Page 107 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
I head back down the road to find Sin waiting for me, completely unconcerned, arms crossed over his chest as he watches me.
I park within a foot of him, leaving my helmet hanging from the handlebars.
“Guess I don’t need these lessons much, do I?” I ask, swaggering up to him and sliding my hand into his pocket to steal his cigarettes and lighter.
“Guess not,” Sin agrees as I light up and then offer him the pack. He takes it from me, letting his bare fingers tangle with my leather-wrapped ones. “Damn shame.”
I smile and take a deep inhale, glancing back at Sin’s bike again.
This won’t be the last time I ride it.
But eventually? This bitch is getting her own bike.
“Wake up.”
Two days after my victory on Sin’s motorcycle, I’m awoken to silver beams of moonlight falling across the foot of the bed. Grainger is on guard duty tonight, but it isn’t him that touched my shoulder and gently shook me awake.
It’s Beast.
I sit up suddenly, relieved to see him. When he disappeared the other day, I wondered if Gaz wouldn’t be more vigilant, angrier, edgier. There’s no doubt in my mind that Beast could kick Gaz’s ass, but what if Gaz lured Beast into a mafia stronghold or something?
He’s a man, not a superhero.
“The fuck is going on?” Grainger grumbles, yanking the chain of the light next to his chair. He looks like death warmed-over as he swipes a hand over his face. The fire is low, but it casts strange shadows on his cheekbones, his jaw, catches the metal of his lip piercings and makes them shine.
I sit up suddenly, rubbing at my eyes, wary of being woken up in the middle of the night. Does that ever turn out well?
“Please tell me someone isn’t dead,” I murmur, doing my best to blink the sleep from my eyes.
“Come with me, darlin’,” Beast says as my mind spins with possibilities. None of which are particularly good. Not exactly an answer to my question. Whatever this is, though, it’s important.
I hurry out of bed, grabbing leather pants and Beast’s jacket; I assume we’re leaving the compound.
“Am I invited on this reconnaissance mission?” Grainger growls at me, suddenly out of the chair and standing far too close to my ass as I bend over to yank the pants on.
He goes to cup me from behind, and Beast grabs his wrist.
“So long as you get yourself together,” he drawls with enough exasperation in his voice that I figure maybe things aren’t so bad as they seem.
We get dressed and head downstairs, leaving through the back door and heading for the rear gate. Beast doesn’t seem concerned about anyone seeing us, so I don’t worry about it either. It occurs to me then that there are some positives to sharing the load. The burden of being discovered isn’t on me; it isn’t something I even need to let flicker in the recesses of my mind.
Beast has it covered.
Without even asking, I take up residence on the back of his bike, his jacket a comforting weight on my shoulders. As soon as my arms go around him, my body reacts, and heat curls through me, amplifying the faint chill in the air. It isn’t nearly as cold as it usually is this time of year, and that bothers me.
It feels ominous somehow, that strange heat.
As we head into town, I close my eyes. It’s dark anyway, so there isn’t much to look at. Also, with my eyes closed, I can feel the way Beast controls his bike so much better. It’s like an extension of his powerful body, like he’s got wings made of steel. We fly along the curves of the road, heading right back to that fateful spot.
To the Palm Motel.
“What are we doing here?” I ask after we’ve discreetly parked and found a shadowy spot near the dumpsters. Normally, I wouldn’t dare approach an area like this. The sorts of men you find in this kind of darkness? Nobody you want to know or run into.
Thing is, I’ve got the sort of men who eat those sorts of men for breakfast on either side of me.
“Watch.” Beast leans his back against the dumpster and waits, looking up at the top floor of the motel. I do as he says, even as Grainger grumbles about being woken up under his breath.
It takes about a half an hour, but eventually, a door opens upstairs and a man walks out. He heads to the vending machines, taking an inordinate amount of time to select a drink. Something about that, about the way he studies the soda machine makes something click inside of me.
That endless staring, that contemplative swagger.
Grey.
I start to move, but Cade’s hand lashes out, fingers curling around my arm and holding me in place. He is dangerously close to a kick in the balls.
