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

by Melissa Devenport

  Trace banished the unhappy thoughts. He was almost at Sandra’s car.

  She didn’t know who he was. He’d used a deeper tone, kept his head low so his hair covered most of his face. He didn’t want her to know. He’d help her. Get her on her way to safety.

  Nothing had changed.

  He wished it fucking had. That instead of walking down the street with the smell of torture singeing his nostrils, dressed in a fucking cut and shit-kickers, he had some smart suit and shiny square-toed shoes. Like normal people. He wished that he wasn’t a dick-wad. He wished and not for the first time lately, that he’d become something better than who he currently was.

  He pulled up behind the car and killed the engine so his headlights turned off. Grabbing the gas can, he knocked lightly on the window. It unrolled a second later and he swore that when he breathed in, Sandra’s perfume and her perfect womanly scent, a scent he remembered so damn well he could probably reproduce it if he had a fucking lab, assaulted him. He took a hesitant step back and shook his head before he remembered why he was there in the first place.

  “I have the gas. I’ll fill it up for you. Don’t get out of the car. I’ll knock on the window when it’s ready to go. Don’t turn the key all the way when you start it. Turn it a few notches and let it prime itself before you try and start it. After I put the gas in, I’ll wait to make sure you’re on the road before I leave.”

  “Thank you.” The words were so soft, so sweet, that he nearly wept. He shoved out of the line of sight from the window and walked around to the back of the car.

  What the hell is wrong with me? He was a grown fucking man. It had been a long damn time. Her voice… just hearing her voice brought it all back.

  Trace had fucked a few women in his lifetime. Okay, hell, there was far more than a few. Sometimes a few a night, back in the day. He’d leveled off since then. He actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d been with a woman.

  It had always been about sex. Every single time. It was a simple equation. He got horny. He found a woman who was also horny. They fucked. It scratched the itch for both of them. They enjoyed it. End of story.

  Sandra was supposed to be one of those fucks. A way to scratch an itch that was annoyingly biological. It was just supposed to be a one night thing, like all the others. Except that he hadn’t been able to forget her. She’d stayed with him and he found himself at her apartment, over and over and over and over again. A month passed. Two. Three. Four. Six.

  She was the only woman he’d ever loved.

  His cock trying to bust through his zipper told him that maybe just the sight of her beautiful face, which hadn’t aged a damn second, was enough to undo whatever control and resistance he’d worked so hard to build up over the years.

  He’d forgotten Sandra. At least, that was his most popular lie.

  He was shit back then. He was shittier now. He’d gas up the car, send her on her way and never think about her again. End of fucking story.

  Except as he tipped the gas can up and drained the last of the contents into the thirsty tank, the back passenger door opened and someone got out. Trace looked up to find a kid studying him. A young boy. Probably no more than seven or eight.

  “Thanks, mister,” the boy said quickly before he ducked back in the car. Trace could hear Sandra’s voice coming from inside. No doubt that kid was never supposed to get out. He had though.

  And now there was no way in hell Trace was letting Sandra drive off.

  Because looking at that kid was like looking at a ghost of himself at that age. He was the spitting image, an identical replica, like his eight year old self had come back to tell him what a shithead he’d become, how his life had absolutely zero fucking meaning, how patching in to the club had ruined his life, not given him a family. The eight year old version of himself would definitely kick his ass.

  Trace was sure as fuck that the kid, Sandra’s kid… was his son.

  Chapter 4

  SANDRA

  “I thought I told you to stay in the car!”

  Alex looked at her guiltily. His sweet adorable baby face looked so innocent and guilty all at once. It got her every single time. “But mom… I wanted to say thank you. That man helped us. He didn’t have to.”

  “It’s not safe. He told us to stay inside.”

  “He was going to leave. We couldn’t not say thank you.”

  Sandra sighed. She didn’t want to argue with her son’s kindness, but at eight, he really had no idea what evils the world held. “Buckle up,” she sighed. “I’m going to start the car and we’ll be on our way soon.”

  Alex dutifully complied. He fiddled with his seat belt while she crawled back into the driver’s seat. She left her purse and backpack in the back. Sandra tugged her seatbelt, but started when a shadow loomed by her window. The stranger used his knuckles to knock on the glass. She slowly cranked the window down.

  “I need to ask you something,” the man said, voice deep and gravelly. There was something familiar about it though, something off- something different than before. He leaned in and brushed his hair away from his face with a large strong hand.

  She gasped when he turned, when the streetlight filtered onto his face and allowed her to really see. “Alex?” His name was little more than a breathy whisper. Shock gripped her so hard she felt like she’d just been kicked up against her seat. She sat stunned, mouth open.

  “What?” her son asked from the back.

  Sandra started. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Stay here this time. Please. Or no farm and you’ll be grounded for a week.”

  “Okay,” Alex said meekly. He dropped his head. She felt bad, but she couldn’t deal with the wraith from her past with her son listening in to every single word. He didn’t know. She wanted it to stay that way.

  It had to stay that way.

  Her hand shook as she gripped the handle. She barely managed to get the lock disengaged and the door open without tumbling onto the pavement. She slammed the door behind her, well aware that the car was anything but sound proof.

  “Not here,” she hissed under her breath. “He’s in the backseat.”

  It had been nearly a decade. She’d imagined countless times what she’d do if she ever ran into Alex again. What she’d say. She’d imagined a hell of a lot more, truthfully, but there was no time or play for fantasies or memories that she couldn’t control.

  He looked… different. Harder. Darker. More feral that she remembered. He was dressed all in black, the leather jacket a cut of the club that he hadn’t yet belonged to when they’d met all those years ago. He chose it over her and even after nearly a decade, it stung. His hair was longer, past jaw length and scraggly in a way that shouldn’t have been sexy. It didn’t have a single gray strand, as if age and time hadn’t bothered with a man like Alex McCray. His eyes were deeper, darker. She used to compare them to rich soft velvet, but any softness that might have been there before was long dead. His eyes were hard and cold. A thick layer of stubble covered his hard jaw. He had features that no amount of hard living could deaden. Sharp cheekbones, a strong brow and nose. He was a handsome man. Unfortunately his sexual aura was still there. He wore it like a mantle around him. The changes that she’d noted, the new darkness, only sharpened the attraction.

  Her eyes swept shamelessly over his body, which had always been hard and toned. He was even larger, bigger, broader than she remembered. His broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist and gave way to long, muscular legs. The biker boots were unmistakable. Where had he parked his bike so that she wouldn’t hear the engine? He’d known just how to lean into the car, how to let his hair shield his face, how to disguise his voice. Had he meant to leave without her ever knowing that he’d been the one to help her? Would he have left her, sent her on her way, none the wiser?

  With a creak of leather, Alex crossed his arms over his muscular chest. The leather strained against his biceps. “Where then?”

  She hedged. Was she really going to do this? I
nvite Alex over to her house? He’d taken up all that space once, right along with the space in her heart. It hurt to think of letting him back in. She wasn’t ready for this. She’d never be ready. Her heart swelled unexpectedly and she cursed the grain of hope that had never managed to wither and die. Alex didn’t deserve hope. He didn’t deserve any goodwill on her part. He’d left her all those years ago. He’d chosen a life of crime and that fucking club instead of her.

  Another creak of leather as he shifted his arms warned her that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “I- uh- I’m going to my parent’s farm for the weekend. They’re expecting us. Monday night? I’ll make sure- that- uh- Alex has soccer right after school. He usually goes to his friend’s house after for dinner. He’s home around seven generally. Come in the afternoon. Around two. I’ll be home.” She finished her shift at the diner at one, since she started at five in the morning. The hours used to be ungodly, but by now, she was used to it. At least her early shift left her the rest of the day to herself.

  His already black eyes darkened further as they swept down the length of her body. She ignored the painful heat that bloomed in all the wrong spots. She shifted nervously. She’d worn a pair of old jeans and an old knit sweater. She usually got dirty at the farm. Alex liked to go exploring. She was embarrassed now, under his heated gaze, and it only made her angry to realize that she cared at all.

  “Where?”

  “You know where.” She closed her eyes. She should have asked him to meet her somewhere else, but like a fool, she’d revealed far too much.

  One dark brow arched. “You still live in the same place?”

  “Yeah.” She dug a toe of her worn sneaker against the dirty street.

  “You’ll answer?”

  “Of course.”

  His hand snaked out and grazed her chin, forcing her head up. She shivered at his touch and backed away, desperate to put space between them. His lips flattened into a thin line as though he had a right to be offended. Those fathomless eyes stared straight down to her soul.

  “You didn’t tell me,” he said, almost softly. Hurt glistened in his eyes.

  She shook her head. “I’m not doing this here.” She pressed her lips together to keep from saying all the things she’d imagined hurling at him over the years. That he didn’t deserve to be a father after he’d left her. That donating sperm didn’t make a man a parent anyway. That she’d done just fine without him over the years. That she’d moved on. That even though she tried not to, the memories came to her in her most vulnerable moments. That she still dreamed of him at night.

  None of those things were appropriate, so she bit the words back and held his gaze. She didn’t look away, didn’t back down, didn’t give him the crack in her armor he probably wanted to find.

  Alex inclined his head. “Monday at two then,” he conceded. She felt it was too easy. She stared at him and he stared back, a battle of wills. He broke first. He glanced away, down the street. “Alright. Best be on your way then. Be sure to check your gas gauge next time. This part of town is no place to get stranded. This piece of shit car never did work right.”

  “Yeah- well- thank you. For your help.” It galled her to thank him for anything. She would rather the devil himself had come to save her. It would have been safer to owe Satan a debt than Alex.

  He made to walk off, but then turned, his hair sweeping around his face in dark strands. “One other thing. The name isn’t Alex anymore. That person- Alex- he doesn’t exist any longer.” His shoulders rose and fell and she could see how much it cost him. He was right though. Even she could tell he wasn’t the same man she’d fallen in love with, the first and only man she’d given her heart to. “I wouldn’t know him if I met him. It’s Trace. Just- just Trace.”

  He walked off down the street without another word. She watched him until he was gone, blended back into the shadows where he’d come from.

  Sandra slid back into the car, shaking, rattled, her heart shattered the same way it had been all those years ago. She was right back where she’d started, trying to put the pieces of herself and her life back together.

  “Who was that, mom?” Alex asked in a small voice from the back seat.

  “No one,” Sandra whispered as she slid her seatbelt on. She turned the key, waited like Alex- no, Trace, told her to. The car started right up. She pulled away and resumed their journey.

  The night started off so normal. So painfully, amazingly, wonderfully normal. She wished she could believe that Trace was just a shadow. That he wasn’t actually real. That he truly was no one. Unfortunately, she could lie to everyone, but she couldn’t lie to herself.

  Her heart always told the truth.

  Chapter 5

  TRACE

  Monday was an eternity in coming. The weekend passed like fucking molasses, made worse by the fact that Bone had gone on a complete rampage over the weekend. A drunken bender would have been a kind term. The whole clubhouse was in an uproar over the fucking rat and the stolen drugs. It was only a matter of time before Anders made a move into their territory and that shit was going to be hard to take back. It would mean bloodshed and lost lives. Bone was pissed the guy that Tommy tortured hadn’t given them anything more than he knew that Anders had the drugs. Bone already knew that. It didn’t bring them one step closer to figuring out who the rat was and that drove Bone mental. He didn’t like that he was losing control of his own club. That the men behind him might not be entirely loyal.

  Trace rode his bike to Sandra’s apartment. He couldn’t believe she was still in the same spot. Time hadn’t been kind to the wooden structure. The massive building was once yellow, but the paint had chipped and faded, peeled and weathered to the point that there was hardly any left. The wood underneath was splintery and gray. The balconies sagged. The dumpsters overflowed. Most of the cars parked in the crumbling lot were broken down old wrecks. It was rough nine years ago, but damn.

  It burned Trace up that Sandra still lived in the shithole.

  With his son.

  He had a kid.

  It hadn’t exactly sunk in yet. Fuck. Would it ever? He could probably go an entire lifetime and still not believe it. He had little doubt that Sandra wasn’t going to let him be a part of her kid’s life. Her kid, not his. He might have donated the DNA to make Alex, fuck, she named him after me, but that didn’t make him a dad.

  Trace rang the buzzer for apartment number nineteen. His hand didn’t shake. His shoulders were square. He’d worn his fucking cut, because he was an asshole, and the same dark jeans he’d worn the night he’d found Sandra again. He was dressed all in black and he knew it was intimidating. He’d driven his bike because he was also a piece of shit. He could have caught a cab. Dressed like a normal person. Spared her.

  He didn’t. There couldn’t be any misunderstandings about who and what he was.

  He half expected there to be no answer. It was two on the fucking dot. He was nothing if not punctual. Always had been. Couldn’t stand those fuckers who had no respect for time. If someone told him to get a coffee and be back in five, he was back in fucking four and a half.

  He had no doubt Sandra lived there, but she might have changed her mind about letting him inside. She didn’t owe him anything. He’d spent the past few days looking her up. He didn’t earn his name for nothing. There wasn’t a person on earth he couldn’t find or find out about. She’d lived there for the past eleven years. She’d dated a few guys on and off. The longest, and the most recent, Steven St. Vincent, a piece of shit who did the nine to five, suit and high class lifestyle, but dabbled in dealing on the side, lasted for six months. She’d broken it off nearly three months ago.

  Apparently her taste in men hadn’t improved.

  The door clicked in his face and Trace started. Sandra didn’t owe him anything. Not one fucking thing. Not even an explanation. He was the one who left her. Chose his lifestyle over her. He was in too deep to stop when he met her. Not even loving her could c
hange his mind.

  He pulled the door open and stalked down the grimy hall. The original color of the carpet was past recognition. Garbage right beside the mail boxes.

  Fuck. My kid is being raised here.

  He marched down the hall, vowing that with every loud thud of his shit-kickers, that it was going to change. He had money saved up. Plenty of it. He’d done well for himself. Up until a year ago, he’d actually enjoyed his time with the club. It all changed the night Big Ted’s daughter pulled him from the watery depths that should have been his grave. He’d done some real fucking soul searching and didn’t like what he saw.

  He was thirty-five years old and he’d wasted much of his life on shit he wasn’t proud of.

  That wasn’t the point. The point was, he’d done well for himself doing so. For years he’d lived at the club so he didn’t even have a mortgage. But he did at the moment, on a tiny apartment that didn’t look like much and only served as a place to crash. He’d bought it the year before, after he’d nearly drowned. The need to get away from the club house, the men, the booze, the fucking debauchery, and bullshit was that great.

  He raised his hand to knock on the battered door. It was missing the last digit and just said one, though there was a faded spot on the wood beside it. The door swung inward before his fist hit wood and Sandra was there.

  She looked like an angel, her blonde hair flowing around her shoulders, her cornflower blue eyes shining, though guarded. She had a flowing maxi dress on, an emerald green number that covered her from head to foot, left no cleavage exposed and no leg, but somehow still looked fucking gorgeous. It did little to hide her sweet curves. She was small, always had been, but he liked petite women. Fuck, he liked any women, but he’d always had a soft spot for Sandra. He didn’t know what it was exactly.

  No, that wasn’t true. He did.

  It was her spirit, her heart, her soul. It had nothing to do with the tiny package that was her beautiful body, the delicate features of her face, her silky blonde hair, piercing eyes, full lips, her pert breasts and tight ass- okay, maybe it had a little to do with that, but he hadn’t just loved her for her body. He’d loved her for her kindness, her compassion towards every living thing. She’d grown up on a farm an hour outside Detroit and she loved animals. She used to volunteer at a dog and cat shelter, cleaning and playing with cats and walking the dogs. She was the kind of person who would give her last dollar to someone who needed it more.