Long Ride: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Black Sparks MC) (Whiskey Bad Boys Book 1)

by Kathryn Thomas

  “Nick, shut up for a second and listen to me before I change my mind and put you on a permanent unpaid vacation. Stop digging yourself into even a deeper hole.” Nick looked away. “I have a proposal. I thought of a way for you to use that pretty face of yours for something worthwhile,” said Tryg. “I want you to learn everything you possibly can about Helena Kinski – including what she wears to bed.”

  Nick felt himself pale. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He was already disgusted with himself, and he hadn’t even agreed to do it yet. The worst part was, that this should have been a prime assignment. A few months ago, maybe, it would have been something he’d jumped at the chance to do. That was before Liana. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” he asked finally.

  “Kid, I’m not stupid. That husband of hers is tied up with some bad shit; she’s admitted that. Whether she genuinely does hate him and want to screw him over, and wants us to help her do it, well, that remains to be seen. But we don’t make a move with her unless we can be absolutely sure. The only way to find out is to get her to spill. She’ll only spill to somebody she trusts. That person needs to be you.”

  He hedged. “What about Jack?”

  “Forget about Jack. I’ll deal with Jack.”

  “But—”

  Tryg cut him off with one sharp glance. “Unless you don’t think you can handle it.”

  “You don’t understand. Liana told me—”

  “Listen very carefully, Nick,” Tryg said, emphasizing each word as he loomed over the younger man, blocking out the sun. “My niece is no longer your concern. She’s mine and mine alone.”

  “But—

  “Nick, that girl fucking ruined you,” Tryg snapped.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” said Nick, leaping up from the chair, going to the edge of the roof, looking ruefully down at the town where it all started, the town he should have hated, the town where he had once been the boy who no one believed, where he’d been the foster kid who had been tried and convicted of trying to rape the homecoming queen—who would have believed him?

  “So why are you risking letting her do it again?”

  He had no good answer to that. The fact was that it was miracle that he had been able to crawl back up from disaster. It had taken Tryg’s help; who knew where he would have ended up if it hadn’t been for the older man standing beside him on the roof? He had once naïvely thought Liana was the best thing that had happened to him; but she wasn’t, he told himself. Meeting Tryg, joining the Sparks, that was what had turned his life for the better. And he’d be an idiot to forget that, to throw it away over the girl who had already proved she couldn’t be trusted. He had grown up. It was time to start acting like it.

  “Nick, I’m not naïve,” said Tryg, his tone softening minutely, standing close to him, touching his shoulder, a fatherly gesture. “I’ve been around the block a few times, to say the least. I know when you told me you didn’t feel anything for her, you were saying it as much to convince yourself as to convince me. But I’m telling you now: let her go. This is for your own good. It’s time to put this girl behind you once and for all. I’m giving you a way to do that.”

  “Helena?”

  Tryg nodded. “I saw the way she was looking at you the other day, the way she was feeling you up. I can see the sex radiating out of her eyes every time she so much as looks at you.”

  Nick looked down at the floor. “I knew Helena’s intentions were more than friendly, but I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

  Tryg chortled scornfully. “She’s vulnerable, Nick. We can use that. I want to know whether she’s dangerous, or whether she can be trusted. And you can do that for me.”

  “What do we really know about Helena?”

  “That’s what I want you to find out. I want to find out what her husband’s connection to the Vipers is—whether she means it when she says she wants to screw them over, or whether she’s playing the long con. If she is, you have to play the longer con. And who knows, if it works out? Well, you can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to have a decent roof over your head for once. Given what you’ve been up to lately, I suspect the fumes from living in that garage are killing your brain cells.”

  “So I’d be selling my soul,” Nick said petulantly.

  “Essentially, yes.” The corner of Tryg’s lip raised.

  “In that case, I think rather stay in the garage and just buy some new curtains.”

  Tryg turned around and faced the horizon, looking exasperated, rubbing his bald head. “I know you still care about Liana. I know it’ll be hard to give her up, harder than anything else you’ve ever had to do. But if Helena ends up divorcing that sugar daddy husband of hers, she could be the meal ticket you’ve been waiting for. Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, kid. I’m gift-wrapping her. She’s the one you want, Nick. Not my niece. There’s too much history there, too much baggage. You know that, I know that.” Nick knew Tryg could tell he wasn’t convinced. “Okay. Look at this way. Do it for her.” Nick looked up in curiosity. “Look, I know you want to keep Liana safe. I want that, too. We all do. So if Helena’s not on the up and up, better to find out sooner than later so we can get the girl out of there. And if she is, and you use that boyish charm of yours to rope her in, we’ll able to use Helena’s money and connections to get rid of Jack and the Vipers once and for all. This club will be on top. Then Liana can go back to New York safely, and you can both move on with your lives.”

  Nick nodded. If this was the one gift he could give to Liana, he should accept it. Logically, it made sense—that they both could move on with their lives, to put their past behind them. It wouldn’t be what Nick had secretly dreamed for the past six years; it wouldn’t be anything close. But Tryg, perhaps, was doing his duty as a father figure—helping Nick grow, to mature, to move on, to help him see that the time when he might have been anything more to Liana than a bodyguard was long over, and it was time he accepted it. Slowly, he nodded.

  “That a boy. Don’t let me down again.” He clapped the younger man on the back, catching his eye with one of his trademark coal-black stares that managed to be a promise, a threat, and vote of confidence. Behind them, the sun had set, a single silver star shining above the horizon, over the pinkness of the sunset, and the cold, utter emptiness beyond.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Liana recoiled at the sound of heavy boots outside the bedroom door. Her mind was still playing and replaying the sight of so many people gathered in the living room; she may have been a performer, but she had never felt more exposed. She felt judged, condemned, cursed. It harkened back to the days when her mother and Noel would send her upstairs to her room, then stand in the kitchen arguing about her while she eavesdropped. She could hear her mother’s shrill voice defending her. “She’s on the straight and narrow, Noel. I can’t help who her father was.”

  “You couldn’t help? You couldn’t help it? Of course you could help it, Larissa. You didn’t have to marry that thug, or have a kid with him. You’ll fuck anything in leather, and so will she. Mark my words. It’s only a matter of time before her true nature shows. If it hadn’t been for me keeping her on such a tight leash, she already would have been knocked up in the back of a biker bar.”

  “Noel, she’s an honor student. She’s homecoming queen. She does her chores. She’s done every single thing you’ve asked of her, and more.”

  Noel had laughed derisively; she could always picture him ensconced in his armchair, scotch in hand, like some sadistic Old King Cole. “You can take the teeth out of a rattlesnake, but the venom’s still there.”

  She clenched her fingers, curling into an agonized ball in the wicker balcony chair. She wasn’t a pawn. She wasn’t a football. She was more than an object to be coveted. And the one person she’d longed to prove that to did not believe her. She knew Helena would probably kick her out soon, and Tryg thought she was a rat. Kirrily wouldn’t be able to say anything against him—what would she do, wa
ve a crystal over him to change his aura color, and expect everything to be all right?

  Opening up the door to the veranda a crack, Liana leaped an inch into the air and let out a little shriek. “Shhh,” said an unfamiliar male voice from the hallway. “It’s me. Tom.”

  “Oh,” she said, climbing back up on the Adirondack chair and folding her legs up underneath her, looking away. She held a cup of green tea with lemon that Helena had made her, wearing something else she had borrowed from the owner of the house—a long silken nightgown under a fuzzy blue Fair Isle sweater, perfect for the drop in temperature that she knew always tended to hit right around this time of night. She didn’t know much about the short, heavily built redhead in the leather jacket, except that he and Nick seemed to be good friends. For that reason alone, she was both curious and wary. “If you’re here to plead Nick’s case, you can forget it,” she snapped. “It’s over.”

  “Tryg wants you to stay away from him, doesn’t he?” he asked.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know Tryg, and I know Nick. Tryg and my dad were good friends; I grew up around him until we moved to Cleveland. I only came back a few years ago.” He settled himself in the chair, placing a glass of Scotch he was drinking on the end table.

  Liana eyed the glass. “Boy, this ended up being a cushy gig for the Black Sparks, didn’t it?”

  Tom smiled. “We don’t serve Lagavulin back at the club, that’s for sure. And what’s even more amazing, Helena doesn’t seem to give a damn that we’re drinking her out of house and home. She’s a peach, that one.” He didn’t seem too perturbed, in any case, but something about the older woman still nagged at Liana.

  “Why is Helena letting me stay here? What’s her game in all this? How did Nick meet her, anyway?” She dropped her tone of voice; who knew what kind of acoustics were out here, or which one of the windows below here could be Helena’s. “She doesn’t seem like the type that would hang around the biker bar shooting pool, waiting to hitch a ride on the back whichever Harley happens to be open.”

  “You mean, are they involved?”

  “Well, I’m just curious,” she insisted, trying to sound casual, though she’d already shown her hand. “Seems like a pretty cozy relationship for two people who haven’t known each other that long. You saw her in the living room when we came in, how she was trying to feel him up. And someone who can afford to live in a house like this could do a lot for Nick. I wouldn’t blame him for taking advantage of the opportunity.”

  Tomahawk snorted. “If you’re waiting for me to jump in to defend Nick, I’m not. He can do that on his own.”

  Liana snorted back. “He’s doing a pretty shitty job of it so far.

  Tomahawk picked up his glass. “I can’t claim to know everything about Nicholas Stone. The dude’s a tough nut to crack. In more ways than one. And I know he’s not immune to using people.”

  “Women people?”

  “Sometimes,” he said softly. “There was some woman across town; she was the widow of the ex-mayor or something. He lived with her like six months, but, to be honest, I think he was mostly there because she had a personal chef that made pork tenderloin to die for. But the whole time, he was dead-eyed, just going through the motions. It was like he was in prison all over again. He hated it, and I hated seeing him like that. There was no passion there. He told me he was miserable having to spend time with her and, after awhile, he ended it.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Is it supposed to make me feel better?” she demanded.

  “No. The point is, he knows how to date women for what they can offer him. If he wanted to do the same thing with Helena, he would.”

  “Oh, right. As if Helena has nothing to offer besides her money. Have you seen the woman? She’s like Gwyneth Paltrow meets Fleur Delacour.”

  “And yet still he’s managed to stay away from her.”

  “You didn’t see her clawing at him in the living room?”

  “Look, Liana, do I have to come right out and say it? The guy is fucking crazy about you.”

  Liana picked at the hem of her nightgown, heart pounding; why, she didn’t dare to guess. “Did he say that?”

  “No, of course not. He’s an outlaw. He doesn’t talk about that stuff. But sometimes your name would come up around town and, like anybody, I got curious. I wasn’t around back then when—when you guys first knew each other. I knew some bad stuff went down, though, and when I’d try to ask him about it, he’d shut me down. I knew it was painful for him. He wouldn’t tell me anything, but his eyes—they would change. And it wasn’t a bad change. It wasn’t anger; it wasn’t sadness, although there was some of that. It was just—I can’t explain it.” He paused. “That kid’s been through so much, Liana. You can’t even imagine.”

  “I can imagine. I’ve had nothing to do for the past six years but imagine. And grieve. And kick myself and want to bury my head in a pillow and never take it out, because of what I did to him. And nothing I have done has ever been good enough for him. Why wouldn’t he sell me out to Jack? Why wouldn’t he be with Helena? I have no claim on him. I destroyed him. If he—” she drew in a sharp breath. “If he hurts me. Like that. If he twists in the knife. I don’t have a leg to stand on. I deserve it. I deserve every single twist of that knife.”

  “But don’t you see? He wouldn’t get involved with Helena. Not if he thought it would hurt you. And the last thing in the world he would do was try to cut a deal with the guy who threatened you.”

  Liana thought back to that time in the shed, his copper hair filtering the forest light, dappling his face, how she’d caught a glimpse of that genuine smile; how he’d told her the secret, of the pain and how he’d gotten over it. That place where went when he was alone—he’d let her in, peeled back the curtain, given her a glimpse. So was it all false? Had he been trying to make her complacent, to let down her guard, while he moved in for the kill? No. There had to be another explanation. Tomahawk was here, sitting across from her, telling her there was.

  “But does that mean—” she asked.

  “I don’t know what it means. All I can tell you is what I know. And I know that there’s a better explanation than the one you got.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said, setting down her cup. “I’ve got to find out.”

  “Wait,” said Tomahawk, grabbing her arm. “You can’t go out there. What about Jack—?”

  Liana paused in the doorframe, crumpling to her knees. She knew Tomahawk was right. The idea that she had any freedom here was an illusion; the only time she’d felt free since she’d arrived was when Nick was holding her, in complete honesty. And they were trying to close him off from her for good. “I hate this,” she cried. “I came back from New York to be free of Jack, and I’m still a prisoner.”

  Tomahawk nodded, and there was something in his eyes that knew. She didn’t dare ask what it was, until she realized. “It’s just that—what you said. Nick.

  He told you the same thing. About not feeling free, no matter what he does.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No. I need to know.”

  Tomahawk turned, resting his hands on the wrought-iron railing, sighed and prepared himself to turn back to the woman who waited behind him. “A couple times. He doesn’t talk much about himself. None of us really do; I guess nobody wants to make himself vulnerable. That’s the safe thing to do, in this life. But you hang out in a dark, dusty bar enough with somebody, and you get to know him pretty well.”

  She nodded. “Whether in this house, or Kirrily’s, or my apartment—I’m always under somebody’s thumb. Nothing I have is really mine. I’m sorry, ” she said. “That must sound so spoiled, Tom. I had everything growing up, and I fucked it all up, and now I’m can’t do anything but whine and say, poor me. Meanwhile, Nick had nothing, and he’s risked losing what little he does have—the respect and trust of you and Tryg and the Sparks—to save me. What did I ever do to deserve that?”


  Tomahawk didn’t say anything but his eyes revealed more than she expected. Only Nick can answer that.

  Nick had been trying to protect her and, in doing so, he had risked the wrath of his brothers and Tryg. And she’d blown up at him, treated him like a liar, like a thief, like a criminal, the same way she’d treated him all those years ago – as if nothing had changed, as if he hadn’t changed, as if she hadn’t changed.

  But she had. More than anything else, she wanted to believe she’d grown from that, that she’d broken free of the chains her stepfather had used to control her, to force her to lie about her true feelings, to bear false witness, to offend against nature. To claim she hadn’t wanted the touch that, in reality, she wanted more than anything else she had ever wanted. She couldn’t do that to him again. She couldn’t let him think that she did not want him. She knew there was a chance that he would no longer want her. But she had to try.

  “I’ll take you,” said Tomahawk suddenly.

  She looked up from the floor, peeling her eyes off the toe of the young man’s scuffed motorcycle boot. “Are you sure? Will Tryg—” She saw Tomahawk swallow under his bushy red beard. “He told me to stay here, and what’s more, he’s really pissed at Nick. It’s obvious. If he finds out—”

  “He won’t,” said Tomahawk, going to the railing and testing the weight of the oak branch that sagged under its full leaves. In a second, he had hoisted himself up on the balcony railing, while Liana watched, mouth open, from below.

  “You—you’ve got to be kidding. Do I look like Tom Sawyer to you?”

  “Relax,” he said with a grin. “We did it all the time in Cleveland.”

  She crept to the edge and peered down through the gloom. Some tiny solar lights lit the pathway that led away from the house and into the woods, into whatever lay beyond, away from this safe house, this walled garden that she’d found herself imprisoned in again, in order to shut out the world, if that were even possible. As if all she had to do to elude what threatened her was to spoil and cosset herself, apart from the world, to surround herself with people who would coo at her and pet her and tell her what she wanted to hear, while secretly planning their own plans, spinning their own schemes.