All Sinner No Saint Read online

  All Sinner No Saint

  The ‘Hell’s Rebel’s MC’ Collection

  Serena Akeroyd

  Copyright © 2019 by Serena Akeroyd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Author’s note

  I. All Sinner

  1. Lucie

  2. Lucie

  3. Dagger

  4. Wolfe

  5. Dagger

  6. Axe

  7. Axe

  8. Wolfe

  9. Axe

  10. Wolfe

  11. Axe

  12. Lucie

  Amaryllis

  II. No Saint

  13. Amaryllis

  14. Ama

  15. Ama

  16. Saint

  17. Keys

  18. Ink

  19. Keys

  20. Ama

  21. Ink

  22. Ink

  23. Keys

  24. Ama

  1. Lucie

  Afterword

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  Also by Serena Akeroyd

  Author’s note

  You may find some of the grammar in the dialogue/conversations to be a little ‘unorthodox.’ Lol. It’s intentional. Plenty of ‘aint’s’ etc. These bikers are grammar rebels. Who am I to fight them? ; )

  The term ‘one-percenter’ is a type of outlaw MC. Unlike the other ninety-nine percent of clubs out there, these MCs are involved in illegal acts and aren’t a ‘riding’ club. They’re not there for shits and giggles, but for life. They ride hard until the day they die.

  As is the way with Lucie’s men.

  Welcome to the Hell’s Rebels’ MC.

  And… while you’re here, check out these songs that were important in the making of this story:

  Zombie – The Cranberries

  Naked – Avril Lavigne

  Change – Good Charlotte

  Whoops I OD’d - NOFX

  I

  All Sinner

  1

  Lucie

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Well, as a greeting, that couldn’t have sucked any harder, but I’d expected it. Even if it hurt.

  These sons of bitches had been my family, and then I’d been tossed out of Hell’s gates themselves. It was a good thing I didn’t hold a grudge.

  Much.

  I jerked my chin up as the biker on training wheels carried on chewing his tobacco, and hissed, “I’m here for what’s mine.”

  The prospect spat on the floor, his saliva pooling in a gross brown globule that made me want to throat punch him for his disrespect—sure, I was an exile, but fuck, that was just disgusting. “Ain’t nothing around here that’s yours,” he declared like the cocksure little shit he was.

  I could almost hear Ry whispering in my ear to be nice to the little prospect, but he wasn’t here to hold me back anymore.

  None of my men were.

  They’d left me.

  All of them.

  My mouth tightened as my throat closed. Everything inside me felt like it was rattling from the pressure of containing my emotions. I felt like I could explode, rage and grief intertwining until there was nothing left but a bitterness so prevalent I could swim in it.

  My fingers itched as I dragged them along the top of the car’s door. I hated cars, I saw them as cages and preferred to ride everywhere, but that preference was currently in hiatus thanks to the cast on my arm. No way could I steer a bike one-handed and yeah, I’d have tried if I hadn’t sold my baby for the move. For the interim, I’d sit bitch… if the guys I was back to claim would let me.

  The heat of the Texas sun made the roof of the sedan burn, and my skin prickled at the sensation as I rubbed my fingers down it. The pain felt good, too good. I’d stopped that self-harm shit a long time ago, but old habits died hard sometimes.

  Pain was a control mechanism of mine.

  Fucked up?

  Yup.

  But what did you expect from an MC princess who’d gotten her own way from birth until she was eighteen and two days old?

  On the third day of my eighteenth year, that was when things had gone to shit but, though I’d been exiled, I’d still never been corralled. Ryan liked me as I was—wild.

  Narrowing my eyes at the prospect, I told him calmly, “You wanna apologize for spitting in front of a lady?”

  “I don’t see no lady around these here parts,” he sneered, looking so proud of himself that I wasn’t surprised when he cupped his cock and jacked himself.

  Patience.

  Ryan’s voice was in my head, that was the only place it could be nowadays, but I could hear it like he was standing right beside me.

  I blew out a breath, seriously trying for calm, because this fucker didn’t know me, couldn’t because he was too new to the club, but then he sealed his fate by doing it again. Jacking his cock, spitting more chewing tobacco on the ground, and declaring, “Ain’t no ladies and ain’t no princesses.”

  That was it.

  I was done.

  I strode around the door, and when he didn’t flinch, didn’t react, I knew the stories about me had either died or my daddy had made everyone stop mentioning my name. It was probably a combination of the two, but it worked in my favor.

  See, I wasn’t a prissy princess, no Rapunzel or Cinderella shit for me. I’d grown up with five best friends who were boys. All but one of them were sons of brothers in the MC. I’d been raised with them, had learned their ways, had learned their talk, and had been taught how to protect myself against fuck-ups like this prick whose eyes were spaced out from some chemical. Things were going to shit if the VP put a fuckwit like this on the gates.

  He deserves it, Lucie. Ry’s voice was amused now. Remember? Instep, flat hand, nose, knee, junk.

  As if I could forget the move he’d taught me to pull if a guy ever got handsy with me.

  With a smile, one that would make butter melt it was so warm and loaded with such promise that few could deny it, I strolled toward him. All loose-legged and limber. When I moved closer, I dropped my gaze to his limp dick and, after licking my lips, whispered, “Give me some of that.”

  His pupils were tinier than pinpricks, and he gulped, all bravado gone as lust replaced his disdain. He stepped forward the same time I did. Only, he went to reach for me whereas I slammed my heel into his instep, used the flat of my hand and shoved it into his nose, then with glee, raised my knee and dug it straight into his junk.

  The howl he released satisfied the beast inside me, but what satisfied me more?

  Him dropping to the ground.

  I grabbed his hair, smashed him down, and right where he’d spat, I pushed his face into it.

  “Think you can spit in front of me, you motherfucker?” I snarled, and the hoots and hollers from behind the gate were the only thing that had me dropping the bastard’s head and letting him slam face-first into the ground.

  Dust motes rose, but I was used to that. Texas was built on dust. That and the sweat of the folks who lived under its molten sun.

  When I stared between the bars, my heart froze.

  Go to them, Lucie. They need you as much as I did.

  Only trouble was, Ry had been the only one brave enough to take me.

  My eyes caught on Flame’s stunned ones for a handful of seconds before I wrenched them away, only for Axe to snare me in a tight visual hold. I went along the line as though there weren’t twenty brothers storming toward the gates, diving int
o Dagger’s gaze, before tumbling headfirst into Wolfe’s.

  What had been jittering around inside me like a hand grenade that was due to explode, turned softer, sadder.

  They’d changed.

  The life had made them harder. Being a part of a one-percenter club—an MC that was pure outlaw and better than the other ninety-nine percent of riding clubs out there—had caused more frown lines than smile lines, and there were thick brackets of tension on their brows. Not that that made them any less gorgeous to me.

  The fuckers.

  They were all as stacked as ever, all as ripped and delicious in their cuts, tees, jeans, and boots. How four items of clothing could make my pussy wet, I’d never know. I was like Pavlov’s dog for them though.

  Well, for the four men inside those clothes.

  No other fuckers.

  Flame, with his red hair, brown eyes, and freckled face that should have looked wholesome but somehow was like walking sin. Axe, whose blond hair and green eyes could make me wet with a single stroke of his finger down my arm. Then there was Dagger who, like his name, reminded me of steel. His hair had been steel-gray at eighteen, and with those dark brown eyes of his, he lulled you into a false sense of security before finishing you off. Either with his cock if you were me, or his knife if you were an enemy.

  Then, there was Wolfe. Like his namesake, he was strong and proud, feral with his shaggy, dirty blond hair and eyes that were colder than Lake fucking Tahoe.

  “Lucie? Is that you?”

  “Rhetorical question?” I retorted, folding my arms across my chest. Flame knew who I was—he might look older, but I didn’t. I wanted as little bullshit around me as goddamn possible so I refused to cut him any slack.

  The prospect groaned, and though the brothers—mostly newer ones that I didn’t recognize—began hollering and laughing at the dumbfuck on the ground, the four, my four, carried on eyeballing me.

  “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  The men turned to Wolfe and that had my brows lifting. Shit had changed more than I’d thought.

  Living across the state, I hadn’t heard as much about my family’s MC as I’d have liked. Ry and I had chosen to live a different life, but without him, and now, with my father gone, I had no reason to stay out of it anymore.

  This was my fucking home, and I needed to be here.

  “Why are you here, Lucie?” Wolfe, just as his namesake might, growled.

  Before I could reply, a little voice whispered, “Mommy? What’s happening?”

  The men stiffened, and when my baby girl popped her head out of the backseat and jumped out of the car to investigate for herself, I saw Wolfe’s nostrils flare.

  He cut me a look, and though he was learning he was a daddy right this minute, and though that look might have felled lesser men, I wasn’t a man and I wasn’t lesser.

  I cocked a brow at him. “How about you open these gates, sugar?”

  ❖

  Wolfe

  I’d been in gunfights.

  I’d almost been raped by an Aryan in the showers of a federal lock up.

  And I’d dealt with more dirty businessmen than Satan himself.

  Yet nothing had my heart in my throat like Lucie Steeler.

  Only she’d ever been able to do this to me. Only Lucie, and that was why she was dangerous. Always had been, always would be. Not just to me, but the men who were my brothers too. She was our personal kryptonite, and for some fucking reason, she was back, and she was bringing life-changing news with her.

  I watched as she pressed a hand to the little girl’s shoulder, a little girl who looked like my baby sister, Tara, back when she was that age, when she’d been pure and innocent, and before the drugs had made their mark on that delicate doll-like beauty. Then I recognized that was a copout, and I was being a pussy. My baby sister was my goddamn twin… The girl was mine.

  Sloan ‘Bomber’ Steeler had tossed out his daughter when she was pregnant with my baby.

  Had he known?

  Was that why he’d forced her to leave?

  For a second, I wished I’d been the one to shoot the motherfucker, to cut the man down in his prime. Then, I realized how fucking wrong that was.

  Brothers before bitches.

  Just… daughters didn’t fit in that category.

  “Open the gate,” I ground out, and was relieved when Flame moved over to the control panel and opened it.

  We’d never had any trouble here, but the entrance was always guarded. People knew we were bad shit, and though they might loathe us, we were vital to the local economy too. Funny, right? So, guards stood outside the gates not inside, and leaned over to reach the control panel to let folk in. That was why Lucie had managed to knock Gutter down to the, well, gutter. His nickname was about to become legend.

  Of course, none of the newer brothers knew who Lucie was anymore. Bomber had cocked his gun whenever a brother had dared mention her name, and as the years passed, I’d done the same because, fuck if I didn’t miss little Lucie.

  The gates squeaked as the hinges opened, and though it irritated me, as it did every time I heard the noise, it was an inadvertent security feature. I heard that fucking squeak in my sleep. After three AM, that fucker stayed closed, and if I awoke to that noise later than that? I’d know someone was breaking into the compound.

  My compound.

  I balled my hands into fists as the little girl, all white blonde hair and big gray eyes, clung to her mother’s jeans, hiding behind them like she was scared. That she was worrying told me she wasn’t used to the life, and I had to wonder what the fuck Ryan had been playing at—

  My throat choked. No. I wouldn’t think about him. Wouldn’t think about any of that just now.

  I had a clusterfuck on my hands, and it needed dealing with.

  “Come on, sugar pie, let’s get in the car.”

  I noticed the cast on her arm, and knew that was the reason she was in a cage and not on a bike. Not that kids could ride on bikes… Although I could imagine Lucie trying that shit. She hadn’t changed. She was still as insane as ever—watching Gutter kiss his own spit was proof of that.

  The little girl, my daughter, huddled into her momma’s side as Lucie guided her into the backseat once more.

  I got a glimpse of a round ass as she moved away, and when she sat in the deep bucket seat, her tits bunched together in a way that reminded me of the times I’d titty-fucked her sweet jailbait self.

  Gritting my teeth, I moved away from the driveway and headed to the side of the road so she could pass. The others followed my lead, but though most brothers kept a wide berth from me, had ever since I’d gone from VP to Prez, Flame, Axe, and Dagger didn’t.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Axe hissed at me. “Is this the Twilight Zone?”

  I shot him a look. “Fucking feels like it.” I ran a hand over my face. “No paternity test is going to prove shit I don’t already know—that girl’s mine.”

  “One hundred percent,” Flame rasped, pulling his lighter out as he began flicking it. I was used to him and the damn pacifier he always had in his hand. The rasp, the flick, the whoosh of flame… it was hypnotic to me now. So much so, I had to focus to blot it out.

  As my Enforcer, it was only right that Flame was as much of a psycho as Lucie. You’d think he’d earned his road name for that mop of bright red hair, but nope. It was because the fucker was a pyromaniac and proud of it.

  “You can’t toss her out, Wolfe,” Axe, my VP, growled, his arms bunching through his Henley. Apparently, his agitation was fucking with his brains if he thought I was letting Lucie and my goddamn daughter go anywhere other than inside the clubhouse.

  “I wasn’t going to,” I rumbled, pissed at the very idea. “Fuck, you think I’m going to toss the mother of the only kid I have out? What the hell do you take me for?”

  Axe shrugged, but there was misery in his eyes as he followed Lucie’s trajectory. “You were as bad as Bomber when he made her leave.”
/>
  “Only because it—” I gritted my teeth, not about to make the admission that even the barest whisper of Lucie’s name had hurt.

  Worse than a knife to the belly, or a bullet to the chest, and I knew, because I’d experienced both under the club’s banner.

  A hand clapped my back and Dagger squeezed. “It’s okay. We were all fucked up back then.”

  My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching my teeth, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my chest as I watched Lucie’s car drive up toward the clubhouse. It wasn’t a piece of shit rust bucket, so I knew Ryan had taken care of her. And my daughter.

  Holy fuck, I had a kid.

  “Where do you think Ryan is?” Axe questioned, telling me our thoughts were, as usual, in alignment.

  That’s what happened when you grew up with brothers. Not blood brothers, but brothers by choice.

  Axe, Flame, Dagger, and I were all usually on the same page. Once upon a time, Lucie and Ryan had shared that page too. Until everything had gone to shit.

  “He has to be dead.”

  I glared at Flame. “You don’t know that,” I spat out, my tone grim because I knew he was right, even if I didn’t want him to be.

  He shrugged. “Yeah, we do. No way he’d leave her, or the girl, unless he could help it.”

  Inside, everything began to break down. But it was only on the inside because the Prez of a fucking MC couldn’t burst into tears or drop to his knees with grief if that was the truth.