Sinned: Chained Kings MC Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Sinned: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Chained Kings MC) (Scars and Sins Collection Book 2)

  copyright @ 2018 by Vivian Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews.

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  Contents

  Sinned: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Chained Kings MC) (Scars and Sins Collection Book 2)

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Sneak Preview of SILAS

  Silas: A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (Death Knells MC)

  Chapter One

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  Sinned: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Chained Kings MC) (Scars and Sins Collection Book 2)

  By Vivian Gray

  He was the right man for all the wrong reasons.

  I stumbled onto a crime I was never meant to see: A seven-year old boy crying with his family’s bloodied bodies strewn around him.

  Then a sinfully gorgeous biker kicks down the door.

  He looks so familiar… and then I realize why.

  He’s the man who put this baby in my belly.

  ROBYN

  The last thing I needed in my life was a handsome biker with danger following him at every turn.

  All I wanted was to help people.

  But Avon made my office ground zero for the vicious dealings of his outlaw motorcycle club.

  There was no reason for me to trust him.

  But when he reaches out a scarred, tattooed hand to pin me by my throat against his bed…

  I can’t help but beg for more.

  The smell of whiskey, engine smoke, and something dark and musky overwhelms my senses.

  He presses his chiseled jaw against my ears and whispers in that husky voice:

  “You’re mine now, Robyn.”

  And you know what the craziest thing is?

  I think he’s right.

  AVON

  I brought the battle right to her porch.

  She wasn’t looking for anyone like me.

  But after I’m done, she’ll never want anyone else.

  My world transformed once I got a taste of her.

  I took her. Possessed her. Made her mine.

  But it ain’t all sunshine and roses and tender lovemaking.

  Someone wants to hurt us.

  A man who plays with people like they’re pieces on a chess board.

  Let the motherf**ker do his absolute worst.

  He can’t take her away.

  She belongs to me.

  Forever.

  Prologue

  Robyn bit down on her thumbnail as the sexy man came nearer. They’d been making eyes at each other from across the bar for a half hour. He was pure muscle and mischief, with dark hair and darker eyes. He nursed a beer; she’d downed three cosmopolitans.

  Every once in a while, a bad day at work would send her to the bar. Working with abandoned and abused kids had that effect on her. Sometimes the sadness seeped in more than the success. But usually after a consolation night at the bar, she went home drunk and alone, still sad but just a little numb.

  Tonight promised something out of the norm. Maybe a chance not to go home so sad, at least.

  He sidled up next to her. Their ribs pressed against the wooden bar top. He smelled like cedar and smoke.

  “You look lonely over here.” He sent her a look that made her panties damp as he wet his bottom lip. It wasn’t every day a broad-shouldered hunk sauntered her way. Most days, she felt frumpy and boring. Social worker. Thirty-something. Jaded by the system. She had stopped looking for hookups long ago, more because she was embarrassed by what she had to offer. Usually, she just wanted to collapse on the couch in an oversized sweater.

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” She spun her cocktail glass around in a slow circle. “Hopefully you aren’t the type of guy who makes me wish I was alone.”

  The sexy stranger blinked, his eyes widening a little. “Well, that sounds like a challenge to me.”

  She bit back a grin. Alcohol sizzled inside her, but it was nothing compared to the way this man’s attention made her feel. She was just buzzed enough to say fuck it, and not let her insecurities get in the way.

  “If you’re willing to compete,” she said, “then the challenge is yours.”

  He raised his glass; they clinked their drinks together. And then they were spiraling inward, conversation leading to innuendos, laughter leading to smirks. Robyn didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the guy. And with so much enjoyment, it didn’t matter. She needed this.

  They barreled through two more drinks together. When the time came to order a third, Robyn touched his wrist. Her skin sparked where they touched.

  “I shouldn’t have any more.” She hoped she wasn’t slurring. “Why don’t we go somewhere else?”

  His chocolate eyes, tinged with amber, told her his answer before he even said it. “I could be convinced. What did you have in mind?”

  She slid her hand over his knee. His gaze fell to her fingers, pale against denim. The corners of his lips turned up. “Let me get the tab, and I’ll meet you outside.”

  Robyn used the bathroom, the world throbbing lightly, and grinned the whole way out the bar. She watched Mystery Man in Leather lean over the bar, pay for the drinks, smiling over his shoulder at her like they’d known each other for years.

  Outside, the spring Ohio air was a chilly caress. Daffodils had begun to open earlier that week.

  The door to the bar swung open, music and conversation reaching her before the door clanged shut. She tilted her head back to look at her sexy bar companion, somehow different in the muted tones of night.

  “What’s your name?”

  A slow smile overtook his face. He reached out to cup her face, dragging a thumb over her jawline. “Avon. You?”

  “Robyn.”

  And then she fell into him, like he was a pool of water in the middle of a desert. Parched and seeking, desperate to feel the relief of a pressure she hadn’t even realized was building. He cupped her face with both hands, his lip grazing hers, the smell of cedar and smoke filling her. His tongue pressed into her mouth. The noises escaping her were animalistic and hungry. They stumbled backward, kisses bleeding into more kisses, until the heat between her legs was too intense to ignore.

  She hooked him by the belt loops,
their pelvises crashing together. “Let’s go to my car.”

  He swept her up into his arms, her giggles mixed with directions until they reached her dingy white sedan. She struggled to open the back door while locked in his arms, but finally, the door opened. Avon nearly tossed her inside, and soon it was a flurry of quick hands and grunts, tearing at clothes and hot breath.

  Before she knew it, she was naked from the waist down. Avon pressed between her legs, the heat of his cock sinking into her.

  This wasn’t how it normally went. She didn’t usually do things like this. But as Avon sunk into her, she clung to the sturdy trunk of his neck, all thoughts dissolving into a loud hum of ecstasy. The car moved every time he drilled into her. The windows fogged up embarrassingly fast.

  They peaked together, her name on his tongue so sexy it almost made her come twice.

  She slid her pants on slowly, delicately, around the bulky frame of his body. “Wanna go back to my place?”

  He sent her a grin, but it wavered. “You shouldn’t drive.”

  “Let’s take your car.”

  “I brought my bike.” His words hung heavy in the air, feeling like a quiet no. Her heart sunk and the silence hung thick.

  “If you don’t want—”

  “Give me your address.” He stuck out his forearm. “Write it down, so I don’t forget.”

  She bit her bottom lip, rummaging through the center console for a pen. She scrawled the address on his forearm, her entire body still tingling. Avon leaned in, planted a warm kiss on her lips.

  “You better take a cab home. Don’t drive.” He finished buckling his belt. “I gotta go check on something, and I’ll be over in a half hour.”

  She nodded, watching as he stepped out of the car. She mourned the loss of his warmth, but reminded herself she’d be able to feel it again, once he came to her house.

  He kissed her one last time before he left, boots scuffing on asphalt. The motorcycle roared as he sped away. Robyn called for a rideshare with her app, waiting on pins and needles for the ride back to her place.

  All she could feel and imagine was Avon’s rough kisses on her lips. The way he’d drilled into her, sensual and relentless. Their night wasn’t over. She wanted it to never be over.

  Back at her apartment, she cleaned up as quickly as she could. Hiding dirty clothes, gathering all the used dishes in the sink, straightening pillows on the couch. It was small, but it was hers. Maybe Avon would like it. Maybe he’d become a regular fixture.

  She laughed to herself as she flitted around the apartment, skin prickling as she waited for his arrival. Here she was, googly-eyed over a man she’d just fucked in the back seat of her car. A stranger.

  But this stranger had been something special. That was for sure.

  A half hour went by. Forty-five minutes. Frowning, she sunk onto the couch, watching the digital clock on her cable box tell a damning reality.

  The last time she looked at the clock, over an hour had gone by.

  And then she fell asleep.

  Chapter One

  Four Months Later

  Robyn drew a deep breath, staring out at the bright August morning. Heat waves practically radiated up from the street, warning her not to step outside.

  The pregnancy was kicking her ass. There was no other way to put it. She was just now reaching the end of her first trimester, but the morning sickness persisted, and her heat intolerance was bordering on clinical. She sipped at her extra-large ice water. This was going to be a long day. Four house visits in different parts of the city, and most of the time, the houses didn’t have air conditioning. She needed to take an ice pack and stick it down her shirt. Anything to ward off the all-consuming heat that made her wilt faster than a tender sprout.

  Was this what the whole pregnancy would be like? She placed her hand on the door handle, her gaze flicking to the rearview mirror. Even four months later, she could still catch glimpses of that chiseled biker’s face. The one who’d given her a joyous but short-lived high in that back seat. The one who was responsible for all these hellish mornings ever since.

  Of course he’d never showed up to her apartment that night. Why would he? Men like him didn’t come through. She barely knew him, certainly not enough to know what men like him really did, but it seemed somehow right. A guy she’d met on a whim during a sad night at the bar. Maybe it served her right – or at least served as a reminder as to what happened when she picked up guys at a bar.

  A horrible hangover and a surprise pregnancy.

  Robyn swallowed a knot in her throat. The pregnancy was giving her careening emotions, too, made worse by the fact that part of her really wanted to see Avon again. Even though he’d “dined and dashed”, part of her wondered what would have happened if they’d had more time together. If she could have gotten to know him better.

  Avon felt like the one who got away. And she hated herself for thinking that way about the man who’d knocked her up and never looked back.

  Her car door groaned as she pushed it open. Heat assaulted her, and she wiped at the sweat beads that formed immediately on her brow. This summer was hotter than hot, and she couldn’t wait for the crisp tinge of fall, or the chance to feel cold again.

  She smoothed down her plain black smock as she headed across the street. She had just started to show, and her barely-there baby bump felt like a mountain already. But her bump wasn’t the only mountain – her libido was also sky-high. Robyn never guessed being pregnant would make her hornier than a teenager. She’d already worn out her vibrator, an embarrassing fact.

  Almost as embarrassing as the fact that she still saw Avon’s face every time she climaxed. Imagining his tight grip on her ass cheeks as he came. The way he’d left bruises along the tender flesh of her neck.

  Robyn sighed, fanning herself with the family’s paperwork. This home visit was a new family, one that didn’t have much experience in the foster care system. They’d been fostering a seven-year-old boy named Matt for a few months, and the case had recently been switched over to Robyn’s workload. She liked what she did, but sometimes her job just left her feeling like her hands were tied.

  It was impossible to help everyone. Invariably, kids got left behind, or phased out of the system, or just generally neglected by an unavoidable chain of disinterested foster parents. She prayed, as she did before every new family, that the situation waiting for her on the other side of the door wouldn’t be one of those.

  The house loomed, faded white clapboard and big windows that seemed to beg for a horror movie to be filmed there. Overgrown weeds sprang unbidden from a choppily mowed front lawn. The front door hung ajar as she approached. She frowned, looking around for signs of people.

  “Hello?”

  Nobody answered. She tried to peer inside the door, but couldn’t see much. She knocked once, then again. The door creaked as it opened further.

  “This is Robyn, the social worker.” She used a loud, firm voice, listening intently for any sign of recognition coming from inside. Nothing. “I’m here for the monthly visit. This was scheduled last month.”

  No response. She pushed the door, and it creaked open all the way. A white tiled foyer greeted her. She took a tentative step inside.

  “Hello?”

  There was a rustle from inside. She grimaced, stepping further, floorboards creaking as she traveled down the hallway. A strange scent wafted through the air, like someone had scorched their hair on an oven burner. She turned into the kitchen, gleaming linoleum tiles the first thing she noticed.

  And then the body.

  An older man, salt and pepper hair, face down on the kitchen floor. Blood pooled around him. Robyn’s voice caught in her throat, gaze careening around the kitchen for clues. For answers. For anything.

  And then she saw him. Little Matt. Curled into a ball in the corner, his eyes glassy as he stared out across the kitchen. He hugged his knees to his chest, his sandy brown hair mussed. Robyn felt rooted to her spot, unsure what might h
ave caused this scene. Was there a killer on the loose? Was this a kitchen accident? God forbid… was Matt at fault?

  “Hi, honey.” Robyn’s voice trembled slightly, but she tried to keep it calm. “I’m Robyn. The social worker. I’ve come here to check on you.”

  Matt buried his face in his knees.

  “Honey, can you tell me what happened here?” She took tentative steps toward him, the only sound in the kitchen her slow steps and Matt’s muffled crying. He shook his head.

  Robyn paused over the body, trying to see past the shock and notice details. Things that might help when the cops asked what the hell happened here. The man was unmoving, definitely dead. That blood could only have come from his body.

  “Are you alone in here?”

  Matt nodded, dragging his forearm across his face. He stared past Robyn. The poor thing was in shock. She knelt down next to the man and tried to roll him over. He was pure deadweight. She pressed a finger to his neck, blood smearing onto her hand. No pulse. She stared down at the man, running through her options.