2. GIULIA
EXHAUSTION TUGGED at my last nerve, as did the overpowering scent of Cheetos, which made the cabin of the cage I was in smell like feet.
Still, for a better life, who was I to complain?
Getting away from Salt Lake City was the best thing for my whole family, even if my brothers initially had to work hard to get me to move, I knew being back here was where I needed to be right now.
Coming back to the Sinners’ compound was bittersweet. This was where I’d started my life, where I’d spent a good chunk of my twenty-four years, and yet, it was loaded with a shit ton of bad memories too. Salt Lake City had been better, I guessed. No arguments between my mom and dad, no violence, but I’d missed this place.
It was and always would be, I recognized, home.
And what that said about me and the kind of dip shit I was, well, hell, I wasn’t sure.
As the engine idled, making our crap in the truck bed vibrate, the two hogs my brothers had secured on there shake in their moorings, I drummed my fingers against my knee. As I fiddled with the hem of my shorts, I also yanked at a strand of hair that had fallen free of the topknot I’d shoved it into when we started this trek. Touching it made me feel icky, and it reminded me that I really needed a shower.
Four years of going to school here had drilled it into my head that I needed to be clean, because being associated with an MC meant everyone thought we were dirty. I wasn’t dirty. Neither was I OCD, but I was really aware that my brothers and I had skipped staying in motels the past night to save money.
North and Hawk had refused to let me drive on my own. I was a better driver than they were, but who was I to complain when they were the ones willing to trek across the country, all two-point-three thousand miles of it, without me having to do shit? I’d spent the journey with my AirPods in, music on, and a book on my kindle while they chatted about all the crap we were leaving behind and all the great stuff we were going to find on the other end.
None of us had admitted that our father might not want us here. They weren’t willing to accept that might be the case.
Me? I’d never liked my dad, so I wouldn’t put anything past him, but I’d be gutted for them if he turned his back on us.
I’d also feel lost, because without Mom? There was nothing for us in Utah. Nothing except for a POS stepdad who’d eyed me up more times than I could count, all while dissing me by calling me a fat bitch—as he silently panted over me—and who’d judged my brothers for wanting to follow in our dad’s footsteps.
Sure, becoming a one-percenter wasn’t everyone’s dream, but it was Hawk and North’s. And what could I say? If I had a dick, I’d want that too. As it stood, nothing with a cunt was allowed to wear a cut, so my options were few. Well, unless I wore a ‘Property of…’ cut and tat.
My nose wrinkled at the thought, every feminist sensibility jerking to attention at the idea of being someone’s property. Look how that had turned out for my mom. Dad had beaten on her just as much as she’d beaten on him. But, and it was a huge but, it wasn’t like my dick stepfather had been a much better catch.
Sure, he’d had legit money flowing in through his used car business, but he’d been just as much of an asswipe.
I was under no illusions that my father was great. Biology didn’t make for a decent man, but being back in West Orange felt right, and he was our in to getting back into the clubhouse, to being allowed to stick around the MC.
Because he must have sensed how nervous I was, Hawk slipped his hand around the back of my neck and squeezed it gently. “I promise, Sis, things will be better back here.”
We weren’t really a touchy-feely family, so I had to wonder what I was projecting if he thought I needed comfort. Because of my past, both my brothers tended to keep a wary distance from me. I couldn’t blame them. If I owned a pair of balls, I’d worry for them around me too.
“We’ve only made it to the gates,” I said dryly, and I awkwardly patted his leg. “Don’t get too excited,” I cautioned, not wanting him to be disappointed if they didn’t let us in. “They could still toss us out.”
“Dad wouldn’t let them,” North stated confidently, making me want to shake my head at him.
Dad, AKA Dog, wasn’t much good at the whole parental responsibility thing. Though my twin bros were six years older than me, it felt like I was the only one who really remembered how crappy Dog had been as a father.
Still, we weren’t here for him. We were here for the Sinners. Most of the Old Ladies were like second mothers to me, and when Mom had forced us to leave, dragging us halfway down the country to a part of the States where the MC had no reach, I’d probably been more devastated about leaving the Old Ladies behind than my own father.
Nerves flickered inside me as I wondered who was still around. Some Old Ladies were in it for life, others less so. It wasn’t an easy existence.
With all the pussy on offer, with zero expectations, the threat of the cops knocking on your door at any moment, as well as the likelihood that part of your relationship would go down with your Old Man in jail, leaving you saddled with however many kids he stuffed in your belly… yeah, women tended to smarten up real quick.
It was hot at first. The danger, the excitement, the adrenaline. Then life got in the way.
North tapped his fingers along the steering wheel, muttering, “Come on. How long does it take to get approval?”
The Prospect guarding the gates he’d spoken to had scuttled off to the clubhouse about five minutes ago. I wondered if his absence meant we weren’t even going to be told to fuck off before we just left on our own devices.
It surprised me how much I hoped that wasn’t true. I really didn’t want to travel anymore tonight, and I just…
Sighing, I reached up and rubbed my eyes. Not only was I tired, I was still hurting. Mom had only died three weeks ago, and leaving everything behind, packing up our lives to come on a wild goose chase was just going to make this month even shittier than it already was.
Toward the end, we hadn’t been close, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be in a world without her. She was young, and I’d always thought we’d have time to make things right. But that hadn’t happened. Fucking life.
“It’s okay. They’re probably just finding the Sergeant-at-Arms or the Enforcer.” Hawk tipped his chin at the clubhouse. “They’re having a party.”
“You always were a genius, Hawk,” I remarked wryly. Anyone with ears could hear they were having a party. Not only from all the whooping and hollering, but the music that would make a death metal concert look like a ten-piece classical orchestra.
“I try, I try,” he mocked, nudging my leg with his. “Cheer up. Things will get better now that we’re home.”
I shot him a look, wondering how he could be approaching thirty and still be so fucking naive. But I kept quiet because I didn’t want to crush things for him. There was only room for one pessimist in the truck.
In the distance, the compound sat there, as unchanging as ever. It was custom-built, two stories high, and ugly as fuck with its clapboard fronting that had been gunmetal gray when I’d last been here. The doors and window frames were still white though—I could see that much in the floodlights that randomly popped on and off if something moved in the yard. From what I could view in the dark, it looked like there were a lot more bikes than there’d been before around the side of the property, and from the racket that throbbed through the walls of the clubhouse, I had to assume the Sinners had done well in the years of our absence.
As I stared at what had always been my second home, the front door opened, and in the backlighting from the hall, I saw two men appear.
One was the Prospect, who was a little thin, a lot tall. Kind of reed-like. The other was the opposite. Tall, sure, but thick, every inch of his frame muscled. The two men approached the gate, and in the headlights, I saw the other guy’s cut.
Enforcer, just like Hawk had predicted.
Except, this wasn’t the same Enforcer as before. Buddy’s beer gut had exploded out of his cut, and he’d also been a good six inches shorter than this guy. He’d also had a kind of greasy comb-over.
This brother had short hair, about two inches long, all of it standing up like Bart Simpson, except he made it look good. At least, I thought he would when half the spikes weren’t sagging all over the place from what looked like him raking his hand through it too many times.
In a cut and a Henley, he packed out both to full capacity, and his jeans clung to him like he’d been born with them on as they formed to his legs as if painted there.
He kind of reminded me of Luke Perry back in Beverly Hills 90210. Except Luke was skinnier, and this guy? Not a bit of him was skinny.
Especially not the log he was carrying between his legs, because, yup, the dude was sporting wood, and that wood looked like a fine piece of timber. Which told me exactly what we’d interrupted, and my nose curled at the thought. Fucking bikers. Their parties were a euphemism for a goddamn orgy.
Refusing to drool—over his face, body, and cock—because that’s what these brothers were used to, blind adulation from the club sluts, I stared right at him, aware that he was looking at me and not my brothers through the windshield. Even as I wondered why, I soon had my answer. He tipped his head to the side, like he was reading me in the play of light and shadow from the dash, and I knew he was trying to see my mother in my face.
My throat closed at that, grief sucker punching me. I’d never get over her death, never get over the loss of what might have been. Reconciling wasn’t possible when you were fucking dead, which meant that was it. Our unfinished business would forever be that. And though, for these past few years, she’d been a bitch, before that, she’d been a good mom. A little hands-on when it came time to punishments when we were younger, but nothing like what had gone down between her and my father.
Still… Lizzie Fontaine was a good person. She’d have been the best if she hadn’t gotten knocked up by Dog, but that wasn’t something you could roll back the clock on, was it?
When the guy finally stopped studying me, he moved to the gate, which began moving now that the Prospect had pushed a button in a shelter just off the driveway.
The Enforcer rounded the cab to North’s side, and my brother rolled down the window, letting the hot air spread into the cab.
Hawk reached up and clicked on the inner light too, and I squinted, the brightness painful after traveling in the dark all night long.
“You Dog’s kids?”
For a greeting, that was pretty polite. Especially since we’d interrupted something personal. His erection was proof enough of that.
“Yeah. Lizzie Fontaine was our mom,” I stated, giving my mother ownership of us and not that dumb fuck of a sperm donor.
His mouth tightened, and regret shaded his eyes. “I remember her. How did she die?”
“Heart attack,” I choked out, dipping my chin as I clenched my hands into fists.
“Fuck. She was only… what? In her late forties?” he exclaimed, sounding genuinely sad.
I cut him a look, surprised by his dejection, and whispered,
“Yeah, she was forty-eight.”
“Too fucking young.”
North and Hawk didn’t reply, but then, they were taking Mom’s death weirdly. Honestly, I sometimes wondered how it was that they were the eldest siblings and I was the baby. They acted like toddlers most of the time, and the way they were grieving only backed up that theory.
“Yeah, she was,” I whispered, my pain ringing through each word.
“What brings you here?”
North cleared his throat and finally deigned to speak. “This is home, Nyx?—”
My eyes widened at the name. Nyx? Sweet fuck, this was Nyx?
“You got a good memory on you, kid,” Nyx rumbled, his eyes darting over North’s face, searching for what, I had no idea.
“Helps that my dad writes me often, tells me some of the shit you get up to.”
Well, that was news to me.
Nyx’s eyes narrowed at my brother’s statement though. “That a threat?”
North stiffened, aware he’d put his foot in his mouth, as per fucking usual. “No! Not at all. I just mean, he told me about the crazy stunts you pull. Extreme sports shit, you know?”
The tension surged in the cab, and for a second, it combined with my fatigue, my grief, and the fact I hadn’t eaten properly since we’d set off, making me feel lightheaded. Reaching up to rub my forehead, I massaged my temples. Nyx caught the movement—fuck, I felt like he caught every movement—and murmured, “There’s a party going on at the moment. You’re welcome to sleep in the bunks until Rex can decide what to do with you.”
“Rex is the new Prez?” I asked, eyes widening, because I remembered him too. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. Not if I knew all the brothers and the Old Ladies.
“Yeah. He is. For the past four years. Why?” His mouth twisted. “You got a problem with that?” His tone told me he didn’t give a shit if I did or not.
In an effort to be polite, which wasn’t something I did often, I countered, “No! Of course not. I just remember when he was a Prospect, that’s all.” My smile was genuine. “He was nice.”
Nyx snorted. “Nice. Yeah. That’s Rex. All heart.” The Prospect was hovering by the gates, and as Nyx turned around and began to walk back, he told him, “Drive the truck into the nearest parking bay. I’ll take our guests to the bunks.” The word ‘guests’ didn’t sound all that cordial or hospitable to me, enough so that I frowned at it.
“Nyx?” I called, aware that there was a quiver in my voice, and hating myself for it because these bastards thrived on weakness.
Just because they were, essentially, family, didn’t mean I didn’t know how shit worked around here.
“Yeah. What?” he demanded impatiently, twisting back around to stare at me.
“You do know it’s us, don’t you?”
“Wouldn’t be letting you through the fucking gates if you weren’t the spitting image of your momma. Now, I don’t have all goddamn night. Do you want to come in, or stay out here until Rex wakes up tomorrow?”