahead, and I saw the lone figure standing at the center,
I reared back in surprise.

  My woman.

  Standing there.

  Unharmed in her denim skirt, white vest, and shitkickers. Some of her tattoos were on display, but most of them were hidden, but with all that skin on show, I could see she wasn’t even bruised, and as grateful as I was for that, it merely added to my confusion.

  As I slowed down, my brake lights glaring, behind me, the wave of bikers moved to a standstill too.

  When I kicked off my bike, she was there, running into my arms, sobbing so hard it would have broken my heart if she weren’t here, safe and sound, beside me.

  “How’s Dagger?” she cried. “Is he okay?”

  “You know where he is?” I demanded, urgency in my words.

  “Y-Yes. They hit him on the head and left him…” She reached up and rubbed her temple. “I think it’s that turn around where the cops go to nap. You know the one just off the highway? Sometimes it’s a speed trap too?”

  “On the road to the clubhouse? You weren’t heading somewhere else? I knew Dagger was dreading this afternoon.”

  She shook her head. “No. We were coming home.” Lucie peered around me, and saw that Flame was there but not Axe.

  “Call Axe, tell him. Go and get him. He’ll need to see a doctor.” She tugged at my cut, her eyes wet again with fear.

  “On it,” Flame muttered, and I heard him connect the call and start speaking with Axe.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” I ground out, as I saw that none of the Knights had approached us. It was shady as fuck.

  “You won’t believe it, Wolfe,” she whispered. “The Prez is my father. My real one. H-He was trying to keep me safe.”

  “By kidnapping you?” I snarled, my hands biting into the soft flesh of her arms.

  “He doesn’t trust you, and considering what Bomber’s done over the years, you can’t blame him.”

  “Are you defending him?” I growled, taken aback by her words.

  “No, dammit. Of course not. But he let me call you here, let me—”

  “You mean they’re still alive?” Flame asked, his tone deadly serious.