Nyx: A Dark & Dirty MC Romance (Satan’s Sinners MC Book 1)

by Serena Akeroyd

  “You want to watch the show or something?” I growled.

  “You’re at the bar. Free country, ain’t it?”

  My brow puckered at that, and a memory prodded into being thanks to those two words—free country. “Ain’t seen Mav around.”

  “He’s in his room.”

  “Was hoping he’d get some pussy tonight. He was as integral to tonight’s celebration as any of us.”

  Steel shrugged. “You know he won’t come down.”

  Yeah, I’d known, but Haune was one of the worst fuckers we’d targeted, and Mav, more than anyone, knew what the bastard had done. We didn’t just slaughter these cunts willy-fucking-nilly. There was research. We made sure they deserved the punishment, and that involved Mav having to do some shit I’d never be able to thank him enough for.

  See, if they came out of prison rehabilitated, we left them alone. Mav monitored some of them, had watches on the agencies that were keeping their eyes on the sex offenders’ list. But the ones who were released and went straight back to their vile ways? Well, we showed them the true definition of vile.

  If anyone deserved a bottle of tequila and a blowjob tonight, it wasn’t me, it was Mav, but he, of course, was too fucked in the head from his own wounds to even enjoy the celebrations of one less sick fuck roaming the streets.

  My mind veered off course when Cammie’s hand began to roll down my zipper, but just as she slipped her fingers inside my fly, headlights flashed into the window of the bar. I grabbed her hand, well aware that all the brothers were in here tonight, partying.

  Which meant anyone who came to the gate wasn’t welcome.

  Not tonight.

  Maybe not ever.

  Shoving her hand away, I almost walked into Cammie in my haste to figure out what was going on, then realizing she was there, I grabbed her and set her on her feet. She tottered around a bit, wobbling on the too high heels all the whores wore and couldn’t walk in, and I left her to Steel’s care. Not that he’d touch her, but entertaining these bitches was just as much of a drag as it was when fucking an ordinary woman.

  The compound was right on the outskirts of West Orange, situated smack in the middle of a triangle that had three swanky country clubs at each point. We were the mother chapter of four other MC chapters around the States, and I knew the Originals—one of whom was Rex’s dad, Bear—had set up shop here simply to piss off the locals.

  Close to Caldwell, we were in the middle of money. Money talked, but we had more than even the richest country clubber, and the sheriff and his deputies were all in our pockets. Regardless, we had to be vigilant.

  We never stored drugs at the compound. Ever. That was our main source of income, that as well as a protection racket that defended some local storefronts from the fucking Bratva who were trying to elbow into our turf, and the transporting we did for a couple of Families in New York. So the money we earned was never kept here either.

  I knew we were safe if the sheriff came armed with a search warrant, because one of the local rich fucks decided to get his panties in a twist over having scum too close to his eight-door garage loaded with classic cars, but just because there was no risk to us didn’t mean I appreciated the inconvenience, especially when they fucking destroyed everything during the raid. Tearing up our beds and other soft furnishings, dragging everything out front on the hunt for our hiding places…

  Because, yup, apparently we looked so fucking stupid that we’d keep shit stored in our fucking sofa cushions.

  Dumb fucks. And they said we were the rednecks because none of us had more than a high school diploma among us—yeah. Right.

  For all we were close to the ritzy areas in town, we had about three acres, and the building was a purpose built clubhouse, complete with bedrooms for the council, some for the whores, and a few others for families who, for whatever reason, couldn’t afford to live off site. There were kitchens, living spaces, a dining area, and more offices than the local council probably had in their town hall.

  Our MC was big business, and that was why it took a lot to protect our home. It was also why I was vigilant at all times, especially on nights like tonight where my family had gone to bat for me in a big way. I showed my appreciation by making sure that no one fucked with us.

  It was my job, but it was my honor too. Nothing and no one meant more to me than these bastards, and I showed that by keeping them all safe.

  As I pushed between brothers, who hadn’t realized our security might have been breached, I forcefully shoved my way through the crowd. Bros wanted to congratulate me, and I just smirked at them and slapped them on the back, because it was quicker than explaining why I was in a rush.

  When I finally made it to the front door, out through the wood paneled hall, it opened wide, and Jaxson, the Prospect I’d put on the gate tonight, was there, ready to step in.

  “Just coming for you, Boss.”

  My road name was Nyx, but to the guys on security, they all called me Boss. I guessed it was a badge of honor. Only Rex had a different ‘label,’ and he was the fucking Prez.

  “What’s going on? Who’s at the gates?”

  Jaxson pulled a face as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. I’d known him since he was a kid. Had watched him grow up around the place. His dad, a loyal brother to the end, had died in a stupid bar brawl in a honky-tonk on Route 66 of all fucking places.

  I’d been there when the bastard had bled out, and with his last, dying breath, he’d made me promise to watch over his kid.

  Trouble was, watching over Jaxson meant trying to protect him from club life, and there was no way I could do that. Ironically enough, Hills wouldn’t have wanted me to keep his kid from club life either, so it was a pointless deathbed promise. But I figured a man who died a violent death was allowed to talk pointless shit in the vain hope that his son wouldn’t have a similar end.

  Because I knew Jaxson well, I saw his discomfort. He was about eight or so months away from earning his patch, and he was good on security. Good enough that I’d be keeping him with me once he got his cut.

  “Remember Lizzie Fontaine?”

  The name had me narrowing my eyes as I released a whistle. “Fuck. Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Don’t let Dog hear you mention it. He’s still bitter as fuck—”

  “She’s dead,” Jaxson blurted out.

  It took a lot to surprise me, but his declaration did. “She is? That’s a fucking shame.” Lizzie wasn’t the slut Dog painted her as. If anything, she’d been good people, and this fucked-up shitter of a world was a worse place for her not being in it. Although… “How do you know that?” I inquired warily. Lizzie had left when Jaxson was around fourteen. No way he’d know something like that when he probably didn’t remember her all that well, so where this conversation was coming from, I didn’t know.

  After looking over his shoulder at the path he’d just taken, he pulled a face that set me on edge. “Her and Dogs’ kids just pulled up at the gate. They want to come home.”

  ❖

  Giulia

  Exhaustion tugged at my last nerve, as did the overpowering scent of Cheetos, which made the cabin of the cage I was in smell like feet.

  Still, for a better life, who was I to complain?

  Getting away from Denver City was the best thing for my whole family, even if my brothers initially had to work hard to get me to move, I knew being back here was where I needed to be right now.

  Coming back to the Sinners’ compound was bittersweet. This was where I’d grown up, where I’d spent most of my twenty-one years, and yet, it was loaded with a shit ton of bad memories too. Denver City had been better, I guessed. No arguments between my mom and dad, no violence, but I’d missed this place.

  It was and always would be, I recognized, home.

  And what that said about me and the kind of dip shit I was, well, hell, I wasn’t sure.

  As the engine idled, making our crap in the truck bed vibrate, the two hogs my brothers had secur
ed on there shake in their moorings, I drummed my fingers against my knee. As I fiddled with the hem of my shorts, I also yanked at a strand of hair that had fallen free of the topknot I’d shoved it into when we started this trek. Touching it made me feel icky, and it reminded me that I really needed a shower.

  Twelve years of going to school here had drilled it into my head that I needed to be clean, because being associated with an MC meant everyone thought we were dirty. I wasn’t dirty. Neither was I OCD, but I was really aware that my brothers and I had skipped staying in motels the past night to save money.

  North and Hawk had refused to let me drive on my own. I was a better driver than they were, but who was I to complain when they were the ones willing to trek across the country, all three-point-five thousand miles of it, without me having to do shit? I’d spent the journey with my AirPods in, music on, and a book on my kindle while they chatted about all the shit we were leaving behind and all the great stuff we were going to find on the other end.

  None of us had admitted that our father might not want us here. They weren’t willing to accept that might be the case. Me? I’d never liked my dad, so I wouldn’t put anything past him, but I’d be gutted for them if he turned his back on us. I’d also be a little lost, because without Mom? There was nothing for us in Utah. Nothing except for a POS stepdad who’d eyed me up more times than I could count, all while dissing me by calling me a fat bitch—while silently panting over me—and who’d judged my brothers for wanting to follow in our dad’s footsteps.

  Sure, becoming a one-percenter wasn’t everyone’s dream, but it was Hawk and North’s. And what could I say? If I had a dick, I’d want that too. As it stood, nothing with a cunt was allowed to wear a cut, so my options were few. Well, unless I wore a ‘Property of…’ cut and tat.

  My nose wrinkled at the thought, every feminist sensibility jerking to attention at the idea of being someone’s property. Look how that had turned out for my mom. Dad had beaten on her just as much as she’d beaten on him. But, and it was a huge but, it wasn’t like my dick stepfather had been a much better catch.

  Sure, he’d had legit money flowing in through his used car business, but he’d been just as much of an asswipe.

  I was under no illusions that my father was great. Biology didn’t make for a decent man, but being back in West Orange felt right, and he was our in to getting back into the clubhouse, to being allowed to stick around the MC.

  Because he must have sensed how nervous I was, Hawk slipped his hand around the back of my neck and squeezed it gently. “I promise, Sis, things will be better back here.”

  We weren’t really a touchy-feely family, so I had to wonder what I was projecting if he thought I needed comfort. Because of my past, both my brothers tended to keep a wary distance from me. I couldn’t blame them. If I owned a pair of balls, I’d worry for them around me too.

  “We’ve only made it to the gates,” I said dryly, and I awkwardly patted his leg. “Don’t get too excited,” I cautioned, not wanting him to be disappointed if they didn’t let us in. “They could still toss us out.”

  “Dad wouldn’t let them,” North stated confidently, making me want to shake my head at him.

  Dad, AKA Dog, wasn’t much good at the whole parental responsibility thing. Though my twin bros were six years older than me, it felt like I was the only one who really remembered how crappy Dog had been as a father.

  Still, we weren’t here for him. We were here for the Sinners. Most of the Old Ladies were like second mothers to me, and when Mom had forced us to leave, dragging us halfway down the country to a part of the States where the MC had no reach, I’d probably been more devastated about leaving the Old Ladies behind than my own father.

  Nerves flickered inside me as I wondered who was still around. Some Old Ladies were in it for life, others less so. It wasn’t an easy existence. With all the pussy on offer, with zero expectations, the threat of the cops knocking on your door at any moment, as well as the likelihood that part of your relationship would go down with your Old Man in jail, leaving you saddled with however many kids he stuffed in your belly… yeah, women tended to smarten up real quick.

  It was hot at first. The danger, the excitement, the adrenaline. Then life got in the way.

  North tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, muttering, “Come on. How long does it take to get approval?”

  The Prospect guarding the gates he’d spoken to had scuttled off to the clubhouse about five minutes ago. I wondered if his absence meant we weren’t even going to be told to fuck off before we just left on our own devices.

  It surprised me how much I hoped that wasn’t true. I really didn’t want to travel anymore tonight, and I just…

  Sighing, I reached up and rubbed my eyes. Not only was I tired, I was still hurting. Mom had only died three weeks ago, and leaving everything behind, packing up our lives to come on a wild goose chase was just going to make this month even shittier than it already was. Toward the end, we hadn’t been close, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be in a world without her. She was young, and I’d always thought we’d have time to make things right. But that hadn’t happened. Fucking life.

  “It’s okay. They’re probably just finding the Sergeant-at-Arms or the Enforcer.” Hawk tipped his chin at the clubhouse. “They’re having a party.”

  “You always were a genius, Hawk,” I remarked wryly. Anyone with ears could hear they were having a party. Not only from all the whooping and hollering, but the music that would make a death metal concert look like a ten-piece classical orchestra.

  “I try, I try,” he mocked, nudging my leg with his. “Cheer up. Things will get better now that we’re home.”

  I shot him a look, wondering how he could be approaching thirty and still be so fucking naive. But I kept quiet because I didn’t want to crush things for him. There was only room for one pessimist in the truck.

  In the distance, the compound sat there, as unchanging as ever. It was custom-built, two stories high, and ugly as fuck with its clapboard fronting that had been gunmetal gray when I’d last been here. The doors and window frames were still white though—I could see that much in the floodlights that randomly popped on and off if something moved in the yard. From what I could view in the dark, it looked like there were a lot more bikes than there’d been before around the side of the property, and from the racket that throbbed through the walls of the clubhouse, I had to assume the Sinners had done well in the years of our absence.

  As I stared at what had always been my second home, the front door opened, and in the backlighting from the hall, I saw two men appear. One was the Prospect, who was a little thin, a lot tall. Kind of reed-like. The other was the opposite. Tall, sure, but thick, every inch of his frame muscled. The two men approached the gate, and in the headlights, I saw the other guy’s cut. Enforcer, just like Hawk had predicted. Except, this wasn’t the same Enforcer as before. Buddy’s beer belly had exploded out of his cut, and he’d also been a good six inches shorter than this guy. He’d also had a kind of greasy comb-over.

  This brother had short hair, about two inches long, all of it standing up like Bart Simpson, except he made it look good. At least, I thought he would when half the spikes weren’t sagging all over the place from what looked like him raking his hand through it too many times. In a cut and a Henley, he packed out both to full capacity, and his jeans clung to him like he’d been born with them on as they formed to his legs as if painted there.

  He kind of reminded me of Luke Perry back in Beverly Hills 90210. Except Luke was skinnier, and this guy? Not a bit of him was skinny.

  Especially not the log he was carrying between his legs, because, yup, the dude was sporting wood, and that wood looked like a fine piece of timber. Which told me exactly what we’d interrupted, and my nose curled at the thought. Fucking bikers. Their parties were a euphemism for a goddamn orgy.

  Refusing to drool—over his face, body, and cock—because that’s what these brothers were
used to, blind adulation from the club sluts, I stared right at him, aware that he was looking at me and not my brothers through the windscreen. Even as I wondered why, I soon had my answer. He tipped his head to the side, like he was reading me in the play of light and shadow from the dash, and I knew he was trying to see my mother in my face.

  My throat closed at that, grief hitting me hard as it sucker punched me. I’d never get over her death, never get over the loss of what might have been. Reconciling wasn’t possible when you were fucking dead, which meant that was it. Our unfinished business would forever be that. And though, for these past few years, she’d been a bitch, before that, she’d been a good mom. A little hands-on when it came time to punishments when we were younger, but nothing like what had gone down between her and my father. Still… Lizzie Fontaine was a good person. She’d have been the best if she hadn’t gotten knocked up by Dog, but that wasn’t something you could roll back the clock on, was it?

  When the guy finally stopped studying me, he moved to the gate, which began moving now that the Prospect had pushed a button in a little shelter just off the driveway. The Enforcer rounded the cab to North’s side, and my brother rolled down the window, letting the hot air spread into the cab. Hawk reached up and clicked on the inner light too, and I squinted, the brightness painful after traveling in the dark all night long.

  “You Dog’s kids?”

  For a greeting, that was pretty polite. Especially since we’d interrupted something personal. His erection was proof enough of that.

  “Yeah. Lizzie Fontaine was our mom,” I stated, giving my mother ownership of us and not that dumb fuck of a sperm donor.

  His mouth tightened, and regret shaded his eyes. “I remember her. How did she die?”

  “Heart attack,” I choked out, dipping my chin as I clenched my hands into fists.

  “Fuck. She was only… what? In her late forties?” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely sad.

  I cut him a look, surprised by his dejection, and whispered, “Yeah, she was forty-five.”