“The boys want to patch in.”
“They old enough?” Link asked, brow furrowed.
“They’re nearly thirty. I think they’re fucking old enough,” I commented wryly.
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” Link muttered, flipping me the bird.
“But what about the girl? She wants to be a sweetbutt?” Steel questioned, sitting up slightly. His eyebrows bobbed with his interest. “She hot?”
“Fuck off. She ain’t gonna be a clubwhore,” I snapped, before Rex could even get a word in.
There was no way in fuck I was going to allow that. When I thought of those big, chocolate-brown eyes that had stared at me from an angel’s face, there was no way I could—
Everything in me rejected the notion of her lying flat on her back and thinking of England just to get by.
“Since when do you have a say in this?” Storm retorted, biceps bulging as he started to get mulish—the dickwad had such a shitty attitude that sometimes, I didn’t know why Rex put up with his ass. He’d been worse since Keira, his Old Lady, had fucked off. Not that I could blame her. “Fuck, that might be her lifelong dream. Taking after her—”
“Don’t say another fucking word,” I growled, aggression lacing every single word. “Lizzie wasn’t like that.”
Rex shook his head. “She wasn’t, Storm. You know that, so don’t start shit.”
“From the way Dog used to whine—”
“Dog wouldn’t know how to piss in a straight line,” I countered, angrier than the subject really called for. “Lizzie would be doing the fucking salsa in her grave if she thought her daughter was whoring her snatch out for the club.”
Link pondered our argument for a second, then muttered, “Wasn’t that why she took off in the end? She got sick of the clubwhores, right? I was only fucking eighteen, so I don’t remember that much, but I think I remember that… the blonde. Big tits with nipples like she’d painted them in red lipstick. That huge eagle tattoo on her ass.”
Despite myself, I had to laugh. “Yeah. Cherry.”
He clicked his fingers. “That’s it. Cherry. She took mine—”
“She took everyone’s,” Steel joked, making most of the table snicker.
“And she and Dog were a thing for a while,” I pointed out. “Remember? Lizzie found out, and there was that huge clusterfuck—”
“Christ, yeah,” Steel muttered, sliding his hand over his head. “Lizzie trashed his bike when she found out, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, and he nearly fucking throttled her. I remember now!” Link declared.
“She took off later that day,” I muttered, slouching in my seat because I remembered that morning like it was fucking yesterday. The urge to make Dog pay had been heavy, but I’d been a kid, and he was a brother. You didn’t kill brothers. Even if you really goddamn wanted to.
“Okay, less of the reminiscing,” Rex growled. “I don’t need a history lesson, and I sure as fuck don’t need to know who sucked your virgin cocks this early in the morning.”
“You’d be down for the dirty later on though?” Steel hooted, then instantly grabbed his head and held it as though the throbbing in his skull was going to split it in two.
“Fuck you,” Rex snapped, but there was laughter in his eyes. “Anyway...” He extended the word. “Giulia doesn’t want to loan out her cunt to the club. I never said she did.”
“What does she want then?” Storm queried, like there was only one use for females around the MC—snatch.
As much of a dick as I was, I wasn’t that fucking bad. Keira was better off without this fucker.
“She wants to feed us.” Rex snickered when everyone eyed him like he’d just pulled on a Santa outfit and started ‘Ho, ho, hoing’ all over the fucking place.
“Feed us? What are we, a soup kitchen?” Steel replied with a scowl.
“I’ll tell her I’m homeless if she’ll feed me more of those buns,” Mav added hopefully.
“Trust me, she made me breakfast this morning. She’s good, guys. Fucking good, and I don’t know about you, but I’m sick and fucking tired of JoJo’s sloppy eggs, and the shit the other sweetbutts serve ain’t much better.”
“How anyone can fuck up sandwiches, I don’t know,” Maverick grumbled, rubbing his slim belly like he was a starving man.
Anticipation welled in me. If Giulia had a purpose here, then she’d be able to stick around, and that was a topic I didn’t particularly want to broach. Not even in my own head. Because I wanted her to stay, and yet, I didn’t. Trying to hide my nerves, I eyed Rex. “You down for that?”
“Yeah. I am. She’s family. I shoved her into the kitchen, told her to make the best of it—”
“Shouldn’t we have voted on that?” Storm interrupted, scowling at the Prez like he really wanted his ass kicked today. And that was something I’d be down for.
Hell to the fucking yeah.
The dick had a date with my fists. Only the fact he was VP meant I hadn’t beaten the shit out of him before now. We’d always butted heads, but ever since Keira had fucked off to West Essex with his kid, he’d been worse than a bear with a sore paw.
Temper stirring, Rex narrowed his eyes on Storm. “Since when do I have to discuss shit like that with you? She’s family. Dog might be a useless turd with MC business, but as we’ve already said, he’s good with the bikes, which as far as I’m fucking aware is how we run most of our businesses,” he growled, his scowl darkening when Storm looked even more belligerent rather than apologetic as he should rightfully be. “So, yeah, I threw her in the kitchen, told her to write down whatever shit she’d need to make us a decent dinner, and then we’d finalize things tonight.” He shrugged. “If her food is anything like what she made me for breakfast, then we’ll all be piling on the pounds.”
Steel snorted. “Maybe that’s why the whores feed us shit food… so they can keep us ripped.”
Link chuckled. “Could be. More like they want to keep their own asses skinny and have no idea how to make jack shit in the kitchen.”
Rubbing his chin, Rex muttered, “There’s only one problem.”
Storm cocked a brow. “Only one?”
“Yeah.” The Prez scowled at him. “Okay, scratch that. Looks like we have two problems. One being the fact that you woke up in a piss-poor mood. You can either fuck off back to bed or I can kick the shit out of you.” He balled his hands into fists. “Whichever would suit me.”
Storm sniffed. “Bad hangover.” Like that was a fucking excuse when Steel was evidently suffering after last night, and he wasn’t being a dick.
“Worse attitude,” I retorted, stirring the shit and not even giving a fuck. I only sneered at him when he shot me the bird.
“What’s the second problem?” Mav demanded, his attention on Rex.
“We need to tell Dog they’re here.”
❖
Giulia
I’d never wanted to cook. Ever. It had just been one of the only chores I could do, something that made sense without me having to think about it. When it boiled down to it, I could either cook or clean, and I hated cleaning more than I hated cooking.
Then, of course, I’d learned I had a knack for it.
Wasn’t life a bitch?
Where creative shit was concerned, I couldn’t paint, didn’t know how to write anything fancy like poetry, and sewing? What was this? The eighteenth century? Who the fuck sewed nowadays? Cooking was the one creative thing I could do, and I hated it, but it was useful. Always had been, always would be. When Mom had tossed me out, I’d found work in a diner, and it had kept a roof over my head for a little while before I’d started temping. So, with it being something I could fall back on and with my brothers wanting to prospect for the MC, I’d known one way to stick around them. They wanted to get back into the life because, to them, this was what they’d always wanted to do. And me? I just didn’t want to be far from them. Not so soon after Mom’s death, at any rate. They were dumbasses, but they were m
ine.
Trouble was, in an MC, there were literally two roles for women. Either be a biker’s bitch or be their cook and maid. Neither notion filled me with glee, but I was, I’d admit, on shaky ground.
With only a small amount of money saved up, getting an apartment near my brothers would cost a fortune I didn’t have. Here at the MC, I could stay rent free, bills free, and if I was good—which I was—then maybe they’d pay me, and I could save up until I could get away from this place.
The Sinners’ compound was my brothers’ dream, and there was no way in fuck I was going to let them leave me behind in Dipshit, Utah, when they were all the way over here.
I knew them. Well. Knew that in barely any time at all their weekly phone calls would diminish to monthly, and then yearly, as the life creeped up on them and took most of their time.
They were the only family I had left, and they loved me and I them—even if they were forgetful as fuck.
So, I compromised.
I, Giulia Elisabetta Fontaine, compromised by agreeing to cook the council a decent meal.
And from the state of their fridge? They fucking needed it.
“Who are you?”
The whiny voice was more than just irritating—it was rude. The sneer was audible, and fuck, it had me gritting my teeth, even as I ignored the bitch and kept my focus on what I was doing.
God, I’d always hated clubwhores. They seemed to think their pussies were made of gold when they weren’t. If anything, they were disease-ridden slatterns who caused more shit than anything else.
My mom had always hated them too, and I knew most of the Old Ladies merely tolerated them because it was part of the life.
‘Part of the life’ was one of the sayings you heard often in these shitholes. Those four words excused every biker’s bad behavior, not just to their women, but to society itself, because it was the way of it.
It was ‘part of the life’ to beg, steal, and borrow. ‘Part of the life’ to kill and deal drugs. ‘Part of the life’ to fuck around on the woman who loved you, and ‘part of the life’ for said woman to just deal with that shit as though it was their man’s right, hell, his privilege to be a cunt.
My jaw clenched as I remembered just how often my mom had argued with my dad when he’d come back covered in the scent of some other woman or his cheek dotted with lipstick—yeah, I wasn’t predisposed to like any of the bitches, but them sounding like a snotty PIA wasn’t going to make shit easier.
Rather than take my head out of the fridge where I was running an inventory on the scraps they had in the industrial-sized behemoth, I carried on with my work.
“Hey! I’m talking to you. Who the fuck are you?”
If they’d just carried on being bitchy, I wouldn’t have done it.
I’d have behaved.
This was my first day, and I didn’t need the MC to know I had more attitude than height… not until they tasted my pasta puttanesca, at any rate.
But she didn’t just bitch at me. Nope, she made things physical. So when she grabbed my ponytail, I froze, especially when she pulled my head back and tried to turn me around to face her in the same move.
I let her roll with it, let her think she had me, but the second I could, I twisted around and gave her the same shit back. Smashing my forehead into hers, I headbutted her like she was a soccer ball. The second our skulls bounced off each other, she burst into sobs and began wailing. Me? I just reached into the freezer and grabbed a packet of peas that I placed against my crown.
The plastic burned where it touched, but it was worth it.
Round one to me.
“What the fuck is all that wailing about?”
I didn’t need to turn around to see that Nyx was here. That voice. Fuck. It was deep and raspy enough that he could have been a smoker, but he was a biker and therefore, off limits.
I wasn’t about to end up like my mom. Knocked up at seventeen, three kids in tow when she finally realized her dumb fuck of a husband was never going to change.
It pissed me off that I recognized the voice period. And it pissed me off even more that a quick glimpse of him over my shoulder, scowling and grumpy but still so goddamn pretty, made butterflies take root in my stomach.
I didn’t get butterflies over anything. Not a job interview, and certainly not over something with a dick.
The attraction I felt for him came as a massive surprise to me, and it was totally unwelcome. He was everything I didn’t want in a man. Well, kind of. Take off the cut, and I’d date him in a heartbeat because, oy vey, the man was fine. In a ‘my ovaries hurt’ kind of way. In a ‘come to mami’ kind of way.
Sheesh.
“S-She h-hit me, Nyxy.”
My lips curved at that, and I couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping. Nyxy? Fucking Nyxy? When I thought about the bruiser I’d met last night, the one who’d scowled at me for most of the time he’d had his eyes on me, I didn’t think he’d appreciate being called ‘Nyxy.’
I stopped hiding in the cooler, and instead, with glacial eyes that I knew would express just how little of a shit I gave about this bitch’s opinion of me, I stated, “She pulled my hair to get my attention. This isn’t grade school. If I don’t want to talk to the club snatch, then I don’t have to.”
Nyx’s eyes narrowed and, fuck me, if he didn’t look even more beautiful. His hair was rumpled again, but this time, it was more like he’d gotten out of bed and hadn’t had time to style it. There were shadows under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and it didn’t take much to figure out why that was… Some bitch was probably walking around bow-legged thanks to him. He wore his cut, another Henley like last night, dark jeans, and heavy boots. Standard MC brother fare, but holy hell, there was just something about him.
Maybe it was the sharp cheekbones and the carved jaw that looked as though it were made of stone—hell, make that diamond because his jaw tensed even harder the longer I glowered back at him. That razor-thin nose that led to an expressive mouth… or those eyes. A beautiful green that made me think of shamrocks and emeralds. Even when they were laced with a warning that his temper was close to breaking. Whatever the reason, all I knew was he was beautiful.
Truly beautiful.
A work of goddamn art.
He cocked a brow at my prolonged stare, but I didn’t blush—I’d lost the ability around my stepfather years ago. His come-ons and insults had made me grow a thicker skin than most women usually had. “She shouldn’t have pulled my hair,” I stated calmly.
He cut a look at the slut who was only wearing a goddamn G-string and a tee she’d knotted at the waist. In the fucking kitchen. Her stringy hair was showing all the extensions, and she had that in a loose topknot. Despite the fact she looked cheap as hell, she was beautiful. There was no evading that. Even with the blossoming bruise on her forehead, she had the face of a china doll, and there was no way in fuck she should have been selling herself to these guys for room and board.
My throat tightened as I likened my situation to her.
No way in hell would I sleep with any of these bastards.
No. Way. In. Hell.
“She didn’t answer me, Nyxy!” the bitch whined.
“Shut the fuck up, Kendra.” They might have sounded like it, but I knew those harsh words didn’t mean he was on my side.
He wasn’t.
That much was clear from his considering stare.
“That how you deal with people who ask who you are?”
“When they talk to me like I’m trash, then physically assault me?” I bared my teeth at him. “Yeah.” I jerked my thumb at her. “I remember all the snatch from the old days. If you let them get away with shit early on, then you’re fucked. I’m not an Old Lady, but I’m a brother’s daughter. Straightaway, that means that cunt over there shouldn’t even be talking to me, let alone—”
He didn’t let me carry on. “Your momma let you talk like that?”
Brows lifting, I laughed. “My momma taught me to talk like th
is. Especially around guys like you.”
He stared at me again, considering me again. “Kendra, get the fuck out of here.”
“What?” The whining bitch glowered at me. “It’s my turn to make lunch!”
“Yeah, well, it’s your lucky day. Someone else is here to do that. Now fuck off.”
Kendra pouted, and rather than look pleased at shedding the chore, she glared at me and trounced off.
Nyx, the bastard, took a second to watch her ass flounce off, but I couldn’t really blame him—she had a nice ass. I’d even go so far as to say that I wished mine looked like that in a G-string instead of cheese wire around a ball of mozzarella. With more dimples.
Folding my arms across my chest, I waited on the lecture. On the ‘if you can’t play nice, then get the hell out of here’ card, but when he’d stopped eyeballing her butt, instead of reaming me a new one, he turned to me and murmured, “You sure this is the right place for you?”
I cocked my hip against the counter which, surprisingly, was a damn fine piece of marble—hell, the rest of the kitchen was nice too. All of it stainless steel like a commercial kitchen in a restaurant or something—and inquired calmly, “Answer me this, would you allow someone to treat you like shit on the first day in a new place?”
“No,” he replied simply. His eyes would never be considered kind, but they weren’t mean either. So I took that to be a positive.
“Are you, or are you not, aware that sweetbutts are skanky-ass hoes with attitude problems? They’re all cats in a bag hissing and trying to fuck one another over.” I didn’t wait for him to answer, just steamrolled on. “If I gave her an inch, she’d take a mile. You know it, I know it.”
He tipped his head to the side. “You’ve caused yourself a whole heap of shit with the other girls. One and done with these bitches. You should remember that.”
I snorted at that. “I was always going to get shit from those witches. If you don’t believe that, then you’re naive.” My lips curved as I eyed him up and down. “One thing I doubt, Nyxy, is that you’re naive.”
His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, pressing his forearms onto the counter. As he did, his pecs bulged, making his Henley bunch up. Instead of focusing there, I looked at his throat, which was covered in a tattoo of a songbird with “Carly” inked there in a scroll-font. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, but in the light of day, it was the first time I realized that the banner that streaked out from behind the vintage bird, housed a chick’s name.
Nyx: A Dark & Dirty MC Romance (Satan’s Sinners MC Book 1) Page 4