I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  Sin breathes a sigh of relief and tucks his weapon away, pausing beside the door and glancing around the corner. I join him—only I keep my weapon out. Just because.

  Gaz is standing there on the patio, blood running down his chin. Crown and Grainger stand behind Cat like they’re his own personal bodyguards. Only … they aren’t his bodyguards so much as they’re mine. Regardless of how the romance and sex works out between the five of us, I know one thing for sure: they will always prioritize my safety over Cat’s.

  As I said before, Gaz wasn’t afraid of Grainger at the party; he should’ve been.

  “You think you’re above the law around here?” Cat asks, staring his son down with the darkest look in his repertoire, the same one he wore the night he put a gun to my head. With no warning, Cat strikes out, backhanding Gaz so hard that he falls on his ass.

  A distant memory comes to me, one that shows Gaz falling back just like that, being hit by Cat just like that. But for something lesser. Something much smaller. Gaz is smaller in the memory. A child.

  My brother is a monster, but I can never allow myself to forget that Cat helped make him that way.

  Gaz stares up at his father, hand pressed to the side of his face. His eyes flick briefly to Grainger, and I follow the direction of his stare. That dumbass, Cade, is smirking so wickedly that I wouldn’t be surprised if he attracted lightning strikes from the stormy sky above.

  Beast warned me—all of us, actually—not to provoke my brother. Cade seems to be doing just that and Crown isn’t stopping him.

  Cat squats down in front of his son.

  “You touch your mother?” he asks, his voice this slice of menace that makes me shiver.

  “Did Gidget tell you that?” Gaz retorts, and my father grabs him by the throat.

  “Watch your mouth, boy. I asked you a question: did you hit my wife?”

  “Nellie was on the floor when I walked in the kitchen,” Gaz spits back, and it’s almost believable. But I know better. I saw those marks on my mother’s wrist. More than that, I’ve been noticing since I got back that she’s even more pathetic than usual, jumpier, wild-eyed. All signs point to that behavior being caused by Gaz. Why, I don’t know, but I’d bet my life on it being him.

  “Next time you defy your sergeant-at-arms, I’ll send Beast after you.” Cat rises to his feet and turns away, heading deeper into the garden as my eyes shift to the foliage surrounding him. Somewhere out here, not very far-off, Beast is already waiting. He’s already been sent, just not by Cat.

  Gaz is already being hunted.

  I flick my eyes back to my brother to find him staring at me.

  “Good, send him,” he grumbles, but not loud enough for Cat to hear. Grainger spits on Gaz as he passes by, and Crown acts as if he doesn’t exist. My eyes meet my brother’s, and I stare deep into his, wondering about what Grainger told me, that Crown believed Gaz was a traitor way back when.

  Meaning what, exactly?

  The era of Queenie and Kian?

  Was Gaz working for the mafia even then?

  Rage flows through me and even though I know I shouldn’t, I follow Cade’s lead, throwing up two middle fingers to my brother and smirking at him. Come for me, bitch, is what my smile says.

  I really, really shouldn’t have done that.

  Sin’s bike—a matte white Indian Chieftain—is waiting in the exact same spot where I stole Crown’s from, kid you not. For a second there, all I can do is stop and stare. My pulse begins to race, but I push back against the reaction.

  No.

  I won’t be triggered by this.

  Even though I feel a bit shaky on my feet, I move over to stand beside Sin. When I reach out to grab one of the handlebars, he snatches my wrist and stops me. I glance up at him, pretending like his touch isn’t fire, like I’m not aching for more.

  “Before you get on your bike, do a quick check.” Sin releases me and then points at the rear wheel. “Tires and wheels.” He adjusts his finger to the front of the bike. “Controls, levers, pedals, cables, hoses, and throttle.”

  “Okay,” I drawl, trying to get on only to have him grab me around the waist and yank me close.

  This … doesn’t seem very productive.

  “Lights, battery, headlights, turn signals, mirrors.”

  Never in my life has a list of such mundane words made me squirm, made hot liquid flood the apex of my thighs.

  “Chassis,” Sin says next, and I groan, turning around in his arms.

  “You can’t say chassis and not expect me to rub all over you.” Sin smiles at me, but he doesn’t stop, nodding his chin in the direction of his bike.

  “The frame, suspension, stands.”

  He puts his hands on my hips and moves me away from him, grabbing the helmet and handing it over.

  “Isn’t it manlier to ride without a helmet?” I joke, yanking it over my curly hair.

  “Is it manly to have your head crack open on the pavement like a watermelon?” Sin retorts, pointing at the bike. “Show me how you’d mount this.” I give him a look, and he returns a smoky smile in response. “Ass up on the bike, Gidge.”

  With a roll of my eyes, I swing my leg over and Sin grunts in reluctant approval.

  “Not bad.” He moves up beside me and grabs my right hand, igniting that electricity between us that’s driven me nuts since before I fully understood its meaning; the feeling is so strong it penetrates the leather gloves I’m wearing. I love these stupid motherfuckers. The thought chokes me up, but I make myself pay attention to Sin’s instructions. “Your right hand is the boss of two jobs: acceleration and braking.” He snorts a derisive laugh. “Since you managed to take off with Crown’s bike, I’m assuming you understand the clutch.”

  I rev the engine at him, and he gives me a look.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “My cunt is literally soaking your bike right now, Colton. What do you think about that?” I rev the engine again, and Sin exhales like he’s in pain. He grits his teeth and grabs my arm.

  “Gidget, it’s sort of a big fucking deal for me to let someone else ride my bike. Do you know why I’m teaching you this?”

  “Because you aren’t an ex-MMA fighter?” I query, wiggling my ring finger with Beast’s wedding band glinting in the late afternoon light. It’s a sickly color today, a strange vibrant orange caused by excessive smoke in the air. There are so many wildfires burning here and in California that the sky is bathed in a gray glare, and the sun, when it does peek through, seems like a stranger.

  “Because the others weren’t sure about you riding their bikes.” Sin nods his chin in the direction of the road. “Do you think you can handle taking this down and back for me?”

  “They didn’t want me to ride their bikes?” I bite out, but then I remember that I crashed Crown’s the last time I was on it. A motorcycle is sacred to these men. They’ve killed people for touching theirs at rallies. Not even kidding you. Cat literally stabbed a guy for taking a baseball bat to his bike; the man’s buried near the oak tree in the front yard.

  It’s one of Gaz’s favorite stories.

  “Down and back,” Sin repeats, and I sigh, yanking down the visor and hitting the kickstand.

  I almost back out. Seriously. For the span of a single breath, I consider putting the kickstand back down, turning the bike off, and walking away. It’s there, that cold shove of fear, that whisper of remembered pain.

  There are other things, too, pieces of a life I always wanted but never believed I could have.

  Yes, the sky is filled with smoke, and bits of ash catch on my lips when the wind blows right, but the world isn’t as bleak as that sickly orange sun in the sky. It isn’t black or white; it’s gray. My sisters are dead, but I have these men. I have this moment, the sun shining on the chrome of the bike, catching my eye and sparkling. There’s Sin, standing beside me, letting me do something that’s doubly sacrilegious in our culture.

  He is a dirty heretic in this moment.

&nb
sp; But even among heretics, I stand out.

  I take off on the bike, the wind a powerful force against my body as I fly down the pavement. The trees create a tunnel of shadow that I dive into, winding into the darker parts of the compound, the distant woods that are peppered with guards. The watchful eyes of the club are everywhere. Will one of them see me? Will they report this?

  I can only assume the men organized this so that there wouldn’t be anyone here.

  I have the woods to myself.

  My heart expands, snapping some of those weights tying me down. For a few minutes there, I really feel like I could spread wings and take off, that I could, even as a sinner, somehow become an angel.

  The road continues up toward the old cemetery, the one with actual gravestones, that’s been on this property since forever ago. Seems fitting, right, that the club would create a new cemetery where there once was just a house, and then buy the adjoining plot of land that already had a cemetery on it?

  Life is weird.

  I go all the way up to the top, where the road turns into a cul-de-sac with nothing but trees around it. There are old signs on two of the plots, dirt squares with much smaller trees. The developers were going to build houses here before Cat’s predecessor got ahold of this property—thanks to Cat’s guidance. Guess even when he was partying, he was a valuable member of DBD.

  I park right there in the center of all that cement and climb off, tearing my helmet over my head and tossing it onto the pavement. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall back, and I listen to the naughty fingers of the wind in the trees. It’s pretty, even if I know all it’s doing is stirring up more fire.

  “You’ve got this, Gidget,” I tell myself, sliding both of my gloved palms over my face. “You can do this.”

  I’m not sure what it is, exactly, that I’m promising myself I can do. Rescue Reba? Marry Beast? Win the war? Take over the club? Destroy the mafia?

  Get four officers as my paramours.

  Who knows? Does it matter?

  Whatever it is, I’ll conquer it. I’ll climb it.

  I drop my chin and open my eyes, shaking out my hands before heading back to my helmet. I carry it back to the bike and climb on, enjoying the peace and solitude for a moment before putting it back on.

  I head back down the road to find Sin waiting for me, completely unconcerned, arms crossed over his chest as he watches me.

  I park within a foot of him, leaving my helmet hanging from the handlebars.

  “Guess I don’t need these lessons much, do I?” I ask, swaggering up to him and sliding my hand into his pocket to steal his cigarettes and lighter.

  “Guess not,” Sin agrees as I light up and then offer him the pack. He takes it from me, letting his bare fingers tangle with my leather-wrapped ones. “Damn shame.”

  I smile and take a deep inhale, glancing back at Sin’s bike again.

  This won’t be the last time I ride it.

  But eventually? This bitch is getting her own bike.

  “Wake up.”

  Two days after my victory on Sin’s motorcycle, I’m awoken to silver beams of moonlight falling across the foot of the bed. Grainger is on guard duty tonight, but it isn’t him that touched my shoulder and gently shook me awake.

  It’s Beast.

  I sit up suddenly, relieved to see him. When he disappeared the other day, I wondered if Gaz wouldn’t be more vigilant, angrier, edgier. There’s no doubt in my mind that Beast could kick Gaz’s ass, but what if Gaz lured Beast into a mafia stronghold or something?

  He’s a man, not a superhero.

  “The fuck is going on?” Grainger grumbles, yanking the chain of the light next to his chair. He looks like death warmed-over as he swipes a hand over his face. The fire is low, but it casts strange shadows on his cheekbones, his jaw, catches the metal of his lip piercings and makes them shine.

  I sit up suddenly, rubbing at my eyes, wary of being woken up in the middle of the night. Does that ever turn out well?

  “Please tell me someone isn’t dead,” I murmur, doing my best to blink the sleep from my eyes.

  “Come with me, darlin’,” Beast says as my mind spins with possibilities. None of which are particularly good. Not exactly an answer to my question. Whatever this is, though, it’s important.

  I hurry out of bed, grabbing leather pants and Beast’s jacket; I assume we’re leaving the compound.

  “Am I invited on this reconnaissance mission?” Grainger growls at me, suddenly out of the chair and standing far too close to my ass as I bend over to yank the pants on.

  He goes to cup me from behind, and Beast grabs his wrist.

  “So long as you get yourself together,” he drawls with enough exasperation in his voice that I figure maybe things aren’t so bad as they seem.

  We get dressed and head downstairs, leaving through the back door and heading for the rear gate. Beast doesn’t seem concerned about anyone seeing us, so I don’t worry about it either. It occurs to me then that there are some positives to sharing the load. The burden of being discovered isn’t on me; it isn’t something I even need to let flicker in the recesses of my mind.

  Beast has it covered.

  Without even asking, I take up residence on the back of his bike, his jacket a comforting weight on my shoulders. As soon as my arms go around him, my body reacts, and heat curls through me, amplifying the faint chill in the air. It isn’t nearly as cold as it usually is this time of year, and that bothers me.

  It feels ominous somehow, that strange heat.

  As we head into town, I close my eyes. It’s dark anyway, so there isn’t much to look at. Also, with my eyes closed, I can feel the way Beast controls his bike so much better. It’s like an extension of his powerful body, like he’s got wings made of steel. We fly along the curves of the road, heading right back to that fateful spot.

  To the Palm Motel.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask after we’ve discreetly parked and found a shadowy spot near the dumpsters. Normally, I wouldn’t dare approach an area like this. The sorts of men you find in this kind of darkness? Nobody you want to know or run into.

  Thing is, I’ve got the sort of men who eat those sorts of men for breakfast on either side of me.

  “Watch.” Beast leans his back against the dumpster and waits, looking up at the top floor of the motel. I do as he says, even as Grainger grumbles about being woken up under his breath.

  It takes about a half an hour, but eventually, a door opens upstairs and a man walks out. He heads to the vending machines, taking an inordinate amount of time to select a drink. Something about that, about the way he studies the soda machine makes something click inside of me.

  That endless staring, that contemplative swagger.

  Grey.

  I start to move, but Cade’s hand lashes out, fingers curling around my arm and holding me in place. He is dangerously close to a kick in the balls.

  “What was the deal?” he asks, voice like iron.

  The deal is, like Sin requested, when we’re out in the field, I … defer to the four of them.

  Right.

  “What is Grey doing at a club-owned motel?” I ask instead, glancing back at Beast.

  “He’s been here all along, it seems,” he tells me, musing on the idea of a mafia brat ghosting beneath our radar all this time. “I’ve been tracking your brother, just to see what he’s getting up to. As of right now, that ain’t much.” He turns as Gaz comes out of one of the other rooms—room two to be exact—with a girl on his arm. “But he comes here a lot. Too much, actually. Yesterday, he visited your friend’s room.”

  Is Reba with Grey? I wonder, but I don’t ask the question because I’m not ready for the answer just yet.

  “Let me talk to him,” I say, feeling Grainger’s fingers tighten on my arm. “Not Gaz,” I correct, as if that somehow makes any of this better. “Grey.”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Grainge asks, looking at Beast like he’s seeking support for his p
osition. “What we should do is let Cat know, bring some big guns over here, and kill that brat.”

  “Let her talk to him,” Beast offers up, a surprisingly generous man. He isn’t at all what I expected of him. It makes me wonder about his past, about his time as a fighter, as a champion. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve looked up videos of his old fights, that I’ve let my fingers trail down my stomach and into my pants, that I’ve rubbed my clit while watching him, muscles slick with sweat and sometimes blood.

  Oh yes.

  “If we don’t like him, or we don’t like what he has to say, we’ll kill ‘im.” He moves past me as Grainger curses, dragging me along by the arm. I let him, if only to stop him from bitching me out. We skirt around the side of the building opposite where Gaz has just left with his new girl, the one he hasn’t killed. Yet.

  One day, one day soon, my brother is going to have to die. I’ve come to peace with that. Whether it’s by my hand, by one of my men, or someone else entirely, has yet to be determined.

  We’re at Grey’s door in less than thirty seconds … but he’s already opening it, like he was expecting us.

  “Come in,” he says, standing aside. He waits for the three of us to enter the room, closing and locking the door before turning to me. Grey reaches for me, but Grainger steps between us, every movement he makes a clear threat.

  “If you touch her, I’ll blow your head off.” He lifts up his Ruger and puts the barrel between Grey’s eyes.

  It’s nothing either of us is unfamiliar with.

  “Are you okay?” Grey asks me instead, ignoring the gun to his head with an admirable level of self-control. His eyes are the same piercing gray color, but everything else about him looks different. He’s got stubble on his face which throws me a bit, and his hair is longer and more disheveled than before. His demeanor though, is the thing that throws me most. He’s asking if I’m okay, but there’s a coldness in his gaze that I’m not sure was there when I left.