Page 105 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
A distant memory comes to me, one that shows Gaz falling back just like that, being hit by Cat just like that. But for something lesser. Something much smaller. Gaz is smaller in the memory. A child.
My brother is a monster, but I can never allow myself to forget that Cat helped make him that way.
Gaz stares up at his father, hand pressed to the side of his face. His eyes flick briefly to Grainger, and I follow the direction of his stare. That dumbass, Cade, is smirking so wickedly that I wouldn’t be surprised if he attracted lightning strikes from the stormy sky above.
Beast warned me—all of us, actually—not to provoke my brother. Cade seems to be doing just that and Crown isn’t stopping him.
Cat squats down in front of his son.
“You touch your mother?” he asks, his voice this slice of menace that makes me shiver.
“Did Gidget tell you that?” Gaz retorts, and my father grabs him by the throat.
“Watch your mouth, boy. I asked you a question: did you hit my wife?”
“Nellie was on the floor when I walked in the kitchen,” Gaz spits back, and it’s almost believable. But I know better. I saw those marks on my mother’s wrist. More than that, I’ve been noticing since I got back that she’s even more pathetic than usual, jumpier, wild-eyed. All signs point to that behavior being caused by Gaz. Why, I don’t know, but I’d bet my life on it being him.
“Next time you defy your sergeant-at-arms, I’ll send Beast after you.” Cat rises to his feet and turns away, heading deeper into the garden as my eyes shift to the foliage surrounding him. Somewhere out here, not very far-off, Beast is already waiting. He’s already been sent, just not by Cat.
Gaz is already being hunted.
I flick my eyes back to my brother to find him staring at me.
“Good, send him,” he grumbles, but not loud enough for Cat to hear. Grainger spits on Gaz as he passes by, and Crown acts as if he doesn’t exist. My eyes meet my brother’s, and I stare deep into his, wondering about what Grainger told me, that Crown believed Gaz was a traitor way back when.
Meaning what, exactly?
The era of Queenie and Kian?
Was Gaz working for the mafia even then?
Rage flows through me and even though I know I shouldn’t, I follow Cade’s lead, throwing up two middle fingers to my brother and smirking at him. Come for me, bitch, is what my smile says.
I really, really shouldn’t have done that.
Sin’s bike—a matte white Indian Chieftain—is waiting in the exact same spot where I stole Crown’s from, kid you not. For a second there, all I can do is stop and stare. My pulse begins to race, but I push back against the reaction.
No.
I won’t be triggered by this.
Even though I feel a bit shaky on my feet, I move over to stand beside Sin. When I reach out to grab one of the handlebars, he snatches my wrist and stops me. I glance up at him, pretending like his touch isn’t fire, like I’m not aching for more.
“Before you get on your bike, do a quick check.” Sin releases me and then points at the rear wheel. “Tires and wheels.” He adjusts his finger to the front of the bike. “Controls, levers, pedals, cables, hoses, and throttle.”
“Okay,” I drawl, trying to get on only to have him grab me around the waist and yank me close.
This … doesn’t seem very productive.
“Lights, battery, headlights, turn signals, mirrors.”
Never in my life has a list of such mundane words made me squirm, made hot liquid flood the apex of my thighs.
“Chassis,” Sin says next, and I groan, turning around in his arms.
“You can’t say chassis and not expect me to rub all over you.” Sin smiles at me, but he doesn’t stop, nodding his chin in the direction of his bike.
“The frame, suspension, stands.”
He puts his hands on my hips and moves me away from him, grabbing the helmet and handing it over.
“Isn’t it manlier to ride without a helmet?” I joke, yanking it over my curly hair.
“Is it manly to have your head crack open on the pavement like a watermelon?” Sin retorts, pointing at the bike. “Show me how you’d mount this.” I give him a look, and he returns a smoky smile in response. “Ass up on the bike, Gidge.”
With a roll of my eyes, I swing my leg over and Sin grunts in reluctant approval.
“Not bad.” He moves up beside me and grabs my right hand, igniting that electricity between us that’s driven me nuts since before I fully understood its meaning; the feeling is so strong it penetrates the leather gloves I’m wearing. I love these stupid motherfuckers. The thought chokes me up, but I make myself pay attention to Sin’s instructions. “Your right hand is the boss of two jobs: acceleration and braking.” He snorts a derisive laugh. “Since you managed to take off with Crown’s bike, I’m assuming you understand the clutch.”
