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

by Melissa Devenport

  Jim was probably pushing forty, but his hair was still jet black. Only the gray at the temples betrayed his age. His face was unlined, with strong, handsome features. His eyes were dark as night and sharp. They missed little, but held an astonishing amount of compassion, though he’d seen the worst parts of life over the years. He was fit, tall with broad shoulders. He was like Nico that way, physically imposing. He cast a tall shadow, but unlike Nico, Jim used that shadow to shelter others, not for intimidation and harm.

  “I was,” Laura quickly recovered. She righted the duffel in her hands. “I- there was a woman. She has a child with her. They’re in need of clothes and I was going to gather up some food and toiletries as well. I asked her to come up here after they were done eating, but I could tell she wouldn’t. I wanted to make her up a bag before she left. She’s- I can tell she hasn’t had it easy.”

  “Dark hair? With a four year old daughter?”

  “Yes.” Laura wasn’t surprised that Jim knew exactly who she was talking about. He had that amazing kind of memory, probably photographic. He knew every single person’s name who came into the shelter. She wouldn’t be surprised if he knew most of their stories as well. People opened up to Jim. He was the kind of man that people found trustworthy, even those who spent their life fearing getting close to another person.

  Jim nodded. “Michelle. She’s been coming for a week. I’m going to try and convince her to take the spot that I secured for her at the women’s shelter. She and Sarah can stay there. She left an abusive relationship with the clothes on her back. She’s ashamed, having to take hands outs. She’s scared and doesn’t know where to turn or who to trust. She was with her husband for six years. Six. Years.”

  Laura dropped her gaze to the bag in her hands. “She got out though. That’s the important thing.”

  Jim stepped closer and though her instincts screamed at her to retreat, she didn’t back away when he reached out and grazed her hand. His fingers were rough, calloused, warm and alive. She liked the feel of them. How they weren’t smooth and cold like Nico’s. His touch was meant to reassure and it did.

  “I can help you, Laura. You just have to let me.”

  Her eyes flew to his face. She wanted to get lost in that kind, dark gaze, but she couldn’t She couldn’t let herself go there. “It’s too dangerous,” she whispered. “You have the shelter and all these people to think about. I can’t risk them. I- you know Nico would hunt me down. He’d go to the ends of the earth to find me. I belong to him.”

  “No you don’t.” Jim’s voice was firm, but gentle. “You’re not a thing. You don’t belong to anyone. You can’t be owned.”

  Laura dropped her eyes, shame burning its way through her like a pervasive poison that was eventually going to kill her. “That’s the thing, though… he does. He does own me. He’s the head of the family now. I’m just a thing to him. Eventually I’ll be married off to one of his connections. He does own my life. He dictates what I can and can’t do. I- you know that I can’t go against him. You know what he’d do to me- to- to anyone who tries to help me.”

  Jim cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, heavy footsteps sounded outside the room. The boot falls were large, authoritative, and Laura instantly sank into herself. She withdrew, took a step back from Jim, though he’d done nothing forward or wrong. He believed in the power of human touch. Most people who were homeless and downtrodden, hadn’t known a kind touch in years. Maybe all of their life. Jim wasn’t afraid of the outward things that people shied away from, layers of dirt and grime, unwashed bodies, rotting teeth, putrid breath, hunger, bodies that were little more than a husk containing a soul that had long ago given up. He was no more afraid of that than he was of combating addiction, hopelessness, violence, and the soul crushing despair that the people who came to the shelter faced on a daily basis.

  He was a friend and Laura had never mistaken his proximity or his gestures for anything inappropriate.

  Those footfalls though- they reminded her so much of the way Nico walked, the heavy steps, the sure thud of leather against tile.

  She sucked in a breath and held it, her lungs screaming for a reprieve she couldn’t give.

  When the figure stopped and filled up the doorway, she let out a hard exhale. It wasn’t Nico after all. He would never sully himself by coming here. She cursed herself for being so stupid, for letting her fear once again rule her life, even in the one place she’d always felt safe.

  Her eyes flicked to the stranger taking up the doorway.

  She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped, filling up the silent room. Beside her, she felt, rather than saw, Jim tense.

  The stranger was younger, but he was a carbon copy of Jim, with the jet black hair, the chiseled masculine features, the powerful shoulders and impressive muscular build. His eyes were dark, like Jim’s, but they were all wrong. Where Jim’s were warm and full of life, this man’s were cold. Cold and dark empty pits.

  Those eyes reminded her of Nico and a violent shudder crawled up her spine. Unlike Jim, this man exuded violence and danger. The very air shifted. It was suddenly charged, like something electrical in the building had gone terribly wrong.

  The handsome soulless stranger smiled, but the gesture was as hollow as his eyes. “Brother. It’s been a long time. Did you miss me?”

  His words echoed through the room like a death knell.

  Chapter 4

  RYDER

  Beautiful. It was the first word that came to mind as soon as he spotted the woman in the room. Alone. With his brother. They were standing too close. He didn’t miss the way his brother took another step back or the slight pink blush on the woman’s dainty cheeks.

  When he spoke, she tilted her face up and raised her chin defiantly. Her jaw set in a hard line, but it was still dainty and pretty. Her lips were full and lush. She had the kind of face that didn’t need a stitch of makeup, which was fitting, since she didn’t appear to have any on. Her eyes were huge, shimmering dark pools fringed with even thicker, darker lashes. Her brows were jet black, just like the dark curls that cascaded down her back. It was so black, when the light hit it, it gleamed blue. She was tiny, but not in the short kind of way. She was average height, slim, built more like a girl than a woman. Her porcelain skin, high cheekbones and wide eyes were like a beacon of innocence cutting straight through his darkness.

  His nostrils flared. He could smell her fear on her, even when she squared her shoulders and put on a brave face. Her gorgeous mouth opened and she worried her bottom lip, sinking her pearly top teeth deep into it. A flicker of something, awareness maybe, something dark and primal, hit him straight in the gut. For the first time in ages, his cock reacted, stiffening in his jeans. What the actual fucking hell?

  The woman mumbled something to his brother. Jimmy nodded at her. She moved, brushing past him deftly as she skirted the doorway and hurried down the hall, a black duffel tucked in her dainty little hands.

  Hands that he wanted on him. Touching him.

  That woman was an angel. A ray of sunlight in a fucking dark world. She was the daylight after endless night.

  He scented her. Not her perfume. Not her shampoo or deodorant or anything other chemical and manufactured. Her.

  She was delicious.

  Precious and vulnerable. Fuck, every single caveman protective instinct he had roared at him to go after her, to shield her from whatever harm haunted those dark eyes, to make her laugh and smile.

  He stayed rooted where he was. He was no savior. He was the exact fucking opposite. It was laughable to think that a woman like her would want anything to do with a man like him. He was more shocked at his impulses, at his… feelings, than anything.

  Jimmy- fucking Jimmy- cleared his throat, and whatever spell he’d been under cleared up real fast and he was cast down from the heavens where that woman dwelled, back down to a harsher, much uglier, reality.

  “My big brother. Back from the dead.” Ryder smiled. It could easily have b
een a sneer.

  “I could almost say the same for you,” Jimmy said evenly. He hesitated, sizing Ryder up.

  Ryder tensed. That fucking fight- and non-existent flight mode went into overdrive. He relaxed and unfurled his hands, which had instinctually curled into fists, when he realized that his brother wasn’t going to pull a knife on him, try to kick his ass, threaten him, or any other bullshit.

  Jimmy actually smiled and it disarmed Ryder. It did little to dissipate his rage, but he no longer felt like he was going to get jumped.

  “You can’t say the same for me,” Ryder said. “I’ve been dead for a long time. There’s no coming back for me.”

  Jimmy sobered. His dark eyes glanced around the room, which was filled with women’s clothing. “Not here,” he said, body suddenly tense. “I have an office downstairs. We can talk there.”

  “An office?”

  “Yeah. I run the place.”

  “You some kind of saint?” Ryder leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. His eyes swept the room, searching automatically for hidden threats and finding nothing but racks of clothing and old blackboards. He realized, belatedly, that the place used to be an old school.

  Jimmy shrugged. “Not the way you’re thinking.” He hedged, his shoulders bunching up. Ryder watched his brother’s hands form into fists at his sides, but they were quickly relaxed as he gained control. “I know what you’re asking. The answer is no.” He glanced around again. “I won’t discuss this here where anyone can hear. This place is a shelter, for those that need food, clothing, or help.”

  “So it’s not really a shelter. More of a soup kitchen.”

  “We have a room with beds for overnight stays for men, women and children. Showers as well. If people require more permanent lodging, I do my best to find them something as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll ask you again then, what kind of man are you?”

  Jimmy ground his teeth together so hard his jaw clicked. It was something that Ryder himself did when he was pissed the fuck off and trying not to spit out things he’d regret later. Mostly because they could be used against him. He’d learned early on to keep his mouth shut and just observe. The loud mouth shitheads weren’t the kind of men you feared. It was the silent motherfuckers that you had to watch out for.

  “The kind of man who doesn’t discuss family matters in a place where other people can hear it. Business is conducted downstairs in my office.” Jimmy slowly crossed his arms and the fucker was as big and intimidating as Ryder remembered growing up. The ten year difference between them had once been so apparent. Ryder worshiped Jimmy. He was his damn hero. Until he split, leaving Ryder and his mom alone with the piece of shit excuse of a father.

  All that shit should have been in the past, but it wasn’t. Instead, it shaped him, made him who he was. Was Jimmy really so different? Had he been saved because he got out before it was too late? Ryder was six years old when Jimmy lit out. Twenty-three years had passed since then. Over two damn decades.

  “Fine.” Ryder finally gave in. He wasn’t getting anywhere standing up there. Worse, he wanted to go back down to the main floor, trace the same steps that woman had taken when she left. He wanted to find her, corner her, demand that she tell him what filled her heart and eyes with fear and sorrow.

  He thought that the murderous rage burning bright inside of him died out when he killed his old man. He was wrong. Dead fucking wrong. Anger flooded his veins and his hands itched to strangle, stab, shoot, fucking destroy whoever had hurt that woman.

  Her pain was like a fucking lantern to him, like a lighthouse guiding his ship home through a stormy sea. Corny as it was, her pain was so bright it was blinding and he was going to do something about it.

  Right after he figured out who the hell his brother actually was and what the fuck he was going to do about it.

  Chapter 5

  RYDER

  He’d imagined the moment so many times in his head, the moment he finally saw Jimmy again, but now that he was sitting across a huge wooden desk from the guy, they were little more than strangers and words eluded him. It was no surprise. He’d never been one for language. He was never eloquent or any of that bullshit. He was barely even literate.

  Jimmy leaned across the desk and Ryder naturally drew back. The stiff wood chair was uncomfortable as hell, but he’d always shied away from touch. Touch was useless. Touch harmed. Touch was a way to deceive people. The only times he ever voluntarily touched another person was when he was fucking shit up.

  Jimmy eyed him questioningly and dropped his hand. “Guess it’s a little early for that.”

  “Or late.”

  Jimmy’s dark brow rose. When he frowned, his still smooth forehead, surprisingly unlined by time or age, finally creased. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you mean?”

  Ryder hedged. “Seriously?” He didn’t even bother to hide his disdain or take the bite out of his words. “You left. Just took off and left me and mom there with that crazy piece of shit. You knew what he was. What he was like. What he was capable of. He’d beat you so many times. That one time, he beat you so bad you were fucking unconscious. You were lucky enough to get out. Don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean when I say you’re too late. Far too fucking late. Eons too fucking late.”

  “I…” his brother’s frown deepened. “You were just a kid when I left. Maybe you don’t- maybe you think you do but- you can’t possibly remember or understand.”

  “Understand?” Ryder scoffed. “What is there to fucking understand?”

  “You use that word a lot.”

  “Fuck? Fucking? Fuckers? Fuckery? Motherfucking motherfuckers? That word?”

  “Yeah. That word.”

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I could do better.” Ryder crossed his arms, which he did from time to time for intimidation. His muscles bulged beneath his sweater. He knew he looked even bigger and he was already a tank. “How’s the word twat for you? As in, you, big brother, are a motherfucking twat.”

  Jimmy’s jaw clenched and ticked, but he kept his face composed and his eyes gave little away. Ryder was actually pissed to see that the bastard looked… amused.

  “Nothing funny about leaving us with a piece of shit who thought he was god. Who thought the world was ending and we’d all go up to heaven if we joined in his little cult parade and worshiped him here on earth. Nothing wrong with leaving us there, me a six year old kid and her, half his bloody size, to get wailed on every single night. Nothing wrong with him snapping her bones like twigs. Nothing wrong with him punching her until she begged him for mercy. Said he was god. Said whatever he wanted. Nothing wrong with him screaming when he raped her. But I will tell you, I got tired of it. Tired of the beatings. Tired of him thinking he was untouchable. Tired of him and his religious bullshit. Tired of him calling himself a god. One night, when he took the madness even further and tried to rape me, I finally had enough. I was twelve. Twelve, but that didn’t stop me from getting a gun. It’s surprising what you can buy on the street when you know the right people. He came into my room at three in the morning. Full of righteous indignation. Went straight for my throat like he always did to mom. Choked her to hold her down. Get her to cooperate. He swung for me too, like he did with her. He really had become predictable. I dodged it, grabbed the gun from under my pillow and fired. Right. Into. His. Face.”

  “Jesus.”

  “He had nothing to do with it.” Ryder shot his brother a shit-eating grin. “Definitely had nothing to do with it. And what do you know, it turned out that piece of shit wasn’t god after all, because he bled and died just like everyone else.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Did my time. Came out better for it. Better able to survive. I found my place after. Our correctional system is real good at transforming petty criminals into hardened ones. I came out smarter, better skilled, bigger. Built up my body. I never let anyone push me around again.”

  “Jesus,” Jimmy swore under his breat
h again.

  “You calling on him like dad used to or are you cursing?” Ryder asked. He legitimately wanted to know. At the moment his hands itched to put a bullet in his brother’s brain, just like he did with his father.

  “No.” Jimmy exhaled hard. He reached in the top drawer of his desk, slowly and carefully, like he knew what he was thinking. Ryder braced, but Jimmy never broke eye contact. “Relax,” he said smoothly. “I’m not pulling a weapon on you. I’m getting something that you obviously need to see.”

  Ryder braced for a gun, just in case Jimmy was lying. He didn’t know the guy from a hole in the ground. He trusted his enemies more at the moment.

  His brother produced a stack of envelopes. Some were old looking, faded and worn, like that piece of paper from his mother’s pocket. Others were crisper. Ryder might not have finished more than seventh grade, but he knew right away what his brother was going to tell him.

  “Mom wrote me every six months for over two decades. She told me everything was fine. Not to come home. She said you were managing. That things were okay. She never once spoke of any of this. I- I actually thought that our father was still alive. I thought maybe he’d changed. Or at least, maybe it was just me that set him off, turned him violent. I’d challenge him. Back talk. Be a real shit. Divert his attention. I gladly took those beatings. And then one night, he knocked me unconscious and mom knew next time he might even kill me. It was always escalating. She hid money from dad. Saved up so that I could get out. I wasn’t quite old enough, but she made me see that I had to leave. She promised me she’d find a way to leave or to protect you if it got worse. She said she’d be okay. She wrote me, often at first, then every six months, like I said. I swear on my life and you can see it in these letters, that she always told me that she was managing. She asked me to stay away. Made me promise I’d never come home. That’s how she’d end every single letter. Begging me to find a life where I could make a difference and be happy.” Jimmy swallowed hard and swept his arm out into the air between them, indicating the office. “I’ve tried to do that, the best I can.”