Cruz (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #5) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,27
what you’re doing at the clubhouse. I get it.”
“Yeah. Though I’d get paid.”
My brow furrowed. “You don’t get paid now?”
“You know how the clubhouse works,” she said wryly. “It’s not like I need anything, and if I did, Nyx would—”
I raised a hand. “Fuck that. No woman should rely on a man for money.”
“I told you, I don’t need pity.”
“And I already goddamn told you, I’m not fucking giving you any,” I growled. “Even if I can only pay you a couple hundred bucks every two weeks, it’s better than depending on that bunch of jackasses.”
“I don’t have any bills to pay,” she argued. “I don’t expect a wage.”
“Fuck. That,” I repeated, but I was a little calmer this time. “Having to ask a man for dough to buy tampons is something no woman should have to go through.”
Fucking bikers.
I swore, they got my heartbeat racing like nothing else could, and not simply because their asses looked fine in a pair of jeans.
Mind whirring, I grumbled under my breath, “You can start tomorrow.”
She blinked. “Doing what?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I retorted, “but I ain’t having my sister-in-law dependent on the Sinners forever.” I glowered at her. “You were getting paid at the bar, weren’t you?”
“Some.”
My scowl deepened at that non-answer, which told me the tight cunts had been shafting her in more ways than just Nyx was, but she met me glare for glare so I just groused, “Well, enough of that. David pretty much runs the front of house. He has no life outside of me so—”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s my stalker.”
“Your stalker?” she repeated.
“Yup,” I told her, tone cheery for the first time since I’d woken up.
“You’re not going to explain that to me, are you?”
I grinned at her. “Nope.” I even popped the ‘p.’ “Anyway, you can help him out…”
Her smile was sheepish and she pulled something from her pocket then shoved it at me.
When I stared at the piece of paper in her hand, I tilted my head to the side to see it all, then murmured, “Well, well, well…”
Six
Cruz
She shrieked when she turned around and saw me standing there, leaping a few inches off the ground in surprise before her eyes turned nasty and she snarled, “I told you I fucking hate when you do this.”
I didn’t grin at her, even though I wanted to.
Even though, something about this crazy fucking woman made me want to grin all the time, like a goddamn clown, the last thing I was renowned for was my cheery personality.
I was the Grim Reaper by nature as well as nurture, after all.
Instead of grinning at her outrage, I arched a brow and murmured, “On your knees.”
Her nostrils flared with her irritation, and she even jerked her neck a time or two in agitation, and I allowed it.
This. Fucking. Once.
Once she walked through that door, Indy was no longer a tattoo artist, no longer a sister, no longer a business owner, she was a woman.
When I was here, she changed.
Shifted.
Became mine.
Independent women were the hardest to dominate, but the fucking best. Watching them relinquish control? Nothing hotter. And a woman like Indy was like no bitch I’d ever fucked before. In fact, calling this simply ‘fucking’ was sacrilegious.
“You have one minute to obey,” I rasped when she just stood there staring at me like the proverbial rabbit in headlights.
The words snapped her out of her stupor like I’d anticipated, and she sank to her knees.
Things had changed between thanks to a bad dream, and another nightmare had prompted a conversation amid pillows and rumpled sheets, while entangled in each other’s arms, tucked in the deep shadows of midnight, as her whispers tore through the cracks to reveal the cold, hard truth as she saw it.
I’d already known, but it meant something that she shared it with me.
“What are you doing here?” she rasped, but she kept her head bowed like I showed her.
A part of me shuddered with longing at the sight of her. Her skin, thanks to her Algonquin heritage, was a little tawny, a lot dusky, like no other color I’d seen before—unique. That was Indy. And her hair, as a result of her ancestry, was the nearest thing to silk I’d ever touched.
It’d been shorter the first time I’d ever met her, and gradually, had grown out some over the years. Now, I’d never let her cut it. One day, she’d give me a hand job with her pony tail. It was at