Dark Temptation (Dark Saints MC Book 2)(16)

Benz was getting the details of a deal for his MC.

I let it sink in. I let what my Grandma always told me come back.

This man may have no idea what happened to my Daddy, but his club did.

And his club was arranging a drug deal. That would be it. That would be how I put some of them away.

I hardened myself.

What had just happened with Benz was spectacular, but it was physical. I needed to remember that and put up a wall between my body and my mind.

My heart was set on something else. My heart was set on what my Grandma would want me to do and how my Daddy had died.

Benz came back to the bed. I was going to keep lying. I was going to make Benz believe that I was brainlessly into him.

I didn’t need some long game to catch The Saints. They were as dirty as Grandma said. It was almost too easy! I was going to be at pier nine with the cops for this drug deal. My boss, Paul Laraby, had sent me to make copies in Port Azrael, but I was going to aid in a major bust. I was excited at the prospect.

“Everything okay?” I asked him the question even while I committed to memory all the details I’d heard on his end of the conversation.

What did I know? Benz was the lookout for a drug deal? That was what it sounded like. I had a pang of concern that I was about to get this man arrested.

It was ugly what I was doing. I knew that. I’d let myself enjoy him, and now I was going to burn him. It was going to be a mess. But my life after Daddy died was a mess. I reminded myself of all the worst parts.

I spent my life knowing that the club was connected to the worst thing that ever happened to me. And I was here with a chance to do some damage to it.

Benz would probably get busted, but I told myself I didn’t care. It would serve him right. He was clearly a criminal.

That of course, was another lie. To myself.

I did care. I cared more about one Dark Saint than I could have predicted when I’d set my plan into motion in Port Azrael.

But one night couldn’t change my entire life. I wouldn’t let it.

I had work to do before nine tomorrow night.

Benz came back to bed.

“I missed you,” I said and put a sweet librarian smile on my face.

“Yep, just club stuff.”

“What do you do for the club, The Dark Saints?”

“Anything they ask.”

“Which is what usually?”

“Why the interest?”

“Well, I just realized I don’t really know anything about you other than, uh, this.” I had my head on his shoulder, and I was pumping him for information. I was the good detective, even if I had no idea what that actually meant.

Each question I asked took me further from the connection we shared and back to my mission to find out about The Saints. But I stayed molded to him, body to body. I had gotten in. It may have cost me more than I planned but I had done it. Now I had to go all the way.

“Well, I started out as probie changing the oil in the shop.”

“Where were your parents?”

“Oh, Mom was a drug addict. She OD’ed when I was little.”

“Jesus, that’s awful.” I imagined what he must have looked like as a little boy. No! No sympathy for the devil. Not that he was the devil.

“It was a long time ago though, it’s okay. ‘Just say no’; that’s not a problem for me after what I saw her do. Whiskey is my only drug. And surprisingly I’m addicted to librarians. Who knew?”

“Where’s was your Dad? Was he a Dark Saint?”

“My Dad wanted to be a Dark Saint.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thought he was one, tried to get in, but no, never. Saints wouldn’t take that asshole.”

“What does he do?”

“Nothing. He died trying to rob a bank. I’ve got a real pedigree. Let’s talk about something else. Or not at all.”

Benz kissed my forehead and I felt his hands move down my spine.

But it was like I’d left my body. What had he just said about his father? Died trying to rob a bank? Jesus Christ.

Had I just slept with the son of the man who’d killed my Daddy?

Had I gone from liar to much worse in the space of one sentence? What kind of person does that? This was Kenny Bass’s son? I felt bile rise in my throat. I was sleeping with the enemy. I squeezed my eyes shut and the last few hours replayed in rapid succession in my head.

It was my own fault. Shitty police work on my part. I lacked a critical piece of information about Benz, his last fucking name.

I was no better than the idiot college girls in the bars.

I didn’t know his last name. I didn’t know if Kenny Bass had any kids when he died. I should have, but I didn’t know a damn thing. I’d barreled blindly ahead with my plans.

I could have stopped asking questions right then. I could have run. None of this was going the way I’d thought it would. If I’d missed this, it was very fucking likely I’d miss something else. I was a rookie in every sense of the word and I was in over my head.

Except. Except…

I had one more question to ask. I had to. At this point, it was like ripping off a bandage.

I struggled to keep my voice light. I didn’t want him to know that I was in turmoil inside. I was trying to pretend we were just talking after sex, that it was normal. Even though every answer made my stomach turn over in my body.