Calamity: Motorcycle Club Romance (Sleepless Spades MC Book 4)

by Nikki Riker

  I shake my head numbly. I can't speak. I'm not sure if I'll laugh or cry if I open my mouth. This feels like a nightmare.

  "Your father and I were neighbors. We grew up in the same shitty part of town. We went to high school together. Worked at the same chop shop on the down-low for cash."

  He sounds almost wistful, recounting a history I would never have conjured in my wildest dreams. I can't picture it. My father only had one friend in all the photo albums. Trent. It was always Trent.

  "We were inseparable. Trent didn't enter the picture until I left South Hollens. Cruz hated the fact I had the grades to get a scholarship and leave our shitty life behind for the next four years. But he would have forgiven me for it, eventually. And then she entered the picture."

  She. That has to mean Trinity. I get a hazy picture of where this tale is going, and I don't like it one bit. I want to shove my fingers into my ears and hum loud enough to drown out his words. He's about to shatter the comfortable narrative that I've always lived with. I've always believed the Spades were victims, hated senselessly by the Kings. Ignorance is bliss, and I want to run back to it as fast as I can.

  But his accusing stare pins me to my seat, daring me to try it. He'll pry my fingers loose and shove the truth right into my brain by force. So I continue to stare at him, dumbfounded.

  "You're a lot like her, you know. Opinionated and loud and stubbornly championing your pet causes. But she was softer than you. Too good for any of us. And we all loved her. Trent, Cruz, and I. Trent bowed out gracefully when she didn't show interest. But Cruz? Cruz was furious when she chose me. Said that she was a stuck-up bitch, choosing me because I had a degree and a good job. Said she valued security over love."

  His face darkens. "I thought things blew over when he met Maria and had the twins. She knew she was his second choice and hated Trinity for it. She loved Cruz from the second grade on. The bastard didn't even try to disguise that he wanted someone else. He still wasn't speaking to me outside of club meetings, but I thought maybe, just maybe, he'd learned to fall in love with her when he had his third kid."

  I jerk in surprise, my stomach performing an odd swooping motion. It's fucking strange to hear him refer to my birth after all we've done together. But I'm younger than Brooklyn.

  "He kept trying to edge me out of club business, even though I was the one who set up the casino. He took it over, along with his pet project, Rapture. Trinity kept urging me to leave it behind. We had a kid. We didn't need the drama with our second on the way."

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Another kid? But Brooklyn is an only child. It can only mean one thing.

  "He stormed in one evening." Calamity's voice is flat as he recounts the tale, eyes tightening as if he's bracing for pain. "Trent tried to stop him. He was piss drunk. Demanded Trinity come with him and make the right choice this time. She would have, too, just to get him away from Brooklyn. She was crying, scared shitless by that point. And then he saw me. He took aim and fired."

  His throat works hard, and I think I see something streak down one cheek. I decide in the next moment I imagined it, because his expression is thunderous, a rictus of rage.

  "It went wide. Would have hit Brooklyn if Trinity hadn't stepped in the way."

  The car rolls forward again. Rain pours from the sky with enough suddenness to startle the pants off me, and I let out a soft exclamation. Between the rain and the unnaturally dark morning sky, it's impossible to see much more than a few feet ahead of us. The headlights of passing cars are the only indicators we have to keep us away from a collision. Calamity's inching forward at a snail's pace, for which I'm grateful. He will probably gun it, and I don't need motion sickness on top of the nausea I'm already experiencing.

  Trinity was shot. By my father. And somehow, Calamity had gotten the blame for it.

  "What happened next?" I force myself to ask, though I'll die a happy woman if I never have to hear the answer.

  Calamity continues on mercilessly, ignoring my discomfort. "We'd just had the ultrasound. A boy, they said. And I never got to spend the last few minutes I had with them because your cowardly father called the cops. Claimed that I'd shot my wife. He had the might of the Spades behind him, and I knew I'd be facing a kangaroo court if I stayed put. He had Harman, Rocco, and Trent to testify against me alongside him. Four against one. I took Brooklyn and ran."

  He pauses again and shakes his head. "I would have killed him if she weren't there. But she needed a parent. So I took the high road. I refused to do it again when we met again years later."

  When my father had been shot and tried to shoot Kase. With this new knowledge in hand, the situation takes on a grim light. It must have seemed like poetic justice to him to end one of my brothers when his own son had been stolen. I can't forgive him for bringing Kase into it. And I don't want to forgive him for my father's death either.

  But the niggling voice in the back of my head won't shut up, and I'm forced to face the question I've been avoiding since he started this whole sordid tale.

  Did my father deserve it?

  "It wasn't my bullet that killed him," Calamity mumbles. "And that pissed me off. And then the gutless Trent didn't even have the good grace to die during his attempt on Miss. Sutton's life. Your brother stole my daughter. So I'm left with nothing. Again."

  "How do I know you're telling me the truth?" I whisper, unable to force any volume into the question. I'm barely hanging on, and I don't want to go to pieces in his car.

  He gives me a mocking smile and tips an imaginary hat. "So now you know. And you can cross the line and pretend like all of this was a bad dream. You live in a legacy of lies, so what's a few more? Tell them whatever you like. I'm a murderer. A rapist. A lying bastard. I don't care. Once we get to the line, you can get the fuck out."

  No. Not a fucking chance. He doesn't get to drop a bombshell on my life and then order me to pretend like nothing happened. How can I go back to the Spades, knowing what's happened? Three of the people who could have told me the truth are gone. But Doc Harman is still alive, and he can set the record straight. It's the only way that I can return in good conscience. I have to set this right. Everyone in the MC will hate me for it. Most of them will probably call me crazy or a liar, but I don't care. The staggering unfairness of what happened to Calamity brings tears to my eyes. No wonder he's turned into this monster. Only monsters survive those odds.

  "No," I whisper.

  He turns in his seat and considers me coldly. The car comes to a complete halt, but it's not as big a deal as it might normally have been. There's no one on the road, and we're one of the handful of idiots risking the storm.

  "Like I said. It's not a fucking request, Penelope. Whatever this...madness was, it's over now."

  No. I won't let it be. We're close to something. I can feel that. He's trying to retreat behind the mask of the monster. I can't let him do it now that I've seen the man behind it.

  A brilliant flash of light blinds us both, and I fling up a hand to shield my eyes. There's a crack and a low, chilling groan and then a giant oak tips sideways, crashing onto the highway in front of us. It's fortunate that we are going so slowly, or that thing would have caved in the roof of the Camaro. Calamity spits a curse and brings us to a grinding halt before one of the outstretched branches.

  "Fuck," he says fervently.

  He undoes his seatbelt, and I seize the sleeve of his riding jacket when he reaches for the door handle.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To move this thing. Your brothers will cross the line if we don't get there by noon."

  The dashboard clock reads nine o'clock. "We have time. And you can't move that thing. As much as I'd like to see you flex all that rippling muscle, you're just going to throw your back out."

  Amusement etches the lines around his mouth for a few seconds at the praise. Then he sobers. "You still have to go."

  "I don't want to. You need me here."

  "I don't need anything or anyone," he says flatly. "Whe
n it comes down to it, the only person I can trust is me. I don't need empty promises from another Cruz. I'm done with your family for good."

  I reach for him, and he allows the touch, shivering when I trail a hand down his pecs, over those washboard abs and down to where his hips taper. He's expecting me to reach for his cock. Instead, I pull his Glock its side holster.

  Calamity's eyes fly wide open, and he stiffens, expecting me to shoot him. I slap it into his palm and then press close to him, the muzzle of the gun pressing between my breasts. I get in his face, well aware of just how dangerous this stunt is. I could lose my life in an accident or by a purposeful choice, but I don't care. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

  Our lips are inches apart. His breath is coming hard and fast, his expression vacillating from angry to confused.

  "If you need blood, Calamity, you can have mine. You want to take my father's child? Take me. I'll die right here, right now, if that's what it takes to atone for my family's guilt."

  My heart stutters painfully in my chest, not at all convinced of my words. My brain says yes, my body riots, trying to trigger my flight response. I stay put, leaning over the center console to maintain my position over him.

  "Penelope..." His voice is thick, and his swallow rasps in the car's silence. My heart thunders. Rain slaps the windshield. His breath is a ragged rhythm I use to count the seconds.

  "Kiss me or kill me, Calamity. There is no third option."

  Calamity's arms are around me in the next second, and the jab of the gun disappears from my chest. Calamity takes a second to flick the safety on again before it clatters to the floor.

  Then his mouth is on mine, his hands in my hair, dragging me as close as humanly possible, and my heart squeezes for a different reason.

  Kiss me it is, then.

  14

  Calamity

  This is really not the fucking time to be doing this, but I can't help myself.

  Freeing one hand from its vice grip on her hair, I tear at the front of her blouse, not even bothering with the buttons. I'm shocked she's not wearing her riding jacket, but it just makes things easier. One less thing I have to rip off of her. I regret the choice to give her clothes back. The pastel dresses were infinitely easier to fuck her in.

  She lets out a shuddering gasp when I move my mouth from hers to trail hot, wet kisses down her throat. There's a spot on her neck that makes her squirm and, wedged as she is between the steering wheel and my front, it feels incredible against my growing arousal.

  She lets out a soft moan when I slip my hand inside her torn blouse and slide my fingers beneath one of her newly acquired bras. Her nipples are already drawn into taut little peaks, and she keens when I pinch one between my thumb and forefinger.

  It feels as if there's not enough air in the Camaro. The need to be inside her is so overwhelming I almost can't breathe.

  "You're fucking incredible," I groan against her throat.

  And she really is.

  Somehow, against all sanity, she's cut through every defense I've erected over the years. And when she discovered the truth that's guided my decades-long vendetta, she didn't run away screaming or try to deny it. She's proven herself to be better than any of the shits she calls family by facing down the barrel of my gun and daring me to shoot. It isn't a ploy or a joke. The absolute certainty in her eyes chills me. She's willing to take a bullet she hasn't earned to give me my retribution.

  She's right. There are only two options with Penelope Cruz, and walking away isn't one of them.

  There's the small problem of her jeans. I'm definitely never letting her wear them again if she stays. I want to live between those golden thighs, and being denied for even this long is infuriating. I'm definitely not letting her clamber off of me. I find one of the artfully ripped holes and use it to tear out the seam of the jeans.

  "Hey," she grumbles. "I need those."

  "I need to be inside of you," I counter. "You'll get over it."

  She doesn't have a good counter-argument and merely groans when I nudge the silky panties aside to expose her pussy. She's soaked already, and my finger sinks easily into her. My thumb finds her clit, swollen and needy. She rocks hard against my hand, seeking more friction. It's a mirror to another night we spent together, where I felt the first inkling of guilt for what I've done to her. I couldn't imagine wanting more than to torment the little Spade for daring to share blood with my enemy.

  And now I can't believe I was such a bastard. Penelope hasn't changed from the moment she got here. I'm the one changing. Somehow she thaws years of anger and cuts me right down to the soul, reminding me I'm more than just Calamity.

  I'm also Vincent Gardel. The soft-hearted idealist who falls too hard and too fast and always gets hurt by more ruthless men. I try to bury it, to deny it's there. But the Spade tattoo is always a reminder of who I am and where I come from. Calamity will always have to exist if I will survive.

  But for Penelope? I can be Vincent, just this once.

  Her hips roll still more urgently, trying to find the friction she needs as I coax her closer to orgasm by stimulating her g-spot. She's whimpering, flushed and needy, and I try to capture the image in my mind. This will come to an end soon. I want to treasure the memory of her like this until the day I die.

  "Calamity, please," she says, lifting herself a few inches off my lap by seizing the headrest. "Please. I need you."

  Fuck, I love those words. They're a lie, even if she doesn't know it yet. She doesn't need me. She needs no one, given how tough she is. But she's offering herself, elevating me to her status in her mind. And that's what I treasure.

  I hastily undo my belt and do my best to shimmy the denim of my jeans down to a manageable level. My cock springs free a few moments later, and I drag her hips down to meet my upward thrust. Her warm pussy grips me tight as I drive myself in to the hilt. She bucks in surprise and then releases a groan, getting an even tighter grip on the headrest when my hands settle on her hips, lifting her just enough to slam her back down again.

  I don't take my eyes off of her for a fucking second, even though hers have fluttered closed, taking in the pleasant assault of sensation that I'm giving her. She rocks back with every thrust, rolling her hips against mine, taking in every bit of me she can get. Her back almost leans against the horn, but I can't drudge up any concern. This is my car, and anyone foolish enough to jack it will get what's coming to them, either when I shoot them, or when Penelope beats them to death for daring to look at her nude.

  But even that's unlikely, given the deluge. Visibility is almost nil, and I don't know many that will brave this storm to find me. Even I shouldn't be out in this, but the deal I've cut with Cruz demands it. We'll be late getting there because I'm not cutting the time we have left short.

  Her lips seek mine hungrily, hands finally falling to my shoulders. A little mewl escapes her every time our bodies meet, and it's music to my ears. Blood slams through my veins, and it's the most alive I've felt in years. Words form and stand poised at the tip of my tongue, but I don't say them, even as the pleasure mounts still higher.

  I won't ruin the moment by saying I love you. It's not time, and I'm not sure it's true. Not yet, at least. But I can't deny that I like her. The fact that I could love her given time is a fucking miracle. I didn't expect to feel this way for anyone ever again. Trinity would have hated the monster I've become in her absence. She'd want me to have Penelope, to save my shriveled, corrupt soul.

  As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.

  I almost smile. More Faust? I'm becoming philosophical in my old age. But there is more than one way the tale of Faust plays out. Which was I, Goethe, or Marlowe's Faust? Doomed to reap the consequences of my actions in hell, with no hope of redemption? Or could I be spirited away by an angel in the eleventh hour?

  "Penelope," I pant, driving harder into her. Her walls flutter around me. "Look at me."

  Her eyes fly open wide, and she stares down at me
in wonder. I slide one hand up to her cheek, and the tattoo that stands out starkly on the back of it looks just right juxtaposed against her skin.

  When she climaxes, it transforms her whole face. Her dark eyes flame, those lush lips part, and pure joy spasms across her face. I snap a mental picture and squirrel it away. Something to take with me when she's gone, and the inevitable must happen.

  I'm not leaving this world more dangerous for her. When the Cruz brothers take her back, I'm tearing this whole mother fucking thing down and then taking myself some place where I can't hurt her.

  "I love you," she whispers.

  The words hit like a punch to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me, even as my release comes. Fuck. She's already in too deep. I shouldn't have let her get this involved with a bastard like me.

  She sags boneless against me, and I cradle her to my chest, trapping the reciprocal reply behind my teeth. She nuzzles into the hollow of my throat and her soft breath fans across my skin. We're still connected in the most intimate way possible, and she doesn't seem to want to move as her breaths become shallow and even. I've exhausted her.

  Well, it's not like we're going anywhere in a hurry with the tree blocking the road. The long way around takes us into Hellion territory, and I'm not dragging Penelope anywhere near them. Cruz will just have to wait. I lean the seat back and close my eyes, letting Penelope rest on top of me.

  I'll let myself be a selfish bastard just a little while longer.

  15

  Penny

  The interior of the car is muggy when I wake up. A quick glance out the window shows the rain has let up. The sky still swirls with dark storm clouds, but they're moving away from us. This is just the usual fare that I've come to expect from South Hollens.

  Lifting on my elbows, I discover that I'm cradled against Calamity's chest. Holy shit. He fucked me into exhaustion. That has never happened in my brief and disappointing dating life. He's still inside me, semi-hard, as if even in sleep he's ready to fuck me. My eyes drift from his chest, where my face left a soft imprint in his shirt.