Original Sin (Dark Saints Motorcycle Club Book 1) (7 page)

Her lips pressed into a tight line, as she refilled her coffee cup before beginning to sip at it, her gaze cast downward.

Her expression made Liam arch a brow. The woman he faced now was completely different than she'd been the previous night. He supposed that the cloak of anonymity tended to make anyone bolder than they usually were. But now that the garment had been ripped away and everyone was laying their cards on the table, things were becoming more than a little complicated. “Just tell me he doesn't hit you. Please.”

Vicky gazed up at him before setting her mug down on the counter with a frown. “He doesn't hit me. Why would Darren need to hit me? There are worse ways to control someone.” Crossing her arms protectively over her ample bosom, she trudged past him to the window to look out over the front lawn and towards the market across the street. “You
do
know,” she continued after a moment, “that they're going to have you steal and traffic drugs for them. There will be gang fights, cops, and even the occasional murder. That's what you're signing up for.”

“Nothing I'm a stranger to.” His mouth set in a grim line, Liam stepped up next to her to take in the brilliant weather, well-landscaped garden, and his glinting Harley parked at the front curb. His statement made Vicky look over, giving him a quick once over. Then, she turned her attention once more to the world outside.

“So you've been in a crew before?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“And you're
still
going for it...knowing that the Saints are probably a thousand times worse?”

What else could he do? He needed protection. He needed a strong name behind him, and Vicky was no small consolation prize.

“I think you underestimate my character, Vicky.”

She merely turned to face him, her face set into lines that booked no arguments. “If you're still going to do this, then we need to set some ground rules. Last night, I wasn't at your house. You don't know me. You've never seen me, and you've
certainly
never touched me. Got it?”

Liam held up his hands defensively, eyes wide. “Whoa, do you think I'm an idiot? Of course not.”

“And this,” she gestured back and forth between them, “
this
can't happen again.”

The declaration made him arch a brow. “Can't it?”

The two simple words made her face redden slightly in disbelief. “Are you crazy? You want to keep messing around right under my brother's nose? You have some
serious
issues.”

“So, you're going to deny that your interest in me was what made you come on to me last night?”

“Last night was supposed to be a one-time thing! You weren't supposed to follow me and start all this…shit.”

“So, you don't want it to happen again?”

Almost immediately, Vicky looked away. Her mouth snapped shut; but, Liam caught the tell-tale glint that spoke of her remembrance—their bodies sliding against one another, and the way she'd bucked against him as he cleaved deep.

“Look, if it were up to me, we'd never have left the bed this morning.” Her smile was small and nostalgic when she finally looked up at him once more, and the look in her eyes made him weak at the knees. “But unfortunately, it's not. This is fucking dangerous, and I recall you saying you tend to stay away from danger.”

“Unless the source of said danger is so damn intriguing that I can't keep away.”

The words made Vicky's gray gaze glow momentarily with pleasure before she turned from him, composing herself.

Liam gave her a minute, stalking across her small, charming living room to flop down on a plush couch, making himself comfortable. If she thought she could get rid of him so easily, she was sadly mistaken.

After a moment of silence, he was surprised when Vicky sank onto the couch at his side. When he looked over at her, he found the same expression that had greeted him last night when he'd glimpsed her from across the club, undulating like a goddess to the music. Leaning over to place an arm on either side of him, Vicky bore down on him, filling his nostrils with the scent of flowery shampoo and sweet, musky perfume. “Just remember, this is what you asked for,” she whispered, low and sultry, sending shivers of arousal down his spine.

For that moment, Liam forgot the prospecting ceremony he would have to participate in that night. He forgot that Victoria Platt was supposed to be absolutely off limits and that he must be out of his mind for pursuing her. He only knew that, wrapped around him, she was the sweetest thing he had ever known.

What the fuck was she doing?

As she sat in the booth of the restaurant where she was supposed to be waiting for Liam, Vicky reviewed the last two weeks in her mind.

It all seemed like a blur.

When she'd met Liam, she'd been amused by his attitude: pseudo-intellectual, witty, and sensual—with just enough touch of bad ass to intrigue her. Though it was usually her policy to scope out his type more than to sleep with them—after all, the Dark Saints hosted a plethora of men just like him—she'd fallen into bed with him and been instantly hooked.

So hooked, in fact, that despite finding out that he was a biker—which she should have guessed—and his discovering her identity, she was still cavorting around with him.

She still couldn't believe that she'd been so careless. Leaving her wallet at a fling's house? That was an amateur move, and Vicky was most certainly not an amateur. Over the years, she'd had her fair share of lovers, but Liam was something entirely different. The man could have stolen her shit, made off with her information, and hawked it to any of the hundreds of guys who would be glad to use her to bring Darren down.

Instead, he'd returned it to her. She wanted to hope that his actions would soften any consequences her brother would dole out to him for seeing her; but, in her heart, she knew better. When she'd returned that morning from Liam's, her brother had been waiting. While he hadn't hit her, he'd called her every vile name in the book, demeaned her for wanting to undermine him, and scolded her for possibly putting herself in danger. He'd demanded to know who she'd been with, and she'd insisted she'd gone solo—thanking God that she hadn't saved Liam's number to her phone. Darren always checked.

Then, after shaking her so hard her teeth rattled, Darren had apologized, saying that he would never hurt her and that he only wanted to protect her from those who would use her against him. It was alarming, the way he switched from hot to cold. His rage gave her pause, yes; but, the other behaviors she'd long become used to. They were commonplace in her world.

What wasn't commonplace was seeing only one man.

Since she'd started seeing Liam, she hadn't gone out to find anyone else. They had never agreed that they'd planned to be exclusive, or that he'd fly off the handle if she slept around, but Vicky simply hadn't had the desire. Liam went above and beyond the call of duty in assuaging her physical wants. Plus, though she might be reluctant to admit it, he was pretty good in the mental department, as well. Under different circumstances, they might have formed and interesting couple; but now, sneaking around as they were, things were slightly complicated.

As they spent more and more time together, Vicky struggled with herself. Though she was often downtown at the Saints' main headquarters, sneaking in with excuses about visiting her brother, she had never been personally involved in their world. Sure, she knew a few of the guys' names, and even more faces, but her brother had always been adamant that she not date bikers or gang members. Quite honestly, he was adamant about her not dating anyone at all.

She wasn’t sure if it was because she was forbidden to date, or if it was because the MC club was so off-limits to her; but, Vicky found herself fascinated by Liam. He was the first crew member she'd ever gotten up and personal with, and she was beginning to discover that she had a thing for rough and tumble guys that lived and died by the roars of their Harleys.

If Liam ultimately turned out to be a choosy lover—in Vicky's world that meant that he was ready to move on before she was—it was only with human women. When it came to his bike, there was nothing but pure adulation. Up close, the gleaming machine seemed to thrum with power, even when it wasn't in use. From the curves of its engine to the rich leather of the handlebar and seat, it demanded to be worshiped, and this call, Liam certainly answered.

Several times, she'd been invited back to Liam's place. Rather than sit inside idle while he cleaned his ride and oiled the parts, she watched him raptly, settled on the bench of the complex's large garage. There were a multitude of cars inside and more than a few bikes, but Liam's was, by far, the nicest.

He readily told her it was because he had stolen it. It had apparently been part of a task to prove himself worthy of prospecting to be a Saint. The prospect thrilled Vicky more than she'd care to admit—imagining the man sneaking into the middle of a busy downtown retailer and plucking the bike from under them? He must have skills.

Liam proved more than once that he was a good grease monkey, repairing other Saints' bikes when they refused to start and even working on an old car or two in his free time. One thing that he couldn't restore was Darren's old bike.

Perhaps Vicky had never seen the appeal of being in an MC simply because her brother's bike had never been anything special. In fact, he had joined up with the Saints long before he actually owned a bike. In the days when they had been strapped for cash, he'd bought the first thing he'd been able to afford, an old Thunderbird that coughed more than it roared and spewed so much smoke that it probably deserved its own environmental hazard sign. Her brother loved the beat up old thing and could never bring himself to upgrade to a better bike. It was on his beloved Thunderbird that he had gained his power, and Vicky believed that he was close to believing that it provided him with some sort of luck. Plus, he hadn't died riding it, yet that was.

Not that Liam's inability to restore the bike mattered much.  Darren was loathe to let anyone go near it, even one of his fellow Saints.

The thought made Vicky frown.

Liam had gone through with it. He was officially a Saint. Though she had been nowhere near the gang's hideout when he'd gone through the ceremony, he'd returned gray faced and solemn—and still hadn't spoken of what he'd had to do to join. However, as soon as the initiation was over, he'd visited a nearby tattoo parlor and, as all Saints did, had their logo tattooed over his bicep—a faceless gray angel with her heart pieced by an arrow and encircled with a chain.

Vicky had marveled at how the new artwork had changed the map of his incredible body. The symbol that had brought her so much strife in the past few years was now emblazoned across the man she was intimate with. She'd never imagined that such a thing could happen. It seemed that the deeper Liam became embroiled with the Saints, the deeper they became tangled together.

She had to admit, it was no small task to hide the budding relationship from Darren.

Becoming the leader of the Saints had made the man paranoid and suspicious. He was constantly checking her phone for new numbers, going through her receipts, and demanding to know where she had been.

It was lucky for her that she had a pretty wide range of girlfriends—all approved by her brother, of course—who were willing to cover for her. She even saved Liam's number in her phone under the name of a friend whose number she'd memorized, effectively hiding it from her brother.

So, she and Darren still had their screaming fights, and she still continued to worry that her only relative would one day lose his life through his own insane antics; but, not a word was spoken or suspected, as far as Liam was concerned.

And that was no small blessing because despite her every effort to the contrary, Vicky was developing some interesting...inclinations.

Inclinations of a decidedly romantic kind.

“Here.”

She looked up, jerked from her thoughts, to see a small bouquet of fragrant, perfectly formed white roses extended to her. Above them, with a sheepish expression, was Liam, his dark hair falling into his breathtaking eyes.