Original Sin (Dark Saints Motorcycle Club Book 1) (2 page)

Within moments, the door slammed loudly behind him, and Vicky heard it lock. Then, came the coughing, spluttering roar of a bike that should be long dead, as it was forced into gear. With that, Darren sped away.

The bastard!

She was twenty-three years old, and he was still treating her like she was a child.

Angrily, the young woman glared at the door. Ever since she'd started sneaking out to the den to make sure that Darren wasn't getting into too much trouble, her brother had been suspicious. When he'd found that she'd been following him, he'd installed special locks on both his and her apartment doors— locks that could only be secured from the outside.

This was probably the third or fourth time he'd locked her in.

Lucky for Vicky, she'd been outsmarting her brother since before she'd hit puberty.

Still seething, the young woman strode from the kitchen and down the hall into the single bedroom. As usual, the window was open. Her brother wasn't a huge fan of wasting money, and therefore they rarely used the AC. Consequently, she had a clear route onto the fire escape.

It took some contorting, but within a few minutes she was outside the apartment on the wrought iron balcony, gazing down at the city of LA.

She had to admit that she hadn't been thrilled with the place when they'd first moved in, but he had a hell of a view from his bedroom. You could see every part of LA—from the Venice boardwalk to the high rises downtown. At night, it glittered like a star. Carefully, she tucked her long black waves under a baseball cap and began to climb down the rickety fire escape. The fifth floor wasn't terribly high up, but with a building as old as this one, one could never be sure.

Luckily, she made it to the ground without incident, and as soon as she did, she hailed a cab. She wanted to get as far away from the apartment, and their neighborhood, as she could. Away from the leathery, oily smell that constantly permeated his apartment and announced his profession, away from the stuttering of the ancient bike he was so goddamn obsessed with, and away from the world she'd buried her intrigue for. It wasn't, after all, as if she'd ever be able to properly participate in it. Not with Darren breathing down her neck and warning her that every time she set foot in the Dark Saints headquarters, she was taking her life into her own hands.

There was
no way
that she was going to sit at home, waiting and wondering about whether some rival gang member was going to blow his brains out when the drug deal went south.

She simply refused to do that.

Following her directions, the cabbie drove them deep into the heart of downtown. It was Thursday night, and though the scene wasn't quite as hot as it would be on the weekend, there would be plenty to occupy her. Vicky got out somewhere in West Hollywood and spent an obscene amount on a sinful red dress and sky high heels. From there, it didn't take much to find a bathroom and do herself up—from luscious red lipstick to a messy up-do— and she was immediately transformed into a desirous fox of a woman.

Which was exactly her intention.

Vicky was pretty sure that her brother didn't know the frequency with which she went out and cut loose—often going home with men she'd met only hours before. In fact, she was sure he must be clueless—or else there would be dozens more murders on the news than there already were. If she had her way, she would continue to keep her secret.

When she went out, there were times that she could forget who she was. She could never forget her brother's identity—not anymore—and she had no qualms using it, but she herself? She'd been marked by most business owners in the city. Refusing her, insulting her, or coming on to her meant nothing but trouble. It meant that at any given time, a crew of bulky, armed men could roll up on the offending establishment like a sudden storm and make the owner’s life a living hell.

Luckily for her, it seemed that intimate knowledge of what she looked like was reserved to those who had the most to lose: the shop owners of boutiques she frequented, the managers of restaurants she went to, and the brothers and fathers of her friends. If every goddamn person in LA handled her with such kid gloves, she thought she'd go insane.

Thus, her need to escape.

As she gazed into the mirror and fluffed her hair, Vicky examined her reflection critically.

She was of average height and slender build, her skin sun-kissed enough to look caramel in the low-lighting of the bathroom. A dusting of freckles on her shoulders revealed just how
much
she sunbathed, while her slight musculature spoke of mornings spent running along the beach. Her eyes, in her opinion, were her best feature—dark gray and intense. They stood out in a face that was angular over the bridge of her nose and cheeks but softened slightly at her jawbone. Applying lipstick, she pressed her full lips together and smoothed back a strand or two of long, dark hair.

She knew she was attractive and often used it to her advantage.

The only problem was that Darren seemed similarly enlightened when it came to how attractive she was. As a result, he never let any guy come within ten feet of her; and, while he went through women galore, he threatened all of her potential suitors with poisoning and disembowelment.

At the thought, Vicky scowled.

Overprotective asswipe.

He should know that she could more than handle it if it came down to kicking any man's ass. Wasn't he the one who had taught her how to box and knife-fight? He'd practically prepared her to take down an army, and he thought she couldn't take care of a wayward boyfriend?

Many times, she'd told herself that it was simply because Darren loved her that he tried to shelter her from the world. However, she knew better. The way her older brother protected her bordered on the insane. She'd seen him beat a man to a pulp for glancing at her. Though she still loved him, and he was still her only brother, sometimes Darren scared her.

It was why he'd never know anything of tonight.

Following the pounding base of one of her favorite dance beats, Vicky made her way down the boulevard, joining the long line to get into
Inferno
, one of the most popular clubs on the strip. She'd been several times in the past month and, though Darren didn't know it, his name had saved her the long wait to get in more than a few times.

“Hey, Vicky!”

It was about to do so again.

Spotting her at the back of the line, Li—the bouncer and a friendly face—motioned her forward, much to the annoyance of the fifty other people standing in line. With her sweetest apologetic smile, Vicky slid past them all to hug the burly Asian man warmly. “How's Darren doing tonight?”

Though she knew that it was partly her charm and good looks that got her past the front door, she also knew that every business owner in Hollywood feared pissing off her brother—and for good reason.

“He's fine.” Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Getting into trouble as usual.”

No doubt most would cringe if they knew how much.

“Well, we're always happy to make sure his sister is comfortable.” With that, Li opened the door for her, brown eyes twinkling with a warmth he usually hid when keeping the rabble from breaking out of line.

With a nod of thanks, Vicky swept past him and into the ethereal interior of the club.

Inferno
was lit by a combination of orange, red, and violet tinged black lights that flickered and made the entire space look like it was aflame. This, coupled with black chandeliers, plush leather seating, and a ten meter long bar built completely of onyx, added to the club's allure.

Swaying her hips back and forth to the intoxicating rhythm of the music, Vicky made her way through the packed space carefully. Her first stop was the bar to obtain a double whiskey. There were few things in life that drove her to drink; but, at the top of them was her brother's possessive attitude and terrifying temper.

As she took the first sip, Vicky felt the liquor burn its way down her gullet to pool in her stomach, warm and welcome. Her lips curving in satisfaction, she took a seat at the bar and surveyed the rest of the club.

Though it was only Thursday, throngs of people her age were out in full force. A large number of girls ground away on the dance floor to Beyoncé—while their boyfriends and admirers watched salaciously from afar. Vicky had also attracted her own group of on-lookers, most of whom observed her in a manner that was all but discreet from different parts of the bar.

As she sipped her drink, she pondered her intentions for the night.

First and foremost, she wanted to strip all thoughts of her incorrigible brother from her mind. Though Darren had protected her for as long as she could remember, he was also headstrong and impulsive. It was surprising—the same actions that would have exasperated her won him acclaim from his fellow MC members in the Saints.

When Darren had joined, they'd only been kids.

She remembered working at an In-N-Out Burger and as a babysitter for some rich high-rise family; yet, they still barely had the money to make ends meet. Darren had come home to their exceptionally shitty apartment one day—all of twenty years old—and had announced that he had the answer to all their problems.

But, he couldn't tell her what it was.

And so, for months, despite the discomfort it had given her, Vicky had watched him disappear every day, all day. She assumed that he had gotten some secret high-profile job. However, with the piles of raw cash he'd brought home, part of her eventually suspected he was doing something unlawful. By the time she'd realized how deep Darren had worked his way into the Saints, she could only watch as he rose through the ranks.

Drug pushing, hits, gang violence, and corruption—the Saints had their hands in it all. Since the 1980s, they had run LA from a comfortable throne of infamy, cushioned by silver-tongued attorneys and well-paid cops who never let them take the fall. Though their numbers had originally been small, the Saints now had more than three hundred members. At their head sat her stubborn, single-minded, terrifying brother.

She'd never know how he'd done it. He'd joined the Saints with a few dollars in his pocket and little more than his reckless nature to his name. Of course, his shady past had garnered its fair share of curiosity. Plus, other members had quickly learned not to incur his wrath, lest they end up on the ground or, worse yet, six feet under it.

It was astounding to think of how quickly Darren was ready to commit murder. Starting with the two men who'd invaded their house in the suburbs as children to petty robbers and those who told him little white lies—the man was ruthless. That alone was probably why he was so feared and respected, as well as a major impetus behind how he'd become leader of the Dark Saints at the tender age of twenty-eight.

Vicky knew that there was some part of her that should be proud. Her brother protected her and took her from a dangerous situation. He supported them both when they should have been sleeping under a secure roof and worrying solely about their next exam in school. It was because of him that she was alive—that she couldn't dispute.

But at what cost?

Now, he was out with his brothers, making God knows what kind of a deal with whoever the customer was and slinging a massive amount of coke.

He was walking a short path to a deep grave.

As Vicky gazed around at the
Inferno's
patrons, she saw all ages, shapes, sizes and colors, and she envied them. They had probably been born and raised in Hollywood, never knowing the hardships of moving from empty house to empty house, working two jobs to make ends meet, and learning more of the real world at ten than most people knew at thirty.

She could put up a pretty front, smiling and laughing as she danced and drank all night; but, ultimately, she would have to wake up the next morning and deal with Darren and his unpredictable temper.