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

by Serena Akeroyd

  My lungs began to ache like I’d been running, and my heart was pounding with the excess adrenaline bounding around my system. The trouble was, the monster wanted to thrust and fuck. But I was keeping him in hand. Miraculously enough.

  Then, she fucked everything up.

  Her hands came to my waist, they slipped around, and she dug her nails into the bottom of my back where my rear abdominals were.

  The second I felt that slight prick, I felt the blood rush to my head. Jesus, it happened so fast that I should have lost my erection, but instead, I lost all reason.

  I moved.

  Fast.

  I thrust.

  Hard.

  And I fucked her.

  Furiously.

  I pounded into her, but all the while, I kept enough fucking sanity to stay half out of her. She clung to me though. Instead of pushing away, instead of screaming at me to get off her, she grabbed me with her arms and legs, not content until I was on top of her, no space separating us, nothing keeping us apart as I took us to another level.

  She clenched down around me with no touching, with no teasing. She screamed in my ear, her sweat and heat and scent surrounding me as I burst into a fiery blast that decimated me to my core.

  I felt the backs of my eyes turn black, and my lungs no longer just burned, they fucking stung with pain as I allowed the sheer pleasure to whirl through my system, cleansing me even as it renewed me, even as it brought parts of me back to life. Parts that had been dead for a long time.

  In the heat of her passion, I found that parts of me were reawakening.

  Only time would tell if that was a good or bad thing.

  ❖

  Giulia

  I was sore.

  Oh, God, was I sore. But fuck, it felt so good that even as I clung to Nyx’s hips with my knees, I couldn’t regret it as the throb of the bike beneath me seemed to massage all my sore spots.

  Deep inside, I felt like he’d touched a part of me that had never been touched, and while it kind of hurt, it also felt epic. Like… shit, almost like the first time I’d had sex and had stupidly felt as though I’d gone from being a girl to a woman, thanks to that one act.

  Okay, so he hadn’t made a woman out of me, but Jesus, he’d done something.

  Sure as hell, the next day, I’d be walking a little woodenly. Shit, I might even need help once we arrived and I had to get off the bike… the prospect of which had me wishing that the journey from the compound into West Orange was farther than it actually was, a fact I knew had to piss off the affluent county to no end because, as we drove toward the main town, we passed so many swank houses, it was unreal.

  Even though I was a biker’s daughter, not a biker’s bitch, I had to admit I found that amusing.

  I could imagine the original Satan’s Sinners had done that on purpose, snubbing their noses at society in the vicinity with joy in their hearts and malice in their minds.

  To be honest, the bastards I’d met along the way who thought they owned the world because they were rich, made me quite pleased at the Sinners’ address.

  It was pretty around here too. We were surrounded by green. Trees were everywhere, little copses of them separating estates and individual houses. Rolling fields lined the roads, and they weren’t just golf courses either.

  I mean, I remembered the area. I’d lived here longer than I’d been away from it, but it was strange. Like, I remembered it as a kid, not as a woman. All my adult memories were based in Utah. And fuck, as we passed the green rolling hills, as we drove deeper into a town that I remembered in my bones, I realized how much I’d hated Utah.

  Sure, you couldn’t say you hated a state, only a town, but the second I’d driven into it, I’d just wanted to go home. In a way, it wasn’t the state, just the fact that my mom had brought me there. Taken me and my brothers to another place, away from home and everything we knew just on a whim.

  Of course, now I knew it wasn’t a whim. She’d gone somewhere my dad couldn’t get to her. Well, he could have if he’d given a shit, but he hadn’t, so she’d gone just far enough for him to leave us alone.

  But it wasn’t him who I’d missed.

  I’d missed the Old Ladies and the kids who were closer than friends, they were family.

  And what sucked the most, and what had probably caused more of my shitty attitude than anything, barely any of them were still there.

  Most of the kids had been my age, and they hadn’t stuck around. It was a brutal life, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d hightailed it to the city to get away from their past and to make something of their lives that had begun in a shroud of violence and death. As for the Old Ladies, most of them had either died or, like my mom, had realized being a biker’s woman was no easy thing, and had pissed off somewhere else.

  Hell, maybe my mom had even inspired some of them to take the bit between their teeth and get the fuck out of there, before any more shit could befall them.

  So, even though I knew the Sinners’ compound, and even though it was like a latent memory, I was missing so many old faces that, now that I thought about it, made it a wonder I wasn’t more miserable than I already was.

  Home wasn’t home anymore.

  My mom hadn’t been home either.

  And I’d been out in the cold for so long that I was starting to get frostbite.

  I really didn’t want to think about how, being close to Nyx, I was suddenly warm.

  Putting anything into him, into any kind of relationship with him, was just asking for trouble, and I was not my mother. I had no intention of getting pregnant at a young age. Maybe if it was with a decent guy, but with a biker? Hell no.

  I shuddered at the thought, and then grimaced when Nyx called over his shoulder, “You cold?”

  “No,” I hollered back at him, and squeezed his waist with my hands to make sure he understood.

  I wasn’t cold.

  I was, if anything, the opposite.

  I was hot in all the best places, and inside, I was warm too. Like I’d had a lot of hugs in a very short space of time, and each one had gone some way to easing pieces of my sadness.

  Okay, that sounded like bullshit, even to me, so I focused on the corn fields, the bright white sun that shone overhead like a ball of gold that was intent on blinding me, and relished in the throb of the bike between me and the powerful biker who knew how to ride a beast like this.

  I was, I feared, my parents’ daughter.

  I’d been on the back of my brothers’ bikes more times than I could count. I was the only bitch, they claimed, who they’d allow on the back of theirs, and fuck, if I didn’t love it.

  After five orgasms—yeah, five, because Nyx was one helluva lover—I felt like screeching out, whooping, and basically doing a frickin’ jig as elation whirled through me, casting out the shadows and making this day so much more fucking joyful than it had started. I’d flown back at the compound, but now? This? It was like flying for real. The wind in my hair, whipping the ponytail around like nuts, the air blasting into my skin, whistling around me as the heat of the day hit me in a way it wouldn’t if I was in a cage.

  This was the fucking life.

  As we made it into town, I was almost disappointed, because it meant I’d have to get off soon—my quivering, aching inner thighs be damned. Sure, I had the return journey to look forward to, but maybe not.

  Maybe Nyx would disappear, leaving me at the bar, and I’d have to find another way home…

  The Sinners would pay for a fucking cab if he didn’t come and take my ass back, that was for damn sure. And if he didn’t? If he did leave me here, he’d pay for it too.

  Even as I thought about dosing Nyx’s next meal with laxatives, preemptive planning for a strike in case he did attempt to dump me in town and then head on out without a backwards glance, I realized we’d passed the main street and were approaching a freestanding building that had my brows lifting.

  The town had changed in the time I’d been gone. No surpri
se there. A lot of chains had opened, big brands and huge names that littered the streets, but on a lot, in the center of it all, just beside a busy thoroughfare and a large parking lot, there was a chain of buildings, smaller than a mini mall but still impressive. With four storefronts in total, I saw they were purpose built, custom-made for each business.

  Everything was close to hand, and it made me wonder who the hell’s arm they’d twisted, or broken, to pull this one off.

  A strip joint next to a diner next to a bar next to a garage?

  It, bizarrely enough, fit, because of how they decorated the front.

  It was like something from Happy Days. All silver and chrome that ran around the building.

  On one corner, the garage took up the most space, I guessed. It spat out onto the road at an angle, somehow keeping it distant from the other businesses, while still doing what it was doing.

  There were a shit ton of bikes parked outside of it, and I had to wonder how that was possible, considering—from what little Nyx had shared—these places were all brand new. No staff, no one manning any desks, and no customers.

  So why the fuck were there a dozen bikes out front and a couple of cars?

  The strip joint was all black glass and more chrome. You couldn’t see inside, but the doorway was in the middle of the front, and, I had to laugh, but it was a huge archway that look like a set of legs. Thinner at the bottom, curvier at the top, and with a distinct kind of ‘pearl’ at the apex.

  It could have been art deco, if I knew these bastards didn’t do everything with their tongue fixed firmly in cheek and the middle fingers of both hands raised to the world.

  The diner was retro vintage chic, bar none. I almost wished I was working in there, but the bar was the piece de resistance. It had all kinds of shit on the sign, but it declared “Daytona” to the world, which was definitely a joke, considering these guys didn’t race. Racing was beneath bikers, even if they took over the roads like they owned them and flew down highways without a care for paltry things like speed limits.

  The background of the Daytona sign was black and white checkboard, but at the center, there was a kind of stack of wheels that propped up the name, and on either side of it were huge fenders from a vintage Cadillac. Bracketing them were models of Fender guitars.

  It was kind of messy, but it somehow fit.

  The front was wooden, but it had more chrome touches, and it certainly didn’t scream biker bar.

  I had to wonder who they were going to aim their business at—locals, bikers, or the elite who lived around these parts and who, ordinarily, would stick their noses up in the air rather than frequent something that was owned by biker trash.

  We pulled up, not surprisingly, outside the garage. When Nyx tapped my leg, letting his hand stroke down the curve of my calf that was bared, thanks to the shorts I wore, I had to withhold a shiver as his callused palms brought nerve endings to life that had no business being awake.

  He’d fucked them into a stupor earlier on.

  I didn’t mind the gesture, because he touched the leg that wasn’t on show to the rest of the crowd that had gathered around the front of the garage.

  There was nothing special about this place, not like with the other businesses that actually looked quite classy.

  Not that I thought bikers weren’t capable of being classy, just that...

  Shit, I was digging myself into a grave with that train of thought, wasn’t I?

  Especially since I was biker spawn.

  Wanting to smack myself in the face, I climbed off the back of the bike, and waited for him to kick off too.

  As he did, I eyed the muscles in his form, muscles that were clearly visible, thanks to his Henley and the tight cut of his jeans. He wasn’t a vain man, I knew that much. His hair was usually all over the place, even if he did try with some gel or other product that usually wore out after he’d messed with it enough. His jaw was stubbled more often than not, but not densely enough that I thought he never shaved, and his clothes were clean, even if he tended to wear the same stuff over and over again, just in different colors.

  His boots were polished, he smelled good, and his nails rarely had shitty grease or motor oil down them like my dad always had, which had always made me shudder in revulsion.

  No, all told, Nyx was a beautiful specimen for more than just his pretty face, and his clothes merely framed a delicious body I was grateful I’d seen semi naked.

  A part of me wanted to pout that he hadn’t stripped while I’d been totally naked, but I got it. He’d been trying to minimize my discomfort, and while he was big, he wasn’t a fucking anaconda. I had to wonder what stupid bitch had given him a complex over his size.

  Even as I felt myself getting overheated—both from the memories of that huge dick sliding inside me, and the fact that I really didn’t want to know how many other woman had creamed around that cock—I turned to him and asked, “Are you helping out in the garage too?”

  He snorted, then stunned the fuck out of me by grabbing my hand and clasping our fingers together.

  For a second, I could do nothing other than gape at the union of our hands, then I tugged mine away from his and hissed, “What are you doing?” Quickly, eying the crowd, I saw no one had seen, and thanking God for small mercies, I spat, “Do you want me to be free game?”

  I knew how the brothers ran.

  It was a free for all, especially on something that was considered free game. Sure, I was a daughter of a biker, but that hadn’t stopped a lot of daughters from becoming clubwhores over the years. They followed in their mother’s steps, a lot of them...

  Sluts.

  Okay, okay, I knew I was being mean, especially when I’d just spread my legs for a biker too, but I’d grown up with a mother who loathed the sweetbutts. That kind of shit stuck with a girl, and to be fair, there was no sisterly camaraderie with those skanks anyway. They’d screw any biker, whether he had a ring on his finger or was dating someone else, or not. They deserved no sympathy because they’d fuck any Old Lady over without even blinking.

  While Nyx scowled at me, he didn’t argue and released his hold on my fingers without further argument. I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or sad at how he let me go. I sure as hell didn’t want the other guys to think there was something between us, because if they did, I’d get more come-ons than I usually did, and after experiencing Lever’s idea of flirtation, the fewer of those I endured, the better. But it had also felt good holding his hand.

  Good to...

  God, this was another stupid train of thought.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Wanting to punch myself in the face this time, because face palming wasn’t enough, I blew out a breath and followed him as he trudged over to the garage without another word. Was it wishful thinking that I’d hurt his feelings? Not because I wanted to hurt him, but because if he had feelings, then I wasn’t the only one in over my head?

  Letting a breath gust from me, I followed him, eying up the people at the garage as I did so. I wore shitkickers, my usual gear, and a pair of shorts that covered up the fact I didn’t have a thigh gap, and a loose flowing top that was comfortable.

  Was it weird that I was second-guessing my usual clothes just because we’d had sex? Or was it normal, considering the crowd we walked into consisted of a group of club sluts that had me narrowing my eyes at them as they drooled over Nyx? They were with bikers, that was evident from how they clung to their guys, and I’d seen women wear more clothes at the beach.

  Didn’t they get annoyed with their panties stuck up their ass crack all the fucking time?

  Just wearing a thong got me agitated, but this stuff made cheese wire look generous. They had those denim shorts that porn stars wore, with the front fly half undone, baring too much to the world. With huge tits that were covered in tees that would do well in a wet shirt competition, and high heels that made me worry for their future bunions, I felt like a frump. Which, you guessed it, didn’t put me in th
e best of moods as I monitored the situation.

  As Nyx walked straight into the circle of men and women who had gathered in front of the workshop, I saw him head for a guy with an earful of piercings that made me grateful I hadn’t had mine pierced when I was a kid.

  The cuts these guys wore were different. Black, sure, but the patches were weird, not like the ones the Sinners’ had.

  I realized how stupid I’d been then. Just because the bikers were close to our territory, didn’t mean another set of riders hadn’t invaded our space.

  Even as I tensed up, unsure if this was some kind of declaration of war—because that wasn’t the first time shit started this way—Nyx shook the other guy’s hand.

  “Razer,” he boomed, but he was smirking. Which, for Nyx, was the equivalent of a welcoming smile. Except… something was different here. He was tense. Now, that was par for the course with him, especially after I’d just pissed him off, but he was definitely on edge. Which made me wish I hadn’t followed him like I was a sheep and he was little Bo Peep.

  “Nyx, my man. Just wanted to check out the shop.”

  Razer slapped Nyx on the arm, and it wasn’t the kind that was a pissing contest. It was more of a greeting—if that was a thing, especially when it was strong enough to almost make Nyx stagger to the side.

  I’d been on the other side of those muscles, so I knew it took some punch to get him to shift at all.

  “Pretty, ain’t it?” Nyx mocked, peering up at the storefront that was anything but pretty.

  It was navy blue with a simple white sign that had, in blue letters, a detailed list of the services the place offered.

  That was it.

  Behind the large garage doors, I assumed there was the necessary gear to fix stuff, but if Nyx was here to open up, he didn’t pull out a set of keys.

  Something Razer picked up on. “You aren’t opening up?”

  Nyx shook his head. “I’m in charge of the bar.”

  Razer snorted. “Rex always was a smart bastard. Get the teetotaler behind the bar top, and you’ll have dollars coming out of your ears.”

  One of the club sluts popped bubble gum, and I realized then how close she was to me. I didn’t jerk in surprise, my focus on Nyx’s conversation because I’d seen him drink, so why was Razer calling him a teetotaler?