Page 117 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“So someone in the club blabbed?” I continue, thinking about Gaz. That would be just like him, to do something like that. Was he drunk? Was it for clout? Was he looking for money? “Then what?”
“Gaz is the one who told us where to find Kian,” Crown offers up, still watching me, still waiting for a reaction. My blood aches and burns, but I keep it together. He’s waiting to see if I can do it, if I can rein in my temper. “You know that Gaz used to take Queenie to the casino, right?”
I … I knew my sister had her own life. She did things she never told me about. But going to the casino? With Gaz? It isn’t really all that surprising. Queenie believed in our older brother in a way that Posey and I never did.
She loved him in a way we never did.
She trusted that there was good in him.
And he … he got her killed?
“That’s where she met Kian,” I say, testing out the idea. It makes sense. It all makes horrible, horrible sense, even if I don’t want to believe it. “If Gaz happened to meet someone from Grey Wolfe, and they offered him a deal …”
Whether he was working with them at that time or not doesn’t matter.
He’s most definitely working with them now.
He was on his way to get Reba last night.
For what purpose?
“Gaz was a traitor then, just like he is now. But how the fuck do I tell your father that without putting you at risk?”
“Us at risk,” I clarify, and Crown lets a heavy frown cross his gorgeous mouth.
“The drugs,” he starts, sighing again. He looks so tired. I feel responsible for that, but if he won’t let me help him, what can I do? He has to want me by his side. “You asked why you had to do that.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I start, but it does. Crown knows that. He grabs my chin in his strong fingers, and even though the move could be called patronizing, I don’t care. His fingertips burn my skin where they grip me, as hot and flagrant as the wildfires raging in the distance.
“The Grey Wolfe Mafia cooks up their own drugs, Gidget. They invent new drugs. The underboss, Ivan Wolfe, is famous for the designer drugs he sells to the upper-class in Ashbury. In Eugene. Portland. Seattle.” Crown slides his hand down to rest on the side of my neck, and I close my eyes against the press of his palm on my pulse. “They were selling that cocaine up and down the West Coast, peddling it as some miracle drug. But only in specific areas, to specific people. They were using it to slaughter anyone that had ties with us: politicians, the chief of police, suppliers.” Crown continues sliding his hand down, over my shoulder, my arm, making me shiver. “We needed to know what was in it.”
“And me giving it to a bunch of kids …” I start, trying to push past the feeling of his heavy hand on my waist. I want so much more. I want everything. I want Crown to push that fire into me until I’m burned to ash and drifting on the wind. Even now, I can feel it settling on my painted mouth, bits of ruined things, people, homes, trees; it’s blowing in the wind, and I can taste it on my tongue when I breathe deep.
“We have a friend in the FBI. He made a suggestion. If a bunch of kids died from bad drugs, they’d need to have them tested. We could find out what, exactly, was in them.”
“But nobody died …” I hazard, thinking back on the day that I left. Sin’s words sound in my mind.
“Your dad wanted them all dead. But Crown argued against it. Nobody’s dead.”
“We cut their product with some of ours; I don’t like to kill kids, Gidget.”
“It’s Gidge,” I choke out, and then Crown is putting his mouth against mine, smearing lipstick and ash between us.
“You two want to ride off on a white horse?” a caustic voice asks, and we break apart just in time to see Grainger striding through the trees toward us. I wonder how much he heard. How long he’s been watching us. His brown eyes find mine before turning back to Crown. “We’ve got church in a half hour.”
Church. Not the religious kind. Oh no. The boys’ club, ‘let’s meet to discuss bro business’, sort of church. It’s the term all MCs use to refer to official club meetings.
Crown starts to pull away from me, but I curl my fingers under the waistband of his jeans. Grainger notices, eyes tracking the movement.
“A half hour is plenty of time,” I suggest, and Crown makes this frustrated sound, like he’s falling right into temptation that he knows will stain his skin with sin for the rest of eternity. That’s what I want. I want to stain and sin with them forever.
