Cole (The Ride Series)

by O'Brien, Megan

  “See you at home,” I said.

  “Thanks again for the drink. And for defending my honor, warranted or not,” I said to Cole, and smiled slightly as I gathered my purse.

  “You can thank me when I’ve dropped you off in front of your place,” his voice rumbled.

  I looked up at him with wide eyes. “What? No, I’m just calling a cab. You stay and hang out with your friends,” I argued, my anxiety rising as I realized that he wasn’t going to go away as easily as I’d hoped.

  Instead of answering me, he turned to his friends and started issuing farewells. There were many handshakes and rough man hugs before he turned to me expectantly, gesturing that I could lead the way. Great, now I had no way of getting out of this, and everyone would now think we were going home together. I groaned under my breath, but I started to make my way through the crowd, waving to Connie and Kat who looked beyond thrilled about the situation. I rolled my eyes at them. I felt a warm, large hand press on my bare back, guiding me protectively through the masses of drunken people.

  “Are you okay to drive?” I asked, thinking of it for the first time as we got out into the fresh air and much quieter street.

  “Wouldn’t offer to drive you if I wasn’t,” he answered simply, shrugging on his leather jacket.

  “Okay,” I murmured as I followed him to his bike.

  “You don’t have a jacket?” he asked reproachfully.

  “Ending the night on a Harley Sportster wasn’t really part of my plan,” I answered dryly.

  He looked at me for a moment before shrugging. “Fair enough,” he said, and he smiled as he handed me his spare helmet. “You know your Harleys, huh?” he asked as I climbed up behind him carefully, trying to keep my dress in place.

  “You could say that,” I muttered simply.

  He gave me a look as though he wanted to pry, but thought better of it and instead started the bike up.

  We roared off toward my house and I had to admit that, yet again, I loved being on his bike. It felt exhilarating yet safe--dual emotions seemed to be commonplace in his company.

  When we pulled up to my building, I immediately stiffened and sucked in my breath. Our front door was slightly ajar, certainly not the way we’d left it.

  Cole turned off the bike as I stayed glued to the seat, fear percolating through my system.

  When I hadn’t moved he shifted slightly to look at me. “What is it?” he asked, his eyes following my widened gaze.

  “Our door…it’s open,” I breathed, pointing to our front door.

  “What the fuck?” he rumbled, swinging off the bike and stalking toward the building before I could stop him. “Stay there,” he ordered over his shoulder. Not something he had to tell me twice. My mind whirled with the possibilities. Was it just a random break in or something more? All of a sudden the gin and tonics weren’t sitting so well in my stomach as I wondered if my past had suddenly become my present. I hadn’t seen or heard from anyone in my old life since I’d left, but I’d always watched my back in fear that my past would come looming up to haunt me.

  It felt like hours, but it was probably only minutes before Cole was walking back toward the bike.

  “Whoever got in there is gone now,” he confirmed once he reached me, and I climbed off the bike feeling slightly shaky on my feet. “Granted, I haven’t seen your place before, but everything looks orderly,” he added.

  I simply nodded looking over at my door.

  “You gonna call the cops?” he asked.

  I thought about that for a second before I shook my head. I tried to fly under the radar, so I didn’t need a police report circulating. Someone from Dad’s old crew might get wind of it, get worried, and decide it was time to check in despite my making it clear when I left that such a visit would not be welcomed.

  “Thank you for driving me home and for checking things out,” I said quietly while taking the helmet off. “I’ll handle it from here,” I told him, trying my best to sound confident when I felt anything but.

  “Darlin’, you would force a saint to lose patience, get back on the bike,” he insisted.

  “What? And go home with you? No way,” I demanded as I shook my head.

  “It’s either that or I’m coming in there with you,” he answered simply with a chin lift toward my place. We regarded each other for a few moments before he softened his approach. “Look, it’s true I want in there,” he said, his eyes assessing me provocatively as my eyes widened in turn. “You got something that I want a lot more of. But even if I didn’t, I sure as fuck wouldn’t let you walk in there by yourself and spend the night alone. I promise to keep my hands to myself, alright?” he asked. I was still stuck on his “wanting in there” comment, and it took me a minute to pull myself together. “Alright?” he asked again.

  “Okay,” I answered him, softly climbing back on the bike. The truth was, I couldn’t fathom walking into that dark apartment by myself and being able to sleep a wink, so I decided to put my arms around Cole instead. It wasn’t a hard decision when it came down to it.

  It was a short drive before we pulled up to a simple, single story house just on the outskirts of town. We pulled into the garage next to what I assumed was his black F-150 truck. Clearly he did well for himself.

  Despite my current frazzled state, I took a minute to look around. We’d walked in through the garage straight into a large, open kitchen with wood counter tops and a beautiful island that looked like it had been custom made. His appliances were stainless steel, but nothing too flashy. The kitchen opened up to a large living room with hardwood floors and high beamed ceilings. It was furnished relatively simply with black leather couches, a coffee table, and a huge TV and entertainment system. A hallway to the left looked like it led to the rest of the house.

  “I have to call Kat,” I told him as soon as I’d put my purse down on his sofa.

  He nodded while heading off to the fridge, and I soon found myself holding a cold, much welcomed beer as I let the phone ring. She didn’t answer, which didn’t surprise me, so I left her a message and followed it with a text letting her know briefly what happened and that she should sleep elsewhere tonight. I felt immediate guilt, hoping like hell it wasn’t me who caused this situation and that it was just random bad luck.

  Cole flopped down next to me on the couch and crossed his legs at the ankle on the coffee table and flipped on the TV. I suddenly wished I was wearing more clothing and shivered slightly in the forced air of his place.

  “Cold?” he asked quietly.

  I nodded and he got up and handed me a Harley Davidson hoodie that I gratefully put on over my dress. It was huge on me, but it made me feel moderately more at ease.

  “Thanks,” I sighed, sitting back on the couch and propping my now bare feet on the edge of his table. He put an arm around me and pulled me into his side, surprising me.

  “Just relax,” his voice rumbled when I protested slightly. I had to admit it was comforting to be close to him, and breathing in the smell of him wasn’t half bad either. So I allowed myself to sink further into him and zoned out on the mindless home improvement show he’d put on.

  Before I knew it, I was being gently lifted and carried. “Hmm?” I muttered.

  “Just putting you to bed sleepy girl,” his low voice answered me. I didn’t have the energy to protest or to wonder where I was sleeping. The night’s events had completely worn me out. The last thing I knew, I was being tucked into a warm, soft bed and I fell into oblivion.

  Chapter Three

  I woke up entirely too hot. It took me several moments to place where I was as my eyes adjusted to the weak light streaming in through the blinds. There was a warm wall of man tucked behind me with a strong arm around my belly. All of last night’s craziness and the fact that I was in Cole’s bed came rushing back. It had been a long time since I’d been held, especially while I slept, and I allowed myself a few moments to appreciate it before I shifted.

  He muttered something in his sle
ep, but he let me slip out from under his arm so I could take the sweatshirt off that I’d fallen asleep in. I lay back down on my back without touching him and took in the high-beamed ceilings of his bedroom and the simple bed, nightstand, and dresser that made up the room. I looked over at the man beside me and tried not to audibly suck in my breath. He was shirtless with a muscled arm now thrown above his head. His body was more beautiful than I’d imagined, with tanned skin, firm pecks, and a six pack. My eyes turned to the inviting trail of hair that began past his belly button and led to places I couldn’t allow myself to contemplate. A large tattoo spanned across his chest, some type of MC insignia. It was the profile of the head of a medieval knight wearing armor. The knight was black and white with red flames that burst out from behind it. I’d always loved tattoos and this one was particularly unique. I forced my eyes away before I did something mortifying like lick him. His bed was comfortable and I realized I’d slept fairly well considering I’d slept in my clothes. I carefully slipped from the bed to use the restroom. I brushed my teeth with my finger before heading out to the kitchen. The least I could do was make him breakfast to thank him.

  He emerged not long after, looking gloriously groggy with tousled hair and sleepy blue eyes.

  “Hi,” he said, while giving me a panty dropping smile as I turned the bacon on the stove.

  “Hi,” I said and smiled back. “Coffee?”

  “Please,” he yawned as I poured him a cup.

  “You didn’t have to make breakfast,” he told me, accepting the cup I offered him and drinking it black as I suspected he would. He leaned against the counter, still shirtless, watching me.

  I shrugged, “I don’t mind. You have a surprisingly well stocked fridge for a bachelor,” I commented with a teasing grin as I flipped the pancakes I’d whipped up. I needed something to keep me from staring openly at his gorgeous torso. He really needed to put on a shirt.

  He chuckled. “I like to eat,” he said, mischief in his eyes.

  “Ah, I knew there had to be a reason.” I smiled wryly and put a heaping plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him as he sat down at the bar.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked after swallowing his first, very large bite.

  I shook my head and wrinkled my nose. “Not too hungry this morning. But I don’t typically eat a big breakfast anyway,” I said, sipping my coffee and turning to clean up the mess I’d made.

  “Did you hear back from Kat?” he asked.

  I nodded. “She texted me, she’s fine. We’ll meet back up at our place later and go from there,” I told him.

  “How’d you two meet?” he asked. “You seem really close,” he observed accurately.

  I smiled and nodded in agreement. “We met at a coffee shop. She worked there at the time. I would go in every morning and she was so damned friendly.”

  He laughed at my expression.

  “And we just became friends,” I said with a shrug. I left out the part where I was going into the coffee shop because I had nowhere else to go, and I was desperate to get out of the flea bag motel I was staying in. I started working at the coffee shop along with her soon after we met.

  “You workin’ today?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Not till later though,” I said as I remembered that I told him briefly last night that I waited tables at Jupiter.

  “How about you?” I asked carefully. We had yet to delve into his line of work.

  He shrugged. “I make my own hours, one of the benefits of being in the family business,” he explained. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I knew the aspects of “family business” all too well.

  Not wanting to know more, I ignored his vague response and finished cleaning.

  “Thanks, that was delicious,” he said, patting his firm stomach. “I can’t remember the last time someone cooked me breakfast.”

  My inner cynic rolled her eyes. I was pretty certain that Cole had his fair share of bedmates and I’d be surprised if one or two of them didn’t try to charm him with breakfast now and then.

  I felt mildly depressed at the thought. “Do you mind taking me home now?” I asked quietly.

  He eyed me thoughtfully for a few moments before he nodded. “Let me just throw on some clothes.”

  He emerged shortly after bearing the same hoodie I’d worn the night before. “You’ll probably be more comfortable wearing this on the bike,” he explained.

  “Thanks,” I said, appreciating the thought.

  “I just have to swing by to give something to my Pop and then I’ll take you home,” he surprised me by saying.

  I had no choice but to agree, I was pretty much at his mercy and he’d already done a lot for me. But meeting his father wasn’t high on my list of things I wanted to do, especially when I was trying desperately to keep my distance from him.

  We were soon pulling up to what I assumed was the MC clubhouse. I was shocked that he would bring me here. Typically only old ladies hung around the club, or loose women who slept with the bikers. I was neither, but I tried not to think much of it. I hadn’t been inside a club since I’d left my father’s eight years ago when I turned eighteen.

  “This’ll be quick,” he assured me as he led me into the front room that smelled like leather, beer, and men. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of the expansive room where every shade was drawn, most likely to keep the heat out. Despite that effort, it was warm, and I wished I could take the sweatshirt off that covered a large amount of my body. My eyes continued to span the room finding a fully stocked bar in the right corner and a pool table sitting in the middle. There appeared to be offices off to the left and I knew from experience that only seasoned club members would occupy one of those. The floor was dark hardwood that squeaked underfoot. The feel of the place along with its décor reminded me swiftly and reverently of home. I was shocked when a lump formed in my throat that I desperately forced down. I missed my father every day, and this place reminded me so fiercely of him, it felt like he was about to walk through the door.

  “Cole, that you?” a gruff voice hollered from an office to the right.

  “Yah, Pop,” Cole called back.

  An older man emerged who bore a striking resemblance to Cole. His hair was grayer and he had the telltale lines of age surrounding his face, but his eyes were the same bright blue. His graying hair was held back in a long ponytail. He had a mustache and a goatee that suited his handsome face.

  “Who’s this?” he asked, gesturing to me with a lift of his chin.

  “This is Scarlet. I’m giving her a ride home, but it sounded like this couldn’t wait,” Cole replied somewhat impatiently. “Scarlet, this is my Pop, Cal Jackson,” he introduced. Something about the name was familiar but I ignored it and waved shyly feeling ridiculous wearing Cole’s giant sweatshirt and undoubtedly looking like some floosy he’d brought home the night before.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. Cal eyed me for several moments. It seemed like he was trying to place me, but then he snapped out of it. “You, too. We won’t be but a minute,” he responded, leading Cole toward the back and leaving me standing alone in the room.

  I took a deep breath trying to push down the strong emotions this place was bringing out in me. I wandered to the wood paneled walls and looked at the various photos framed throughout the room. Many of them boasted pictures of Cal when he was younger, and I immediately surmised that he was the MC President. There were a few of younger children, a beautiful boy I picked out immediately as Cole when he was around five-years-old. They were all similar to the photos I’d grown up around.

  I was still browsing the walls when my eyes stopped and opened wide on a photo of Cal with a wide grin and his arm draped around none other than my father. I sucked in an audible breath and swallowed hard. It must have been taken at least ten years ago, if not longer, and my eyes filled with involuntary tears at seeing the warm smile on my father’s face. My fingers drifted to the frame as I tried desperately to get a handle
on my emotions. Both men wore their respective club patches proudly on their jackets as they grinned at the camera. The “Sinners” club patch adorned on my father’s jacket was one of the most familiar images from my youth. My father loved that club and he raised me to love it, too. It was the only family I’d ever known. The club believed in community and brotherhood, until all that changed.

  “You’re Ray Malone’s girl aren’t you?” Cal’s gruff voice asked from behind me, sending me whirling around in shock. I hadn’t even heard him come in.

  I couldn’t seem to get any words around the lump in my throat as Cole came up behind his father and eyed my tearful expression with surprise.

  “I’d know those green eyes anywhere,” Cal continued, smiling fondly as I stood rooted to the spot unable to speak. “I met you when you were just a little thing, I’m sure you don’t remember. Your daddy was so proud of you. Called you his Scarlet Rose,” he remembered fondly, sending the tears that filled my eyes spilling down over my cheeks. I wiped them away as quickly as I could.

  “How did you know him?” I finally managed.

  “Our clubs supported each other from across state lines. Whenever we had business in California we’d stay at your dad’s club and vice versa,” he explained.

  It wasn’t uncommon for clubs to be aligned from such a distance, but it explained why Cal wasn’t immediately familiar. I’d probably met him very few times during my childhood.

  “Over the years we became like family, your father and I. We were a lot alike. Both single fathers. You and Cole played together once or twice when you were little,” he explained, and I looked over at Cole whose surprised expression matched mine.

  “Never thought the world could be quite this small,” I muttered.

  “Damn shame about your daddy, honey,” he continued. “He was a good man and that club went to shit without him,” he muttered angrily.

  The circumstances surrounding my father’s death were still somewhat of a mystery. He lost control of his bike on his way back from a visit with a neighboring club. He collided with an oncoming car and died on impact. Upon closer inspection, Henry, my father’s right hand, had discovered that the brakes had been tampered with. Anyone close to the situation knew that Jake had somehow been involved, but they couldn’t prove it.