Cruz : A Dark MC Romance (A Dark and Dirty Sinners’ MC Book 5) Read online

  Attention thoroughly caught, I’d watched her as she slipped in, and through the windows, I’d seen she was setting up to clean. Brothers had hollered at me to get back and to serve some drinks up, so I’d done as asked, before, an hour later when things had died down, seeing she was still there, I’d gone to check on her.

  I loved a woman who cleaned. There was nothing misogynistic about it. If I boned guys, I’d get off on watching them clean too. It was the act, not the gender. I just loved it. So, Indy, without even knowing it, had given me my version of a private lap dance.

  Growling under my breath because I’d tap that ass of hers quick as breathing if given the opportunity, I trundled into town and headed off toward the east side where I had an appointment.

  I could do this in the day time because, technically, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but there were a million laws between technicality and legality and, also, I intended to sleep when I got back. Waking up to do a chore I could have done before I slept was just impractical, and I wasn’t an impractical man.

  The roads were dead, the night air was still, and only the dawn birds were interested in me as I headed to the rougher part of West Orange.

  When I made it there, drove along the roads of the industrial park, I turned down my radio because all was quiet around here, and finally arrived at the unit.

  As I pulled in, the whirring of the mechanism of the doors sounded overly loud in the silence of the otherwise still night as the second I made it inside, they closed behind me.

  It took forty minutes longer than I’d have liked to get the crates onto the back of my truck, but I wasn’t about to complain when Kirill’s guys did the heavy lifting. I didn’t even have to get out of the cage.

  A few minutes in, Kirill hopped into the passenger seat beside me, and we bumped fists as he asked, “You’re going through more of this than usual. Might have to up my rates.”

  My lips twitched. “What can I say? Sometimes there’s more trash hanging around than can be recycled.”

  He arched a bushy brow at me, but his smile was genuine when it made an appearance.

  I’d met Kirill in college of all places. He was one of the reasons I hadn’t offed myself when my life had gone down the shitter.

  I was where I was because of my mother, but knowing Kirill, an old Chem professor from college, and his wife, Monique, cared about me, regardless of the bad decisions I’d made while I was a student, had been grounding. Enough to stop me from making a very foolish mistake when I’d been facing jail.

  Now, he was no longer a professor but ran a cleaning business with Monique, and I took advantage of his contacts, new and old, for the Sinners’ purposes.

  Sometimes, it wasn’t what you knew, but who.

  Just in this instance, with both my know-how and contacts, it was both.

  “Old friend, where you’re concerned, recycling was never an issue.”

  I outright grinned at that, then asked, “Seriously though, if you need more, I’ll tell the Prez.”

  Kirill shrugged. “It isn’t the cost of the items, per se—”

  “It’s making sure the procurement stays under the radar. I get it.”

  He rubbed his chin. “You making a meth lab?”

  I snorted. “What about the shit I asked you to purchase screams meth production? You’ve been retired too long if you don’t remember how to make meth.”

  “Usually the body count is this high when drugs are involved.”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” was all I said. “Kirill, I don’t want you getting involved in this crap.”

  He tutted. “It was only a heart scare.”

  “When it’s to do with the heart, you need to take notice,” I retorted. “And it has nothing to do with that. If Monique knew I was asking this much of you, she’d give me crap.”

  His smile turned fond. “True.” It faded. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No. Not personally, anyway. The club… well, that’s different. But there’s nothing for you to worry about. War isn’t coming to West Orange. I’d warn you if it was.”

  A hand clapped on the side of the truck door, prompting Kirill to grunt.

  “I’ve burned the last supplier. If you need more, then you need to wait or I’ll need more cash.”

  “Thanks, Kir.”

  He shrugged. “More than welcome. Don’t be a stranger. Monique misses you. She often complains about how close you are and how rarely she sees you.”

  I pulled a face. “I’m a Sinner. I don’t want to bring any trouble to your door.”

  “That’s much appreciated, son, but have you ever thought about taking off the vest and driving to us?” was his dry answer. “I know you’re not glued to your hog.”

  I grimaced. “I mostly ride in the club’s cages.” More’s the pity, but it was the nature of my job—I had to haul a lot of heavy shit around.

  “Well, then,” he grumbled, clucking his tongue.

  I laughed then pointed to my throat, as well as my wrists and hands. “You saying I wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb in your neighborhood even if I turned up in a Calvin Klein suit?”

  His eyes were twinkling as he jumped out of the truck. “Maybe. I’m sure you know enough women who can lend you some foundation.”

  “Christ,” I rumbled. “You want me to wear a skirt to blend in too?”

  “I’d pay to see that,” was all he said, but he laughed as he shut the door. “Stay safe,” he told me, and I heard the warning, and accepted it.

  Kirill had always cared, and I genuinely felt shitty for abandoning Monique.

  During college, both of them had helped get me through when ramen noodles had started looking like luxury takeout. I’d attended school on a scholarship, but those funds didn’t pay for students to eat like kings.

  When the doors to the loading bay opened up again, I rolled out, saluted Kirill in farewell, then as I drove off with the truck a little more unwieldy and harder to steady now there was a couple hundred pounds of weight on the back, I slowed down. Last thing I needed was to get pulled over and for the cops to ask me questions about what I was hauling around…

  See, I could tell them I was making soap, but I didn’t exactly look like I was in the business of making crafts from home.

  Though the compound was on the outskirts of town, I still had to drive through West Orange itself to reach it. As I pulled up at a red light, I whistled along to a Chainsmokers’ song I had playing low, until I could carry on driving back to the clubhouse.

  Jax, surprisingly enough, wasn’t snoozing when I arrived. The creaky gates opened and I trundled in, pausing only for Jax to climb in with me as we both headed up the drive before taking a detour that took us to the other side of the compound.

  This was my real place of work, but because the brothers didn’t always need to get rid of bodies, I spent most of my time behind the bar and doing a lot of odd jobs.

  Ten years ago, I’d never have imagined being happy to be out of the lab, to be out of the field, but I found I had a place here, a purpose. And with Donavan Lancaster’s death in the cards, well, I’d have some fun sooner rather than later.

  The road to the Fridge was rough, and there were pockets of land that could sink a truck this size, so I was grateful for the dawn which shone a little light on my path. That was why I traveled at this time. The sun rose and illuminated a journey that had been taken often by the brothers in the fifty or so years of the clubhouse’s existence. Blood spilled often in an MC, and it was surprising there wasn’t a river of it around the Fridge, where most of it had been shed in the Sinners’ history.

  When we made it to the club’s personal torture chamber, I grabbed my gear and directed Jaxson. Together, we managed to get the crate off the truck and we dragged it to a clearing that had a tarp over it that was dotted with leaves and shit for camo.

  “Please! Get me out of here!”

  The scream came as no shock to me, but Jax jolted like he’d been hit with a stun gun. />
  “It’s just Lancaster,” I muttered, used to the noise by now.

  Jax winced, but otherwise, carried on unpacking the truck.

  Both of us were exhausted by this point, especially after such a long shift, him on the gates and me behind the bar, so we made short work of grabbing the other, smaller crates, and loading them beside the cabin. As we worked, Lancaster continued releasing sharp screams, pleas for help, and each time, Jaxson jerked in surprise.

  He had to know what was going on in there, what the MC was putting the cunt through, but each jolt told me he wasn’t made for wet work. If my opinion mattered, I’d have told Rex that, but I had no right to judge another man’s stomach—it wasn’t like the only work around the clubhouse came with a side of blood.

  By the time I got Jax back to his post, he looked like he was going to hurl, and while I was dead on my feet, when I saw Indy’s Camaro hadn’t gone, I frowned because I’d never known her to spend the night at the clubhouse.

  Not that I’d been keeping an eye on her or anything.

  I’d just noticed because she was very noticeable by nature—and if you believed that, then I could sell you horseshit.

  My bed was calling me, but I made my way to the bunkhouse first. When I found her fast asleep on the plastic-wrapped mattress, I nearly choked on my tongue.

  Never, in all the years I’d known her, had I ever seen her so relaxed. So carefree.

  I’d always thought she was beautiful. With her heritage, how couldn’t I? Her skin was like liquid gold, for fuck’s sake. And her hair? I’d seen obsidian that was lighter.

  But her features were stoic. Laced with a brittle reserve that was, most definitely, a defense mechanism.

  She had a razor-like wit, but that was nothing compared to her tongue—capable of lashing a person worse than a bullwhip.

  And I’d know, because I’d wielded a fair number of whips in my time.

  She was so peaceful that I didn’t want to disturb her. So restful that I knew I’d never seen her so at ease with herself, like in sleep that was the only time she was truly able to relax.

  Why that disturbed me, I didn’t know. It just did.

  It made me wonder what put that permanent scowl on her face.

  Made me wonder why her smile was so rare.

  As a thousand questions plagued me, I retreated to a closet in the hall where I knew a bunch of Stone’s things had been put into storage from her apartment in the city. My boots usually thudded on the ground, but I made sure that I moved with care as I rifled through Stone’s gear, seeking something to cover Indy with. When I found a blanket, a soft one, I moved back into the bedroom and covered her with it.

  The urge to sit beside her, to study her was an annoying one.

  But chalking it down to a need for sleep, I pushed myself away. Then, just as I was about to reach the door, I heard her. Twisting around to look, I watched as she started to snag herself in the blanket, her limbs beginning to thrash, and then she sealed it.

  Without even knowing it, she sealed both our futures.

  “No, Kevin, no. Stop it. Unc—” Her head whipped from side to side, and her arms made shooing motions. She moved edgily, her desire to escape clear.

  I’d only meant to keep her warm, but the blanket, something on top of her, had evidently triggered a memory.

  We all knew that name in the clubhouse.

  Kevin.

  Nyx’s uncle.

  The blood brother of his father, Jester.

  A pedophile.

  A defiler of innocence.

  A man who Nyx killed over and over as he went on a mission that saw him taking out child abusers all over the US.

  He’d touched Indy. That much was clear. And from her fear? The abuse went deeper than I figured anyone knew, because we all thought Nyx’s desire for vengeance was for Carly—their elder sister. If it was for Indy too, I thought it’d be common knowledge.

  The distress on her face was even more repugnant in contrast to that serenity I’d seen before, and I knew I had my answers.

  This was why she wore her resting bitch face like a shield, why she was a grade A pain-in-the-ass, why she never smiled, why she had more attitude than sense…

  This.

  Gritting my teeth, I stepped over to her and cast the blanket off her, dragging it to the foot of the bed. She instantly settled. In fact, it was so immediate that it stunned the hell out of me, enough so that I got out of there, didn’t bother to grab the cover, just wanted to leave her to get some peace.

  She deserved it.

  And now that I knew, I’d do everything in my power to return it to her.

  If it was the last thing I did.

  Two

  Cruz

  Five weeks later

  It wasn’t by chance that I was heading into town and about to use the highway to get to Verona.

  Verona was where Indy lived and worked, after all. Ever since that night, I’d been hanging around the town’s main street where Indiana Ink was located. Not like a creep, just using the diner there to eat instead of staying at the clubhouse. Shit like that.

  But what was by chance?

  Seeing Lodestar slipping down a side street as I idled at a stop light.

  A street that Dog, one of my brothers, had just sidled down.

  As far as I knew, most of the guys were at the clubhouse. Or, at least, they were supposed to be.

  Dog was one of those dumb fucks who partied way too hard. He was far too old for it, far too old to be living it up the way he was, but the idiot didn’t recognize that he had a good thing going on with an Old Lady who was a fuck ton better than him.

  I’d seen him throat fucking a couple of clubwhores before I left the compound so how he’d gotten here before me, and why, was definitely a mystery.

  And I loved and loathed mysteries.

  What were they if not a puzzle by any other name?

  So though I was intending on going into Verona, having decided that getting Indy to work on my ink was the best pretext for starting a conversation, I pulled over and parked.

  For a biker, I spent way too much fucking time in a cage, but I was glad for it because it meant my straight pipes weren’t rattling, which didn’t key Dog or Lodestar into the fact that I was sneaking up behind them.

  Jumping out of the truck, I rushed over to the alley where they’d both gone. A quick glance around told me there was nothing around here that should’ve caught their attention. Not unless a closing coffee shop was their end destination, and wouldn’t they have gone in through the front door and not the back if that was their intention?

  Eyes narrowed as I peered into the mouth of the alley, I watched as Dog headed to the bottom of it, while Lodestar made moves toward him that were beyond suspicious.

  I wasn’t a soldier. I was a scientist. But even I recognized someone being hunted.

  She headed down to the bottom of the alley where he was pacing, and though it was clear he was waiting on someone, it sure as hell wasn’t Lodestar, because when she reached him, they didn’t greet each other.

  Nope.

  She went for him.

  I’d never seen anything like it.

  And I’d seen a lot of random, cruel and gruesome shit in my life.

  She flung herself at him like she was a fucking vampire, and as she went for his throat, it wasn’t to bite the bastard, it was to grab him by the ears and to break his neck in one clean move with a crack of sound that ricocheted around the small space as loud as if she’d used a fucking gun.

  Dog immediately crumpled to the ground, and Lodestar leaped back, her boots thudding hard as gravity had her colliding with the asphalt a few feet from the corpse of a man who, until a few minutes ago, was a brother.

  Guilt hit me for not doing something to help, but none of this had gone down as I expected. I’d thought I’d—

  “Shit, what did you think?” I muttered under my breath, so low that no one could hear it.

  No. Fucking. One. />
  That was how I’d earned my rep—Grim Reaper. Silent.

  Only, Lodestar did hear me.

  Her head whipped around and she found me, her eyes narrowing as she pinned me in a death stare.

  For all that she’d taken down Dog like the pro she was, I wasn’t scared, and that wasn’t arrogance talking, it was just common sense. When she’d moved toward Dog, there’d been something about her body language. The way she moved, the way she comported herself. Sure, she’d been hunting him, so stealth was important, but there was a lack of urgency about her that told me I was safe from her.

  And it had nothing to do with the heat I was packing either. I had a feeling she’d have my guns out of my hands as fast as I could blink.

  No, I’d definitely underestimated Lodestar, which told me I’d underestimated Maverick too. Which was interesting, because I rarely underestimated people.

  “You saw nothing,” she intoned as she moved toward me, striding down the alleyway. “And what you did see, you should know was deserved.”

  Deserved? What did that mean?

  “There are cameras,” I muttered, uneasy despite myself.

  She cut me a look. “No one can touch me, Cruz. And if they can, then they’re worthy adversaries. It’s been a long time since I played, so that should be a hoot.”

  A hoot?

  My eyes widened at her, but she wasn’t interested in me. At all.

  My pride wasn’t exactly pricked, but I found myself hovering there like a pussy. Feeling like shit for not helping Dog pre- or post-death. I mean, it wasn’t like I was picking up my cell and calling either the council or the police. I just watched Lodestar stride off, hips swaying as if she were walking down a catwalk and not on the sidewalk beside a coffee shop. She didn’t look back. Her confidence clear as dust.

  She evidently believed I wouldn’t say a word. Why that was, I didn’t know, but the need to go over there, to pat down the body, get rid of the evidence was harder than I could say. I’d settle for just emptying Dog’s pockets, trying to figure out what he was doing down here in the first place—