Property of Drex (Death Chasers MC 2)

“Dash is a tech genius. He could have gone somewhere, been something. He taught me a lot, which gave me the knowledge to create a few of my own inventions, such as with the vehicles. Axle is brilliant, and he’s excellent at mapping out the perfect way to put hiding spots in places where hiding spots shouldn’t be. It’s what we do now. No more transporting drugs. No more transporting weapons. We just tweak the vehicles they have for different runs across the border. The ones most concerned with staying out of prison and keeping their stash, are the ones spending bank to keep making it happen.”

It’s a lot to take in. In fact, it’s an entirely different language. Transporting drugs and weapons? It definitely sickens me.

And he’s telling me all about it. Despite the wrongness of it all, I’m still curled up in danger’s arms.

“So Axle, Dash, and Snake are your best friends?” I ask, moving the topic away from all the illegal stuff.

He shifts, pushing me so that I’m on my back, and he slowly starts working my shirt up. It’s all I have on, so my lower half is bare to him.

“Yes. But my version of friends is different from yours. You grew up sharing secrets. We grew up killing to keep secrets.”

My eyes widen, and he studies me intensely. I’m not sure if it’s a threat or just a candid statement.

Shakily, I exhale, still trying not to freak out. Drex is the kind of guy I should run from, yet I keep running to him. I’d like to blame some psychological breakdown, but I know my mind has nothing to do with the feelings I have for him.

“Axle scares me,” I tell him randomly. At this, he freaking laughs. Loudly.

I’m not laughing.

“I’m sure he does,” he says through his chuckles. “The scars on his face freak people out. You should see the ones he sports under his shirt. But most people think I’m the scariest one. I have power. And according to most of the guys in the club, I shoot first and think later.”

I really don’t like having this conversation as though it’s a casual chat about the weather. Drex shed the shackles of morality a long time ago. I still firmly live in a world of right and wrong.

“Is that true?” I whisper.

His expression sobers, and he blows out a breath before running his hand up my leg.

“Mostly,” he confesses. “But at one point in time, I would have let you be killed just for having ties to the traitor who stole from us. Now you’re in my bed; I’m telling you shit I shouldn’t be; and I can’t stomach the thought of anyone else touching you. So apparently it’s not as true as I thought it was.”

Twisted relief fills me, and a touch of shame joins it. My mind works tirelessly to reconcile the fact I don’t want to leave Drex. It pieces together things that try to make it okay to be a killer, rationalizing it as though it can be logical.

What if the men he killed were going to kill him? What if they were men who would have done something to someone innocent? What if they were abusive sons of bitches?

I push the sight of the FBI agent being shot out of my mind. Drex didn’t kill him. Benny did. But Drex supplied him the incentive to make it happen.

It’s all spiraling now, but I work hard to keep from getting sucked into the cyclone.

“You’re trying to justify my actions right now, aren’t you?” Drex asks, proving his perceptiveness is sharper than I realized.

“Yes,” I answer honestly.

He smirks, but then he pushes my shirt up and over my head, baring my body to his eyes.

“Don’t,” he whispers softly. “You’ll go crazy trying to make a saint out of a sinner. And I’m never going to be a saint, baby.”

He kisses me before I can speak, and everything rolls away except for my need for him. Drex Caine really does own me.

He pulls back, staring down at me, still treating me with a gentle touch I’m still getting used to from him.

“Your mom said some shitty things to you that day that pissed me off. You did what you had to, but you didn’t tell her. Why?”

I shrug, feeling uneasy with talking about this. “She’s a good mom. Hearing what I did to save her and my brothers from destitution wouldn’t go over well. She would have felt guilty and pleaded for me to come home so she could find a way to fix it.”

He brushes a kiss over my lips with a whisper-soft touch. “And no one else could have fixed it without you doing this?” he pries.

I don’t know why he’s prying. My life is all in one folder.

“There was…is an uncle. He’s loaded, but… I never asked him for help.”