All Sinner No Saint

by Serena Akeroyd

  Deciding that wasn’t something within my control, and that they’d have to come to me if they weren’t happy with the kind of relationship I wanted, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind to take my thoughts off that horrible track:

  “Why would my dad question if Kenzie was pregnant or not?”

  Keys frowned down at his phone. “What do you mean?”

  “Ink was talking to him earlier. I heard Dad say that the bruises were makeup and that she was actually pregnant. What’s going on?”

  Keys’ eyes flared wide. “The bruises were painted on?”

  I shrugged. “Apparently.”

  “Fuck. What the hell is her game?”

  “Explain,” I grumbled, aware that I was in the dark and hating it.

  “The second we made it into Corpus Christi, Kenzie was like a different girl. She got off the bike, Saint helped her, and she flinched. Like you’d expect really. She’d just been beaten, after all.

  “Then I texted you for a little while, went into the diner, and Long John and Crocker were hanging out with her and Saint. When I sat down, it was like nothing had changed. She was bitchy and mean.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Then, when we made it back to the clubhouse, she was ragging on me because she knew I was going to come visit you.”

  I’d never liked Kenzie, but she was Keys’ sister. It wasn’t like you could pick who your blood was, but I’d always just stayed out of her way.

  Not that it had been too hard, considering she was Saint’s age and avoided me too because she hated me. I mean, I’d never done anything to her, but you’d never know from the cruel shit she’d throw at me. I thought it was because I got a lot of attention in the MC—most of it unwanted. All the brothers knew my backstory, and had been told to guard me on pain of death. Most of them veered around me with a ten-foot bargepole, and if they cursed around me? Jesus, it was like God himself would smack them down.

  For whatever reason, she’d always been jealous, and I’d never understood it, but hell, hatred was never rational, was it? Not really.

  “So, she went from being meek and mild to queen bitch within a handful of minutes,” he concluded, shaking his head. “The whole shit with the bruises though? That’s beyond messed up.”

  “Yeah. My mom’s dealing with her apparently.”

  Keys hissed, “Fuck. I wouldn’t wish your ma on my worst enemy.”

  My lips twitched. “Me neither. Are you upset?”

  “No. Mostly just that she might have fucked up. Although, why the hell she’d pretend to have been beaten, and why Hex—he’s her old man—wouldn’t have called her on it, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I swear, that girl always did attract trouble like shit attracts flies.”

  I grimaced because he wasn’t wrong. Kenzie had an attitude problem, but she was also just plain mean. I’d been glad when she’d run off, and yeah, I knew that sounded nasty but damn, it was just nice not to run into her at the clubhouse.

  He reached over and grabbed my hand. “You okay? Saint told me about the raid.”

  “Dad said they wrecked my room.” I winced. “I mean, I’m not too bothered about the stuff, you know? It’s not like it can’t be replaced. Just… do you think they’ll have looked at my drawings?”

  “Maybe.” He blew out a breath. “But if you’re worried about that causing trouble for the club…”

  I dipped my chin. “Yeah.”

  “Then I doubt it. To them, it’s just art, you know? Not like it can be used as evidence.”

  I swallowed back my fears, relieved that the way I expressed myself couldn’t be used against my family. It was silly to fret, really. In those private notebooks, I didn’t sketch in my usual way. It was more sharp colors, slashing strokes, less of a portrait and more emotive. Not hyperreal but surreal.

  Wanting to forget about those pictures that depicted things that my soul endured, I asked, “Do you know what’s happening there?”

  He shot me a knowing look. “You and I both know they tell prospects shit. I don’t think Saint knows all that much either, so they’re keeping it at council level until they call church.”

  Nodding, I watched as Seamus and Matty made a mess in the neat expanse of lawn that was Ink’s front yard. Momma had brought a crap ton of toys with her, knowing what the two hellions were like, and at the moment, Twister, of all things, seemed to be holding their attention.

  I had to admit, it was funny. Watching their small bodies contort, then, unable to hit the dots, fall into the mat with a squeal of giggles. I loved my brothers, truly, I did. They were little nightmares, and we weren’t as close as we could have been thanks to the age gap, but I’d kill for them. Kill to keep them safe.

  Normal people said that all the time. But they didn’t expect to be held to that promise.

  Me?

  I made that promise knowing I might have to do something terrible to keep the ones I loved safe.

  We’d had no wars come to our door for a long time. Maybe we were due for this issue with the cops, and maybe this was just the cycle of things. You couldn’t do what my family did for long without coming to the attention of someone, be it the good or the bad guys.

  Take Aaron’s father, for example. When my daddies had snuffed out his life, it had wiped out a debt that my mother’s stepfather had placed on her shoulders. The cartel who’d been hunting my momma down, wanted Ramon dead, and he’d been living on borrowed time. To the Guerrera Cartel, getting rid of Ramon was a favor of all things.

  Yeah, that was the world I lived in.

  A blood debt canceled out by another blood debt.

  Although, that was with the Mexicans, and they definitely tended to do things their own distinctly unique way.

  “You’re thinking.”

  My lips twitched as I cut him a look. “I tend to do that a lot.”

  He shivered. “Dangerous.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  My ass was aching from the chair we were sitting on. It was a simple bench seat, but the planks of wood had definitely made a pattern for themselves on my butt cheeks. Still, it was worth it to sit out here.

  The fact that Ink had given this up for me was pretty mind-blowing. The silence here was just phenomenal. I hadn’t truly realized how noisy the clubhouse was until last night.

  The first night I’d spent off the compound in over six years.

  God, I needed to broaden my horizons, and sleeping in a house about twenty minutes away from my parents’ place wasn’t the way to do it.

  Itchy feet. That’s what my granddad would call it, and maybe he was right. My blood was forged from biker royalty, after all, and my line had spent a quarter of their lives on the open road, yet me? I was stuck in a two-town area. But I wasn’t questioning anything else, just my presence here.

  “Did you realize how noisy the clubhouse was?”

  “Until last night?” Keys shook his head. “Nah. It’s super quiet here, isn’t it?” He cleared his throat, and his voice was a little shaky as he asked, “Think we’ll be living here?”

  I blinked at him. “Would you mind?”

  “No.”

  “Would you want to live here?” I peppered.

  “Yeah. I guess.” He stared out at the open space, and murmured, “We’d need a bigger bed though. I’m not sleeping—”

  I pressed a hand to his knee. “I want you with me too.”

  His eyes were troubled, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen from him before as he turned to me and inquired, “Really?”

  “Really,” I replied, my tone staunch and blunt, forceful because I needed him to know I wasn’t stringing him along, and that I didn’t just want to sleep with Ink. I wanted Saint and Keys to have access to every part of my life.

  Last night, sure, I’d woken up with a nightmare. But when they’d trudged in and slept at my side?

  I’d felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.

  All three of my warriors, my guardians, in the same place. Aaron hadn’t stood a
chance.

  “Do you know where I sleep at home?”

  He cocked a brow. “Yeah, I know, I’ve been in there. Remember?”

  “Nope. You don’t know.” My smile turned sad. “I never sleep in bed. Ever. Not alone.”

  “Then, where?”

  “Under it. I have a sleeping bag under there—”

  “Fuck, Ama, fuck,” he breathed, twisting around so he could look at me. “You slay me, baby girl. Do you know that?”

  “I’m weak,” I countered, staring down at my knees. “I’m what my daddy accused me of this morning.” Knowing he hadn’t been around to hear the conversation, I whispered, “He said I’m fragile.” I stared around the sun-dappled garden, the lawn like velvet, tempting one to forget the fact that fire ants were probably crawling through the grass, and murmured, “I said I wasn’t but maybe I am.”

  “You’re a survivor. You do what you need to in order to get by, and that’s what you’ve been doing all this time—surviving. But we’re going to change that. We’re going to live.”

  My lips twitched. “How?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but we will. I promise you.” He leaned over and grabbed my chin. “I’ll do anything for you, Ama, don’t you forget that.”

  Leaning into him, I pressed my forehead against his and whispered, “I won’t.”

  “Ew. Keys, don’t you know she’s got cooties?” Matty squealed in disgust.

  Keys rocked his forehead on mine so he could turn to the side and stare at my brothers—the ones Daddy Flame called ‘little bleeders.’ “These are the kind of cooties I’m okay with catching.”

  Matty’s face puckered, and when Seamus heard that, his features crumpled too.

  “Huh, guess that means no story at bedtime if you don’t want to catch cooties from me. They jump, you know?” I teased.

  Though Matty’s eyes were wide with disgust, he shook his head. “No. We neeeeeeeeeeed your stories, Lilis. I can’t sleep without them. You tell the best stories.”

  I smiled at the name he called me. For some reason, Ama wasn’t good enough for me, and instead, he used the name he’d chosen when he was a baby and couldn’t sound it out.

  Keys shook his head, his features mournful. “I think it’s too late for you guys anyway.”

  Seamus chimed in, “Huh? Too late?”

  “Think you’re already infected.” He shrugged. “You’ve been around her too much.”

  I elbowed him in the side. “I’m not chlamydia,” I grumbled.

  “What’s that?”

  Keys’ eyes were bright as he asked, “Yeah, Lilis, what’s chlamydia?”

  “It’s like cooties. But worse,” I told my brothers. “I think Keys might be right about the infection, but you’re not sick, are you? When you touch me, you don’t break out in hives?”

  “Are those the—”

  “Symptoms of cooties? Yep.” I beckoned him over, and he eyed me warily but stepped nearer. Grabbing his arm, I twisted it left and right and said, “All clear. Except for mosquito bites.” I squeezed his dirty, sweaty little hand and shook my head at him when he squealed as I tickled him.

  Keys joined in and the sounds of childish glee were so far from what we’d been talking about that I found I was relieved by it. I needed a break from talking about the past, which had been raked up since it was tied with my need for the three men who kept me on an even keel. I needed a break from the MC and talk of Kenzie who, after barely any time at all, sounded like she was causing mischief again.

  This playtime with my bros was exactly what I needed.

  ❖

  Saint

  The next day

  “Lawrence, are you baking?”

  I twisted around, my wrists up to my forearms coated in flour, butter, and eggs, so I could scowl at her. Sure, she looked pretty all mussed up after a restless night’s sleep, but Lawrence? What the hell?

  “Don’t mess with me,” she grumbled, stepping over to peer at the mixing bowl. “You can’t mess with my stomach. I’ll get hangry.”

  That had me laughing, but I still groused, “Since when do you call me Lawrence?”

  I hated that fucking name. My bitch mom had picked it, and it had to be the least biker name out there. The only thing that potentially beat it was Timothy—hated that name too.

  Like a dog, she sniffed the batter then rumbled, “Since you started rocking my mornings with baking.”

  I’d prefer to rock her world in other ways, but until that could happen, I’d take my frustrations out on the dough I was thumping.

  She dipped her finger in the cinnamon sugar I’d made and sucked on the tip before she did the damnedest thing—she stepped behind me and slipped her arms around my waist. Then, Ama made shit a thousand times better, enough for me to forgive her calling me by my real goddamn name, by sliding her hands under my cut and tee, and pressing skin against skin.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t the first time we’d touched, but hell, this shit was more intimate than I’d ever imagined. It made things seem real, and for a man who’d always calculated real as how many times he’d fucked, shit was hitting home in my head just how this thing with Ama was going to be.

  “Why did you tense up?” she mumbled, pressing her face between my shoulder blades. I definitely got the impression her eyes were closed and she was fighting sleep, a notion that had my lips twitching.

  “Not tense,” I countered.

  “Feel like it,” she groused. “Why?”

  “Just thinking that I’ve never done this before.” And I hadn’t. Not just with her, but with every woman in my life. Well, save for Dorie, my stepma.

  “Oh.” She fell silent. “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Good.” The breath she released was shaky, and her arms tightened around my waist as she clung to me. “Why are you baking?”

  That was a good question.

  “Just felt like it.”

  She sniffed. “You and me both know the flour comes out only when you’re stressed.”

  “Lots going on,” I countered, returning to my bashing the cinnamon roll dough I was making at the moment.

  “Sure is.” She huffed. “And I’m in the dark.”

  “For your own good, baby doll,” I replied instantly, feeling no shame at the words. It was true—no way was I telling her anything that might frighten her.

  “Mebbe.” She fell silent once more, and again, I started to figure she was sleeping. I didn’t mind being used as a vertical bed. It felt quite good actually.

  Would she have done this before? Before I’d agreed to be a part of this madcap relationship?

  I didn’t think so. She definitely wouldn’t have pressed her arms around my bare belly like she was and, if I turned around, I knew she’d be half-undressed, which was also something she wouldn’t have done before.

  Not that a vest tee and short shorts was exactly going overboard…

  A smile curved my lips at the thought. “Remember when you used to wear girly dresses?”

  She snorted. “What? When I was six?”

  “Yeah. You used to play tag and shit in them too. Was cute as fuck.”

  A disgruntled noise escaped her. “Don’t care what your kinks are, babe, I’m not wearing frilly dresses again.”

  Laughter escaped me, so hard that I leaned forward jerkily and accidentally knocked her away. Spinning around to face her, I saw her crumpled self and beamed a grin at her. “Well, hell, if I’d been in a bad mood before, I sure as fuck ain’t now.”

  “What did I do?”

  I reached up and purposefully pressed my flour-laden fingers to her cheek. “You were just yourself.”

  She blinked up at me. “You’re being nice.”

  “I’m always nice,” I retorted easily, leaning back against the counter to stare at her. “It’s a part of my character. In fact, it’s an integral part.”

  “Sounds like you’re trying to sell shit to a farmer,” she pshawed
. “You’re never nice.” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Now I’m really worried.”

  I snorted. “Nothing’s wrong.” I lifted my hands. “I swear.”

  A hum escaped her, then she peered at the counter and the mess I’d made. “You haven’t cooked for me in ages.”

  “Thought since you’re my woman now, it would be a nice way to start the day.”

  Her gray eyes grew big and round. As big and round as the perfect ‘O’ her mouth made as she gaped at me. Her throat bobbed as she whispered, “Your woman?”

  My lips twitched as I nodded. Slowly.

  She gulped. “I love the sound of that.”

  Fuck, I did too. And her response to it? Shit, that just made things a thousand times better.

  “Been wanting to call you that for a long time, sugar,” I rasped. It wasn’t like me to feel awkward, but I did at that minute. I wasn’t sure why. I wanted to haul her against me, tuck her into my side, but I didn’t. Even though I wanted to.

  “Been wanting to be called it for a long time,” she instantly countered, her eyes flaring with heat as she stared up into my eyes.

  Something settled inside me at how quickly she responded. There was no prevarication, no games, no hiding from me.

  I loved that about her. Hell, I just plain loved her.

  She reached up and cupped my jaw, and I couldn’t stop myself from tilting my head and leaning into her touch.

  “You remember that first day?”

  “The first day ever? Where my momma threatened you?”

  “Yeah, that one,” I said with a grin. “You were mine that day. You know that, don’t you?”

  A harsh sigh escaped her, and in an explosive movement, she pressed herself into me and slipped her arms around my waist again, but from the front. As she burrowed into me, I saw she was wearing my tee from yesterday, and the scent of us mingling together with cinnamon and yeast notes tinging everything was like the best smell in the world.

  They said, didn’t they, that sensory memories were more powerful than a regular one. Well, this was going to be glued into my brain for the rest of my fucking life.

  I pressed a kiss to the top of her forehead, inhaled her scent again, and just enjoyed the moment. I didn’t get much peace in my life. It was a personal choice. I’d joined the MC without a shotgun at my back. I was proud to wear my cut, to ride as a Rebel, but this? Fuck, this was priceless.