Page 83 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
“He’s probably skimming product and sending his pet prostitute to drop it off for the dealers.” Grainger’s eyes practically glow as he says that, and I see him flick his tongue across his lower lip. He’s excited by the prospect of Gaz’s wrongdoing. “Oh, shit, I hope so. Do you know how long I’ve waited to pin that fucker with something that’ll stick?” He rubs at his stubble with his right hand, contemplating Gaz’s doom. It’s a surprisingly sexy sight to bear witness to.
“If Grey sent me that key,” I offer up, breath catching slightly as Beast’s hand works up to my thigh. The skin gets smoother and softer the closer he gets to my cunt, the scarring lessened near my pelvis. I was wearing a skirt that day, so the protection wasn’t great, but it was better than the complete nakedness of my lower legs. “Then this is something bigger than skimming product. Where would Grey get that key? Why hook it to my dog’s collar? Think about it.”
“Don’t confront him,” Beast warns, and then he’s sliding one warm finger over the front of my panties. My eyes threaten to flutter closed, and my stomach muscles clench tight. His jacket is hanging over the back of the headboard; I can smell it from here. Books, ink, Earl Grey tea. Shit, shit, shit, shit, fuck. Cursing is an art, but I’m painting with a sloppy brush right now. I’m too twisted up by Beast’s slow, deliberate strokes.
His movements, however, are not about putting a fire out—they’re intended to start one and let it burn.
I shove his hand away, and he has the audacity to smirk at me.
“Definitely not,” Crown agrees, frowning as he stares at Beast’s hand. He taps his fingers against the chair arm in either annoyance or thought, I’m not sure. “He’s a loose cannon. If he is, somehow, related to this thing with the mafia …” Crown lets out a sharp laugh and swipes his hand over his face. “I don’t like where this is going.”
“Because maybe Gaz is a traitor?” I ask, but mostly to myself. I stare down at the silk covering my lap and think about why, exactly, it is that I have these scars, these ruined legs. “Because I’m also one, and how do we handle this?”
All four men give me harsh looks, but it’s the truth, and they all know it.
I am a traitor to the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club.
The Last Judgement.
A final and eternal deliverance of the club—whether they know it or not.
Whether I know it or not.
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
My brother, Gaz, is sitting at the breakfast table with Nellie when I come downstairs the next morning. If I didn’t have Grainger standing right behind me, I might’ve actually turned tail and run.
Or … who am I kidding? No, I wouldn’t. I’d stay, but he might murder me for real this time.
The atmosphere in that room is thick with violence. That, and Nellie’s sporting a mark on her wrist that looks suspiciously like fingerprints.
“If you touched our mother, I’ll tell Cat, and he will quite literally kill you.” The words come out of me before I can stop them, spilling into the air with the essence of a threat. Cade curses behind me, putting a rough hand on my shoulder and giving it a very obvious squeeze. The move actually serves in two capacities, proving the brute isn’t as dumb as he looks. Well, okay, he looks like the demon of lust, sent to this earth with the sole purpose of tempting me, but anyway, it’s a good move.
He’s telling me to reel it in.
He’s also reminding Gaz that he’s here, that he’s watching over me.
“Did I touch you, Mom?” Gaz asks, looking over at her in just such a way that she flinches. Nellie … She really is afraid of her own son. But I know why she doesn’t tell Cat about it. Cat will visit absolution on his son if he hears about this. Told ya the club’s morals were fucked up. These men will die to protect the honor of their women. They also tell their daughters that their pussies make them worth less inherently, keep their wives in the dark about the very machine that both protects us and puts us in danger, and then they go and pimp lost girls for profit.
It all makes my head spin.
“No,” Nellie says, staring down at her food. She’s been really into like ‘world cuisine’ lately, cooking things from different countries, different cultures. Today’s breakfast is just eggs, bacon, and toast which is great but also seems out of character. That is, the character of this Nellie, the one who stopped fucking dudes at the clubhouse and turned into some sort of weird, tattooed Betty Crocker after my sisters died.
