4. GIULIA
I’D NEVER WANTED to cook. Ever. It had just been one of the only chores I could do, something that made sense without me having to think about it. When it boiled down to it, I could either cook or clean, and I hated cleaning more than I hated cooking.
Then, of course, I’d learned I had a knack for it.
Wasn’t life a bitch?
Where creative shit was concerned, I couldn’t paint, didn’t know how to write anything fancy like poetry, and sewing? What was this? The eighteenth century? Who the fuck sewed nowadays? Cooking was the one creative thing I could do, and I hated it, but it was useful. Always had been, always would be.
When Mom had tossed me out, I’d found work in a diner, and it had kept a roof over my head before I’d started temping. So, with it being something I could fall back on and with my brothers wanting to prospect for the MC, I’d known one way to stick around them. They wanted to get back into the life because, to them, this was what they’d always wanted to do. And me? I just didn’t want to be far from them. Not so soon after Mom’s death, at any rate.
They were dumbasses, but they were mine.
Trouble was, in an MC, there were literally two roles for women. Either be a biker’s bitch or be their cook and maid. Neither notion filled me with glee, but I was, I’d admit, on shaky ground.
With only a small amount of money saved up, getting an apartment near my brothers would cost a fortune I didn’t have. Here at the MC, I could stay rent free, bills free, and if I was good—which I was—then maybe they’d pay me, and I could save up until I could get away from this place.
The Sinners’ compound was my brothers’ dream, and there was no way in fuck I was going to let them leave me behind in Dipshit, Utah, when they were all the way over here.
I knew them. Well… knew that in barely any time at all their weekly phone calls would diminish to monthly, and then yearly, as the life creeped up on them and took most of their time.
They were the only family I had left, and they loved me and I them—even if they were forgetful as fuck.
So, I compromised.
I, Giulia Elisabetta Fontaine, compromised by agreeing to cook the council a decent meal.
And from the state of their fridge? They fucking needed it.
“Who are you?”
The whiny voice was more than just irritating—it was rude. The sneer was audible, and fuck, it had me gritting my teeth, even as I ignored the bitch and kept my focus on what I was doing.
God, I’d always hated clubwhores. They seemed to think their pussies were made of gold when they weren’t. If anything, they were disease-ridden slatterns who caused more shit than anything else.
My mom had always hated them too, and I knew most of the Old Ladies merely tolerated them because it was part of the life.
‘Part of the life’ was one of the sayings you heard often in these shitholes. Those four words excused every biker’s bad behavior, not just to their women, but to society itself, because it was the way of it.
It was ‘part of the life’ to beg, steal, and borrow. ‘Part of the life’ to kill and deal drugs. ‘Part of the life’ to fuck around on the woman who loved you, and ‘part of the life’ for said woman to just deal with that shit as though it was their man’s right, hell, his privilege to be a cunt.
My jaw clenched as I remembered just how often my mom had argued with my dad when he’d come back covered in the scent of some other woman or his cheek dotted with lipstick—yeah, I wasn’t predisposed to like any of the bitches, but them sounding like a snotty PITA wasn’t going to make shit easier.
Rather than take my head out of the fridge where I was running an inventory on the scraps they had in the industrial-sized behemoth, I carried on with my work.
“Hey! I’m talking to you. Who the fuck are you?”
If they’d just carried on being bitchy, I wouldn’t have done it.
I’d have behaved.
This was my first day, and I didn’t need the MC to know I had more attitude than height… not until they tasted my pasta puttanesca, at any rate.
But she didn’t just bitch at me. Nope, she made things physical. So when she grabbed my ponytail, I froze, especially when she pulled my head back and tried to turn me around to face her in the same move.
I let her roll with it, let her think she had me, but the second I could, I twisted around and gave her the same shit back. Smashing my forehead into hers, I headbutted her like she was a soccer ball. The second our skulls bounced off each other, she burst into sobs and began wailing. Me? I just reached into the freezer and grabbed a packet of peas that I placed against my crown.
The plastic burned where it touched, but it was worth it.
Round one to me.
“What the fuck is all that wailing about?”
I didn’t need to turn around to see that Nyx was here. That voice. Fuck. It was deep and raspy enough that he could have been a smoker, but he was a biker and therefore, off limits.
I wasn’t about to end up like my mom. Knocked up at seventeen, three kids in tow when she finally realized her dumb fuck of a husband was never going to change.
It pissed me off that I recognized the voice period. And it pissed me off even more that a quick glimpse of him over my shoulder, scowling and grumpy but still so goddamn pretty, made butterflies take root in my stomach.
I didn’t get butterflies over anything. Not a job interview, and certainly not over something with a dick.
The attraction I felt for him came as a massive surprise to me, and it was totally unwelcome. He was everything I didn’t want in a man.
Well, kind of.
Take off the cut, and I’d date him in a heartbeat because, dear God, the man was fine. In a ‘my ovaries hurt’ kind of way. In a ‘come to mami’ kind of way.
Sheesh.
“S-She h-hit me, Nyxy.”
My lips twitched, and I couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping. Nyxy? Fucking Nyxy? When I thought about the bruiser I’d met last night, the one who’d scowled at me for most of the time he’d had his eyes on me, I didn’t think he’d appreciate being called ‘Nyxy.’
I stopped hiding in the cooler, and instead, with glacial eyes that I knew would express just how little of a shit I gave about this bitch’s opinion of me, I stated, “She pulled my hair to get my attention. This isn’t grade school. If I don’t want to talk to the club snatch, then I don’t have to.”
Nyx’s eyes narrowed and, fuck me, if he didn’t look even more beautiful. His hair was rumpled again, but this time, it was more like he’d gotten out of bed and hadn’t had time to style it.
There were shadows under his eyes from a lack of sleep, and it didn’t take much to figure out why that was… Some bitch was probably walking around bow-legged thanks to him. He wore his cut, another Henley like last night, dark jeans, and heavy boots. Standard MC brother fare, but holy hell, there was just something about him.
Maybe it was the sharp cheekbones and the carved jaw that looked as though it were made of stone—hell, make that diamond because his jaw tensed even harder the longer I glowered back at him.
That razor-thin nose that led to an expressive mouth… or those eyes. A beautiful green that made me think of shamrocks and emeralds. Even when they were laced with a warning that his temper was close to breaking. Whatever the reason, all I knew was he was beautiful.
Truly beautiful.
A work of goddamn art.
He cocked a brow at my prolonged stare, but I didn’t blush—I’d lost the ability around my stepfather years ago. His come-ons and insults had made me grow a thicker skin than most women usually had. “She shouldn’t have pulled my hair,” I stated calmly.
He cut a look at the slut who was only wearing a goddamn G-string and a tee she’d knotted at the waist. In the fucking kitchen. Her stringy hair was showing all the extensions, and she had that in a loose topknot.
Despite the fact she looked cheap as hell, she was beautiful. There was no evading that. Even with the blossoming bruise on her forehead, she had the face of a china doll, and there was no way in fuck she should have been selling herself to these guys for room and board.
My throat tightened as I likened my situation to her.
No way in hell would I sleep with any of these bastards.
No. Way. In. Hell.
“She didn’t answer me, Nyxy!” the bitch whined.
“Shut the fuck up, Kendra.”
They might have sounded like it, but I knew those harsh words didn’t mean he was on my side.
He wasn’t.
That much was clear from his considering stare.
“That how you deal with people who ask who you are?”
“When they talk to me like I’m trash, then physically assault me?” I bared my teeth at him. “Yeah.” I jerked my thumb at her. “I remember all the snatch from the old days. If you let them get away with shit early on, then you’re fucked. I’m not an Old Lady, but I’m a brother’s daughter. Straightaway, that means that cunt over there shouldn’t even be talking to me, let alone?—”
He didn’t let me carry on. “Your momma let you talk like that?”
Brows lifting, I laughed. “My momma taught me to talk like this. Especially around guys like you.”
He stared at me again, considering me again. “Kendra, get the fuck out of here.”
“What?” The whining bitch glowered at me. “It’s my turn to make lunch!”
“Yeah, well, it’s your lucky day. Someone else is here to do that. Now fuck off.”
Kendra pouted, and rather than look pleased at shedding the chore, she glared at me and trounced off.
Nyx, the bastard, took a second to watch her ass flounce off, but I couldn’t really blame him—she had a nice ass. I’d even go so far as to say that I wished mine looked like that in a G-string instead of cheese wire around a ball of mozzarella. With more dimples.
Folding my arms across my chest, I waited on the lecture. On the ‘if you can’t play nice, then get the hell out of here’ card, but when he’d stopped eyeballing her butt, instead of reaming me a new one, he turned to me and murmured, “You sure this is the right place for you?”
I cocked my hip against the counter which, surprisingly, was a damn fine piece of marble—hell, the rest of the kitchen was nice too. All of it stainless steel like a commercial kitchen in a restaurant or something—and inquired calmly, “Answer me this, would you allow someone to treat you like shit on the first day in a new place?”
“No,” he replied simply. His eyes would never be considered kind, but they weren’t mean either. So I took that to be a positive.
“Are you, or are you not, aware that sweetbutts are skanky-ass hoes with attitude problems? They’re all cats in a bag hissing and trying to fuck one another over.” I didn’t wait for him to answer, just steamrolled on. “If I gave her an inch, she’d take a mile. You know it, I know it.”
He tipped his head to the side. “You’ve caused yourself a whole heap of shit with the other girls. One and done with these bitches. You should remember that.”
I snorted at that. “I was always going to get shit from those witches. If you don’t believe that, then you’re naive.” My lips curved as I eyed him up and down. “One thing I doubt, Nyxy, is that you’re naive.”
His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, pressing his forearms onto the counter. As he did, his pecs bulged, making his Henley bunch up. Instead of focusing there, I looked at his throat, which was covered in a tattoo of a songbird with “Carly” inked there in a scroll font. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it, but in the light of day, it was the first time I realized that the banner that streaked out from behind the vintage bird, housed a chick’s name.
Bikers only had one name on their bodies—their Old Lady’s. Did it sting that he’d evidently claimed a woman? Yup. And did I feel stupid for feeling stung? Yup.
I didn’t want him. He, like the rest of the brothers in the MC—mine included—were bad news, and that was the last thing I needed in my life. Or my bed. Still, he was hot.
And he fucking knew it.
Instead of hiding the fact that I’d been checking him out, I arched a brow at him, stacked a smirk on my lips, and folded my arms across my stomach in a way I knew had my boobs bulging.
When his gaze dropped, just like I’d known it would, I drawled, “You got something to say, Nyxy?”
“Yeah.”
“What?” I prompted when he didn’t say another word.
“It’s Nyx.”
“Only people you’ve fucked can call you that, huh?”
He smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Actually, I’m fine as I am.” My sneer turned into a wry smile. I decided to drop the BS, and told him, “Look, I’m not here to cause any shit, but that doesn’t mean I won’t protect myself. I know how to handle any of the crap those bitches can throw my way?—”
“They’re not all bitches,” he interrupted, his brow puckering at my statement.
“They are to anyone who isn’t like them. Even the Old Ladies.” Because dicks like him let the skanks get away with that.
His scowl deepened. “You say that like it’s my fault.”
I hitched a shoulder. “My mom left this place because my dad never put any of the sluts in line. Never said shit if they disrespected her, never did a fucking thing.” My mouth tightened. “I’m not about to let them treat me that way. Ever.”
My words held more emotion than I liked, but he didn’t call me out on it, instead, he just stared at me some more—and why wasn’t that irritating? Why wasn’t his regard annoying as hell?
If anything, it made me tingle, and that was not a good sign.
“You spoken to your father yet?”
The question surprised me. My eyes rounded for a second before I controlled my reaction—something he also took note of. But then, how could he understand how adept I’d become at hiding my expression from the world?
How could anyone, other than someone who’d been through the same shit as me, ever get it? And the bitch of it was, of course, that I was one of the lucky ones. I’d gotten away. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have scars.
“Why would I?” I replied easily, turning my back on him to look into the fridge once more.
I’d already figured out what I was making for dinner—steaks.
What other way was there to men’s stomachs?
At least while I was trying to impress them enough to keep me around until I got my things together and could leave this place with some funds in my bank account.
The pasta puttanesca could be for another day. Steaks would reel them in, even if my signature dish was close to a masterpiece.
“Because he’s your father,” Nyx reasoned, for the first time sounding surprised.
“Some father,” was all I groused. “If he wants to see me, he can come and find me.”
Nyx grunted. “If you don’t give a shit about him, then why are you here?”
I peered over my shoulder. “Because my brothers were moving. I wasn’t about to stay in Utah when they were here.”
“So you came for them?”
“I just said that, didn’t I?” I muttered irritably.
“And do they hate Dog too?”
“I don’t care enough about my father to hate him,” I told him, meaning every fucking word.
He hummed under his breath, though I knew I’d surprised him again with my candor.
“But, to answer your question, no. They idolize him. Fools that they are,” I mumbled, and deciding this conversation was going nowhere, I stated, “Anyway, I need to start marinating these steaks.”
And with that, I dismissed him from my mind and got on with my chores.