Original Sin (Dark Saints Motorcycle Club Book 1) (5 page)

Christ.
Women
.

For almost his entire life, Liam Beck had meant the words in exasperation, frustration, and, more than once, anger. However, now, for the first time, a girl actually had him slightly in awe.

Vicky.

He didn't know much about her—only that when he'd seen how her body had undulated to the beat of the music in the West Hollywood club where they'd met, he was certain that she was trouble. From her entrancing, almond-shaped gray eyes to her criminal curves and the profusion of raven waves that encased her while she slept, she was drop dead gorgeous.

And sexy as hell.

Last night, he hadn't been looking for a lay. Hell, he'd specifically bullied his way into the bourgeoisie club because he'd been fairly sure that no high class woman in a Gucci dress and Prada shoes would ever look twice at him. He'd hoped to fade into the background and maybe amuse himself watching a few women get drunk and a few guys get into pissing contests.

And then she had come along and blown that entire plan out of the water.

He'd never seen a woman so determined to prove herself—nor one so bold. From the moment she'd sauntered over to his booth, bolting down whiskey as her hips swayed to the music, his body had been acutely aware of her presence. It was a lucky caveat that she seemed intelligent as well, matching him drink for drink and wit for wit.

Liam had only gotten halfway through community college; but, at the age of twenty-seven, he'd learned that women who couldn't stimulate him intellectually bored him quicker than those with good heads on their shoulders. To top off Miss Vicky's sensuous, vixen vibe, she hadn't attempted to ask him any personal questions about his job, his family, or his finances, leading him to believe that she was interested in none of those things.

It was quite interesting to encounter a woman who wasn't on the hunt for a man she could tie down; yet, Vicky's personality was one he could see himself easily meshing with—if he dared look so far into the future.

Quite honestly, the simple prospect of tomorrow had been in the flux for Liam for a number of years. After a bad stint with one of the nastier LA motorcycle crews in his last year of college, he'd had to go underground for a while, fearing for his life. The Black Eagles could be downright deadly when they thought you'd crossed them—apparently, accidentally having made friends with an undercover cop was screwing them to the nth degree.

Despite the fact that Liam hadn't been the only guilty party when over ten of his former brothers were arrested, he'd been the one that they'd pinned the blame on. Thusly, they were out for his blood.

Though Liam had hidden for a number of years, he'd grown tired of being a victim fairly quickly. In the past six months, he'd told himself that he was finally going to do something about the gang members hounding his ass.

So, he'd gone and put his name in with the Saints.

Fresh start, fresh brotherhood—and it didn't hurt that they were rivals to the Black Eagles with enough potential power to crush them under their boot heels if they saw fit. He could only hope that none of his former brothers had gotten mouthy with any of the Saints. It was a prospect he sincerely doubted since the leader of the Saints was trigger happy when it came to rival club members.

Darren Platt.

In bed next to Vicky, Liam shuddered.

Now,
that
man was a basket case.

It was easy to see how he'd risen to power among the Dark Saints because they prized strength and ruthlessness above all else. He was half crazy. He'd been known to torture those who crossed him for days before they died. Afterwards, the cops usually only found them in itty bitty pieces. Darren loved power, he loved control, and, according to word on the street, he was obsessed with keeping men away from his younger sister.

Liam couldn't even imagine what it must be like to have a brother who was ready to
literally
snuff out anyone you wanted to date. The girl must be a complete shut-in—cowed and utterly terrified by the mere sight of her powerful sibling. It didn't help that he'd also heard that she wasn't bad on the eyes.

He was sure Darren made her life fucking miserable.

He'd only met the man once—when he'd made the arrangements to prospect after proving his worth by stealing a twenty grand bike from a lot downtown. However, once had been enough. Darren's gleaming blue eyes spoke of a kind of instability that sent anyone with any sense of self-preservation running for the hills.

And starting today, he was going to pledge his life to that man.

The thought simultaneously excited him and made him nauseous. On the one hand, he'd finally have concrete protection from the Black Eagles; on the other, he'd be at the beck and call of someone he strongly suspected was a madman.

It was a fair price to pay—he supposed—to be able to sleep at night.

Drowsily, Liam turned onto his side to take in the sensuous sleeping woman on the pillow next to him. It had to be illegal to look as good as she did the morning after a hot one-nighter. Christ, she looked so scrumptious he was even thinking about frying a few eggs…and maybe some bacon.

Usually, he didn't even take women back to his place. Liam had a bad track record with the opposite sex. Any woman that came into his apartment usually left the next day screaming insults. But, Vicky didn't seem to mind trading inane banter with him. In fact, she seemed to revel in it.

Just like she'd reveled in his tongue exploring the core of the sweetness between her legs.

Damn, he wanted her again already.

Almost as if she sensed what he was thinking, the dark-haired girl beside him opened her eyes slowly, sleepily and stared at him. For a moment, her blank expression had him worried that she had indeed been drunk out of her mind the previous night and didn't remember who he was. But then, she gave him a sultry, half-asleep smile.

“Morning, stranger.”

“Morning yourself.” He chuckled, leaning down to mold his mouth to hers in a lingering kiss. She sighed against his lips, and more than anything he wanted to turn her onto her stomach and fuck her into the headboard; however, as he was a gentleman and she seemed to be only about fifty percent aware of her surroundings, he refrained. “Want some breakfast?”

She gave a low laugh, her gray eyes glowing with mirth. “Oh, wow. I'm sensing that's not usually an offer.”

Christ, she was perceptive; yet, her intuition only made him smile. “Well, no. Not usually, if you must know.”

Stretching leisurely so the sheet fell down below the pert, round globes of her breasts, she gazed up at him. “I like my eggs over easy and my bacon well done.”

Liam hardly heard her. He was too focused on the way her aureoles contrasted with the tanned skin of her bosom.

At his vacant expression, she merely rolled her eyes playfully, sitting up to wrap her arms around him and pull him back down against her, emptying his mind with a single kiss.

It was a while before either of them spoke again, and when they did, it was on the subject of Vicky's incessantly buzzing phone.

While they'd been heatedly going at it, the damn thing must have gone off four or five times, and it was only when they lay sated in each other’s arms once more that Vicky groaned.

“What time is it?”

Liam glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “About ten.”

Almost immediately, Vicky’s face contorted in displeasure. “Shit.” Rising from bed, she padded naked across the room to retrieve her phone from where it was nestled in her purse against the wall. Liam let himself admire the fine lines of her toned behind as she glanced at the caller ID before ignoring the call and casting the phone back onto the floor in disgust. “Fuck.
Shit
.” She ran her hands through her unkempt locks in an obviously nervous gesture before finally turning to him, her expression apologetic.

“I gotta go.”

He arched a brow. Didn't things like this usually happen the other way around? “Jealous boyfriend?”

She scowled at the jibe a moment before her face softened in good humor. “No, worse.
Much
worse.”

Hurriedly, she began to move about the room, retrieving her clothing from the night before. As he watched her, his erection burgeoning for an amazing third time in eight hours, Liam continued to try and lighten the mood. “Hey, if it's some work thing, I can have my new boss roll up and take yours out.”

Her smile was amused as she glanced at him over her shoulder, wiggling her phenomenal ass into her black silk Brazilian briefs. “Oh really? And what boss is that?”

Usually, Liam absolutely abhorred dropping names to impress women. He hardly thought it was necessary since most of them were never satisfied no matter what you did. But once, this
single
time, he was infatuated enough to make an exception.

“Darren Platt, President of the Dark Saints.”

Vicky froze just as she slid into her dress, her eyes immediately going wide.

What the...? For a moment, he merely watched her with bated breath, waiting for her reply.

It seemed like an eternity before she turned to him, her expression unreadable. “You're a Saint?”

The question turned him slightly sheepish. “Well, not quite yet. I prospect today.”

“Don't!” Her response was so vehement, so intense, that he was slightly offended. After all the shit she'd talked the previous night, she couldn't have suddenly turned prude in the light of day? Did she have a problem with the way the MC operated? Was she a bleeding heart die-hard for the longevity of the lawful city of LA?

“You've got beef with the Saints?” It was the only way he could think to pose the question without sounding like a complete dick.

“Ha!” Her exclamation was simultaneously bitter and sarcastic. “Yeah, if only.”

Now she was starting to piss him off. Frowning, Liam crossed his arms over his bare chest as he gazed at her over the rumpled sheets. “They've got a solid name and a strong reputation. Why not go for the best of the best?”

Shaking her head, her face lined with disapproval, Vicky merely grabbed her purse and straightened to her full height. Her dark hair flowed in a mass of waves down her back. Most women would look like absolute shit the morning after a night of debauchery, but Vicky looked like a goddamn queen.

A pissed-off, righteous, stubborn queen. “You'll regret it. I can promise you that.” With that, she turned on her heel and left the bedroom—and ultimately the apartment. The sound of the door shutting echoed throughout the otherwise empty space.

Groaning at the tension in his muscles, Liam ran his hands through his mussed hair. “
Fuck
.”

That hadn't gone well at all.

Casting the sheets to the side, he rose from the bed to head towards the bathroom for a shower, even though he was reluctant to wash the sweet smell of the surprisingly stubborn woman he'd slept with from his body.

However, as he was about to leave the room, he noticed a slim leather case on the floor and bent to pick it up.

It was a wallet.

No doubt it was Vicky's. He was going to have to return it to her—and
that
was going to be awkward as hell. Maybe he could just mail it? Sighing, he flipped through the thing, pausing when he came upon her driver’s license.

Age twenty-three.
Thank God for that.
Height five-eight, eyes gray, Victoria Platt.

Platt
.