Link: SATAN’S SINNERS’ MC: TWO

by Akeroyd, Serena

  How he’d slouched back against the bench, legs splayed, the thin cotton of his wifebeater clinging to his torso in a way that let me see every part of him. I thought about his hands, big and large, flecks of grease around the nail. Not in a gross way either. I could see he’d scrubbed his fingers hard because they were slightly soiled, and all I’d been able to think about was how those calluses would feel against my body.

  How he’d feel against my skin.

  Boom.

  There it was.

  My arousal was back.

  I thought about his hands on my breasts, rubbing my nipples, slipping down over my belly, toward my sex. I thought about him touching my clit, rubbing me there before slipping a finger or two inside me.

  My left eye began to twitch and I dug my heel harder into the bed, pressing down firmly and letting my inner muscles strain as I worked toward my orgasm. The high-pitched throb of the bullet echoed around the room, whining in a way that made me hate it, but I forced the thought aside, thought about Link fucking me with his fingers and there…right there!

  I groaned long and low as the pleasure had me tensing, all my muscles freezing into stillness before I released a shaky breath and sank back into the mattress.

  Pulling the vibe away from my clit, I switched it off and let the pleasant sensations worm their way around my system.

  Grateful that I felt drowsy, I welcomed sleep and actually felt quite rested when I woke up five hours later. That was a good night’s rest for me. I’d only ever slept longer than that when I was in the finishing school over in Switzerland and at college. Both times I was out from under my father’s roof. If he was traveling on business and I had the house to myself, I slept better but not that well.

  Whenever he was here, I couldn’t rest. Would you? Knowing the enemy was in your midst?

  As I stared at him over the breakfast table, I knew my cover was firmly in place because, twice, he smiled at me. Actually fucking smiled at me. Though my loathing was masked and masked well, it still surprised me. Father wasn’t exactly cheerful, but he’d been like a bear with a sore paw ever since Luke’s death. More so than usual.

  “Did you sleep well, Father?” I queried, as I cut my grapefruit into segments. My Earl Grey tea was steeping at my side, and I had a bowl of yogurt and granola to my right.

  I hated granola, hated grapefruit too. The only thing I actually liked was the tea, but my father selected my breakfast.

  Always had.

  Always would.

  God, I couldn’t wait until he was dead.

  As I envisioned how I’d do it, how I’d free myself from him, I waited on his response.

  “Knowing that you’re eager to avenge Luke soothed me,” he imparted. “Luke and I were bred from the same root. I didn’t realize you were too, Lily.”

  I wasn’t.

  Thank God.

  Maybe I had some of their twisted evil in me, otherwise I wouldn’t be counting down the moments until I could kill him, but I wasn’t like them.

  I wanted my mother’s money in my bank account so I could do something with it. So I could do good with it rather than just try to accrue more and more. I wanted to help people, wanted to help people like me. Women and children who were trapped in an abusive situation. Who didn’t know how to get out, and who, when it came down to it, had to do things that weren’t their natural inclination just to survive.

  In another place, another time, I wanted to think that I wasn’t the sort of woman who could contemplate murder. But this was here. Now. And my family was how it was.

  Thankfully, Giulia Fontaine had cut one of our trio out, sparing me a job in the long run.

  “I’m proud to be a Lancaster,” I told him, keeping a faint smile on my mouth as I lied to him. I couldn’t smile too much, that would give away the fact I was bullshitting him. He was used to me shielding my expression as it was something he’d bred in me, so to be overexuberant would get me nowhere.

  “This pleases me,” he intoned, as he sliced into his egg white omelet. “It pleases me greatly. Did you speak with the sheriff?”

  “Indeed.” I took a dainty bite of grapefruit, letting it slip down my throat even though the taste made me want to gag.

  “How did it go?”

  His impatience washed over me, but I ignored it. It was usually why he hit me, because I didn’t concede to him, didn’t cower before him. For the first time, I thought he appreciated that because he just cocked a brow when I stirred my tea and took a sip.

  Only after I’d swallowed did I answer, “I didn’t make it obvious we were courting him, Father. Softly softly catchee monkey,” I told him, using the same phrase Link had yesterday.

  It had stuck out in my mind because it was the exact opposite of what I’d imagined a biker saying, so I’d googled it. Turns out it was a quote from Victoria, the show about Victoria and Albert. I didn’t have a clue how he’d come to know it, couldn’t imagine him watching something like that, but I liked the phrase. Liked what it meant.

  Tread softly.

  Be careful.

  And you’ll gain everything you desire.

  I desired a helluva lot from this bastard.

  My father winced. “Haste is imperative in this matter, Lily,” he argued.

  “I’m sure it is. But you can’t treat officials as though they’re servants. I ascertained that he was irked by the family’s demand that we bring in outsiders to investigate Luke’s passing.”

  He sniffed. “I was well within my right. Technically, that bar lies on the county line.”

  Carefully, I hitched my shoulder. “Regardless, he’s irked.” I repeated the word, knowing it was the truth, and knowing, even though I hadn’t spoken to the sheriff about my brother’s case at all, that he was irritated was simply a given.

  “Bloody peasants,” he sneered. “They don’t know how lucky they are to have a job.”

  I hummed under my breath, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, as I partook of my boring morning meal.

  “I have to go to Hong Kong tonight.”

  That had me cocking a brow. “Would you like me to pack your bag for you?”

  God, this was like a modern version of Downton Abbey. Tasks like packing his bag, hand-signing invitations, and sending handwritten ‘thank you’ notes for the birthday and holiday gifts we received fell on my shoulders.

  “Yes. I’ll be gone three weeks.” His jaw tightened, and his knife scraped against the china plate. “It’s unfortunate timing, but a merger can’t go ahead without my presence.”

  “I understand, Father. I’ll do what I can to ensure that things carry on in the right vein regarding Luke’s case.”

  “It does relieve me to know that you’ll maintain things in my absence.” He set his knife and fork on the dish and sat back against the chair. As he did, I felt his eyes on me, felt them because it was like having insects crawl over my skin.

  I ignored them, though, as I often did. I had little choice.

  We always ate together in this room. It was how it was done. Luke had rarely joined us, usually too hungover to function at this time, but Father insisted that I ate breakfast with him, had ever since I was small.

  Not for the first time, I missed college.

  Sure, I hadn’t been in luxuriously appointed rooms within a mansion that would make most envious, but it was better than this.

  The room itself was unusual for a morning room. Normally, they were angled to take in the morning sun and were bright and colorful in design. But in this instance, the room, though it had a large window that let in a lot of light, was painted black. None of this was to my taste. He’d hired an interior decorator with bad taste but a killer body.

  I had to assume the latter was why we had to breakfast in this disastrous decor.

  The walls were matte, and that was offset with swag curtains that were a bright magenta in color. Placed atop a blue and cream flecked rug, the glass table was large enough to seat eighteen, and I sat at the head opposite my f
ather. Always had, even if Luke did deign to share a meal with us.

  Beside the table was a small accent cabinet that was topped with a picture frame of my mother. It showed her laughing and smiling, a sight that was so rare, my father had copied the image, and it was in every single property he owned, in more than one room.

  To me, that image was like a ‘fuck you.’ I felt like he was sticking his middle finger up at me whenever I glanced upon her, so I never did.

  That wasn’t my mother.

  My mother had been miserable.

  Half doped up on Valium, the rest of her had been swaddled in an alcoholic stupor.

  That was how he’d gotten away with her murder.

  I’d seen him push her down the stairs, but he hadn’t seen me watching them argue. He didn’t know I knew.

  In front of the lie that was that photo, there was a votive candle that burned.

  You couldn’t make this up, could you?

  The bastard had murdered her, yet made sure a candle burned at all hours of the day in her memory.

  Behind him, there was an ash console table loaded down with a display of flowers that varied every day. In this mix, Mozart was piped in, a rousing orchestral movement that invigorated.

  At least, it did for my father.

  For me, it just gave me a headache.

  Amid all this designer splendor, we sat, dressed in the same kind of splendor, so beautiful and yet so vile that it was a wonder I didn’t choke on every bite I managed to swallow under his beady eyes.

  When I’d finished my meal, I placed the golden cutlery on the magenta-flecked china, and stated, “Do you just need the usual, Father?”

  “Yes. Pack my tuxedo though. I think I’ll be attending the opera while I’m there.”

  Inwardly celebrating the fact I’d be out from under his thumb for three weeks, I murmured, “Of course. May I be excused?”

  “Yes.”

  I slipped the chair back and, like every other goddamn morning, I rounded the table and leaned over so I could press a kiss to his cheek. He twisted his head around, moving so that my lips glanced off his cheek and pressed to his mouth. Swallowing down my revulsion, I acted as though nothing had happened and retreated, slipping out of the room with a simple, “I’ll have your things ready soon, Father.”

  “Good girl.”

  My mouth tightened as I escaped the monstrous breakfast room and headed deep into the beast’s cavern. I rarely went into his bedroom unless I had to. And even as I made my way there, I hated the necessity.

  Going into my dad’s room shouldn’t have been creepy, yet it was. Really, truly was.

  I sucked down a breath as I headed into the wing where he slept. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, plus, when he’d told me he’d be traveling later, I knew he expected me to act immediately.

  So I did.

  Making short work of it, I packed his clothes, ensured his suits were in the appropriate coverings, and gathered his tuxedo, as well as selecting a range of ties that would take him from a formal meeting to an evening event. Having chosen his shoes, cufflinks, and confirming that all the studs were present on the shirt he’d wear with his tux, I was done. All without seeing the bastard.

  The second his suitcases were standing beside the doorway to his suite of rooms, I escaped and retreated to my room. Hitting the intercom, I announced, “I’ll be heading to Crosskeys in twenty minutes.” I didn’t wait for a reply, just knew I had to give my guards sufficient warning. Then I changed into a pair of yoga pants, sports bra, and shirt, grabbed my keys, and went on out.

  As usual, the guards were only a few moments behind me as I took off, escaping the house that was shrouded in an atmosphere which was positively Addams’ family-esque.

  Leaving it behind, I decided to stop in town for a quick coffee. The twenty-minute ride sped by, those few moments the only true private ones I had, and I used them wisely—shouting along to Rag N Bone Man as a means of expressing my constantly internalized anger. Better that than have an unknown stomach ulcer explode on me.

  When I passed the coffee shop I liked, I noticed the collective of bikes outside the joint and wanted to wince when my heart skipped a beat. As I pulled up, so did Paul and Alix, but because they knew my routine, I knew they’d stay in the car and wait on me to return.

  I wasn’t a creature of habit by nature but by necessity. By repeating patterns, they trusted me to never deviate from my path, and I used that to my advantage. Even if it was stupid. After all, if they knew my routine, maybe some potential kidnapper did as well. They’d know when and how to grab me…

  Unfortunately for me, I wouldn’t mind being kidnapped. Anything to get me away from this fucking life I was leading. As was the way, because I didn’t mind, it’d never happen to me.

  Murphy’s law was a real bitch sometimes.

  Phone and keys in hand, mouth tight with irritation, I locked my car and crossed the street. Stepping inside, I made my way to the counter and felt my heart skip a beat when I saw a cluster of men wearing those leather vests in one corner of the room. I let my gaze drift over them, hoping to see that head of wavy hair, and when I did, my heart skipped two beats.

  It was stupid to feel nervous, stupid to feel antsy, but all I could think about was last night when I’d thought about him, used Link to get myself off.

  I was weird with sex, thanks to my upbringing. Masturbating in the dark, under the covers, hiding my face from the rest of the room by pressing my forearm to my eyes, was pretty much standard practice for me.

  But last night?

  I’d wanted to be naked.

  Had wanted to feel the brush of the silk sheets against my skin.

  I’d wanted his hands on me.

  Had needed to feel another’s touch, a touch I invited. That I wanted. Craved.

  It was stupid, impossible. A crush. Nothing more, nothing less, but that was how crushes worked, right? I’d never had a teenage crush before, so I didn’t know for certain. Back when you were allowed to feel giddy just because you saw a man you liked, I’d been deep in mourning and trying to get over what I’d seen my father do to my mom. My eyes had been opened that day, and I’d been reeling ever since.

  I didn’t appreciate that the moment I started being normal again was the moment a rough and ready biker came into my line of sight. Someone who was totally inappropriate for me. Someone who would never gel with my lifestyle.

  Although, when I put it like that, it was no wonder, really, was it?

  Talk about the ultimate rebellion.

  My mouth watered at just how delicious the idea was.

  Biting my bottom lip, I muttered my order to the waitress and forced my attention onto the menu boards. I knew the list like the back of my hand, but I gave it every ounce of my focus just to stop myself from gawking at Link. It was bad enough that I thought I was an idiot…I didn’t need him knowing it too.

  Aware my cheeks were pink, I accepted the kombucha Chrissie, the server, handed me, and tapped my card to the reader. Once I’d paid, I smiled at her then retreated to my regular table in the corner where I could overlook the rest of the coffee shop, and where Paul and Alix could watch me without having to step inside.

  Taking a deep sip of passionfruit kombucha, I switched on my phone and began to mess around on Facebook. When, a few moments later, a shadow moved across the table, I didn’t glance up. If I did, one of the guards would pick up on it.

  Instead, I looked out of the corner of my eye, saw the phone on the table, saw the hands I recognized from yesterday, and tensed.

  “For you. Untraceable.”

  His voice was just as deep as it had been yesterday. Just as raspy. Just as rumbly. And God, it hit me straight between the legs. Exactly where I’d held my vibrator last night.

  “Why?” I asked, not moving my lips, aware the question was mumbled but unable to help it.

  “There’s a text message waiting for you.”

  He moved away at that, and though I wan
ted to snatch at the phone and read what he’d written, I reached for my kombucha, swiped my phone onto my lap at the same time, then reached for the one Link had given me.

  I had to applaud him for his perception, because it matched mine. Down to the rose gold color.

  Everything came with a cost, but still, it thrilled me to have a means of communication that didn’t come tied to a bank account my father monitored.

  As I swiped toward the messages, I saw he’d input his number already.

  Link: How are we supposed to talk if you can’t say what you want to say?

  I bit my bottom lip to hide my smile. Me: Figured that out, did you?

  Link: Just call me a fucking genius.

  This time I couldn’t stop my lips from twitching. I already knew Link didn’t have a problem with swearing around ladies. Even my dick of a father tried not to curse around me, and only did so in moments of extreme pressure or stress. I swore he thought I was some kind of shrinking violet when I was anything but that. Hell, he’d made me into the woman I was today, but he didn’t seem to figure out that hearing the word ‘fuck’ wasn’t going to make me pass out with horror.

  I pulled on the straw, swallowing more of my drink as I, carefully, looked out of the corner of my eye. When I spotted Link, watching me but without any of my caution, I relinquished the hold on the straw and shot him a careful smile.

  He was splayed out as, I was coming to see, was his way. On the table of four, he had the seat closest to the wall. His back was to it, and his legs were open at what most decent people would consider a vulgar—and unless he was hung like a fucking stallion—totally unnecessary width.

  Still, it suited him.

  I didn’t think he was trying to take up the maximum space to be a dick either. It was like he just needed the room. All the room. His eyes were on me, and he was typing without even looking at his screen.

  The phone buzzed in my hand.

  Link: I like that smile on you. I get the feeling you don’t do that often.

  What amazed me was the lack of typos. Not a single one. That was a talent I needed to pick up. If I didn’t look at the screen then I’d write something barely legible.