Their Saint: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part II

by Akeroyd, Serena

  I’d been raised with both men, had seen them morph from zit-faced teenagers to handsome guys, and still, somehow, they saw me as a girl.

  That I wanted them both was a given. I was my mother’s daughter, after all, and had been raised in the kind of relationship I wanted to have for my own, that I needed to have to feel safe, but both guys were stubbornly refusing to see things my way.

  They weren’t the only ones.

  Ink was just as bad.

  He was the club’s Secretary and he managed the tattoo parlor the MC owned.

  I’d loved all three since before I even knew what love was. To me, these three epitomized everything that was brave and loyal.

  Was it any wonder I fantasized about having more with them? Personally, I considered it a very normal response to being around three such fine specimens of manhood. If they didn’t get me hot and bothered, I’d truly consider myself beyond hope—that was how delicious they were.

  Keys broke into my thoughts when he clucked his tongue. “You said you weren’t sketching me.”

  When I saw he’d leaned up onto his elbow and was staring at my pad, I grabbed it and hauled it into my chest. “No peeking,” I grumbled. “You know the rules.”

  “Yeah, and you do too. You’re not supposed to sneak sketch.”

  My lips curved at his reprimand, a reminder of the last time I’d drawn him, and I reached for the tumbler of water I’d brought out with me. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “You didn’t have to draw it!” he retorted, cutting Saint a furtive glance before glowering at me when he saw Saint was smirking up at the sky, his eyes closed as he listened to us bicker.

  “It was there! What was I supposed to do?”

  “Fuck’s sake, Saint, back me up on this or next it will be your cock on that pad.”

  I snickered. “It’s your fault,” I repeated. “You shouldn’t have had a boner.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “You shouldn’t have been looking.”

  Both men lived in their jeans and cuts, but there was a lake on the clubhouse property, one that we often went to once the weather grew warm. Last week, he’d changed into a pair of loose-fitting surf shorts, and I’d just happened to see the tip peeping over the waistband.

  How the hell was I supposed to not draw that?

  Especially when it was leaking pre-cum onto divoted abs that I wanted to lick.

  I’d fantasized about that, too, that night.

  But he’d undoubtedly been watching one of the sweetbutts. Hell, in my one piece, I was nothing in comparison to some of the clubwhores—and no, that wasn’t me being mean even though, sometimes, I really wanted to be. Especially since I knew both my guys had lost their V-cards to sweetbutts. Clubwhore was the title of a woman who lived at the clubhouse for free, and who paid for her living costs on her back.

  Still, I’d drawn him, laying out, the sun on his face as it was then and now, and the one-eyed snake glaring at me hungrily.

  My mouth grew wet at the thought, as well as other parts of my body.

  “That’s why I never take my jeans off,” Saint rumbled, before yawning. “You can never be caught off guard that way. You know what she’s like, Keys, obsessed with drawing us. No excuse in being caught off guard. It’s every man for himself where Ama’s concerned.”

  I knew Keys wanted to whine, so I grinned at him, and murmured, “Don’t worry, Jamie, I won’t look down there again if you don’t want me to.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me Jamie.”

  “Oops, slip of the tongue.”

  He grunted, and I smirked down at my sketchpad as I drew him, furious features and all.

  He was just as beautiful as Saint, even if he was—in his own words—a mutt. He had blue eyes, olive skin, and hair that was neither brown nor blond but somewhere in between. His mom was Mexican, and she’d been Rodeo’s old lady before she’d died.

  That was why Rodeo was in jail.

  He’d gone mad when he’d lost Luisa. Beat up the doctor who’d misdiagnosed her and was serving time for aggravated assault.

  I bit my tongue at the memory, and even though I’d just been teasing him, I reached over and pressed my hand to his cheek. He was my age, but he looked older. His beard was grown out, and the stubble rasped against my hand as I flexed my fingers over the golden silk of his skin that spoke of his momma’s Mexican heritage.

  “Sorry, Keys,” I whispered, and would have laughed if I hadn’t just been thinking about that horrible time when he’d lost both his mom and dad in one fell swoop.

  Instead of looking relieved at my apology, he squinted at me. “Huh?”

  We teased each other. A lot. So I understood why he didn’t trust me.

  But because I was being sincere, I sighed and, bending over, pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry for teasing.”

  He didn’t rear back, didn’t freeze or melt at my innocent and chaste kiss, but his suspicion lessened and he fell back onto both elbows, which he was using to prop himself up as he stared at me.

  “You sure about this?”

  I shrugged, aware that the conversation had returned to what they’d dragged me out here for. I always thought better when I was drawing.

  “It’s a big deal, Ama,” Saint rasped, his eyes dark now as he lowered his arm and tilted his head to look at me.

  “I know it is.”

  “A free pass to the Rhode Island School of Design isn’t something to turn your nose up at.”

  I cocked a brow at him. “Think I don’t know that already?”

  “Turning it down is a big deal.”

  It was.

  It was epic, especially since it was everything I’d ever wanted but, and it was a huge but, I couldn’t go further than Jonsson, the next town over, without having a panic attack.

  Rhode Island?

  Ha.

  As if.

  “You know why I can’t go,” I muttered, my gaze on the sketchpad once more.

  He sighed. “You need to spread your wings, Ama.”

  “Why?” I countered, tilting my head to the side. “Most people in town think I’m plenty spread enough.”

  He grunted. “Fuck those people.”

  Keys spat, “Yeah. Fuck ‘em.”

  My lips twitched, but I didn’t say anything. Trouble with being raised in an MC? People seemed to think I was a slut or something. They didn’t realize that I’d been carefully raised. That a nun had probably seen more action than me.

  Sure, I knew about the stuff that went down. Had even seen a few bits and pieces over the years. But nothing major. Nothing that I’d wanted to see, and if I did, my dads somehow knew about it and swooped in to make sure I remained ‘pure’ and ‘untainted’ from the MC life.

  I knew for a fact my momma hadn’t been raised that way, and I was a bit envious about that. For all the good it did me. Momma was the exact justification my dads would use—she wasn’t exactly normal. I mean, I loved her, and so did they. Hell, they’d kill for her and probably had, but she was nuttier than a bag of pecans.

  The time Maisy Louis had called me a slut?

  My momma hadn’t gone to the principal to speak about bullying. Nope, she’d followed Maisy around for a while, taken pictures of her, then had sent them to Maisy’s parents with a letter, informing them that they needed to better educate their daughter about what being a ‘slut’ actually meant.

  That was just one of the ways my helicopter mother-cum-biker princess had terrorized my school. It was probably no wonder that the only friends I had were in the MC. Everyone else was too scared to get on the wrong side of Lucie ‘Lucifer’ Steeler.

  I hitched a shoulder. “It’s all good.”

  “No. It isn’t. I wish I’d been old enough to shoot Aaron myself,” Saint rasped, finally curling upright into a seated position so he could glower—either at me or at life in general, I wasn’t sure which.

  “Wouldn’t have done me any good. Ink got him good and I still have nightmares.”
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  Still couldn’t leave home for more than a day’s work, let alone leaving the town, without wanting to die inside from crippling fear.

  Still had to sleep near the clubhouse, on the floor under my bed, and even then I had nightmares, but they were better than the night terrors that came from being away from this place.

  Still couldn’t close my eyes without seeing Aaron’s face that one last time.

  Those things were the trials of my life, but they weren’t everything.

  There was joy too. Plenty of it. It came in the form of Saint and Keys, and Ink too. When he’d stop shutting me out, that is.

  “Ink got Aaron. Got me out, too.” That had rubbed my daddies raw, because they’d wanted to be my saviors, but instead, Ink had. “Just because he’s dead doesn’t take away from the fact I’m still as scared now as I was back then.”

  Knowing that you could be taken from your bed, under your parents’ noses, out of the safety of a compound manned by MC brothers, most of whom had served time or had been in the armed forces at some point, was enough to terrify anyone.

  Or so my therapist had assured me.

  A thousand times over the years.

  “I hate that it’s holding you back, Ama,” Saint grumbled, sincerity bleeding from his words as he looked at me—really looked at me.

  For the first time, it was like I was someone else. Not just his friend. Not just his Prez’s daughter.

  What he saw, I wasn’t sure, and though his tone was loaded with pity, that wasn’t what was in his eyes.

  “It isn’t all bad,” I replied softly. “Four years away from home would probably kill my dads.”

  “Us, too,” Keys groused, staring up at the sky again.

  “Why?” I asked, my heart racing with excitement.

  He sighed. “Never mind.”

  And I loathed myself for being too chicken shit to press for more, to make him explain why he’d miss me. When they switched to talk of some stupid game they’d watched last night, I knew I’d lost the thread of conversation and returned to my drawing.

  It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  ❖

  Ink

  As I looked out of the common room and over the hills in the distance, I saw the three of them.

  Picture perfect.

  All tucked in a circle, with Amaryllis holding her pencil in her hand and a pad on her lap, while Saint and Keys were slouched back, sunning themselves as she drew them.

  It reminded me of one of my favorite paintings. Manet’s Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe. Yeah, I knew it was an odd choice for a biker, but fuck, I couldn’t be stereotyped. The painting depicted an indolent picnic and two men lounging back with a nude woman at their side.

  Of course, Ama wasn’t nude. If she was, Wolfe or one of her fathers would undoubtedly chop Saint and Keys into tiny pieces, but there was a sensuality about the scene, an ease and peace that made me long to go over there and join in.

  But I wasn’t eighteen anymore.

  Fuck, I wasn’t even thirty.

  I was thirty-fucking-seven. Too old to be lounging back in the yard. Too old to be hanging around with kids who were young enough to be my kids. Well, all except for Saint. He was twenty-four.

  So, with all that in mind, why did I want to be out there?

  Why was that the only place I wanted to be?

  My stomach churned with want, and the sheer longing to be out there. It hit me hard enough that I pressed my forehead to the glass. The chill of it bit into my heated skin before it clouded with warmth as I sighed.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I rocked my head on the glass. “Nothing.”

  Dagger snorted. “Fuck off.”

  “Nowhere to fuck off to,” I said glumly, then, taking a deep breath, asked, “Heard she got in.”

  Dagger grunted. “Also hear that she ain’t going?”

  My mouth twisted. “No. But I knew she wouldn’t.”

  “Full fucking scholarship. I wouldn’t have been happy with her going that far, Ink, but fuck. All that talent? It should be channeled somewhere. Instead, it’s going to go to waste because of that bastard.”

  The sins of the fathers had a habit of being visited upon the sons, or in this case, the daughter.

  Flame, the Enforcer of the MC, had slain a cartel foot soldier back when Ama had been five or so. The fucker’s messed up son had decided to get vengeance for his numbskull dad by abducting her and making her pay for her fathers’ sins.

  It was so Old Testament it was a joke, but then, that was our world. We worked with vengeance and vendettas on the regular. The life of an MC wasn’t all flowers and lace, but blood and tears.

  For Ama?

  I’d have wished the former, but she’d been dealt the latter.

  If I could have killed Aaron Sanchez again, I would have. In the blink of an eye.

  I knew Ama had panic attacks. She suffered with anxiety, barely slept a full night through without nightmares, and each and every time it made me wish that I’d had more time with the bastard. More time to make him pay, to make him suffer.

  Dagger’s hand landed on my shoulder and he squeezed. “I know you care about her, man.”

  I cut him a look. “Of course, I do.”

  His eyebrow arched, and with the narrowing of his eyes, I knew he was calling me on my bullshit.

  Rubbing my chin, I mumbled, “Ain’t gonna do anything about it.”

  “Don’t see why not. Maybe you’ll take the fucking nightmares away.”

  I doubted that. But then again, Dagger didn’t know Ama sneaked into my room some nights, climbed into bed beside me and hugged me like I was a real-life teddy bear.

  This wasn’t a new development, of course. Since she was seventeen, she’d taken to doing it, and the first time, I’d almost shot her when she’d slipped under the covers with me. Now? It just curtailed who I fucked and when, because the last thing I wanted her to see was some sweetbutt in bed with me.

  She had nightmares whether she was with or without me, but I wasn’t about to tell her daddy that, was I?

  “I’m too old, man.”

  “Maybe.” His voice lowered as he murmured, “This ain’t my idea.”

  “No?” I scowled at him. “Then whose idea is it?”

  “Lucie’s.”

  I winced. Momma bear knew I had a thing for her cub? Fuck. It was a wonder she hadn’t tried to castrate me.

  Dagger, spying my reaction, snorted, and his hand squeezed my shoulder, this time though, it was to the point of pain. “Just don’t hurt her.”

  Ama had been hurt enough. Saving my own ass wasn’t the reason I’d been steering clear of her.

  I was no good.

  Never had been, probably never would be.

  In fact, the only good things I’d done in my life revolved around her, and what that said about the past thirty-seven years, I wasn’t sure.

  Rubbing a hand over my face, I stared at her with the boys and felt jealousy curdling in my gut.

  She was always with those two. Always. And if I’d seen desire for me in her eyes, I knew I’d seen it in her gaze when she looked at Keys and Saint too.

  “I think she wants them,” I rasped, tossing out the idea to him, and hoping he wasn’t about to skin me alive for my audacity.

  All her fathers were protective of Ama. Not that I could blame them, considering her past. But Flame, in particular, took protective to the next level.

  I didn’t even want to think about what had happened to that boy who’d tried to force himself on her at a party… for the rest of his life, he’d be pissing with a bent cock, that was for sure.

  “Probably. Can’t be raised in a family like ours without being open to the possibility.”

  My eyes widened. “You wouldn’t be pissed?”

  “Me? Nah. Flame?” Dagger’s grin was toothy. “Probably. But he likes you. Likes Saint and Keys too. I’m sure if you make her happy then he’ll take it easier on you.”

 
; My eyes widened because, fuck, I was scared of very few people, but Flame was close to certifiable—and he sure as shit wasn’t getting better with old age. “Well, that’s reassuring.” At his snort, I grumbled, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “Me either, honestly, but when she came to us today and told us about the scholarship, about her turning it down?” He sucked down a sharp gulp of air. “Something’s gotta give, man, and I don’t want it to be her sanity.”

  I flickered him a look. “What do you mean? Ama’s okay.”

  “Okay? She’s barely coping, Ink, and you know that as well as I do. Maybe if she has yours and the other two’s balls in her fist, she’ll be able to move on. Make something of herself.”

  My eyes narrowed at him. “You think Rhode Island would take her next year?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. But I wasn’t even thinking of that. I think that no matter how secure she feels, she’ll never be able to be far from home. Not about to complain about that. Like I said, I’d have dealt with it, but I didn’t want her in Rhode Island. So fucking far away. But I hate that the choice has been made for her by that prick.”

  My jaw clenched as I nodded. I knew exactly what he meant. Ever since I’d heard about the scholarship, I’d been dreading her leaving. Well, dreading something that I’d known would probably never happen thanks to Ama’s issues.

  Still, the fear of her somehow taking those issues and ramming them in the balls had filled me. And yeah, I knew how fucked up that was.

  I wanted her to overcome her anxiety, but I didn’t want her to go.

  Didn’t want her to leave the clubhouse.

  To leave Rutherford.

  To leave me.

  Fuck, I was a selfish bastard.

  Licking my lips, I rumbled, “I’m too old for her. But even worse than that, I’m no good.”

  “Think we both know that’s BS.”

  I’d done shit in the army, shit no fucker should ever see, never mind do. No way did Ama need my level of crazy in her life.

  No way.

  No how.

  “Anyway, not giving you a choice. Ama can’t just sit around the clubhouse all day. Can’t just stay at home, either. Think we both know where the natural place for her to be is, and it ain’t fabricating guns. So, either listen to me or don’t, but I want you to apprentice her.”