Lonely Rider - The Box Set: A Motorcycle Club Romance - The Complete Series

by Melissa Devenport

  Her blood curdled and the hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Her heart froze in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Her lungs squeezed like someone had tied a belt around her chest and was drawing it close, crushing her in on herself.

  “Trace,” she breathed. This man had not been a friend of her father. He was a good tracker, a deadly man with skills that no human being should be forced to develop. She knew from her father that this man, no more than thirty, was a man to be feared. She’d heard her father call him a sick bastard in passing. A man that was more animal than human. Big Ted had always done his best to keep Trace away from her, away from her mother, away from the house. She’d seen him at the club once and the cold look he’d given her froze her blood.

  It was worse now. Much, much worse. She was out alone with him in the woods. No one was there to protect her or save her.

  A sick smile split the bastard’s face. “Hello, Kirstin.”

  Her father might have called him an animal, but Kirstin had no doubt that she was the one who had been hunted down.

  Chapter 16

  KIRSTIN

  Trace was menacing, the devil himself. He was easily over six feet, solid muscle. Lean in that athletic sort of way. Long, dark hair was swept back out of his eyes. His stance was intimidating and it was amazing how a man that wasn’t as heavily as muscled as Damon could easily appear that way. In another life, he might have been good looking, had he not been staring her down with murderous intent.

  The scariest part about the guy wasn’t his menacing, leanly muscled stance, his black clothing, the way he breathed like he’d just scented his prey, or his sharp features. The worst part was his eyes. They were cold, cold and so dark they were black, or maybe they just appeared that way in the dark. He glared at her, hatred glistening in depths that were otherwise blank and dead. His lips pulled into a sneer.

  “It’s laughable that you and that piece of shit thought you could get away. You’ll never escape us, honey. I’m here to take you back home.”

  “N-n-no,” she stammered. She planted her feet firmly and refused to give in to the trembles that crept up her spine. She shivered, but that was it. There was no more shaking after it passed through her. She swallowed audibly, hard, past the lump in her throat, and forced herself to remain calm. She wasn’t going to get herself out of this by losing her head.

  “No?” Trace spat. He laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “It’s not like you have a choice. You are coming with me. You’re going right back to Bone so he can deal with you himself.”

  “Why? Why does he want me dead? That’s not club policy.” Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “We both know that my father wasn’t running. Even if he was, my mother and I should have been spared. So tell me, what really happened? Why did Bone really murder my father and my mother?”

  Trace’s face gave nothing away. His name, Trace, stemmed from his ability to track. Maybe he wasn’t the best in the club, as Damon alluded to earlier, but he was a close second. He’d found them, after all.

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re coming with me.”

  Kirstin tensed. Trace still didn’t move. Obviously he enjoyed toying with her far too much to stop and just make his move. He could have had her pinned to the ground by now. She had her gun. The safety was on, but it was still loaded. She had three shots left. He was just far enough that she could reach for it and maybe he wouldn’t be able to stop her… she needed to distract him. Needed to keep him talking. He obviously enjoyed the power he had over her, so she let her shoulders sag and her hands go slack. If she could pretend to be weak and scared- more afraid than she already was- she might be able to buy herself the time she needed.

  “It does matter. If I’m dead already, then just tell me. I deserve to know why I’m being sentenced to death when I’ve done nothing wrong. When my father did nothing wrong.”

  “Your father did plenty wrong,” Trace growled. “He was dividing the club. He knew that more men were willing to follow him than Bone. He’s been undermining his prez for years. Disagreeing. Not following orders, rallying men to his cause.”

  “What cause is that?” Kirstin let her voice waver just enough to betray the very real fear creeping up to strangle her.

  “The cause of overthrowing his Prez. If Bone didn’t get to your dear old daddy first, Big Ted would have done the same to him soon enough. Maybe arrange a convenient accident. Maybe leak just enough intel to our enemy that they’d take Bone out, shoot him down in his own house. He would have betrayed the club because he couldn’t handle that he was second in command any longer.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Kirstin shook her head. That much was true. “My father was a good man. He might have disagreements with Bone, but he never would have killed him. He never would have wanted to take leadership that way. I don’t know that he ever wanted leadership at all. He cared about you all. You were the only family he had. I grew up with all of you. I- how can you stand there right now and threaten me when you know for a fact that my father would not have done those things? He wasn’t a traitor. He might have taken a different stand on things- on- on a war lately, but he never would have turned his back on his brothers. You, you as his brothers, you’re the ones who should be put to ground. You murdered him. A man who would have given his life for any one of you. You murdered him and you murdered my mother. If you didn’t do it yourself, you did nothing to stop Bone. And now you’re here. You’re ready to drag me back to the same fate and I’ve done nothing. I’m innocent. You know that. You know that this is wrong. Just look at how much trouble Bone went to in order to track me down. Me and Damon. He wasn’t patched in yet. You have to leave him alone.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” Trace growled. He stepped forward menacingly and Kirstin took a step back. Her hand flew up in front of her while she reached back behind her with the other hand. “I don’t have to do a damn thing you say, you little bitch. You always thought you were better than us. You and your daddy. They got what they had coming to them. Right or wrong, he’s dead. Him and your cunt mother.”

  “No!” Kirstin shook her head vehemently. She was no longer trying or worried about acting. The tears stinging her eyes were real. The bile crawling up her throat was real. “Did you do it? Were you there when they died?”

  Trace hesitated for just a second, but then decided, probably because he didn’t actually give a shit, to tell her the truth. “No. But I heard it went badly for them. Your father, they tortured him until he was almost dead. They shot your mother while he was still alive to witness it. He died shortly after.”

  There was something in his tone that hinted at disgust, like he didn’t actually mean the words he was saying, but Kirstin saw red. Her scream of rage tore through the woods. She was going to escape. She was going to get away from this man, because she was not going to die like that. She was not going back with him. She was going to escape or die trying.

  Trace burst into action at the same time she drew her gun. He closed in fast. Though her hand shook, she extended her arm and fired.

  A cry of pain split the night, but Kirstin was already off running. Obviously the shot hadn’t killed Trace. Desperation and terror welled up in her as she crashed through the forest. She ran, tearing her way through branches, jumping over roots and fallen trees, stumps and other natural debris. She ran, aware the entire time that he was coming.

  She could hear the brush crashing behind her under Trace’s heavy feet. She ran until her legs burn and her lungs heaved. She ducked her head and became blind to anything but getting away.

  Kirstin ran and ran. She kept ahead of Trace, but she knew he was closing in. Her gun was still in her hand, but she doubted she’d have time to whirl and use it. She thought, desperately, that if he caught her, she could use it on herself. One bullet to the head and it would be over. Trace couldn’t take her and he couldn’t torture her.

  She knew she couldn’t do it. She didn’t have the strength to spare herself the g
ruesome torture. She didn’t have the strength to pull that trigger and put a bullet into her own brain.

  Kirstin gave a startled half cry, half sob, as a clearing rose up ahead. The unmistakable sound of rushing water filled the air. The closer she got, the louder it became, until it was a mighty roar thundering through the night.

  Though her body was tortured, her legs on fire, her lungs imploding, her sides aching, Kirstin pushed herself harder. Every single muscle protested the harsh pace, but she kept going. She ripped through the trees and spilled out onto the bank.

  Something, no, Trace, hurtled into her from behind. A set of strong arms wrapped around her waist and she screamed as she went down hard. The air rushed out of her lungs in an aching whoosh and her ribs felt like they cracked as she collided brutally with the ground. The smell of leaves and dirt and cold water rose up around her as her face smashed into the rocky earth.

  Kirstin tried to scream, but nothing came out. Her stomach clenched violently at the pain as her assailant tumbled over with her. The force of the blow knocked her clean off the bank and plunged them both, herself and Trace, into the rushing water.

  Shockingly, the vice like arms released. She tumbled in the current, beneath the surface. Her eyes opened, but she saw only blackness. The water was shockingly cold, like little knives all over her body.

  Kirstin realized that her duffel was gone and so was her gun. She’d lost both in the hard fall, though how her bag was ripped away she wasn’t sure. The strap could have broken. She was unencumbered and kicked hard, fighting her way against the rapidly flowing waters, to the surface. The water wasn’t anything more than a creek, oddly swollen for that time of year. It hinted at a hard rain, maybe days or weeks of it. She was a good swimmer. Always had been.

  But Trace wasn’t.

  She didn’t know why she thought of it, as she breached the surface and gasped for air, but she remembered her father once telling her that it was important that she learned things for herself. It was when he bought her the gun, for her birthday. He’d gone on to list the many things the grown men in his club couldn’t do. Swimming was on that list. He’d said that because Trace and Broke didn’t know how to swim, it was a weakness and weakness, to a man like them, was not something to be proud of. They were terrified of even waist deep water, because it could spell disaster for them.

  She remembered that day so clearly.

  The water wasn’t rushing as fast as she thought. She was just exhausted and shocked when she’d plunged in. Now that she’d reached the surface and could get air into her lungs, she felt better. Stronger. She kicked hard, moving legs that were already tired and leaden, but she coursed through the water easily. The creek wasn’t wide, maybe twenty feet from bank to bank. She knew she’d be fine. If she got tired, she could always flip onto her back and float her way to safety.

  She was about to head for the bank closest to her when a shape broke the water, coughing and spluttering, five feet to her right. Trace’s garbled screams filled up the night. They were terrified, horrifying, bone chilling. The screams of a terrified man reduced to nothing, reduced to a simpering, shivering, pleading mess. Just like he’d described her parents.

  Kirstin thought about leaving him. He wanted her dead. He was going to take her back to Bone. He’d told her of the gruesome way her parents died. He supported the man who had done it. He wasn’t a good man. He deserved to die.

  She swam away from him, kicking hard, but his desperate cries brought her up short. He plunged under the surface and came up choking.

  Those cries would haunt her for the rest of her life if she left him to die. If she let Trace perish, she was no better than Bone. No better than the man who killed her parents.

  Kirstin let out an anguished cry of her own before she turned herself in the cold, dark water and swam with all her might. She reached the spot where Trace had been. The surface was plaid, with no sign of the drowning man.

  Frantic, she took a huge breath of air and dove below the surface. Her jeans and heavy biker boots made it hard for her to fight the water. The current tucked and sucked at her, pulling her left and right, but not down. She fought hard, though her lungs screamed and burned for air, though her muscles were lead weights of exhaustion, though panic clawed at her chest and her common sense urged her to get to the surface.

  She was about to push herself back up, since black spots danced in front of her eyes, when she spotted something dark just below her. She reached down, clawing frantically with her fingers and nearly let out a cry of triumph as her hand closed on something wispy and soft. Trace’s hair.

  Kirstin gripped hard and yanked her hand up as she kicked with all her might. She broke the surface and nearly sobbed when she took that first lungful of air. The black spots cleared almost immediately and the triumph of finding her target gave her a second wind. Strength she had no idea she possessed suffused her muscles and she was able to grip Trace’s shoulders, pull his head above water, and propel them, on her back, to the shore.

  A sound broke the night, a horrible choking wail. It took her a minute to realize the sound was her. It was the desperate cry of grief, of relief, of pain and exhaustion, horror and terror and triumph, all mixed into one.

  He’s not waking up.

  She glanced down at Trace’s still form. She knew basic CPR and applied firm compressions to Trace’s chest. She tilted his head back and blew her breath down his mouth as she pinched his nose. She did the compressions again, but had only pressed two or three times when the man below her coughed and sputtered. Kirstin let out another cry, this one half triumph and half wonderment, and turned Trace onto his side.

  He retched up water. The coughing, gurgling, spluttering noises were painful and terrible.

  After it was over, Kirstin flipped him onto his back. His eyes were open and he blinked up at her.

  “I saved your life,” she said slowly, in a voice that was lethal and feral and far more fearless than she knew she could be after the ordeal she’d just been through. After everything she’d been through. “A life for a life. You were my father’s brother and you did nothing but stand by while he was murdered. Prez’s orders or not, you know it was wrong. Now I’ve saved you. I could have let you drown in there, but I didn’t. I pulled you out. I gave you CPR. That breath in your lungs is mine.”

  Trace blinked up at her. She could tell that he was still trying to get a handle on what happened.

  “I’m going back to get my bag and my gun and then I’m leaving.” It was a stroke of luck she’d pulled them back to the same bank they’d started from. She wouldn’t have trouble finding her things. “You won’t stop me. Back at the cabin, Damon has a friend. He was going to help us get away. I’m not sure, but I think he was going to put something out there about us being dead to satisfy the club. So what you are going to do, Trace, after you recover from your near-death experience here, is to go back to that cabin. You are going to tell Damon I’m gone. You are going to work with him and Creed and you are going to report back to Bone that we are dead. You will have evidence, I have no doubt of that. You’ll say you saw the bodies. Found us in a car wreck or something. I don’t fucking know. You’re a smart man. You’ll figure it out.”

  Trace stared up at her with those dark, haunted eyes. Kirstin didn’t want to see it. She didn’t want to see the pain and regret on the man’s face. It was easier to think of him as a monster.

  “Yes? I want to hear you say it. If I find out you’ve betrayed us, I will come back for you. I will find a way to fucking kill you. Believe me, I won’t stop until you and Bone and everyone responsible for my parents’ deaths are dead. More than that, you will have to live with knowing you betrayed the woman who saved your life. I saved you, Trace, even after you tried to take me back to Bone to be murdered. I saved you. Remember that. Remember who spared you.”

  Trace tried to force himself to an upright position, but he collapsed back against the bank.

  “I want to hear your answer!” Kirst
in growled, right next to his face.

  He blinked at her and his lips moved soundlessly. She waited. She had to hear it. She knew that for a man like him, for a man like her father, his word given was as good as any oath. If he agreed, he wouldn’t ever betray her. She didn’t trust him, but she just knew, deep down in her very core, that there was something inside of him, some small shred of honor that he clung to desperately.

  “Yes,” he finally ground out. His throat worked hard before he was able to force out his next words. “I was alone. Go on. Go.”

  Kirstin was up and running before Trace thought better of their little agreement. She ran, letting her heavy, soaking feet carry her back up the bank. She gathered up her duffel, found that the strap had indeed broke, and collected her gun, which had fallen no more than a few feet away. She was lucky it didn’t go off when she landed. She could have shot herself.

  The duffel fit under her arm, and Kirstin held it snugly as she took off, tracing a pattern up the bank until she was able to find a place to cross the creek safely without getting her things soaking wet. It actually narrowed upstream. She was lucky she’d fallen in probably in the deepest part.

  Saving Trace spared her life.

  Saving Trace spared Damon’s life.

  Even though she’d be long gone before he woke, or before Trace made his way up to the cabin to fulfill his end of the bargain, the thought of Damon surviving, of going on to live a good life, to one day even be happy, tightened her chest.

  She felt joy. So much joy. She also felt regret, pain, and heartbreak.

  He was all she had left. Though it was all the more reason to leave, her heart still bled.

  Chapter 17

  DAMON

  Though the downtown Calgary traffic was thick and flowed like sludge, Damon navigated his rental sedan with ease. He’d opted for the latest model of German engineering, in silver, hoping to provoke moments of déjà vu. He’d picked the car, in reality, because he was a shit and that hadn’t changed throughout the years. He was far more hopeful than he had a right to be as he pulled up outside the small diner that advertised all day breakfast.