Reveal: A Blood Riders MC Novel (Book 2)

by Tia Lewis

  “Yeah. I’ll make sure they know.” I could only stand back and watch him take his time. There were a lot of things I wished I could say to him, but I knew he wouldn’t wanna hear them. He was too proud, and men like us didn’t say things like that.

  He agreed to let me help him undress, at least, so I took off his leather vest and laid it over a chair, then helped him work his jeans over his feet. He swung his legs into the bed and settled in. I gave him his medication—already set up on the nightstand—and he sighed.

  “Thank you, son.”

  “You’re welcome.” I patted him on the arm.

  “No, I mean it. Thank you. I can rest easy, knowing you’re taking over my club.” He squeezed my hand. “I don’t got a thing to worry about, thanks to you.”

  I wanted to tell him not to die, but that would have been pointless. I didn’t know what I would do if I didn’t have him to go to anymore, to get his advice or figure out a club issue with him. We’d been doing that for so long, he was like my right arm. He was my father; more than any other man had ever been.

  “You know. There’s one thing I’m a little worried about, now that I think about it.” His voice sounded so tired.

  “We can talk about it in the morning. You sound like you’re ready to pass out.”

  “Listen, kid, I never know if I’m gonna have tomorrow morning anymore, and don’t go gettin’ all mushy on me just because I said that. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You gonna shut up and let me say what’s on my mind, then?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go for it.” I waited with a grin.

  “You and her. What’s happening? Why ain’t she here tonight? Did I do something to piss her off?”

  “You know you didn’t.”

  “So what’s up?” I tried to shrug it off. “Don’t do that to me. I already heard all about it.”

  “So why did you ask?”

  “I wanted to see if you would man up and admit you’re being an asshole.”

  “I’m being an asshole? Me?”

  “Yeah, you. Listen, I don’t care who’s fault it is—I really don’t. What I know is, nothing is worth losing what makes you happy. Nothing.” He moved his head in the direction of the closed door. “That was nice out there, you know? All those people laughing, toasting to me, hugging me and telling me how good I looked. I know they care. I know they’re good people. But it’s not the same as having a woman help me to bed. I mean, not that I don’t think you’re cute and all.”

  “Thanks,” I smirked.

  “But it’s not the same, kid. I mean it. I would give anything to have a good woman with me right now. I could tell her how scared I am sometimes when I think I won’t be here much longer. There were more things I wanted to do. I never did ride cross country, even though I kept telling myself I would. Hell, I planned it out and everything. But something always got in the way. And I told myself I would have time to find a woman, too, but I never did…well, for more than a night or two at a time.” We both chuckled. “But here’s the thing: I thought when you found her that you weren’t gonna end up like me—shacking up with random broads, sleeping around, no ties. Free and easy. I was relieved when you settled down. You wouldn’t have to feel the way I felt when I would go home alone at night, or when things would happen, and I wouldn’t have anybody to talk to about them. I’d have you, but just like tonight, it wouldn’t be the same.”

  I thought it over. “But what am I supposed to do? Apologize?”

  “Hell yeah, you’re supposed to apologize. Throw yourself at her feet if you have to, man. Get the fuck over it. Put your pride away for a while and just be happy. Being happy is better than keeping your pride—besides, when you’re in love, pride is sort of a waste of time. Isn’t it?”

  “You talk like you know.”

  “Maybe I do. And maybe I was too fucking proud and stupid to go to the woman I loved and tell her how stupid I was. Maybe I waited too long, until it was too late and she had already moved on with another guy. Some asshole accountant. I think they’re still married.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I wish I could do back and do a lot of things over, son.”

  I was speechless. I never knew Jack loved anybody before. I had always thought of him as being the ultimate bachelor, never tied down, too busy being a badass MC President to care about getting married or having a family.

  “Just don’t be like me is all I’m saying. Okay? Run the club like I would, but not your life. You have a chance, and she’s a good woman. If I don’t get to see her, tell her I love her. Okay?”

  “Please, Jack…”

  “Tell her.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. I will.” I stood up—no way I could take any more—and went to the door, turning out the light before I left. I heard his thin, shallow breathing as I closed the door behind me.

  Sure enough, the mood had dropped off a cliff after Jack had left the room. Everybody sort of hung out, sitting around with their drinks, talking quietly. The music had been turned way down, too. It felt more like a funeral than a party. Well, maybe it is, I thought, taking another drink from the bar.

  19

  Nicole

  I leaned against the hostess stand with a sigh. What a boring job. It might have been on the right side of the law, but it was about as exciting as watching paint dry.

  Why did people think it was interesting, stimulating? I plotted out the reservations on a seating chart, then seated walk-ins accordingly. Big deal. When the last hostess had trained me, she’d made it sound like working for the restaurant was the hardest job I’d ever have. Like it was a stint in the Army or something. The only reason I’d applied there in the first place was because I’d needed a job right away. Paying the mortgage was no easy feat. If I couldn’t work at the clubhouse, I needed the quickest and fastest solution.

  And it was as boring as hell. After a little more than a week, I was ready to call it quits.

  Had I become addicted to the excitement of club life? It was the only reasonable explanation. Otherwise, the pay was decent—it wasn’t like I worked at a silly chain restaurant—and the hours weren’t terrible. Still, I just couldn’t stand it. Everything fell flat after being with the club.

  The strangest part was how much older I felt than my coworkers, even though they were all roughly my age. It was Brooklyn, so a lot of them were struggling actors and actresses who hadn’t yet made their big break. They were young, beautiful. And they all seemed hopelessly immature to me. They didn’t have mortgages or engagement rings, or a relationship they weren’t sure would ever lead to the altar. They didn’t know how it felt to have a gun literally pointed to their head, or what it was like to watch a friend’s murder. They talked about reality TV and their next audition. It was all I had in me to keep from rolling my eyes every few minutes.

  And the flirting! Oh, my God, I would have seen less of it at the clubhouse. That was saying something, too, seeing as how Creed would flirt with anything with boobs. There was always some sort of drama. He was sleeping with her, which made another one jealous since she was sleeping with him a few weeks ago. Then these two were always flirting, to the point where I wanted to tell them to get a room. And another pair were always eyeing each other up and teasing each other, but both of them were also flirting with another girl. Gay, lesbian, bisexual, straight—I saw everything, in all combinations, and it all played out in front of me like a soap opera. It was exhausting.

  After only a week.

  With that sort of drama, I missed the relative peace and quiet of the club—which was saying something, since things were never easy in the club. But that I could handle. That I understood. I’d fallen into an easy friendship with Tamara, Violet, even Darcy after a little while. I couldn’t imagine being friends with any of the girls at the restaurant. It just wasn’t like that.

  I missed the family atmosphere. That had to be it. Even though we had “family dinner” at the restaurant, when the line cooks made big vats of food for us to ea
t before service, it wasn’t the same. Everybody broke off into their little cliques, and I was a part of none of them. I would stand in a corner, alone, eating quickly so I could get back out on the floor. The less time spent feeling awkward, the better.

  I missed my friends. I missed my family. I missed my fiancé.

  God, everything about him. His smell, his physique, his touch. My body ached for him night and day, even when I wasn’t consciously thinking about him. I would be standing by the door of the restaurant, greeting guests, and all of a sudden I’d yearn for him. A man would walk by with the same dark shade of hair, or somebody would smile at me the way he sometimes smiled. I’d meet a person with gray eyes, almost silver, and I’d shiver a little at the memory of his eyes. Once, a man walked into the restaurant wearing the same woodsy cologne. I thought about stealing his scarf. I actually considered stealing from him, just so I could smell Drake’s cologne again.

  I missed talking to him, too, and laughing with him. He had the weirdest sense of humor, and he was so smart. I could debate endlessly with him, and it was always okay since we’d never let it come between us. Well, we hadn’t until the debate was about whores.

  I wondered about that redhead. I wondered if she was still trying to get into Drake’s bed. I didn’t think she would have to try for much longer if she hadn’t been successful yet—he was a man who liked sex. A lot. To the point where we’d done it four or five times a week, if not more. And I’d always loved it, of course—I couldn’t get enough of him. How had he gone two weeks without it? I doubted that he could, though Tamara swore up and down that he was a good boy.

  How much longer?

  The house wasn’t the same without him, either. It meant nothing to me when he wasn’t there to make it worthwhile. It wasn’t a home without him. It was a shell.

  I sighed, shuffling through menus to keep myself busy while waiting behind the hostess stand. The busier I was, the less chance there was of thinking about Drake.

  Moments later, I overheard a conversation going on between two servers. “So I told her, either piss or get off the pot, honey.” I recognized the voice of Erica, one of my least favorite people in the world. She had such a snotty attitude, like she owned the place.

  “And what did she say?”

  “She said she’s gonna make her move, but she wants to make sure the fiancée is out of the picture first.”

  That got my attention. I strained to hear more.

  “How long will that take?” Julie, another server. The cattiest person I ever met. She had a snide comment about every customer who walked through the door and every person she worked with. I could only imagine what she had to say about me.

  “She doesn’t know. I told her, listen, you’ve got a good thing going on. You don’t need to tie yourself down to some motorcycle club trash.”

  I gripped the sides of the stand, hoping it would keep me from falling on my ass. She was talking about Drake and some other girl, wasn’t she? She had to be.

  “What did she say?” Julie asked.

  “She doesn’t wanna work for that guy anymore, the one who runs the place. You know. The club.” I could practically hear the air quotes in Erica’s voice.

  “So what, she’s gonna tie herself down to a biker just so she can stop being a whore?” Julie chuckled.

  I bit the side of my tongue, trying to remain professional.

  “I guess she figures it’s better than spreading her legs for money, even if the money’s good. And this guy, the one who runs the other club? I heard he is seriously hot.”

  I warmed a little, but it wasn’t a pleasant warmth. That was my man Erica was talking about. She needed to show a little fucking respect. I did my best to contain my composure but enough was enough.

  “Mmm, tall, black shaggy hair, light gray eyes. Muscular body like a God. Inked up. Delicious.” Erica added.

  “And his fiancée is stupid enough to walk out on him?”

  “I know, right? So hey, whatever. Go for him. If she doesn’t want him …”

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  “Can we help you?” Erica tilted her head.

  “I can hear you two talking about my fiancée.”

  “Drake?” Julie smirked. “And?”

  “You need to shut the fuck up,” I warned as I walked towards Erica.

  “Or what?”

  “I’ll fucking kick your ass that’s what.”

  “Ha! You hear this chick?” Erica sneered. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “I’m Drake’s old lady. That’s who the hell I am.” I took another step forward, crowding her.

  “Move out of my face, bitch.”

  “What did you call me?” I glared into Erica’s eyes.

  “I said move—”

  Just then, I slapped her with my open right hand full across her face. It rocked her, and she took a step back and then steadied herself, blinking her eyes and staring at me.

  “Oh, my God! Are you crazy?” Julie shouted.

  “Bitch! Do you want your ass beat too!”

  “No, no!” Julie held her hands up.

  “You’re going to pay for this!” Erica cried.

  “Yeah? Well, I fucking quit. Fuck both of you!”

  I put on a coat and grabbed my purse from under the hostess stand, then headed to the front entrance of the restaurant.

  “Oh, and by the way, you can tell your redhead friend—whatever her name is—that she’ll never get her hands on my man over my dead body. I meant it when I said I’d rip the extensions off her fucking head.” I held up my hand to show off my diamond engagement ring, then left before I had the satisfaction of seeing their faces.

  I ran out to my car, turning in the direction of the clubhouse without thinking about it. Fighting late-night Manhattan traffic wasn’t easy—even less so because I had no patience, wanting to get to Drake as fast as possible—but it was worth it. I would be with him again, if he still wanted me.

  20

  Drake

  It was midnight, and I was all alone. Everybody else had gone home for the night—I couldn’t even get Creed or Diesel to hang out with me. They were all tired of my bullshit, tired of entertaining me. I could understand that. I was tired of my bullshit, too.

  All I wanted to do was go home. The clubhouse had been good enough for me back before I knew what it was like to have a home and a woman waiting in it. I’d thought it was cool back in the day to hang out there all night, doing whatever I wanted, hanging out with whoever happened to be around. I never saw back then how desperate and pathetic I was. I understood after two weeks of being without Nicole, and I hated it.

  What could I do? I couldn’t go back to her. That would make me a pussy. I had come a long way since we first met, but there were certain ideas I couldn’t shake. Like the one where the man didn’t go to the woman to beg forgiveness. He just didn’t do it.

  So I had to get used to being alone. I took a shower, then dried off and put on a clean tee and shorts. I’d fallen into the habit of watching late-night TV and either eating cold pizza or drinking whiskey. Or both. The pizza was already ready, as was the whiskey. I walked out to the lounge.

  And Nicole was there.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. She was dressed for work, so she must have just come from there. I remembered she had a key—of course, she did.

  “I came to see you, of course. I was hoping I could find you alone so that we could talk.” Her voice was quiet, maybe a little scared. I was torn between wanting to tell her she had nothing to be scared about and feeling glad she was so scared and nervous. It gave me a little of my power back.

  “Tired of your hostess job?” I asked. “Thought you would slum it with a bunch of degenerates again?” I hated myself for saying it, since my heart was nothing but happy to see her again. I was so glad she was there. I didn’t think she would ever come, and I was too proud to go to her.

  “Why are you such an asshole?” she whispered. “I came here to
talk to you, to see if there was any way we could patch things up between us.”

  “What took you so long?” I asked. That wasn’t completely out of bitterness, either. I really wanted to know why she’d stayed away for so long. Two entire weeks. It might as well have been an eternity. Two weeks spent waiting for her to give the ring back and call things off. Two weeks spent waiting for a lawyer to call and tell me she wanted to transfer the house to her name, cutting me off for good.

  “I was going to ask you the same question. Why wouldn’t you try to fight for me?” she asked. She stood there in the middle of the room, looking better than I’d ever seen her look in her dress and boots and trench coat. She looked classy and gorgeous. Too good for me.

  “I thought I already did all the fighting I would have to do when we first got together. Remember? And all the shit we had to work our way through after that. Will I ever be able to stop fighting for you and just enjoy being with you?” I had no idea where my words were coming from. I wasn’t thinking them—they were just flying out of my mouth before I could shut myself up.

  She closed her eyes. “I didn’t think there was a day when things would ever get easier,” she said. “I wish they would, but there’s no guarantee, Drake. We’re two very different people. I think the question here is, do you love me enough, and do I love you enough, to work through all those differences? The longer we’re together, the more they’ll crop up. You know it, and I know it.”

  “Yeah, I know.” I hated the thought, but she was right. We would never be free and easy. There’d always be something getting in the way.

  “That’s the sort of thing that makes a couple stronger,” she added. “If they’re willing to work through things.”

  “It took you two weeks to come up with that, huh?” I snickered and went behind the bar for a drink. I had to calm my nerves. I couldn’t let her see what she did to me.