Sins of the Father Read online

  “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?” Lynch reaches past me and opens the screen door before pushing the heavy wooden door open.

  “Thank you,” I mutter as he sweeps his arm like he’s a member of the royal court granting me permission to enter his castle.

  A grunt pushes out of his lips as his eyes narrow. I turn in the direction of his scowl and see Briar making his way down the stairs at the end of the long foyer.

  “She’s pretty fucking pissed,” the handsome man tells his president. “I wouldn’t confront her tonight.”

  “You find out why she left school?”

  Briar’s head shakes instantly. “She wouldn’t tell me.”

  “I can make her talk,” Lynch vows and moves toward the stairs.

  “Give her time, Brother,” Briar pleads.

  Brother? So Briar isn’t the one Molly is interested in, unless—

  “Don’t tell me how to take care of my sister, Brother,” Lynch spits as he stares down at the grip on his arm.

  I’m so damn confused right now.

  Briar releases Lynch’s arm as if he’s been burned.

  Something silent, yet almost palpable passes between them as they glare at each other.

  Briar backs down first, nodding quickly before sidestepping Lynch and leaving the house.

  “I don’t hurt women,” he begins, turning his fire-filled eyes in my direction, “But I’ll change my stance on that if you leave this house without my permission.”

  So much for being safe.

  “You going to hurt me, too?”

  Molly’s voice on the stairs draws both of our attention.

  “Get your ass upstairs,” he hisses at her.

  “You’re not my father,” Molly argues.

  “Come on down then.” Lynch sweeps his arm much like he did when he opened the front door moments ago. “We can talk about why you’re here, Princess.”

  “I hate that fucking name, and you know it,” Molly spits before she twists around and disappears upstairs.

  “Quit acting like a spoiled fucking brat then!” he yells after her.

  “Take your ass to bed, too,” he snaps at me.

  My head recoils, drawing back a couple inches as I glare at him. My rebuttal dies on my lips when the front door swings open.

  TJ, stumbling over the threshold, walks in accompanied by two completely naked girls. Suddenly I’m self-conscious and a little agitated when Lynch’s eyes sweep over both of them.

  “No whores in the house,” Lynch grumbles as coolly as he would if he were telling someone no olives on my pizza.

  “Your whore is here,” TJ whines nodding in my direction.

  I’m annoyed at his whiney voice until comprehension of his words actually hits me.

  Lynch glares at TJ, holding up a hand to keep me quiet when my mouth opens to tell him to fuck off.

  TJ grumbles something about moving out so he can make his own fucking rules, but he spins around, pulling the girls with him. Just before they cross the threshold again, one of the girls turns around and prowls toward Lynch. Her lithe, tiny body moves across the floor like she isn’t even walking but more gliding on air. I should be pissed, but instead, I’m mesmerized by her movements. So much so that I’m certain she’s some type of witch or goddess.

  “You look stressed, baby.” Her hand flows with familiarity down the front of his body until she’s cupping his junk. “I can help you with that.”

  “Maybe later, Minx,” he replies without a hint of the agitation that was there seconds ago for his brother.

  “Maybe later?” I mouth silently as she releases him and walks out the front door, disappearing into the night like she was a mirage all along.

  “Bed, now,” he rasps, startling me.

  “Asshole,” I mutter as I spin and take the stairs two at a time.

  With a soft hand, I knock on the only door with light showing from under it. Not getting an answer, I twist the doorknob and push the door open a few inches.

  “I’m not talking about it, Eric,” Molly says from under a massive pile of covers on a bed too big for any one person to sleep in alone.

  “Who’s Eric?” I ask as I step inside and close the door behind me.

  She flips over suddenly. “He let you stay?”

  I chuckle as I walk closer to the bed and kick off my heels. Lynch is Eric? Good to know. “He won’t let me leave.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “I literally just told him the exact same thing,” I mutter as I pull back the covers and climb under them. I don’t imagine the chill from being terrified outside will leave me anytime soon.

  “You need to watch your mouth around him. The men here are,” she pauses as if she’s unable to come up with the right word, “they aren’t like any guys you’ve ever been around. Pissing Lynch off is bad for everyone involved.”

  “You know I don’t have it in me to back down to jerks.”

  “Seriously.” Molly rolls over and clutches my arm. “Don’t push him. Staying as far away from him as possible is the best thing you can do.”

  “He had a lot of questions about you.”

  Her face falls. “Did you tell him about school?”

  “No,” I assure her. “That’s not my story to tell. He did ask if you were pregnant, and I shut that train of thought down immediately.”

  She snorts.

  “That was my response as well.” I lay back further on the soft bed. “I asked him why is that the first fucking thing guys assume?”

  “It’s a common assumption around here,” she answers, her voice more tired than I’ve ever heard before, and that’s saying something because we were up for over thirty-six hours last semester cramming for finals.

  “So he doesn’t know your v-card remains unpunched?”

  She shakes her head before reaching over and turning the lamp on her bedside off. I wait to speak again until she’s settled beside me.

  “Is Briar your brother?”

  I feel her head snap in my direction. “No.”

  “Is he Lynch’s brother?”

  “No. Why would you ask me that?”

  “You and TJ look alike, but Lynch doesn’t look like either one of you, and Briar called him Brother downstairs. Don’t jump in my shit because I’m confused. I’m still pissed at you for lying to me about this place.”

  “Lynch has a different mom than TJ and me. I didn’t tell you about my connections because every time I’ve mentioned it to friends in the past, they won’t shut up about it. They think the clubhouse is like some museum, inviting themselves to come home with me.”

  “And I did exactly that when I squealed when you asked me to come?” I feel like an asshole.

  “No. I know you aren’t like them. Old habits die hard, I guess, but it sure didn’t take you long to sit on my brother’s face.”

  “I didn’t… I mean... that’s not—”

  She grips my arm to shut me up. “When you were talking in the car about boning the president of the club, I thought you were talking about my dad. I was completely grossed out. I was hoping we could hang out without seeing him.”

  “I’m sorry about his passing.” I roll over to face her even though I can’t see a damn thing in this room.

  “Don’t be,” she mutters. The emotion clogging her throat earlier in that room when she yelled at her brother is nowhere to be found.

  “Did Briar tell you what happened?”

  “Heart attack,” she explains. “I’m not upset that he’s gone. My dad was mean. I’m pissed that my family didn’t bother to tell me.”

  “They didn’t even tell you about the funeral?” I’m realizing that there isn’t a thing that has happened today that I fully understand. It’s like I’ve stepped out of the real world and landed in some alternate universe.

  “We don’t really do funerals around here.”

  “Is Briar the guy you want but can’t have?”

  “No,” she snaps. “Don’t even
say shit like that. It’s dangerous.”

  “But he isn’t your’s or Lynch’s brother?”

  “Nope.”

  “If his name is Eric, why in the hell does everyone call him Lynch?”

  “Let’s hope you never have a reason to find out.”

  She rolls over, and I’m left to stare into the pitch-black darkness until sleep drags me under.

  It takes hours.

  Chapter 7

  Lynch

  I went to bed pissed.

  I woke up pissed.

  Not every day is the same.

  Some days I wake up only mildly irritated.

  Days like today when I have a strange woman in my house, a sister who won’t tell me shit, and an empty sugar canister and no damn milk, only have the potential to get worse.

  Cringing when the taste of black coffee hits my tongue, I try to calm the urge to find TJ and split his head open like a log. I’m a violent man, but blood and gore don’t do it for me. I’m a rope man, preferring the quick snap of a neck over anything else unless I’m angry beyond reasoning. Today holds the probability of bloody violence.

  Being out of control, feeling like an intruder in my own life leaves me antsy. My dad didn’t face his problems head-on. He preferred snorting a line or two before he confronted issues. He was never strong enough to make decisions that needed to be made without a little chemical help.

  Since I was old enough to walk, I’ve vowed to deal with issues as they come along. I knew waiting would only let things fester and get worse. Yet, my sister came home, refused to explain a fucking thing to me, and I just let her. I watched the tight ass of her friend disappear upstairs. The sight of her made my cock achingly hard, and what did I do? Did I rush up after her and demand she finish what we started in room four? Nope. I just let her go, while I took a second shower for the night and jizzed on the shower wall.

  The sound of soft footsteps reaches my ears only seconds before the brunette bombshell that kept my mind awake for hours last night comes skipping in the kitchen.

  “I love coffee,” she murmurs as she pulls a clean cup from the dish drainer and pours some. “Any milk or sugar?”

  I snort. Seems both of our days are going to be filled with disappointment.

  “Nope,” I grunt in irritation. “People around here don’t know how to replace shit when we run out.”

  I’d blame TJ fully, but I’m pretty sure I used the last of the creamer yesterday.

  “Easy fix.” She hums quietly behind me, opening the fridge door again as if milk will suddenly appear from when she tugged it open a few seconds ago. “There.”

  Staring in horror down at my cup of coffee, I watch the glob she just dumped begin to melt.

  “The fuck did you just do?” Does she not realize that not only are we out of creamer and sugar, but I also used the last of the coffee to make the half pot on the counter?

  Turning to stare at her, I find her sucking on the end of the spoon that just aided in ruining my entire day. My dick clearly hasn’t gotten the message that we haven’t been caffeinated yet, because it stands to attention in my jeans as her pink tongue licks the metal utensil.

  “Ice cream.” She points the tip of the spoon in the direction of my cup, but my eyes never leave her mouth. “Milky and sweet. You had French Silk in the freezer. It’s a perfect combination.”

  Glancing back at my cup, I refuse to acknowledge that the coffee is now the exact color I prefer.

  “You look much less intimidating this way,” she whispers, running her finger up my bare arm as she walks back to the counter to grab her cup of coffee. “I thought bikers never took off their leather vests.”

  “Cuts,” I correct, grabbing her before she can reach out for her drink.

  Spinning her around in front of me, I press her back to the breakfast bar and cage her in with my thighs.

  “With or without my cut on, never question my ability to snap you in two,” I hiss.

  Lips parting, her breath rushes out in quick warm bursts. She squirms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and the thought of her rubbing her pussy lips together with the action nearly makes me groan.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “You like the aggression.” If I had a mirror, I’d hold it up and show her the pink in her cheeks and the hard points of her nipples.

  “I’m scared,” she repeats.

  “I bet if I pulled your panties to the side, I’d find you slick and ready.”

  Her throat works on a swallow and then she whispers, “I’m not wearing panties.”

  Who needs fucking coffee with a woman this extraordinary around? I’m wide awake now, ready to offer her the rod she caused in my jeans.

  “I guess you can make the rules, but can’t follow them?”

  “Correct,” I answer TJ without pulling my eyes from hers. I’ll punch him in the windpipe if he even utters the word whore again where she’s concerned. “Go back upstairs.”

  Candi scurries away the second my hands release her, and I don’t bother to hide my need to adjust my cock to a more manageable position in my jeans.

  “Why are you up so early?” I ask him as he picks up her coffee and takes a long sip.

  He ignores the question, just as I expect him to.

  “Is this new creamer?” He stares down into the cup. “This shit’s really good.”

  “I don’t trust her,” I confide as he tilts the cup up again and drains it.

  “You aren’t supposed to trust whores.”

  “She’s friends with Molly. You know our sister is an amazing judge of character,” I remind him.

  “Still a whore,” he says with a shrug before setting the cup down on the counter rather than placing it in the dishwasher.

  I’d complain about his messiness, but I’m just as guilty with leaving dishes around. Piper has spoiled us. Without a word, in the last week, she has continued to take care of the house. My dad insisted she clean here long before my stepmom died. I think it was a way to torture Donna by parading the other girls in front of her. Piper continued to do so even after Dad began to spend more time in the clubhouse than his actual house.

  “Did Molly tell you why she’s home?”

  “I just saw her briefly last night.” He shrugs again. “We haven’t had the chance to talk.”

  “Translation, you were too tied up with pussy last night to worry about why your sister is home in the middle of the week.”

  His grin is quick and apathetic before it twists into something a little more deviant. “You’re one to talk, man. One of the new girls told me you named her Legs last night when you were fucking her. She also mentioned a sexy little piece of candy that joined you two. You had your taste, so does that mean that sweet treat is open game?”

  Fuck off is on the tip of my tongue, but saying it would reveal more than I’m willing to explore myself right now. “She’s Molly’s friend. She’s off limits.”

  “To everyone but you,” he corrects snippily.

  “I’m not touching her either,” I vow. “She was riding my face last night before I had a clue that she was here with our sister. I never would’ve touched her had I known.”

  “You better keep her out of the clubhouse then,” TJ warns. “She was the sole topic of conversation with the guys last night. News spread like crabs on a prison block after you dragged her out of the house last night, and since one and done is your MO, they are probably walking around with hard cocks ready to treat her to their less than presidential staffs.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I murmur as I lift my cup of coffee to my lips, hating that Candi was right about the ice cream being perfect. “She’s not to be touched. She’s Molly’s friend, not a clubwhore.”

  “You made her a clubwhore last night,” TJ argues.

  Swallowing another sip of coffee as I try to reel in my anger at his defiance, I glare at him before speaking. “Do you have a problem with my order?”

  His eyes narrow as if he’s se
eing through me rather than actually looking at me. More than once I’ve wondered when I will push him just an inch too far; when he’ll have enough and claim my President patch the only way he can. I’m not afraid. Nothing scares me, but failing to read an opponent is a foolish mistake, and I’m no damn fool.

  “S’all good,” he says with a quick smile before walking out of the kitchen.

  I twist, the stool I’m sitting on turning so I can keep my eyes on him as he leaves. I’ve seen that very same smile go from sweet to psychotic in seconds. TJ may have listened to our dad when he advised us not to trust whores, but I was also listening to him when he corrected himself and told me not to trust anyone.

  Chapter 8

  Candi

  “You aren’t supposed to trust whores,” I mimic TJ’s words as I climb the stairs and walk back into Molly’s room.

  I obeyed Lynch like a little puppy when he told me to come back here, but I got a damn earful when I turned back around to get my forgotten coffee. Now I’m here, pissed off and coffeeless. The earth might as well open up and swallow me whole for the shitty way my day is going to end up.

  My friend was right last night when she told me that the guys around here are nothing like the boys I grew up with. My dad has always been an asshole, but he’d never talk to me or my mother the way the guys around here talk about women.

  “What are you mumbling about?” Molly asks as she turns over in the bed and faces me.

  Her hair is all over the place, and what little makeup she did wear last night is long gone, except for the eyeliner and mascara which has managed to crawl down her cheeks during the night.

  “Your brothers are assholes.”

  “I could’ve told you that, but for the sake of arguing, why don’t you enlighten me on their asshole ways this morning.”

  How much do I tell her? She warned me away from Lynch last night, so I don’t imagine she’ll be all too impressed with the way I was panting over him just moments ago, praying he would shift closer and press parts of his body against certain parts of my body. I mentioned I like off-limit things, right?

  “I went down to get coffee, thinking it would be early enough not to run into anyone—”