I Am Dressed in Sin: A Reverse Harem Age Gap Romance (Death By Daybreak Motorcycle Club Book 2) Read online

  Beast … Beast has been watching me from a distance, like he’s waiting for something. What that is, I’m not entirely certain. Part of me wonders if the solution to my problem with him wouldn’t be to just ask. I’m too proud, maybe. Or too afraid of what he might say in response.

  “Hello, Sin,” I reply, just as coolly, looking at the fourth member of my demon brigade, and very likely the one who’s pissed me off the most. Don’t we have a connection of some sort? Didn’t he used to care for me in a way that nobody else bothered to?

  So why act like nothing at all happened between us?

  Nothing.

  As Gaz likes to say, “Once I get the pussy, I’m outta there.” He thinks it’s funny for men to seduce women and run. Is that what they all think? Am I a conquest? A notch on their belts?

  The dark parts of me surged that night, clawed their way to the forefront of my mind and demanded release. I thought I might be able to let them out, too, to revel in the shadows rather than run from them. I’m not sure, what, exactly, I wanted from these men, but apathy was not it.

  I continue to smoke my cigarette as I stare at Sin, wondering if I should just blurt the truth about my plans for the day and see if I can get a reaction. He’d be pissed, I’m sure. Does Sin know that I slept with Beast? Crown? He knows about Grainger, obviously, but what else?

  “I’m going to take a pregnancy test today,” I tell him with a cruel smile, and the tight one attached to his handsome face slides away like water off a duck’s back.

  “A pregnancy test?” he asks, and I’m sure he’s wracking his brain trying to remember if he wore a condom that night. He was, after all, very, very drunk. “Grainger and I both …” And here he grits his teeth and scowls. Any reminder of Cade Grainger is likely to do that to a person. “We both wore condoms. Did one of them break?”

  “This is not because of you or Grainger,” I assure him, flicking my cigarette aside and picking up my lemon slushy from the ground. I suck on the end of the straw, the slurping sound taking up the awkward silence between us.

  Sin’s brows draw together as a frown blooms on that wicked sharp mouth of his.

  “I’m never going to kiss you again, Gidge. It’s too risky.” More whispered words from that night, worth little more than purple prose in a book that has no happy ending.

  Risky. Because of Cat? Because of my age? Because when we touch each other, desire burns and the promise of something more flares in the distance like a bloodred sun dipping into the sea?

  He reaches up to tousle his short, purple hair with his tattooed right hand. There’s a fresh design there, an American flag wrapped around a knife. All of Sin’s tats are like that, Americana and Sailor Jerry designs. He’s like a classic car, something pretty and red with a leather interior and an engine that’s just a little too loud.

  Even though taking that car out for another drive would almost certainly end in a fiery crash, I still want it. That’s how toxic these men are to me. I know not to expect anything from them, from this life, from the club. Yet I do. I did.

  I guess I thought they … well, I assumed I was more than just a fuck. I woke up that next morning with hope, this foreign, sticky thing that causes more harm than good. Hope does not get you anywhere but to the ass-end of disappointment.

  With a snort, I shove away from the wall and head toward the front door.

  Because the universe hates me, because having my sisters murdered just wasn’t enough, my bad luck continues, and I run right into Gaz. As soon as he sees me, a scowl darkens his face, and his hands clench into fists. I’m convinced that if given the choice, he’d have given me to the mafia in exchange for Posey or Queenie. Maybe he’d have given me to them for free? Who knows?

  “Got anything in there for me?” Gaz asks as he nods in the direction of the grocery bag, ever the consummate prick.

  “Unless you like tampons, no,” I say with a smarmy smile of my own. “Maybe you need one? To put up your ass? You seem to be in a bad mood, so I figured you were on your cycle or something.”

  My brother knocks the bag from my hand and then snatches my wrist in hard, strong fingers. He yanks me close to him, leaning over me in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. Thing is, I fucked Beast who, by anyone’s estimation, is about a thousand times scarier than stupid, thickheaded Gaz.

  “One day, that mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble, little sister.” He shoves me back before releasing me and leaving through the front door, passing Sin as he storms out. The latter follows him with eyes made up of storm clouds, gray and wary and near to bursting. There’s anger there, but it hides like lightning in a tempest.

  Sin turns back to me.

  “Who was it?” he asks belatedly, in a voice that’s too detached to take seriously. I ignore him as I bend down to retrieve the bag. “A guy from school?”

  “Jesus,” I snort, shaking my head and shoving up to my feet. “That’s what you think of me? That I’d sleep with you and Grainger, then run off and start banging guys at school? Maybe that’s how you operate, but I’m not like that.”

  The problem here is: the guys at school do nothing for me. How could they? I’m surrounded by big, beautiful men dressed in ink and leather and crowned with glorious pain. Undeveloped teenage puberty monsters don’t have the power to make me ache inside my bones, to turn my blood molten, to make me hurt so good that I start to like the feel of it.

  Besides that, we have nothing in common.

  Really, I have nothing in common with anyone my age. Other sixteen-year-olds spend their days fantasizing about crushes, about drivers’ licenses, about future college plans. They’ve never seen their mother ride a man’s dick in front of them, never seen their dad shoot one of his dealers in the knee, never seen their pregnant sister shot and killed.

  I choke on the feelings and storm up the stairs with Sin still following along behind me.

  I turn on him at the top of the stairs, my eyes threatening to burn with tears that I would rather die than shed. That night was … well, it held dark magic for me. I let myself fall into the shadows of the world, so I didn’t have to pretend there was any light left. When I did that, when I tumbled and twisted through the void, they caught me. The four of them.

  It’s hard to deny that I felt something then, something akin to belonging in a way I’ve never felt before. I was a queen with four knights who were mine and mine alone. They served me. They rode their chrome stallions into battle for me.

  Of course, it was all a fantasy. I know that. I knew it even then but seeing the guys’ reactions after that night is hard for me to deal with.

  “Does it matter who it was?” I ask him, nearly breathless. I shouldn’t allow myself to keep hoping, but it happens anyway. Maybe I just enjoy the taste of discontentment? Say something to me, I beg in my mind. Say something stupid like ‘I wish it were me’ or ‘You’re mine, Gidge’. Instead, Sin looks away toward the wall, his left hand tight around the banister.

  “It does. Because he deserves to get his ass kicked. You don’t need a baby, Gidge; you need to go to college—”

  “Don’t tell me what I need,” I snap back at him, wishing I could just Sparta kick his ass down the stairs. “Leave me alone, Sin. Fuck off.” I turn away and storm toward my bedroom.

  When I fling the door open, I’m surprised to find that it isn’t as empty as I thought it would be.

  Beast is here.

  I swallow hard and shift uncomfortably as his blue eyes lift up to find my rust-colored ones.

  “What are you doing in here?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even. Beast looks at me in a way that I don’t quite understand, and then rises to his feet. He moves over to stand in front of me, reaching past my trembling form to push the door closed. Then, he locks it.

  “We should talk,” he drawls, and I feel sweat glistening on my forehead. Hastily, I scrub my arm across my face.

  Shit.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  This is pretty much
the last thing I expected today.

  “You want to talk now?” I query, choking on the words. It’s so hard to concentrate with his huge form taking up so much space, the smell of him—that stupid tea and books scent—wafting around the room. He adjusts his gaze back to me, and I panic, ducking past him and heading for the bathroom like I’m on a mission.

  And I am.

  A pissing mission.

  I throw the grocery bag into the sink and dig around inside for the box.

  Beast moves up to the doorway, and I decide that I don’t care. This is his fault, too. He’s a part of this, too. When I take the pregnancy test out, I turn around and lift the box up for his inspection. He looks at it, then at me, and my heart stutters.

  No, Gidget, it’s all shit. They are all full of shit, and you know that.

  “This is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he suggests, inclining his chin slightly. He leans his big shoulder against the doorjamb. “I figured you might come to me; I wanted to give you space. Thing is, these sorts of things are time sensitive.”

  “You wanted me to come to you?” I say, and I don’t mean to laugh, but his honeyed Southern drawl is making me feel crazy, making me relive that night, making me remember the feel of his tongue between my thighs. It’s an impossible feeling, this craving for people you can’t have. At best, I could pick one of them and ask Cat for permission to be their old lady. He’d never allow it. It would just tick him off and cause drama inside the club. Even then, I’m not sure any of them would want me. Lastly, and most importantly, I’m not sure that I want any of them.

  Because marrying into the club means sealing yourself to it—permanently.

  After that, the only way out is death. The only way out now might still be death, but at least there’s some distant flicker of chance, some possibility of escape.

  I’m tired of being treated like an object, tired of being ordered around, mostly tired of being left out of every important aspect that affects my life. My sisters died because of club bullshit; I almost died because of club bullshit. Yet, I’m not included in any of the decision making, the risk assessment, the revenge.

  “Before you take that test,” Beast begins, and I shudder at the sound of his voice. It reminds me of how he felt when he was inside of me, and I hate that. I don’t want to remember it because then I’ll want to repeat it. “Know that I’m on your side. Period.”

  “What does that even mean?” I ask, sending a stricken look his way. “You can never be on my side because you’ll always be on the club’s side. Always.” Without bothering to ask him to leave, I shove my panties down and sit on the toilet, peeing on the stupid stick and then setting it on the counter with a shaking hand.

  Beast does not look away for any of it. Bastard.

  I stand up and fix my panties, washing my hands before putting my palms on the countertop and staring at myself in the mirror. I look into my own eyes, and I don’t see a teenager, I see a woman trapped in a world she doesn’t want any part of. It doesn’t want her, so why should she?

  When I look over at Beast, I see that he’s still watching me.

  I ignore him, setting a timer on my phone for three minutes, and pretending to be interested in a text from Reba. She knows all about that night. I told her the very next day because there are no secrets between us. Because she’s the only person in the world that loves me without ulterior motives, who doesn’t judge me, but also isn’t afraid to give real, hard advice.

  “Gidget, honey, you run from those men, and you don’t look back; they’re like a slow poison.”

  I know she’s right. I do. And yet somehow, someway, I crave more.

  The timer goes off, and I snatch the test in my hands.

  Not Pregnant.

  A sigh of relief escapes me before I turn and offer the pee-soaked stick to the man in charge of murdering people for the club. He takes it from me, our fingers brushing in a way that sends hot thrills spiraling through me.

  The expression on his face is … well, it’s weird. I don’t understand it. Like, at all.

  “Gidge,” he purrs, but whatever it is that he’s going to say, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to be hurt anymore.

  “There you go. No kid to deal with. No need to tell Cat anything.” I point in the direction of the bedroom door around the corner. “Now go. Get out of here and leave me alone.” He just keeps staring at me, still holding the pregnancy test, and I feel this unbearable fury just rise up within me. “Please,” I beg, because I can’t stand here and look at him and feel nothing.

  I’ve tried.

  I’ve tried to look each and every one of these men in the face and tell myself they mean nothing, that they were just dark fun, an experiment in rebellion, a test.

  But it’s a lie. A lie. A huge motherfucking lie.

  “Please!” I scream at him, stepping back and digging my fingernails into the fabric of my too-short skirt. “Get out and leave me alone, Catcher. Go find some desperate groupie at the clubhouse to have babies with.”

  He taps the test against his palm for a moment, and then slips it into the pocket of his leather vest before turning and leaving my bedroom. He closes the door so softly behind him that I can barely hear the shushing sound of it falling into place.

  For a while, I just stand there in the bathroom by myself. Eventually, I get it together enough to take the second and third tests that I bought. All with the same result. My relief is immense, even as I struggle with a deluge of other emotions.

  I end up sitting on the edge of my bed, my elbows on my knees, my hands steepled and pressed to my lips. The pregnancy thing is dealt with. Awesome. What about an STD check? Should I get one? Do I need one?

  The door opens again, and I look up, expecting Beast or Sin.

  Instead, it’s …

  “Crown,” I say, my skin tightening with goose bumps. He smiles at me, but the expression is tinged with something else. Something inexplicable. I hate that I can smell him, sense him, feel his presence in a way that’s metaphysical. “What do you want?”

  Of them all, he’s the worst, I think. Because when he heard Cat’s bike, he treated me like a dirty secret, banished me to my bedroom. Made me cry. Only he doesn’t know that. None of them do. I’d rather tear my own fingernails off than tell them.

  “Your father wants to see you,” Crown says, his voice soft, but also tinged with a hint of warning.

  Fantastic.

  His moss green eyes take me in before drifting over to my nightstand and … fuck. I’d forgotten I’d brought the other pregnancy tests in here. Blood drains from my face, and I feel suddenly faint. Somehow, having Crown see those is worse than having Beast in here. Worse than Sin chasing me up the stairs with stupid questions.

  “Gidge,” he starts in that way of his, the one that always precedes a lecture.

  “They’re negative, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I blurt, standing up and snatching the tests in my hands. I throw them into the very same trash can where both Grainger and Sin chucked their used condoms that night, and then I go to slip past Crown.

  He doesn’t let me, keeping his arm in place like a blockade.

  Our eyes meet, but we’re standing too close together to have any reasonable sort of discussion. Guess that doesn’t matter since at least one of us is completely unreasonable.

  “Leave me alone, Crown.” I’m proud of myself for keeping my tone even, almost bored. More lies. I could climb a mountain of them and place a flag at the very top. “If I were pregnant, it wouldn’t be your problem.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong about that,” he tells me with a low, patronizing sort of laugh. Harsh, biting, frustrated, that’s what he is. “It would be the entire club’s problem. You’re Cat’s daughter, Gidget.”

  “So you keep reminding me,” I grind out, but still, he doesn’t let me go. Crown keeps his arm in place, keeps standing so close to me that his breath ruffles my hair and the heat of his body stings my skin.

/>   “Grow up and maybe I won’t have to?” Crown finally lets me go, dropping his arm and then turning to follow me. I ignore him. Rightfully, I should kill him. That disdainful tone, the way he lifts his chin in that imperious way of his. I’d hate him more than anyone if, at the bottom of the stairs, my worst nightmare wasn’t waiting.

  A nightmare that I allowed to be my first, to occupy a space in my mind for the rest of eternity. Now, whenever the topic of first times and virginity is brought up—which at my school is basically nonstop—I have to think about Cade Grainger. More often than not, I think about the way he snarled at Sin, as if I were his, and he were mine.

  “If you touch her, I will end you.”

  Why did he say that? Why did he care? Was it some brief, male moment of possession?

  “Up there enjoying the vice president?” he growls at me as I come down the stairs. Cade moves as if he might touch me, but I launch a verbal attack at him before he lays those poisonous fingers on my arm. If his skin makes contact with mine, I’m afraid I’ll combust. I’m afraid he’ll see me combust. That won’t be good for either of us.

  “Actually, I was taking a pregnancy test to see if I might be having Beast’s baby.” I dart past him before he can react, finding my way out back to where Cat’s waiting, sitting on a lounge chair with my mother on his lap. She’s stroking his face like he means something to her while I cross my arms over my chest and wait. “What?”

  “What?” Cat repeats, turning to look at me with eyes the same color as my own. “Is that how you talk to me now, girl? Learn some respect.” Fortunately, the presence of my mother in his lap keeps him from doing anything but snapping at me. “Come sit down and be quiet for a minute.”

  With a long, suffering sigh, I do, moving over to sit on the chair opposite him. While I’m waiting, he places his hands on my mother’s hips, stroking his fingers over her with reverence. I’ve seen worse from the pair of them. Together. With other people. But I’ve never seen this … this whatever-it-is that they’re doing?