Cruz (Dark and Dirty Sinners' MC #5) - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,58

clamoring at me for appointments.

If anything, it had been such a shitty seven days because I hadn’t had the chance to see much of Cruz in that time, and a little like a junkie needing their next fix, I knew he was what I needed.

I didn’t appreciate needing anyone, certainly not someone I couldn’t depend on, but either my heart was a goner or I was just a fool. For some reason, I’d taken to trusting Cruz, a man I barely knew, over someone like Stone who knew me better than anyone on God’s green earth.

Of course, she didn’t know everything.

But neither did Cruz.

Secrets, so many of them, shrouding me in their depths, covering me in shadows. Was it any wonder I slept like shit? Was it any wonder nightmares haunted me?

David had gone for the day, and while I had another client scheduled for ten PM, I’d canceled it the second Cruz had called me because, as much as it pained me to admit it, I needed tonight more than he could know.

More than I needed the five hundred bucks Grace was supposed to pay me after I finished up her tattoo, at any rate.

As I stared at the paper Giulia had given me, one that was dog-eared from her handling and now mine, I tried to transfer her crude drawings into reality. She’d said it was down to me to handle the design, but she’d still had some ideas.

The Satan’s Sinners’ MC logo was simple. A skull with a short set of flared wings. Brisk. Masculine. It was what it was—a sign. You got in their way, they’d send you to the devil with wings on your back and your brain blown to smithereens.

But the idea that Giulia had conceived surprised me because it had flowers on it. Flowers. On a skull. Not like a calavera or anything like that. If anything, the skull was harder. Meaner. The lines a tad fiercer, with the promise of death in the eye sockets. Somehow that made for a sweeter contrast with the wings that were spanned fully. Some sweeping down with a feminine line, other feathers bristling with flight. There were flowers dotted at the jaw, around the teeth, above the head like a fascinator of all things, but the promise was still the same.

Death.

To anyone who fucked with a Sinner.

Which made it quite clear that Giulia believed she was one of them.

Which made her a fool. A fool I liked, but one nonetheless.

Women were good for a few things in the MC, and being a brother wasn’t one of them. Cock-sucking, cleaning, cooking—the three ‘C’s. None of them appealed to me, which made it all the more galling that Cruz had managed to get his hooks into me.

I grimaced at the thought, then as I lowered my head to the desk so I could make the tiniest of final strokes to the petals of the flowers decorating the skull, I decided that it was perfect.

For the moment.

I’d be seeing Giulia in the morning, so I could show her then. We’d work on the final design until she was pleased with it, and then I’d be tattooing her declaration on her skin—even if it was a silent declaration that no one on the council would ever sanction.

As my cell phone buzzed, I arched a brow when I saw who it was.

“Thought you’d be in an orgasm-induced coma by now.”

Stone snorted out a laugh. “I would be, instead I’m just in the afterglow.”

I made a gagging noise. “Stop being such a pussy.”

“Why? Steel loves it.”

“I’ll bet,” I said dryly. “Why you calling me if he’s all up in that puss-puss of yours?”

“Ewww.”

I grinned, well aware of what she’d think of that question. “Come on, spill. You’re calling for a reason. Is it the funeral? Did something happen?”

Stone released a breath. “You don’t want to know, and what I can tell you is that I shouldn’t say shit over the phone.”

Brows furrowing, I asked, “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine. Now.” A note of glee entered her voice. “Guess who had to hit the road tonight.”

My mouth dropped open. “Someone left the Sinners?”

“Nope. They didn’t leave, they were pushed.”

“Who?” I demanded, dread filling me because…

Shit, this was why I didn’t like getting involved with people.

When you got involved, they started to matter to you.

Before, I couldn’t have given two shits about whether or not someone was tossed out of the clubhouse. But when it was a brother, they didn’t leave by choice. Usually it