Sin & Suffer

by Pepper Winters

  “Whoa,” he said, grabbing my bicep as I balanced. One hand was wrapped around the neck of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and he’d shed his cut so his black T-shirt showed off strong muscles.

  “Thanks.” I pulled away, aware of Arthur climbing to his feet behind me. Mo was another singleton at tonight’s shenanigans. He’d been drinking all night, but he didn’t look intoxicated.

  Actually, he looks sniper ready and focused.

  He smirked, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “You guys can’t leave yet.”

  “Why the fuck not?” Arthur growled, swaying a little beside me. His arm draped over my shoulders—not out of possession but support.

  My heart went wild. Was his temper hardwired to the amount of pain he was in? Why had he suddenly switched?

  Trying to be inconspicuous, I wrapped my arm around his waist and tucked my hand up the back of his T-shirt.

  I froze. Oh, no.

  His skin was slick with cold sweat. How long had he been in agony, ignoring his body’s need to lie down and relax?

  Gritting my teeth, I said, “We’re leaving.” My voice shocked me with how curt it sounded. “I’m tired and want to go.” Hugging Arthur close, I wanted to help him but at the same time I wanted to hit him over the head for being so stupid. “Let’s go, Kill.”

  Do you hear that I’m pissed with you?

  I dug my fingers into his slippery side, trying to pull him forward. His large bulk stayed wedged to the ground.

  His green eyes darkened. “See, Mo. My old lady can be pretty controlling when she wants to be.” He threw me a pissed off look, but beneath it I detected thanks. Thanks for giving him an out where he didn’t look weak, only indulging a fickle woman who suddenly wanted to go.

  That’s fine with me.

  As long as I could get him home, feed him painkillers, and watch him sleep, I didn’t care if he made me seem like the worst controlling woman in the Club. “Exactly. What I want, I get.”

  I smiled coolly at Mo. “It was lovely spending the evening with you guys, but it really is past my bedtime.”

  Letting my arm untwine from around Arthur’s back, I captured his hand instead. The large palm squeezed mine. “Come on.”

  “See ya tomorrow, Mo.” Arthur grabbed his cut from the armrest of the chair we’d abandoned and made our way slowly around the fire.

  Mo dashed in front of us. “Fuck you’re both so stubborn. Least you can do is stand there.” Pointing a finger in my face, he ordered, “Don’t move.” Tossing his drink onto the grass, he jogged to the Clubhouse and disappeared inside.

  “What the hell was that about?”

  Arthur’s face glistened in the fire. “No idea. Whatever it is, I’m not waiting here like a trained fucking poodle. I want to leave. We’re leaving.”

  All thoughts of having him the moment we were away from the crowd disappeared in favor of getting him into bed and healing. Arthur followed my train of thought. “I’m well enough to fuck you tonight, Buttercup. Don’t think you’re getting out of it that easily.”

  Untangling my hand from his, I crossed my arms. “You know what the doctor said. No sex or strenuous exercise until you’re better.”

  “We had sex before. Therefore, I am better.”

  I snorted. “No, you’re not.”

  Anger painted his face. “I don’t have time to be sick. I have a shitload of stuff to do—once it’s done, then I can focus on taking a few days off.”

  I rolled my eyes. He needed a good punch to realize how stupid he was. “If you die on me, I’ll curse you forever.”

  He chuckled. “You already died on me, so I guess fair’s fair, right?” He meant it as a joke, but it was the worst, most tasteless punch line I’d ever heard.

  It killed me.

  I gasped. “Seriously?” My voice turned to a thread. “Did you seriously just say that?”

  Instantly, his anger and temper disappeared. He jerked me close. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  I squirmed in his arms, trying to get away. But he held me tight. “Look at me, Buttercup.”

  I refused, staring at the ground instead.

  How could he even jest about something like that?

  “I’m an asshole.” His fingers trembled around my hips. “Forgive me, please. I can’t do this without you.”

  I looked up. His nostrils flared, his eyes wide and full of turmoil.

  I didn’t have time to accept his apology. His lips planted on mine and his tongue tore into my mouth—almost as if he wanted to steal the past few seconds and replace them with something so much better.

  I tensed in his arms. But then … I opened for him—how could I not? Despite my hurt, I kissed him back.

  As our tongues met, our bodies relaxed and forgiveness webbed around us. My heart fluttered with affection and frustration.

  By the time Arthur pulled away, my bruised feelings dismissed and only the rawest form of love remained.

  Arthur’s eyes darted over my head, a frown furrowing his forehead. “Where the fuck did everyone go?”

  I looked around. Uh, that’s strange.

  The garden, where multiple couples had been making out, whispering, and staring entranced into the fire, was empty. The evening was late, but no one had made moves to leave before now.

  Movement by the door caught my eye. “There.” I pointed to the Clubhouse as Grasshopper appeared, a large grin splitting his face, something hidden behind his back.

  “What the hell are they up to?” Arthur tilted his head, never taking his eyes off the procession of bikers and their women as they emptied out from the Clubhouse, coming to ring around us.

  “Whatever you’re up to, quit it,” Arthur growled.

  Grasshopper and Mo joined us in the center of the ring created by Pure Corruption. My muscles vibrated. I couldn’t understand what was going on. Was this a mutiny? A double cross?

  You only think that because you’ve lived through an uprising. Not all Clubs go against authority—especially the Club Arthur has created.

  Crossing his arms, Arthur stood to his full height. “I’m not into séances or whatever shit this is.” His voice bordered on aggression and amusement.

  “Calm your fucking tits, Kill. Let us do this.” Mo grinned.

  The Club traded their fussy, foggy drunkenness and sobered with secrecy. Everyone beamed, conspiring as one entity to deliver earth-shattering news.

  Mo clasped his hands together as if preparing for a sermon. “Seeing as tonight is the last night we have until all of this is done—a war waged on both bikers and politicians alike—we thought it was a good opportunity.”

  “Hopper?” Mo moved to the side, giving Grasshopper lots of room to swing his hidden treasure from behind his back and present it. The parcel rested heavily in his raised hands.

  My eyes widened as I looked at Melanie.

  She winked.

  I think I know what this is …

  Grasshopper closed the last few steps and shoved the item into Arthur’s chest. “It’s all you need to make an honest woman out of her.”

  I covered my mouth with my hands.

  At Dagger Rose, I’d been too young to appreciate the bonds of love and the tether of a family group—even though I’d loved Arthur with all my heart. But this … this was more than just love for one person. This was a welcome, an initiation—an acceptance into a world I knew and forgot for so long.

  I belonged here.

  I was no longer a stranger.

  “Fuck.” Arthur glanced at me, understanding slowly smoking his eyes. He looked at Mo and Grasshopper, then the rest of Pure Corruption. His hands shook a little as he tore open the package.

  Forgetting the circle of gawking people, I drifted closer to Arthur, never taking my eyes off his strong fingers as he tore at the cello tape and scrunched up the paper. Tossing the wrapping in the direction of the fire, he revealed a tan leather jacket.

  My heart stopped beating.

&nb
sp; Grasshopper laughed. “Couldn’t have a Dagger hanging out with us. No offense.”

  Arthur cleared his throat as he shook out the jacket, dangling it in his arms. The back faced me and I gasped at the perfection.

  Reaching out, I traced the emblem for Pure Corruption with its skull and abacas. Peering closer, I noticed the filigree circle encompassing the logo, threading with Sagittarius and Libra star signs.

  And above it all were the words Property of Kill.

  I trembled. I never expected to be accepted the way I had been. Never expected to find such a place after being adrift for so long.

  Resting my hands on his, I sensed the pressure of his headache, the joy of his excitement, and the sharp tang of his lust.

  If we were alone, I would’ve grabbed him and kissed away the lingering worry in his gaze. I would’ve shown him just how much I was already his, regardless if I had a ring, jacket, or marriage license. None of that mattered as long as I got to sleep beside him at night and rise with him in the morning. We were equals. We were each other’s.

  “Cleo—” Arthur cleared his throat, his voice scratchy and coarse.

  The group surrounding us gathered tighter.

  I stood stiffly in front of Arthur. My heart was a runaway rabbit. My body a vibrating engine. I wanted it over with so I could sink into the new leather and find home.

  Arthur’s body heat battled with mine. Pressing a swift kiss on my mouth, he murmured, “Turn around.”

  Drinking in his green eyes, I struggled to obey. Pirouetting, I faced Pure Corruption.

  A rustle, a footstep, then a heavy, welcoming weight fell across my shoulders. “You are no longer a Dagger Rose, but a Pure. From this day forth, you belong to this family, you will honor our rules, you will protect our members, and you will forever be welcome within our walls.”

  Arthur wrapped his arms around me, kissing my hairline. His large hand imprisoned my breast, dragging my attention to the glitter of silver. “See … it’s real, Buttercup. Written in thread. You’re mine forever.”

  I sucked in a breath as I looked down at the front pocket.

  “It’s official now,” Arthur whispered. “The Club has spoken.”

  Tears swelled as I read four embroidered words:

  Cleo.

  President’s Old Lady.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Kill

  Everything of value had always been taken from me.

  If I showed the slightest affection toward anything, my brother would steal it or my father would ruin it.

  That was what they’d tried to do when they’d seen the Libra eraser from Cleo.

  I could’ve yelled and demanded they give it back—but I’d learned to ignore them. I’d adopted that habit with Cleo. Whenever my family was too close—I pretended I didn’t care. I hid the fact that I loved her and hurt her instead. I did it to keep her safe. —Kill, age sixteen

  It was getting worse.

  The pain.

  The fucking excruciating pain.

  The drugs the doctor had prescribed weren’t doing shit, and it took every inch of strength and energy to hide the extent of agony I was in. I fooled most people, but not Cleo. I’d never been able to fool her.

  I took a huge gulp of air as we entered my home. The bike ride over here had been a blessing and a curse. The wind had helped blow away some of the hot pressure in my skull, but the concentration to lean into corners, brake for traffic lights, and keep an eye on the speedometer taxed me.

  Tonight should be the fucking happiest night of my life. Instead, I battled with sadness. And, if I was downright honest, self-pity. I was done feeling like this. Done feeling so fucking weak.

  Tomorrow, I would see the doctor again. I couldn’t go on this way—despite the upcoming war and meeting with Samson, I had to face facts that I needed help.

  And I needed it now.

  Cleo walked backward, heading toward the stairs. The foyer chandelier glittered, drenching the space in light and committing treachery to my brain.

  Her fingers toyed with the zipper of her new jacket. The soft tan radiated against her flawless skin. Her green eyes popped from the mess of fiery red hair and her legs looked so damn tempting in her tight jeans.

  I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together remembering how wet she’d been at the gathering. How her hips had rocked on my lap as I touched her.

  My cock swelled, stealing some of the pressure from my skull.

  “Where are you going?” I asked as she licked her bottom lip.

  “To bed.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at her lust-filled tone. “To sleep?”

  She laughed softly. “What do you think?”

  I think another orgasm would help a lot.

  One thing that did seem to work on the pain was a release. If I could ride out the overwhelming agony to get to the point of explosive orgasm, the relief and endorphins afterward gave me much needed respite—almost as if the blood erupted from my body, allowing the swelling in my head to recede.

  My eyes remained fixed on Cleo’s hands as she fiddled with the zipper. “Come to bed.”

  Fuck, she looks amazing in that jacket.

  I couldn’t stop staring. She was mine. All deliciously mine.

  Her voice lashed through the air, licking straight around my cock. She was like a siren … like the mermaid inked on my thigh, grasping me around the balls and coaxing me wherever she wanted me to go.

  Crossing the small distance, I cupped her face. My mouth watered to kiss her, but I couldn’t. Not yet. If I did, I’d end up fucking her on the stairs and I didn’t think I’d survive a breathless rutting. I wanted her. I wanted to come in her. But I needed it to be … quiet.

  “Give me ten minutes. I have to do something first.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She stopped playing with her zipper and pulled her face free from my hands. “Do what?”

  I tensed. How could I explain that all through the meeting, all through the gathering and socializing all I could think about—all I could focus on—was the fact I’d lost a trade today.

  Not because of the money.

  Not because of screwing up.

  But because it symbolized something so fucking scary.

  I should never have fucked up something so simple.

  How could I hope to create world anarchy and put things into place when I couldn’t even handle a basic trade?

  The answer was simple: I couldn’t.

  And I had to.

  This was what I was born to do.

  I’d lost the affinity with numbers. I missed thinking in algorithms. I felt lazy and dumb and unhinged.

  I needed to find a way back. And if it meant retraining, then so be it.

  “I’ll be up in ten.” Catching her shoulders, I spun her to face the stairs and tapped her ass. “Go up to the bedroom and wait for me. I want you naked with just your cut on.” Gathering her masses of hair, I kissed the back of her neck. “Understand?”

  She shivered. “I understand.”

  “Good.” I pushed her gently, and she didn’t look back as she scurried up the stairs.

  I watched as the last flick of red hair vanished around the corner.

  The minute she’d disappeared, I sighed.

  I’d do anything to protect her. I’d become anyone to ensure she had the life she deserved.

  But the more I thought about what I had to do in order to formulate the future I wanted, the deeper the fog of ennui I lived in became.

  My limbs were listless. My brain lethargic.

  Pain made everything so fucking hard.

  Turning, I marched into my office. Closing the door—something I never bothered doing—I made my way to the four screens and powered them up.

  The moment the glare from the screens glowed blue, I squinted and popped two painkillers from the bottle in my desk drawer.

  From mastermind to defunct has-been.

  I had to find a way to reboot myself before it was too late.

  My
heart stuttered as the failed trade flashed in red, determined to never let me forget the fuckup this afternoon.

  Stop focusing on the past. Just fix it.

  I corralled my remaining wits and concentrated. Gritting my teeth, I closed the charted history and opened a fresh window.

  With a barely there tremble, I selected a new foreign currency pair, checked to see if there was any news in order to go bearish or bullish, and entered the trade into the software.

  Cross-referencing the pair with my trusted candlesticks and technical indicators, I wiped away my nervous sweat and committed.

  My mouse clicked.

  The computer chimed.

  And I hoped to fucking God I could remember how to do this.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Cleo

  He’d been mean again today.

  Honestly, he was like a bloody yo-yo. One minute he’d let me touch him, laugh with him, let me get close. The next, he treated me as if I had a disease. He belittled me in front of his father; he ignored me in front of his brother. I wasn’t stupid. I knew Dax was a liability waiting to happen. But I just wished … I just wished everyone would butt out. Why couldn’t things be simple? Why couldn’t the world be safe? —Cleo, diary entry, age twelve

  My nipples tingled beneath the supple leather. The hair on my arms stood up as the sleeves cocooned my naked skin. And my belly tightened as I inhaled the tanning chemicals and newness.

  I’d never worn something so sensual or so strict. Sensual because it heralded me as taken, belonging … loved. And strict because it meant I was one of them. I had responsibilities to uphold, people to answer to, duties to honor.

  Lucky for me, Arthur had always held that hierarchy in my life. Yes, we were equals, but I was happy for him to protect and cherish me because I did the same in subtler ways. He was brawn and brash brutality while I was the soft drizzle after a harsh summer’s day.

  Stroking the patch over my breast, my heart squeezed.

  I’d done exactly as Arthur told me.

  After scurrying up the stairs like an eager church mouse, I’d had a quick shower. Afterward, I’d moisturized, pampered, and padded naked across the room. I’d made sure the bedside lights were on romantic glow rather than interrogation brightness, and curled up in the middle of the bed wearing nothing but my new jacket.