Cruz (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #5) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,114

my lip. "I won't not say it's you."

He heaved a sigh. "Music to a man's ears, Indy."

"That's how I roll, you know that," I rumbled, rocking back in my chair as I stared at him. "You look like you'd fall down if I pushed you over."

“Won't most men? If you shove them hard enough?"

I gnawed on my bottom lip. "Sit on the sofa."

"Thought I was the one who was supposed to boss you around?”

I tipped up my chin. "I'm not the injured one."

"True." He arched a brow at me, then retreated to the sofa. "Guess it's a good sign you don't want to toss my ass out."

"I—" That had never been my intention. Didn't he know that? "This isn't about you, Cruz."

"That's the fucker, I know. Usually, it's me, and in this, it's my life."

I gnawed some more on my lip. "I know I'm being stupid," I whispered, my voice low.

"No, you're not," he immediately countered. "You're being rational. What woman in their right fucking mind would want to stay tied into this life unless—"

"They come from it, or if their world was already fucking bad."

He grimaced. "Yeah."

I shook my head at him. "Why are you a biker, Cruz? Why, when your mom is a Fed, and you looked to come from a real nice home."

"I did. Dad's great, Mom... isn't. It has nothing to do with her being a Fed, either. It's just she's a psycho."

“That's why you're right at home with the Sinners, I take it," I said, and despite myself, a smile danced around my lips.

"Yeah, how couldn't I be?" He pulled a face. "My grandfather got whacked by the Irish Mob about—" He hesitated. "Christ, fifteen years ago? Something like that.

“I never knew him that well, because he wasn't that happy about Caro being a pig when he was definitely up to his eyes in filthy business. Anyway, he gets his fool ass offed, and ever since, Mom's been on a kind of vigilante mission to find his killer and right the 'wrong' of his death."

"It was bound to be a wrong to her if she loved him."

He shrugged. "She's a fool, then. He was as great a father as she is a mother. My dad, on the other hand, is cool. We got along great, still do. He's normal, thank fuck."

"That makes your decision to go into organized crime even more unusual."

He tapped his nose. "Think you can learn about my past in a couple of sentences?"

Chastised enough to smile in earnest this time, I rocked my chair and murmured, "Apologies, I'm all ears."

He dipped his chin. "It's not the best of stories, Indy,” he warned.

"No origin story ever is," I said dryly. "As long as you weren't bitten by a radioactive spider... oh, wait, I could deal with that."

He snorted. "Good to know, but nothing that interesting.

"I was a smart kid. Very smart. Got a bunch of scholarships when I was fifteen, and when other kids were boning their way through their freshmen year, I was handling two Bachelor of Science degrees at NYU.”

“Which ones?”

“Chemistry and Structural Engineering.”

“Probably shouldn’t get me wet knowing you’re a clever bastard, should it?”

His lips twitched. “Whatever turns you on, Indy… it’s all good.”

Because I loved that twinkle in his eye, I asked, “That means you can build bridges and shit. Literal ones, I mean. Right?”

A laugh escaped him. “Yeah. Technically, it does. I’d need a license though. I got one a while back but it expired. Don’t exactly need one when I’m tending bar.”

“No, I guess not. Why Chemistry and Structural Engineering?”

“Always loved building shit and destroying shit.” He shrugged. “Even went into a doctorate program with my favorite subjects merged together—Chemical Engineering. That was ten times more fun.” His nose crinkled at the bridge, like a thought had crossed his mind, one that had his eyes darkening too, but he didn’t express it out loud.

Though I was curious what had drained his amusement, I only asked, ”You have a doctorate?"

"I do." He scratched his throat, bringing my attention to the negative tattoo there—like I hadn’t seen it a thousand times before. "Don't look the type, do I?"

"No, but that's why I love the fact that looks can be deceiving." I sat up, suddenly interested by this man I'd shared so much with and who'd, in the grand scheme of things, only shared his DNA with me.

But my words changed the conversation—his eyes narrowed on me. “Wasn’t your first kill, was it?" he asked, his head tipping to