by C. L. Riley
She raises a brow, and the first cloud of suspicion darkens her gaze. “O-kay. I guess. It just seems the police might be useful or should, at the very least, be on the lookout for her. There are three other missing women and the one who was kidnapped. How can we be sure Trina isn’t another...God, I can’t even say the word.”
She doesn’t need to say it. I know exactly what she is thinking. Victim.
I also know she will go straight to the police if I don’t intervene.
“Maybe you’re right. The police have their own resources. It certainly can’t hurt to have more eyes searching for her. How about we grab something to eat and then go together, to the station. I’ll push my contact to consider adding more manpower on her disappearance.”
The tension is siphoned from her shoulders and she slumps in her chair, her focus on the glossy table top. “I am hungry and could use a drink, and I’m sure if you go with me, it will lend credibility to my concerns. You are a celebrity of sorts, right?”
I chuckle softly. “Not sure if I’m an actual celebrity, but I am well-connected in the community. And I do agree that together we will present a united front. You’ve known her longer, which makes you more credible when it comes to her social habits. Give me a few minutes, and we can get out of here.”
My pulse rate is soaring and my cock is swelling, sure signs I need to step out of the room and collect myself before I make a mistake. Cheryl is a lovely woman and will be the perfect appetizer to compliment my main course, but now is not the time to sample her.
“Oh my God. I almost forgot to tell you. Trina did send a few postcards.” Cheryl digs in her purse and pulls out an envelope. “I haven’t received one for a couple of weeks now.” She hands them over. “I guess she did mention she’d be off her social media accounts, but I didn’t believe it. She’s never mentioned any family either, at least not until the postcards. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I feel like I don’t even know my best friend.”
Fighting to keep my expression neutral, I flip through the cards.
It’s clearly my nurse’s neat handwriting. It is also clear she made great efforts to keep her location secret, even from her closest friend. There’s no return address on any of them, and the pictures are random.
I was right all along.
Number 23, Trina Templeton, is on the run—from me.
Trina
“Don’t bite my finger off, naughty girl,” Rowdy chuckles, revealing a playful side I’ve only caught rare glimpses of before today.
He feeds me another strawberry. The juice explodes when I bite down, making me moan with pleasure.
His brow arches, and he gives me a sexy smirk.
I’m not sure if it is the post-orgasmic glow, but I’ve never tasted a sweeter berry. Grabbing the biggest one before he can, I tap his lips. “Open up.”
“Grrrrrr...” he fake growls and bares his teeth. I can’t help but giggle.
We’ve spent the last thirty minutes feeding each other, cuddled on his monstrous bed, ignoring the elephant in the room.
We did, however, talk about not using protection, something I’ve never done until Rowdy. He started to apologize, but I cut him off, letting him know I’ve been on the pill for awhile now and am certifiably clean in the disease department. I also reminded him I’ve reviewed his medical records, which listed his own test results.
To drive the point home, I assured him, had I wanted to stop, he would have got the message loud and clear.
After tackling that topic, the idea of sullying our first sexual encounter with sordid stories from our pasts seems almost sacrileges. Maybe we can postpone our big-reveal another day or two...or two hundred.
Focussed on the strawberry I’m dangling, he opens his mouth and points, giving me a view of his talented tongue. I press my thighs together, remembering the wicked things said tongue is capable of. He notices my heated glance and waggles it at me.
Before I give in to my desire and decide to dismiss the damn elephant altogether, I pop the strawberry into his mouth and lean back, reclining against the pile of pillows that line the iron headboard.
He notices my subtle mood shift and pushes the platter aside before stretching out next to me. “Time for the talk, huh?” he states the obvious, sounding about as thrilled as I feel.
“Do we have to?” I know I’m stalling and putting off the inevitable, but as much as I trust Rowdy, letting him see inside those darkest places, where my past haunts me, is intimidating.
I imagine he too might have reservations about revealing what he referred to earlier as “seriously dark shit.” But regardless of our doubts, I have a sneaking suspicion, the more we ignore the elephant, the more it will grow. In time, it will become so large we’ll be crushed under its weight. I’m well aware of the consequences that result from elephants outgrowing their enclosures.
It is long past time to surrender my secrets, and doing so will allow me to experience more of the freedom I’ve sampled today. And...I want more of Rowdy. It is better he hears my story before we go any further with our relationship. If he’s going to bolt, I’d prefer he take only a chunk of my heart, not the whole damn thing.
Oh, who am I trying to fool? He already owns my heart, all of it. I can only hope he keeps his promise to treasure and protect me. For once, I would like to rely on another person without having my soul shredded in the process.
“Hey, deep thinker. I meant what I said earlier. Nothing. I mean absolutely, fucking nothing will make me love you any less. When I claimed you as my queen, I meant for the long haul. We’ll reign together for as long as you want me by your side.”
He always seems to know what to say and when to say it. Yet one more trait I admire. “Does this mean I’m your old lady?”
“My queen, my girl, my ol’ lady, you’re my everything. All mine.”
Not sure what to say, I lean in and brush my lips along his jaw.
“You better stop that. We need to get this talk out of the way. In fact, why don’t I start?” He runs his nose down my neck, breathing me in.
I shiver, hoping he might change his mind.
He doesn’t.
Instead he gives my cheek a soft kiss and moves to sit, his back resting against the pillows. I push myself up until we’re leaning against each other. We reach for the other’s hand at the same time.
“I think I’ll start with Bones and good old dad and then catch you up on Crusher and Twila.”
As promised, he dives right in, and it is evident Rowdy is a superb storyteller.
He provides details that allow me see the characters, characters who just happen to be real people, starring in the crazy, real-life drama that is Rowdy’s life, a life I’m now co-starring in.
When he pauses to take a drink, I seize the opportunity to clarify a few key points.
“Let me get this straight. Your adoptive dad, Jackson, knew Bones was your actual birth father but never told you the truth?” I’ve already decided I am not a fan of Jackson.
“Oh, he knew all right. He was well aware my mom had a brief relationship with Bones around the same time he started messing with her. She wanted a family, but he was shooting blanks. When she turned up pregnant, he married her, pretending to be excited about having a kid. At that time, she wasn’t sure whose baby she was carrying, and Bones was long gone.
“When I was born, Jackson admitted he was sterile, and then, being the kind-hearted husband, he blackmailed her, forcing her into an adoption agreement and using me to keep a stranglehold on her life.
“He made certain she was dependent on him for everything. All she knew how to do professionally was strip. I guess she felt stuck. Afraid of losing her marriage and the millions that came with it, she swore to never tell me or Bones the truth. It was Bones, years later, who started to suspect something. A couple of his crew told him we looked alike.”
“So until last fall you really didn’t have any idea?”
“Not a clue. But by then I’d seen Bon
es a handful of times for business between our clubs, and without my knowledge, he’d put his tech guy to work, searching for information on me. I already knew, of course, that Jackson and my mom were involved with the Hells Guardians when I was younger. They’d been associates of the club for years while I was growing up, using those connections for various business ventures, which was how I got exposed to it all.
“My parents never expected me to prospect and leave my executive career behind for a biker’s life, ultimately becoming president of the Oregon Chapter.”
“Does Jackson know you found out Bones is your real father?”
Rowdy releases my hand and makes a fist. “He came to see me in the hospital. He was worried I might figure it out since I’d been around Bones so much for business. But Bones didn’t even know for sure, not until right before the explosion. The day Bones finally told me was the same day the barbershop...” he stops, hanging his head. “Fuck, Trina. I wish I would have known sooner. Without realizing it, we’d been doing business and working to avoid an all-out war between our clubs for years.
“At the hospital I told Jackson I never wanted to speak with him or my mom again. He’s honored my request. My mom, she’s not taking it well. I think she’s gone to see Bones since the accident. I’m not sure how that went down after all these years apart. He refuses to say anything negative about her. And Boone keeps telling me I need to forgive them. Guess because they were young and dumb my half-brother is willing to accept their apologies.”
I place my hand on his leg. “Forgiveness hasn’t been my forte either. I’m probably not the best one to give advice on the subject.”
“I’m not looking for advice. Just you listening and not judging is enough for me.”
“There’s nothing to judge. I have a couple longstanding resentments I’m nowhere near forgiving.” I hope he remembers my unconditional support when it comes time to share my story.
“It’s good to know I’m not alone.”
“Never. Not with me around,” I assure him.
He leans over and places a tender kiss on my head. “Ready for Chapter Two, featuring the conniving Crusher and trashy Twila, some of it you’ve heard before.”
I nod and grab slice of Swiss cheese and a couple of crackers. The strawberries were nice, but I’m getting hungry.
“After this we’ll stop for a real dinner, and then you can have a turn at this show and tell thing.”
I can’t wait to learn more about the woman I pinned in the sand and her accomplice, a man I almost went on a date with. I’m not sure about dinner or unburdening my soul. I’d rather listen to Rowdy all night. “Go on, please. I’m totally ready for chapter two.”
He doesn’t hesitate and explains in greater detail than before the strange dynamics between Crusher, Twila, and himself.
Twila was saved by his club, by Rowdy, in particular, from a sex trafficking ring that catered to wealthy men around the world, and when she was no longer a minor, she and Rowdy developed a sexual relationship, just as I had assumed.
She became one of his top, most trusted, club girls, something that bothers me more than I want to admit. I wouldn’t mind helping her eat sand again, given the opportunity.
Crusher, my almost-dinner-date, was a patched Hells Guardian member and had been assigned to go deep undercover—his job, to infiltrate the Soul Scorchers, a task he succeeded at for several years. Eventually, Twila ended up on a similar assignment with the Soul Scorchers and fell hard for Boone.
Twila and Crusher got caught, and everything they’d worked for came unglued. Crusher escaped his fate and disappeared, not bothering to return to the Hells Guardian compound.
Rowdy successfully negotiated with Bones to spare Twila’s life, paving the way for her eventual release by allowing a Soul Scorchers’ mole to go unpunished after he’d infiltrated the Hells Guardians.
Talk about a messy and confusing situation with everybody spying on one another. It’s a miracle they hadn’t ended up in the all out war they were trying so hard to avoid.
“So Crusher is no longer a Soul Scorcher or a Hells Guardian?”
“Definitely not a Soul Scorcher, but he was never officially voted out of our club. I would have handled his removal myself, but Pyro’s barbershop blast interfered and put me out of commission, which left Crusher’s status hanging. I have no idea why he’s in Seal’s Cove, but it isn’t a goodwill mission.”
The words are out before I can stop them. “He seemed so nice, funny for sure.”
“Believe me, he isn’t nice. He might have a sense of humor, but I guarantee his goal isn’t to make us laugh. From what Demon and Boone have uncovered, he’s been reaching out to brothers from each club, trying to stir things up, convince them I’m the one up to something shifty.”
“Like you have the time or inclination to start trouble with anyone. It sounds like both clubs need to take a serious look at their members. The whole thing reminds me of a soap opera or college sorority filled with gossiping co-eds.”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea.”
“I thought it was all about brotherhood and having one another’s backs.” The biker documentary I watched had highlighted the camaraderie amongst members, not all the secret scheming Rowdy just alluded to.
“Yeah, it is a brotherhood, most of the time. But people are people. Some are worse than others. I can’t speak for the Soul Scorchers, but we went through a season of rapid growth. The previous president wasn’t vetting prospects the way he should have, and he pushed to vote them in before they’d proven themselves.”
Listening to Rowdy, I realize for the first time how important the club president position is. It’s a huge deal. Should Rowdy return to his former role, it will take a ton of his time and energy.
How does Olympia manage with Boone? I wonder.
He picks up on my unease immediately. “What babe? You look a little pale?”
“Just the whole club dynamic, it’s so much. How will I fit in?”
“Let’s talk about that later. It’s time to eat and for you to open up. I promise, we’ll revisit the club shit when its time. Olympia will be a good person for you to talk with. She’ll be happy explain what it means to be an ol’ lady.”
I sigh. My stomach is churning and not with hunger pangs. My cheese and crackers took care of those. All I want now is to dump my secrets and see if Rowdy really meant what he said.
I’ll know soon if he really loves me.
Rowdy
I let Trina gather her thoughts. She’s decided dinner can wait, so I make quick work of devouring the remaining cheese and crackers. Going without food isn’t my idea of good time, but I’m willing to suffer if it helps her.
So far, she’s simply repeated, in more detail, the story of meeting Demon and her evolution from emergency room nurse to working at Brain Matters.
While she chatters away about nothing serious, I’m struggling to shut down the guilty voice in my head. I’m trapped knee deep in the sludge of mental quicksand, all because I didn’t reveal the dark twisted tales I’d referred to earlier in the day.
It’s not like she won’t find out how twisted a biker’s life is if she stays.
With that in mind, I bury my remorse and force my full attention back on the woman who has captured my heart. I decide a few leading questions might help her move forward, considering she seems caught on perpetual rewind.
“So you got your dream job? What happened? Something changed, or you wouldn’t be here.”
She closes her eyes and swallows hard, clearly working up her courage. “I ended up a little infatuated with my boss. He was everything I thought I wanted in a man, and I admired his professional accomplishments. Honestly, I admired everything about him.”
I flinch, not expecting her answer. Does she still want him? Is he the reason she left Seattle?
Thank God I didn’t confess my worst sins after all.
Managing murderers and masking club-related chaos doesn’t make for
good resume material, no matter how you spin the skill-set. Competing with some medical expert will be difficult enough without her seeing the real me. Besides, you can’t argue the fact nurses go best with doctors.
Broke down, criminal biker versus thriving doctor—I know who I’d bet on given the odds.
So what the hell made me believe, for one second, I had a chance with Trina...a real chance for a real relationship?
“Trust me,” her voice blasts through the barrage of negative images currently hammering away at my confidence. “There’s absolutely nothing between me and Dr. Martin but hatred. At least I hate him. I have no idea what goes on inside his crazy mind.”
I’m shocked by how relieved I am to hear she hates the guy, but instead of gloating over my good fortune, I ask a reasonable follow up question, “Why do you hate him so much? It takes something major to go from admiration and infatuation to hatred.” Her reply is not even in the ballpark of what I’m expecting.
“Because he raped me.”
I’m on my feet in an instant. “What the fuck is his name, and where the fuck is he? He’ll be dead by tomorrow.”
I’ve heard the expression “seeing red,” but until this moment, I’ve never experienced the phenomenon. My vision tunnels and a crimson haze curtains my view. Rage coils through me like a venomous snake ready to strike. The fucker is going to ground.
“Rowdy, please. Stop. There’s so much more to tell. You’re scaring me.” Trina’s words come out in a whisper but act like a high-powered fire hose on flames.
My mind is yanked back to the bedroom, where my queen is staring at me wide-eyed, her upper teeth worrying at her lower lip.
The red haze recedes, and I rush to her, pulling her up and against my chest. “Babe, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. Fuck. That’s the last thing you need. But you gotta understand. That man is dead.”
She nods. “Good.”
I hold her tight while she clings to me. It takes a few minutes for her breathing to slow.
Once she’s composed, she guides me back to the bed. We settle on the edge, our knees touching. “I’d like to finish. There’s a lot more I need to share.”
