Sinister Red: Wulven Kings MC Book One Read online

  I shake my head, a small smile pulling at my lips now that I know he’s not a murder trying to sneak up on me. “You surprised me, but I’m not afraid of you.”

  “No? Not even a little?”

  “Not the least bit.”

  Snipe walks over slowly, a touch of swagger to his gait until he stops on the side of the table, across from me. Those hazel eyes, almost a marbled green and gold and brown, search my face for a beat before they glance around the room, giving me a chance to unashamedly check him out with decent lighting and no distractions.

  His hair is so red, a fire engine red with natural orange highlights, and the light beard he’s sporting matches it perfectly. Snipe’s eyes are so pretty, so striking and unique they make me think of stained glass, and they’re surrounded by the thickest orange lashes I’ve ever seen. And the rest of his face? Snipe is beautiful in an edgy way, with the sharp lines of his nose and jaw a contrast to soft pink lips, his porcelain skin covered in freckles but hidden by the scruffy beard.

  And the man works a leather jacket and jeans like he was born to do it.

  Snipe isn’t wide or bulky like some of his friends, but his build is athletic; six-foot-one or two, probably two-hundred and fifteen pounds, and I’d have to be blind to miss the obvious ripples of defined pecs and a six-pack underneath that snug white t-shirt.

  I wonder if he has tattoos.

  Mac and Gus have a few that I could see. Some on their hands, a matching one on the side of their necks, and a few of the other guys I saw have them as well. The one in the ball cap was well on his way to covered, the dirty Viking had a couple, but I can’t tell if Snipe has any. Cliché or not, I find the tattooed biker bad boy very attractive and if this particular bad boy fits that description, I’ll be in even more trouble than I already am.

  “Is this where you keep the bodies?”

  I blush as Snipe meets my stare with a knowing smirk. Looks like I just got busted checking him out.

  “No.” I shake my head and fidget with another cookie. “There’s a morgue down the hall where we keep them while they’re waiting for the next step.”

  “Next step?” he asks as he does a slow turn, taking in the entire room before he starts walking along the wall full of chemicals.

  “Depending on the case, the body goes to the morgue first to wait for my dad to either do an autopsy or start the embalming process. Both of those take place in here, as does the postmortem makeovers, and once we’re done, they go back to the morgue and wait for whatever their final arrangements are.”

  “Postmortem makeovers?”

  Snipe smirks as he arches a brow at me, and I can’t help but giggle. “Maybe that’s not the best way to put it, but once my dad and I are done, my friend Harlow preps the body for the funeral. Hair, makeup, outfit; she handles all of that and makes the dearly departed look as close to living as possible.”

  “So, no bodies in here unless you’re working on them.”

  “Right.”

  I watch Snipe continue inspecting the chemicals, the various containers and tools on the counters. His gaze wanders over the cupboards, occasionally peeking inside one or two, checking out the sinks and tubs, then scanning the desk as he comes around to my side of the table.

  Snipe stops next to me, his back to the cold steel, propping his perfect butt on the edge and resting against it as he grins. “And I’m assuming it doesn’t faze you that your Cookies are sitting in the same place a dead body was a little while ago?”

  My face heats as I look away and bite my lip.

  I never really thought about how that would look to someone who doesn’t work here.

  Well, I mean, I have thought about it, but not since I was in school and got made fun of for being the weird girl who helped her dad play with dead people. The other kids were never very kind when it came to what my dad does for a living or the fact that I’ve always assisted. I was pretty much shunned, considered an outsider and a freak because we owned the funeral home, and sometimes my classmates were really mean with what they’d say. At one point, they even started a rumor that my mom left because my dad was into necrophilia.

  Kids were mean, I was a freak, and my only real friend through all of it was Harlow, even though she was incredibly popular and had tons of other friends.

  Eventually I stopped listening to what other people said and came into my own, and by the time I was in high school, people lost interest in me and my morbid lifestyle, caring even less after graduation, so this sort of thing hasn’t really come up since then.

  And yeah, it probably is a little strange that it doesn’t bug me to eat in the embalming room, or any room in the basement or house above, but it’s not like I’m chasing my Oreos with a glass of blood or formaldehyde.

  Besides, we sterilize the hell out of every inch of this place, use industrial cleaners and sanitize everything regularly as well as in between clients. Not to mention we have multiple tables like this one, which wasn’t the one Harlow used for Mrs. Liddell or the one Dad and I used for Hamish MacAllister because those two are in the morgue. Even so, I’m sure it’s weird to someone who doesn’t know all of that, someone that doesn’t work here or have the slightest clue how things play out behind the scenes, but hearing that from Snipe has me feeling self-conscious, judged, and a little embarrassed.

  “Did you…” I swallow hard and turn back to the man currently staring holes into the side of my head. “Did Mac send you here for something?”

  Snipe shakes his head and maintains eye contact as he reaches out and picks up one of the Oreo fillings from the napkin. “I just wanted to see you again, so I snuck in after Tank and Gunner walked out.”

  “Oh.” I watch him place the middle of one of my Cookies into his mouth and can’t help the way my eyes follow the movement of his fingers, lips, and tongue. “Did you… did you need something then?”

  “You know, I only like the cream in the center of the cookie?”

  My entire body blushes as Snipe pops another one between his sinful lips. With lips as pretty as his, saying something like that to me while he eats the discarded parts of my snack—which almost seems to be him saying it doesn’t weird him out to be eating anything down here—in a way that could absolutely be taken as innuendo, makes me feel all kinds of things I didn’t think it would ever feel in this room.

  Turned on being number one on that list.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. I only eat the middle of the cookie.” Snipe nods. He picks up the last Oreo, twists it slowly, then lifts it to his lips. His tongue flicks out and he licks the filling off, then meets my eyes. “Something about the way it tastes. I like how sweet it is on my tongue.”

  Jesus.

  Why is this conversation so incredibly hot?

  And why does it only get hotter when Snipe holds the Cookie to my lips and waits for me to open—which I do without hesitation—before sliding the chocolate into my mouth?

  His fingers ghost over my lower lip and jaw as he watches me chew, his eyes darkening. Snipe’s gaze tracks my every move, and when I swallow, he grins and leans toward me. “Every now and then, I go for the Cookie, though.”

  And then the man is kissing me.

  Softly. Sweetly. Tentatively.

  Snipe is kissing me like he isn’t sure I’m going to let him do it while still hoping that I do, but the second my eyes flutter closed and I kiss him back, his hesitation flies right out the window.

  His fingers slide up the side of my neck and into my hair, curling into the pieces that have fallen from the messy bun. Snipe tilts my head just enough to slant his mouth over mine, deepening the kiss, his tongue flirting with the seam of my lips, and God help me, I open to him immediately.

  He angles his body then, a moan of approval rumbling from his chest as his other hand lands on my hip and turns us so my butt is resting against the table. My hands move under his jacket to his waist, my nails biting into firm muscle and soft flesh through his t-shirt, and just as the best kis
s of my entire life is about to turn bruising, as his body leans further into mine, the hard bulge in Snipe’s jeans pressing against my belly, the goddamn phone rings.

  Snipe sucks my lower lip between his as he pulls back with a smirk. “Better get that.”

  “Yeah…”

  “Probably your dad.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Could be important.” Snipe chuckles as I nod. “Wouldn’t want to miss any new cases.”

  “Right.”

  He dips his mouth toward mine again, another sweet kiss that has me gripping his sides tighter. “I’ll be seeing you around, Cookie.”

  With one more gentle kiss, Snipe removes his body from mine, throws me a wink, and slips out the door as if he didn’t nearly kiss my scrubs off in the middle of the embalming room.

  I smile a little as I lift my fingers to my lips, my mouth a little swollen and red, I’m sure, and when I finally move to answer the phone that’s ringing off the hook, my smile grows.

  I still might not know his real name, but I’m going to make it my mission to find out because there is no way in hell I am ever going to be able to eat Oreo cookies again without thinking of Snipe.

  And I’m totally ok with that.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  SAM

  I crack my lighter under my smoke as I watch Jackal drag Cy toward a couple of rocket riders at the bar, smirking to myself the entire time.

  He may act like he wants nothing to do with them, but Cy usually scores right along with Jackal, so he can’t be too mad about it.

  Up until a week ago, I didn’t get mad over it either.

  Jackal takes full advantage of MACs, always has and always will, and the rest of us usually reap the rewards of his uncontrollable libido by picking up one or two of the chicks that hang with his current flavor. It helps that MACs is always crawling with loose pussy, but having Jackal around pretty much guarantees we’ll get our dicks wet, even more so when Spider graces us with his presence too.

  Tonight is different for me, though.

  Everything has been different to be honest, all thanks to a hot little brunette that let a perfect stranger kiss her in the fucking basement of a funeral home.

  I’m not interested in the rocket riders or anyone else since her, and I have to think it’s because she’s had me entertaining ideas I’d never even tried to understand before Sofie Berk came along.

  I didn’t really grasp—or care for—the concept of a monogamous relationship or the appeal of falling in love. Never had any kind of example of either until I joined the club, and even then it was pretty sketchy between some guys and their old ladies, but Tank and Gunner definitely had my curiosity piqued over all the fuss.

  Eh, maybe more Gunner than Tank.

  Angus is devoted as fuck to Trudy, practically worships the ground she walks on, and she definitely shows him the same kind of treatment, but they’re older and have been together going on three decades now, so it’s not necessarily the way things normally go.

  Proven by Tavish and his relationship with Nadine.

  Spider’s mom is fucking insane, always trying like hell to keep Mac on a choke chain that she pulls at will. They’re pushing fifty and Nadine is still constantly accusing him of cheating, and threatening to leave him for any number of stupid reasons. She even loses her shit on him over doing stuff with Spider and us, club shit at times too, and Nadine will start spouting all kinds of bullshit to make him mad or keep him home, and Tavish just takes it. He doesn’t do what she says, doesn’t let her dictate the way he runs things, but he doesn’t ever shut her up either, and I know that’s not right.

  Tavish says—when he’s drunk and pissed off, sitting around with me and the guys—it’s because he doesn’t believe in divorce, that Nadine is the mother of his son, and he knows once upon a time she really did love him. Just like he really did love her. Their relationship is almost out of habit, purely one of convenience at this point, but I have to wonder if that’s even true because having Nadine call him names, make accusations, and generally freak the fuck out on him in front of us or the EC on a regular basis seems really inconvenient if you ask me.

  But what do I know?

  I’ve never even met my dad and I saw my mom bring home a different guy every night for the majority of the thirteen years I lived with her, so it’s not like she was some shining example of how relationships should work. The only couple I got to see behind the scenes before joining the club was Preston and Olivia Gentry, who made Marbles, so that isn’t saying a hell of a lot either.

  I met Marbles—Mitch, back then—when I left our shitty house in Rolling Meadows, and that crazy son of a bitch was the first one to show me what a real home and normal parent-child relationship was like, despite the other fucked up shit that went on there.

  Which was weird as fuck, to be honest.

  Marbles has been completely unhinged since he was a kid, I mean, completely off the wall nuts, so when he found me hanging out behind the diner looking for my next meal, asked me if I had a gun, then took me home to his place with a grunted you can live with me now after I said no, I was shocked.

  Immaculate ranch house with a big ass yard, white picket fence and two poodles playing out front. Clean, neat, and very normal house, everything was new and cared for, it was peaceful and warm. I had incorrectly assumed that since Marbles was actually inside the dumpster I was hanging out by—diving for neat shit according to him—he had to be a runaway like me.

  Then that fucker took me to that ranch house in Sabine Woods and introduced me to his mom, his mom who was too hopped up on booze and pain killers to argue with Marbles about me moving in, and I was even more shocked.

  Aside from his mom’s addiction issues and his dad’s hardcore infidelity, everything else about Marbles’ life was pretty normal.

  The house, the dogs, the fact that he has a younger sister, Moira, and parents that were semi-involved. His dad was an accountant, his mom a stay-at-home parent who sat on the PTA and drove him and his sister to all their shit. Preston and Olivia even insisted on family meals and took us on vacations, made sure we never went without, and did decent enough in school to graduate by the skin of our teeth.

  And all of that is why Marbles is such a fucking anomaly.

  My best friend can’t read higher than a fifth grade reading level, skipped so much school he had to have a private tutor that basically did all of his work for him, and he spent more time in and out of interrogation rooms before he was a legal adult that it’s kind of a miracle he didn’t have his own goddamn chair at that station.

  And yeah, I was right there with him every step of the way, Marbles and I raising hell all over Sabine Woods right up until Hamish hired us. But all of that went unnoticed by his parents, unnoticed or covered up because they’d rather not deal with it since dealing with it meant dealing with each other, and they did that as little as possible.

  All in all, I have no fucking clue how a monogamous, committed, or healthy relationship works, but Sofie Berk has me at least curious about it.

  Mainly because, since I kissed her, the idea of that sexy as fuck brunette who tastes like cookies and looks like a fucking dream being with anyone else in any way at all makes my goddamn blood boil. Which in turn has made it hard for me to wrap my head around fucking another chick when I can’t stop thinking about fucking Sofie or wanting to murder anyone else she might consider fucking.

  I may not know the first fucking thing about relationships, but I know those kinds of thoughts mean I’m one step closer to figuring it out.

  “You look fucking pissed.” Brick—a new prospect who’s already gotten a nickname because he is a mammoth human—smirks as he stops next to the table and sets down a couple beers.

  I nod my thanks and grab a bottle of the watered-down piss. “Nah. Just thinking.”

  “You thinking about one of them?”

  With a frown, I look up at the big son of a bitch and follow his line of sight to wher
e Jackal is clearly finger banging one of the rocket riders right at the bar, while Cy works his broody charm on her friend. And that shit makes me laugh.

  “Jackal isn’t my type.”

  Brick turns to me with a grin. “Cy has better hair.”

  “And he doesn’t talk out of his ass.”

  “It’s always those strong silent types. Great hair, nice ass, and everyone digs an aloof motherfucker.”

  I bark out a laugh. “You got a thing for Cyclops, Prospect? Maybe thinking about introducing your one-eyed snake to our one-eyed brute?”

  Brick turns back to our friends at the bar, tilts his head from side to side, then shrugs as he faces me again with a smirk. “Just a crush. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

  I really fucking like this guy.

  “Never say never, right?”

  “Right.” He grins. “You wanna talk about why you looked so pissed off when I walked over? Or don’t the Kings do that sort of shit?”

  “Get all up in our feelings?”

  He nods.

  “We do…” I sigh. “But usually only when those feelings are along the lines of angry or horny.”

  “And you’re telling me you’re neither?”

  “Not right now.” Even though I can get to both pretty damn quickly if I think about Sofie and how long it’s been since I’ve seen her. “I was just thinking, got irritated, then it passed.”

  “I get it, man.” Brick lifts his hands in surrender. “Don’t want to chat with a prospect, not until I’m patched. I get it.”

  I look up at him again, wondering if I actually managed to offend this gigantic fuck, but he’s still grinning.

  “Just messing with ya. I don’t give a shit if you want to pour your heart out or clam the fuck up, I’m here either way, so it’s your call.”

  “I appreciate that.” And I really do.

  So many of the old timers are crotchety bastards, and the only ones any of us are close to is Tank, Gunner, and Breaker. Outside of that, it’s been the five of us because we all patched in around the same time, and none of us have gotten on well with many of the new prospects the EC keeps trying to bring in. Finding one like Brick amongst the latest roundup has been kind of nice, especially since we’re going to be looking at filling holes on the executive committee in the next few years as the founders start to retire, and no one wants any fucking idiots taking on new positions.