Dark Vow (Dark Saints MC Book 1) Page 2

  “How’s yours?” Junior asked. A ballsy move. My own pulse quickened with fresh rage but I kept my cool.

  “Look, you want me out of here as much as I want to leave. Let’s just take care of this week’s fee and I’ll get the hell out of here. You think there’s anything to renegotiate, you know how to get in touch with Bear. I’ll be happy to relay the message for you. Meantime, cut the shit, Junior.”

  Junior set his jaw to the side. I could see his wheels turning as he worked out whether he wanted to give me more shit. He chose wisely, reached into his desk drawer, and tossed a fat, wrinkled gold envelope to me. I caught it against my chest then slid it into my back pocket without opening it. Junior wasn’t stupid enough to make the drop deliberately light.

  “Next time, use the back door, Axle,” he said. “Or if you can’t remember that, keep your cut at home. If this place starts getting even the hint of a reputation as a biker hangout, that’s bad for both of our bottom lines. You feel me?”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, Junior. I feel you. But as long as we’re giving each other advice. You might want to have a talk with your uncle. I caught him out there getting handsy with some of the waitresses. He keeps that up and you aren’t going to be able to keep good people out there.”

  Junior finally found a reason to take his damn feet off the desk. He sneered at me and rested his hand on his fist. “I don’t gotta worry about finding good help, Axle. Any girl worth keeping around out there knows how this game is played. You gonna walk around shaking your ass for money, you better expect to give up a little taste now and then. Frank’s harmless, anyway.”

  The leather of my cut creaked as I stood up straighter. More than anything I just wanted to punch the smug look off this little asshole’s face. Never mind the fact he was a prick. With an attitude like that and by hiring jerk-off, useless bouncers like Cory, he was going to ruin this place by the end of the year. As much as I would take personal pleasure out of seeing Junior fail, Cups was good for the docks. It was good for Port Azrael.

  I don’t know if he read something on my face. Or maybe he’d watched the whole thing with Frank and Maya unfold from behind the safety of his desk. He had six monitors on the opposite wall displaying feeds from every security camera. I looked over my shoulder at them. He could see the front entrance, behind the bar, two angles of the main floor, the break room and the hallway leading to his office. I knew there were even more cameras than that because our people helped install them. When I turned back toward Junior, his smug smile widened.

  “You weren’t getting any ideas about messing with one of my girls now, were you, Axle? I mean, I couldn’t blame you for thinking of it. The new girl is one of the sweetest pieces of ass I’ve seen in a while. How about this? When I’m done with her, I’ll send her your way.”

  It would be easy. Junior wouldn’t even be able to move out of the way before I had his neck locked tight in the crook of my arm. One snap. Lights out. The thought of him looking at Maya on those cameras every night turned on something dark inside of me. Junior’s skin turned to ash as he saw it too. I knew what he saw. My grandmother used to tell me it was my tseena trying to come out. She said I had a demon inside of me like the Comanche warriors she claimed I descended from.

  Junior blinked.

  There was a soft knock at the door and Cory poked his head inside. “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but Wendy’s trying to cash out. The bar’s closed and the girls want to go home.”

  Junior swallowed hard and nodded. The little fucker. It wasn’t a coincidence that Cory just happened to knock right when it crossed my mind to lay into Junior. I knew he had a panic button under his desk. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he shit himself. I gave Junior a wide smile, tapped my knuckles on his desk, and patted the envelope he’d given me.

  “See you next week, Junior. I’ll tell Bear you’ve got some issues you’d like to discuss.”

  “You do that,” Junior said.

  I pushed past Cory, jamming my shoulder into his as he let me by. Wendy’s smile brightened as she saw me come out. She raised a hand and called to me, but I wasn’t in the mood. I just wanted to climb on my bike and go as fast as I could until the rage in my heart started to settle.

  Sweat poured down my neck as I hit the alley and mounted my Harley. I should have parked it right out front where all of Junior’s clientele could see it. Because, fuck him. As the engine roared to life between my legs, I rounded the curve and headed for the main road.

  I didn’t get two blocks before I saw her. Maya. She walked alone, her tiny skirt swaying as she held her head high and headed for the next intersection. Dammit, what was she thinking? It was pitch black. The docks were safer now, but a girl like her, dressed like that? Anything could have happened to her. I veered to the right and pulled up alongside her.

  I revved the engine hard then came to an idle. Finally, she stopped walking and tilted her head down toward her left shoulder, not quite turning to face me. But she knew I was there.

  “You shouldn’t walk out here alone,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “Climb on. I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter 2

  Maya

  The steady hum of his Harley’s powerful engine vibrated through me. I knew he was there but didn’t dare turn around.

  Axle Hart.

  I already knew his name. Wendy had told me. She’d seen me talking to him and came to ask me about it. I saw the flicker of jealousy in her eyes. She had nothing to worry about. It would do me no good to be interested in a guy like that.

  Letting out a breath, I closed my eyes. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and the same heat I’d felt when Axle touched my arm back at the bar coiled through me.

  “You shouldn’t walk out here alone,” he said, his voice a deep baritone that shuddered through me with the same power as the bike engine. “Climb on, I’ll take you home.” Nine months living in Port Azrael, I thought I’d gotten used to the southern accent. But when Axle talked, his thick Texas drawl poured over me like warm honey.

  I opened my eyes and turned to face him. God, he loomed large like a colossus in weathered jeans over muscled quads. He wore a white t-shirt under his black leather biker’s vest. Each rippled arm was covered in a sleeve of colorful tattoos. My eyes were drawn to his hands as they gripped the Harley’s handlebars. Prominent veins covered them and tiny scars webbed across his knuckles. They were strong hands, used to hard work, I assumed. My pulse jumped imagining how the rough pads of his fingers would feel as he ran them along the smooth skin of my thighs.

  A million sassy retorts ran through my head. But that’s what I always do. I use sarcasm to deflect. Something told me a man like Axle Hart would see right through that. So I went with honesty, or at least a version of it.

  “I don’t even know you,” I said. It was true and untrue. I knew his name. I knew something about the patch he wore. He’d already shown me his version of chivalry.

  He cracked a smile, showing a row of straight white teeth. He wasn’t handsome. Not in any traditional sense. But he had a rugged, brutal magnetism that drew me in. He wore his black hair long, just past his shoulders. He stared at me with intense, dark eyes beneath thick brows. His strong, sharp nose looked as if it had been broken at least once. He had a full, sensual mouth and when the corners of it lifted into a smirk, that familiar heat shot through me once again. If I had to guess, Axle Hart had Native American blood running through his veins. I could almost imagine him standing tall and strong on some ancient battlefield wearing tribal gear and wielding a crude, lethal weapon. No. Axle Hart wasn’t handsome, he was raw sex and power.

  He leaned forward; the worn leather of his vest creaked. The patch he wore above his left breast said, “Enforcer.” Above that, he wore a symbol of an angel on its knees, its great wings spread behind it with a sword at its feet. It was the symbol of the Dark Saints Motorcycle Club. I’d heard their name around town whispered with awe and fear as if anyone said it out loud, it wo
uld conjure something dark and fearsome. In fact, that’s exactly what Axle Hart was. Still, I felt drawn to him in a way that quickened my pulse and left me breathless. All the more reason to steer clear.

  Axle made a noise low in his throat that straight up reminded me of a dog’s growl. Even that sent a thrill of excitement through me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I don’t have far to walk.” I turned and continued doing it. Gooseflesh prickled between my shoulder blades as Axle cruised slowly behind me.

  “Fine,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk out here by yourself ... looking the way you do.”

  I can’t deny a flicker of feminine indignation boiled inside of me. But I was also practical. He had a point, even though I hated to admit it. I should have waited for Cory or one of the other bouncers before heading off by myself. I’d felt a weird vibe in the bar as I finished my cleanups though. Wendy was pissed that Axle had shown me attention. I saw him go in and talk to Junior after our little exchange. Junior himself seemed extra agitated after the meeting and his Uncle Frank just gave me the creeps all around. I wanted to get the hell out of there.

  Still, I couldn’t resist. Turning, I started walking backward. Axle kept following, steering his bike in a slow crawl. The idea of taking him up on his offer and climbing behind him tempted me. I imagined the tantalizing scent of leather against my cheek as I wrapped my arms around him and felt the rumble of his engine between my legs. Doing it would break all the rules I’d been raised by. Heck, coming to Port Azrael in the first place had already done most of that. My script had been written for me since the day I was born. The youngest of six and the only girl my parents had, I was supposed to stay back home in Monroe, Michigan and take care of them all. Until a year ago, I might have done it. Then one awful night changed all of that.

  “You know,” I said, “I might be new in town, but I’d wager most people would warn me that getting on the back of your bike might be the most dangerous thing I could do.”

  His face softened a little, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Darkness swirled behind his eyes. “Where do you come from, Maya?” he asked.

  Oz, I wanted to answer. In some ways it felt like it. It had been deliberate though. I’d gone as far away as I could go.

  “Not far.” I smiled. It wasn’t an answer and the widening smirk on his face told me he appreciated it. I chanced a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t about to run into anything as I kept walking backward. The black, gilded streetlamps cast an amber glow over the smooth brick sidewalk. It was all new, made to look old, I’d been told. Downtown Port Azrael had undergone a revitalization over the last five years. The docks had been cleaned and Cups was part of that. The bar sat tucked on an abandoned naval yard on Nueces Bay. In the distance, the LED lights from the Azrael Bridge flickered through every color of the rainbow.

  “Well, if you won’t hop on, I’ll just follow you. I want to make sure you get home safe. You never know who might be lurking around here wanting to take advantage of you.”

  God. His voice dripped with sin and sex and it worked on me like hard liquor did. It would be so easy to just throw myself at him and sink into the feeling. Since I’d started working at Cups, I was used to men ogling me. Axle was different somehow. Oh sure, there was no denying the lust in his eyes, but he seemed to dominate the space around him. He was a man. A real man. Not some frat boy trying to impress his friends. But make no mistake, I knew Axle Hart was dangerous.

  I tucked a hair behind my ear, smiled, and stopped walking. I’d reached the end of the street at the intersection of Bridge Street and Vista Drive. This was my stop, but I wasn’t sure I wanted Axle to know that yet.

  “Thanks for the assist earlier,” I said. “With Frank, I mean.”

  Axle’s face darkened even more. A vein near his temple twitched as he ground his teeth together. He cut his engine and climbed off the bike. He was so tall. I barely topped five feet. He had to be six four or five. He came closer, standing directly beneath one of the streetlamps. The bright glare highlighted his features. Every inch of Axle Hart’s body seemed to tell part of his story. From the ink swirling beneath his shirt sleeves, to the lines at the corner of his eyes, to the jagged scar running through his left eyebrow. He’d been hardened, scarred, tested. And yet, whatever battles he’d endured, he stood before me now, a strong, looming presence. A survivor. Maybe we had more in common than I realized.

  “Be careful around him,” Axle said, his voice dropping all pretense. “He’s harmless enough on his own, but the DiSalvo family isn’t. I’ll spare you the ‘you’re new in town’ speech. You’ve already proven you can handle yourself with the likes of Frank. That’s good. Just don’t think the rest of them are as easy to deal with.”

  I took his advice in the spirit it was given and appreciated it. “I’ll remember that. And thank you. But why do you care so much? Is there something specific I should know about? I mean, yeah ... I’m new in town. I don’t know anyone. The last thing I need is trouble.”

  Axle considered my question. I got the feeling he was about to tell me something, but changed his mind at the last minute. The hard look on his face gave way to something softer again. He stepped forward and put a gentle hand on my upper arm. His touch seared me, just like it had back in the restaurant. Those rough fingers sent a shiver of gooseflesh all through me.

  “You know me, now,” he said. His hand lingered on my arm, then he finally pulled it away and pointed to the patches on his cut. “My club matters in this town. You ever need anything, ask around for me. My name’s Axle Hart.”

  Wicked heat coursed through me. My body ached to wrap around his on the back of that bike. But I kept my feet planted firmly on the sidewalk. I looked up at him and smiled.

  “I already know.”

  The hydraulic brakes on the Number 23 bus screeched to a halt behind us, shattering the spell Axle Hart seemed to cast. “There’s my ride,” I said. “And thanks again for the help and the heads-up.”

  Then I did something bold. I arched my back and went up on my tiptoes, pulling Axle’s face down to mine. I planted a chaste kiss on his cheek then turned as the bus driver opened the doors. As Axle stood there smoldering beside his Harley, I turned and sprinted up the steps, letting the bus doors close behind me.

  Chapter 3

  Maya

  Axle Hart’s touch and scent lingered over me when I went to bed that night. I dreamed about him. He came to me, hovering like the dark angel his club chose as its avatar. He’d be good in bed. Strong, commanding, dominant. The kind of man who could make me let go and submit, driving out all the things I tried to control and hold on to every day of my life. He’d be pure sin and recklessness. All the things I’d been taught to avoid.

  When my alarm rang the next morning, I woke drenched in sweat and tangled in the sheets. My back arched as my sex seemed to chase after the phantom pleasure the Axle Hart of my dreams wrapped me in. But when I opened my eyes, it was just me, alone in my studio apartment with Gordon, my overweight, lease-violating calico cat, staring at me from the arm of the chair in the corner.

  “Don’t judge me,” I said to Gordon. He gave me a wide-eyed stare then started licking his front paw.

  My phone alarm chirped again and I grabbed it. I had six missed calls and four texts. Sighing, I swiped the screen. All the calls were from my mother along with two of the texts. The other texts were from my oldest brother, Josh. I didn’t have to imagine what he wanted. No doubt my mother had pestered him to reach out to me when I didn’t answer her calls. I flicked off the ringer, tossed my phone to the seat of the chair near Gordon. He was nonplussed, only freezing mid-lick for about a second. I knew ignoring the calls and texts would only make my mother more hostile when I finally did call her back. But I just couldn’t deal with her today. I had a sociology class at ten followed by Statistics and Film Appreciation, my one blow-off class of the semester. After that, I had another shift at Cups.

  Hit
ting the shower, I did my level best to ignore what I knew waited for me on the other end of that phone. It was my parents’ wedding anniversary in one week. Mom wanted me to be there for it. We’d had a major blow-up when I told her I refused to support it. I’d acted as a mediator in their disputes since I was old enough to remember. At least half the time, those disputes had gotten physical. She had sworn to leave my father more times than I could count. She never did. When my brothers got old enough to put the fear of God into my dad, he’d gone from physical to just straight-up mental cruelty. But I couldn’t take care of them anymore. I’d reached my breaking point. So when the opportunity arose, I threw a dart at a map, applied and got accepted to Texas A & M-Corpus Christi. I did my research and it cost half as much to live just across the bay in Port Azrael. Landing the job at Cups two weeks ago had been a real coup. I made enough there to pay for my living expenses and what my scholarship didn’t cover. Plus, if I cut every corner I could, I had enough to save up for a house of my own someday. For now though, I was saving up to fix my junker car. It was currently a lifeless hunk of steel sitting in the parking lot. Hence, my need for the Number 23 bus.

  No matter what, Port Azrael meant peace. A chance to start out on my own away from the codependence and dysfunction of the family I grew up in. No one ever left the Ballard family, but I did. Nine months, four days, and two hours ago. For now, I couldn’t look back and I couldn’t go back, no matter how much my mother begged. By the time I got out of the shower, I had two more missed calls and another text from Josh.