The Sinner Within (L.A. Sinners MC Book 1)

by J. L. Leslie

  “I didn’t want to come on this fucking date to begin with!” she argues.

  “Don’t give me that shit! You know exactly what you’re doing! You think this is gathering intel somehow, but it’s not!” I tell her.

  “I came for you! You’re in over your damn head!” she lets me know. “He’s guilty and always has been!”

  “You wanted to interfere with my relationship, I get that, but you should’ve stayed out of it! I have it under control!”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “Oh yeah? Is that why you’re falling for him?”

  I shake my head and stomp past her, not giving her the satisfaction of an answer. She grabs my arm before I can leave the bathroom.

  “You really can’t see it, can you?” she asks, her eyes full of tears.

  “I am not falling for him,” I grit out and snatch my arm out of her grasp. “Now, stop with the bullshit.”

  I return to the table and see that Lucien is not there, but Warren is. I take a seat, and he gives me a tight smile, pretending that he doesn’t know I was just arguing with my best friend.

  “Lucien will be back shortly.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry the night has not turned out quite like I had hoped.”

  Mackenzie returns before he can say anything, and we continue to eat in silence while we wait on Lucien to return. It’s only a few minutes before he comes back to his seat. I notice his shirt is now somewhat untucked, but he fixes it at the table, flashing me a smile.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask him.

  “Of course.”

  We finish up our meal, making small talk about the diner and some stories about Layla and how excited she is to see her friend’s puppy this weekend. Mackenzie plays nice, no more questions or smartass comments. When we’re finished eating, the waiter brings the check and Lucien wastes no time in paying, telling him to keep the change.

  As we stand, I notice the atmosphere in the restaurant has changed. The waiters seem to be panicked, rushing around to their tables and I overhear one saying he will get their food out as soon as possible. On the way out, the hostess is even turning people away. Apparently, the chef has left the restaurant.

  I glance over at Lucien, curious as to why he was not at the table when I returned, and now suddenly, the chef has left the restaurant. I don’t want to ask him if he had something to do with this. Surely, he wouldn’t have used our first real date as a way to handle club business, would he?

  I don’t want to believe that, but something tells me he would. There’s that side of him that he didn’t want me to see. Here I am, seeing it again.

  The ride home is in awkward silence. Warren and Mackenzie are in the backseat, this quiet animosity shared between them. When we reach my house though, he politely offers to walk her over to hers. Surprisingly, she accepts.

  “Did you do something to the chef?” I ask Lucien once we’re on my porch and out of earshot from Warren and Mackenzie.

  “Do you want to know the truth if I did?” he responds.

  I cross my arms. “I want to know if you chose to take me to that restaurant so you could handle club business.”

  He sighs, a look of shame flashing over his face. He glances in Warren’s direction, obviously hoping his buddy will save his ass. Warren is walking back to the Suburban.

  “It did give me an opportunity to do a job that I needed to do,” he reluctantly admits. “That’s all you need to know.”

  “Un-fucking-believable,” I mutter, turning around to unlock my door. Once I get it open, I face him again. “You know you spout off this bullshit about not wanting me to see that side of you, but you don’t hesitate to keep showing him to me. Honestly, if you wanted to handle club business tonight, you should have just told me. I’m not blind to who you really are, and I sure as shit don’t want to be lied to.”

  I step inside and slam my door behind me. I hear him walking away and I wish he would’ve been honest with me. How can I get him to trust me if he’s keeping me in the dark?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lucien

  I know Warren is waiting to give me shit about Harper slamming the door in my face. It wasn’t like I was going to go inside and fuck her while he waited outside. Besides, we have another job to do tonight. But it sucks that she was so damn angry with me.

  “She seemed pissed,” he smarts.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “I mean, I knew I wasn’t getting laid by her friend, although I wouldn’t have minded a threesome with her and Sabrina, but I thought you had a chance. Have you fucked her yet?” he questions me, and I glare at him.

  “Do not talk about her like that,” I warn him.

  He laughs. “So, that is why you haven’t brought her to the clubhouse. She’s not just a club whore or fuck friend to you. I’ll be damned. She could be your old lady.”

  I don’t dwell on his comment. I’m disappointed in myself for not telling Harper what I was doing at Sun Deck, and I shouldn’t be. I have a damn job to do and filling her in on every detail isn’t part of it. It doesn’t matter that I feel like shit for shutting her out.

  “It should be this last house on the left,” I change the subject.

  “I thought you wanted to do this one last.”

  “We’re in the area, and when I cased the house earlier, I saw that the father left to go out of town. He had suitcases and took a cab to the airport. The kid should be home with the mom, and I know her routine already. As for the old man, he should be easy enough. I thought about sending Reid to do it, but I don’t want him to suffer.”

  “Yeah, that kid needs to learn some finesse. I don’t know what the hell he’s gone through in life, but he’s rough.”

  I ease to a stop, turning my lights off before I reach the curb so that I don’t draw any attention to us. I have been casing this house since I got the dossier. The alarm system is shot, something to do with an electrical error and the parents haven’t replaced it yet. I’m in luck there.

  The little girl’s room is on the first floor, also lucky for me. Mom should be the only one in the house, and her bedroom is on the second floor. I’ve noticed she likes to take her showers every night at eight o’clock like clockwork. Right after she’s taken her Xanax.

  She spends at least a half hour in the shower while the little girl watches television and does homework. They’re the type of family who never worries about anything happening to them. Never crosses their mind that someone is lurking just outside.

  “You got the chloroform?” Warren asks, and I nod.

  “I’ll be back in ten.”

  I grab the liquid and the small rag from the glove box. I know it’s very little planning, but she’s an eight-year-old kid so there’s not much fighting back that she can do.

  Once I reach the door, I pull the ski mask down over my face. It’s the same ski mask I wore when I shot the woman at the motel. I turn the doorknob, and what do you know, it’s unlocked. What is wrong with people? They really believe they are safe in their own home. This is L.A. for fuck’s sake.

  I douse the rag with the chloroform before quietly stepping inside, leaving the door ajar. I can see the little girl, sitting on her sofa. She has what looks to be a science book open on her coffee table and a notebook beside it, but her attention is on the television. Some cartoon is on.

  As I get closer, her head tilts to the side a little and then she turns around and looks right at me. Her bright blue eyes go wide, and for a moment I think she’s going to scream, but she doesn’t. She stands up and walks over to me, and I fucking stand there, waiting to get caught.

  “Are you the man my daddy sent to get me?” she asks me, and I stare down at her in disbelief. “Please tell me you’re him. Please tell me you’re the Revenant and that you’re going to take me back to him. That you’re going to take me away from these people. They’re not my family.”

  Tears start to stream down her face, so I lean down toward her. “Yes, I’m the Revenant, and I’m takin
g you to your daddy.”

  She sobs in relief, walking to me without hesitation, her arms extended. I lift her and she cries against my shoulder. I still have my mask on, unsure if there are security cameras anywhere in the house that might pick up my face although the system is down outside. I don’t want to fuck around and take any chances.

  I gently hold the little girl against me, assuring her that everything is going to be okay. I carry her outside, still in shock that the kidnapping job I agreed to do is really a fucking rescue.

  Harper

  My shift is almost over when Lucien and several of his members come into the diner. I walked to work after I left him standing on my porch. After he used our date to kill the chef at Sun Deck. I saw it on the news late last night. He was found in the men’s restroom. His death was an apparent strangulation. No leads or suspects at this time.

  It would take one phone call from me and this could be over. Well, for the most part. Donia wouldn’t be finished, and she wouldn’t allow me to be finished either. She would probably be pissed that Lucien wasn’t dead and that I reported him for a charge that would never stick.

  I watch him, and the other men take a seat, and I can see that they are pretty hyped up about something. Maybe they’re excited about Lucien’s kill or about the fight they have planned for tomorrow night. Of course, he still hasn’t told me anything about it.

  “What can I get you?” I ask, and I can feel his gaze on me.

  “How about a blow job?” one of them jokes.

  I glance up from my pad to the young one staring up at me. He’s the one who carved up the table the last time they were in here. He wears a lazy grin, his eyes roaming over me.

  “I thought you needed a dick to get a blow job,” I retort.

  “I don’t have a problem there,” he laughs and grabs my hand.

  He nearly has it down to his cock before I snatch it away. Lucien doesn’t take too kindly to him fucking with me though because he has the guy’s head slammed down on the table so fast I barely register what’s happening.

  The other men at the table seem just as shocked aside from Warren, who’s chuckling quietly to himself. The guy he’s holding down apologizes immediately.

  “Don’t fucking apologize to me, apologize to her!” Lucien orders.

  “I apologize!” he calls out, his lips pressed against the surface of the table and blood pooling at his teeth.

  “Thank you.”

  He releases him with a hard shove back into sitting position, and the man spits blood onto the table, looking completely pissed off. He doesn’t speak a word though until it’s his turn to place his order.

  As I walk off to turn in their ticket, I hear him telling Lucien he didn’t know I was his, like he owns me or something. I roll my eyes and tell Donnie I’m going to go grab some more ketchup. I step into the storage room and grab some bottles off the shelf.

  “You alright?” Lucien asks, and I roll my eyes again at the fact that he followed me in here.

  “Did you honestly believe that I couldn’t handle your friend?”

  “I knew that you could. I didn’t feel that you should though,” he answers.

  “I do not belong to you, Lucien. I do not need you fighting any battles for me,” I say, frustrated.

  “I didn’t say you belonged to me.”

  “They seem to think that!”

  He shakes his head, now frustrated. “They didn’t know you were claimed, that’s all,” he explains.

  “Seriously? I’m claimed now?”

  “Fuck. Off limits,” he changes his tune. “I haven’t brought you to the clubhouse, so they didn’t know that you are off limits to them.”

  “Is that what you do with the other women? You bring them to the clubhouse? Show everyone they’re ‘off limits’?” I ask him.

  “I don’t have other women. Not anymore.” He steps to me and takes the bottles from my hands, placing them back on the shelf. “And yes, Harper, you are claimed and fucking off limits to everyone else.”

  His hands cup my ass, and he jerks me to him, my body flush against his. Before he can kiss me, I pull back.

  “Did your president, the one who was killed, set you up? Have you sent to prison?”

  I see anger flash in his eyes at the mention of this man. I don’t know how else to ask without giving away who I am.

  “Yes,” he answers shortly, and leans toward me. Again, I lean back and hear a growl of frustration come from deep in his throat.

  “Why did you kill the chef at the restaurant?”

  He sighs. “It was a job. I was hired to do it.”

  “Do you do those often?”

  He inches closer so that I can feel his breath on my face. “Sometimes. When the club needs the money. I did a few this week. Now, shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

  I want to ask him more, but I need to kiss him. I’ve been angry at him all day, and I’m tired. I allow him to close the distance between us, wrapping my arms around his neck the moment our lips collide.

  He squeezes my ass, pressing me even closer. His hands then roam up my sides and to my tits that are again, free of any barrier aside from my thin t-shirt. He rubs his thumb over the cotton, caressing my nipple through the fabric. He smiles against my lips.

  “Not a fan of bras?” he asks, and I laugh.

  “No.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  He starts to slip his hand underneath my shirt, but Molly chooses that exact moment to come in. She apologizes but continues to walk past us to grab some mayo. I break away from Lucien and get the ketchup I came to get.

  “I have some club business to take care of so when we finish eating, I have to leave. I won’t be able to take you home,” he tells me. “It might be Saturday before I can see you.”

  “Okay,” I answer.

  I watch him walk back to his table, and I serve him and the other Sinners their food. I never once ask him what happens tomorrow night if he doesn’t win, but I did notice that he said it might be Saturday before he could see me again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lucien

  There’s a fucking shit ton of people at our clubhouse. I had no idea it would be like this. I would’ve done it somewhere else had I known. It’s a huge fucking risk doing this in our own backyard.

  My mind is not in the right place for this tonight. Not after what I saw last night. I swear, I can’t get those bodies out of my head. I thought the old man would be the easiest job. The simplest. That fucker will haunt me for the rest of my life. No wonder he had a hit on him. He deserved to die.

  The fucker had bodies in his basement. Dozens of them. His house reeked of decaying human flesh when I walked in. The family listed in his dossier existed, but they weren’t alive. They were down there in that basement, along with many others.

  Needless to say, his death was not painless or quick. Not after what I saw.

  I shake my head, trying to physically shake the images of rotting bodies from my head, and take a shot of the tequila sitting in front of me. The smell still hasn’t left me, and I’ve showered twice since I got back home. I’m pouring myself another when I hear footsteps.

  Reid walks through the clubhouse, zipping his jeans as he does and wearing an obvious smirk on his face. Sabrina follows right behind him. I furrow my brow, pretty sure that she’s Warren’s old lady, but then I see Warren following right behind her.

  Well, there you go. Some men don’t mind sharing. I nearly laugh at this thought. I have never been one for sharing my women. Not Spencer and sure as fuck not Harper.

  “Keep everyone outside,” I instruct. “I don’t want any fuckers inside the clubhouse. The fight is taking place outside so everyone needs to be outside where the damn ring is.”

  “Yes, sir,” Reid answers. “Hatcher and Rich are going to stand guard. Harco and Soco are taking up collections for the bets, and I have a few club whores at the gate for entry fees and cover charges.”

  “We’re charging
a cover now?” I ask him, and he grins.

  “You damn right we are. This fucking thing is huge! Did you know there are eight presidents who entered?”

  “Yeah,” I grumble. “And it’s huge until someone gets killed and we’re all arrested.”

  “Fat chance,” Warren laughs. “Chief Hightower has a front row seat.”

  “Good thing he’s on our payroll,” I state and then add, “Make sure we check all fighters for weapons. This is a fists only event.”

  “Gotcha,” Reid assures me.

  “I’ll be around to enjoy the festivities in a bit.”

  I know it’ll be a while before I fight. I’m the main fucking event. Presidents always go last, and I’ll take whoever is left standing. Hopefully, we’ll make enough on this to pay Wakeford and get our supply.

  I go to my room and pull out my phone, hoping that talking to Harper will clear my head before I fight. Unfortunately, she doesn’t answer. I decide to go watch the other fights, but I watch from afar, finding a spot in the back of the crowd where I can go unnoticed.

  The men in the ring are ruthless, fucking animals. When it’s your goal to be the last man standing, you see something unleashed inside a man that cannot be controlled. He will not be taken down easily or quietly.

  Seeing my men in the ring makes me proud. Reid is like a kid in a candy store, excited as hell to fight. He thrives on this type of shit. I swear, he’d probably tear the man’s beating heart out of his chest and eat it if he could.

  We were smart with this fight. We entered one man per division so that our own members would not be fighting each other. It didn’t make sense to us to risk losing two men per division. We need all the members we can get after losing so many in Verdana.

  Harper

  Being here is a mistake. I hate watching this. Hate seeing this. Yet, I’m rooted to the spot. Mackenzie is the same. She stares at the man in the ring as he yells out in victory. He has blood all over his hands. It’s the blood from the man he just beat to death with his bare hands. There are no weapons allowed in this fight. We were even checked at the gate.