But it would have to be without Nick’s help. She couldn’t get him involved with this. She had to set him free; she couldn’t tangle him again in her web of deception. He said he’d been prepared to burn his patch, to burn off his tattoos, and the last thing in the world she wanted was for him to do that. Not for her. She’d already taken so much for him, far more than he could afford.
Staring into the horizon, wiping her eyes, she realized the path she had been taking seemed strangely familiar, something she remembered from long ago. Dusting herself off, moving with purpose to keep from dwelling on her despair, she darted out of the alley and toward the street sign. Seeing the name of a familiar street, she picked up the pace, craning her neck to see what lay ahead, sheltered by the budding elms that lined the streets—the wealthiest parts of town always had the leafiest trees, she’d noticed. In any case, that hadn’t changed. Sounds and smells came back to her—pencil shavings, new textbook glue, diesel exhaust from the school bus. This was the path she used to take home from school to what had been her home as a teenager—Noel Richardson’s house. It crossed her mind that this might be answer as to where she could hide—at least temporarily. Nobody, not even Jack, would expect her to return to the place where she’d spent the most miserable parts of her childhood.
She didn’t know who owned it now, nobody related to Noel. Some other pillar of Prudence society, she figured, a city councilman or a banker, somebody who felt it was their birthright to live in a brick three-story house on a corner, three-acre lot, with a gigantic flagpole and cobblestone path leading up to the whitewashed front door. No wonder Nick had hated it here—he must have felt totally and completely out of place from the minute he arrived, with nothing to his name but a couple changes of clothes stuffed into a worn Eastpak. She remembered that day, how she’d looked down from her bedroom window, peering into the yard from where a prim woman in a state car had unceremoniously dropped him off. That didn’t mean he didn’t deserve better things in life—it just meant he wasn’t used to them, and didn’t know how to behave when he got them.
As she approached, she was surprised to see a “For Sale” sign on the lawn, complete with the tanned, white-toothed smile of a pretty young realtor named Becky Summers. There were no cars in the driveway, toys on the lawn, or any other signs of recent habitation. She tried the entrance to the service door. Somebody, perhaps the realtor, was maintaining the gardens, but, other than that, nobody was home. That didn’t mean it wasn’t risky. There were bound to be neighbors checking in on the house, if not the realtors themselves. If the cops came, there was a good chance she was as good as back with Jack. He seemed to have every cop in the country eating out of his hand. Still, she’d rather take her chances with the devil she didn’t know.
Skirting around the back of the house, wading through the daylilies growing around the garage, she tried the service door, surprised when the latch opened immediately. She paused, hand on the cold knob rethinking her plan. Wouldn’t a realtor have been more careful about locking up such a valuable piece of property?
Fumbling for the light on the wall, her fingers flipped the switch came face to face with Nicholas Stone. Her stomach dropped into her feet, and she slammed the door, pressing herself against the sun-warmed brick of the house.
She knew it was only matter of time before the door swung open again. She should run, she knew. She couldn’t keep being his femme fatale. But at the same time, why did seeing his face again, after the initial shock, feel so right? Why did it make her want to grab onto his shirt, murmur apologies, and never let go? Because she now knew how little time she might have before someone dragged her away from him again? Because she never expected to get this chance to begin with? Before, the hinges squeaked, and Nick’s shadow fell over her. She curled into herself, blood rushing into her head.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Get in here before somebody sees you.” He grabbed her by the shirt, but she spun away.
“Nick, what the hell are you doing here?” she asked, staring straight ahead at the window of the neighbor’s house, glad the curtains were drawn. It couldn’t hurt to step into the garage where she wouldn’t risk being seen.
Nick closed the door firmly behind her and took a step forward, reaching out his hand slightly, as if he meant to touch her, soothe her, reassure himself that she was okay. But he seemed to sense the look on her face, and snatched his hand away at the last minute. “You ran away from Jack Camus, Liana. If I didn’t find you first, he would, and you know what would happen then.”
“But how did you know I’d be here?”
Nick leaned his frame against the unfinished wood and smirked. “Come on, Liana. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. You were on foot, so you couldn’t get far. You’d be looking for someplace you knew, but where nobody would think to look for you. And I knew the house was for sale. I do live in this town, after all.”
“But how did you get in?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, flipping it over in his hand. Liana groaned. “Don’t tell me. Becky Summers?”
“She’s none too bright, but she’s good at her job.”
“Loaning out the houses she’s selling as crash pads for local outlaws?”
“Not any local outlaws. Just the cute ones.”
“But why, Nick?” she demanded. “You were free, and still you came back to find me. Why?” she asked, again, bringing her hands to her head, turning slightly. “Why do you care?”
“Liana.”
She turned away. She could already feel her lower lip quivering, and she bit down on it fiercely, hoping he wouldn’t see. Now was not the time to break down, not in front of him.
“Don’t make me answer that question. Not again.”
Of course he’d already answered it; he’d already shown her, in every possible way, that he cared. He was here. He was risking his life, his livelihood, when he could have just as easily hopped on his bike and rode in the opposite direction, away from her, away from this entire mess she had made. But he hadn’t. He was here. And that was all that mattered.
In an instant, Liana had thrown herself into his arms, overcome by the desire to be enveloped by him one more time. After all, she didn’t know when she’d ever get another chance. She didn’t think she’d ever have this one. When she spoke those words in the Black Sparks clubhouse, she thought she’d thrown him away forever, and that he’d accept that. She’d forgotten who she was dealing with. “You idiot.”
She hoped he would kiss her, and when he lifted his chin to press his mouth to hers, she closed her eyes, giving herself over the sensations shooting through her. It was okay for now. It wouldn’t be okay later, but it was okay for now.
“You know there’s no way out of this,” she murmured into his shoulder, afraid to speak the words, knowing that if she did, he’d bear as much of the burden of them as he could. “Not for me. Not for you.”
He didn’t answer right away, and she felt his muscles tense a little, his rough hand curling against the small of her back. He was formulating a plan, she knew. She clung to this, futile as it probably was.
At last he drew back, holding held her at arm’s length. Liana blinked up at him. “Maybe not if we stay in Prudence.” Nick stared down at the cement floor briefly, as if taking a split-second to make up his mind, finally, irrevocably. “We’ll leave. We’ll go somewhere else. Out of Prudence. Out of Ohio. Out of the country, if we have to. I mean, Jack’s good, but he’s not Superman. He’s not Interpol. He can’t find us if we’re careful, if we cover our tracks. We’ll live in a log cabin somewhere. On an island. On…on Fiji,” he said, hesitating, stumbling over the unfamiliar words.
“Australia,” Liana whispered.
“What?”
“Australia. Like where Kirrily’s from,” she said, the enthusiasm building in her voice. “She used to tell me stories about it all the time, about the Aboriginal people who lived nearby.
“You mean
like the outback?” asked Nick. She knew images of kangaroos and the Crocodile Hunter were running through his head.
“Well, yeah. But there are cities, too, you know. It’s the world’s biggest continent made up of a single country. Plus, there are also coral reefs, and rainforests. It’s beautiful, and Kirrily’s got family there.”
“So people do live there?” joked Nick. “I mean, besides Russell Crowe.”
“The last I checked. In fact, people used to go there all the time to start new lives,“ she remarked. “Mostly Irish ex-cons,” she said with a laugh.
“Well then I’ll fit right in,” said Nick. Liana slapped him on the shoulder.
“But beyond that, it’s about fucking time I got out of this hellhole and experienced something new.”
Liana shook her head. “No.” She could tell in his voice that he was confident, his jaw set steely, but there was a hesitance behind his words. He was already rethinking his grandiose plan, she knew. Maybe it was better that way. “It’s impossible, Nick. I don’t know how to find a place to live in Australia. I could barely pay my rent in New York. Plus, what about the Sparks? Tryg made an agreement with Jack that I would go back to him, and I told him I would. That was the deal. They’ll disown you if you go against it.
“I already made up my mind.”
Liana remembered. “I can’t let you do that. The Sparks are your family, Nick. What about Tryg, and Tomahawk? And Kirrily? It would mean leaving her, too.”
Nick’s eyes flicked a little, as if this were an aspect he had not yet considered. But he paused only for a moment. “I don’t need them. Not really. I can make it on my own. I just never had the chance before.”
“That’s what I said a few years ago,” said Liana. “Making it on your own sounds wonderful. It sounds glamorous and fun. But it isn’t, Nick. It’s hard and lonely and scary. I should know. I tried to make it on my own in New York, and look what happened. I failed. I fell into Jack’s trap, and now I can never—”
“You didn’t fail,” Nick cut her off. “You just needed a little more time.”
“Nick, listen to what I’m saying!” Liana raised her voice. “You have a family here. You have people who care about you. Do you know how incredibly lucky you are to have found that? You’re going to give that up to go on the run, to try your luck out there, god knows where—for me?”
Nick flicked his eyes up to the ceiling, and sighed. “Liana, all I know is, I can’t turn away. I have tried, believe me. Tried and tried. Logically I know I should. But then you look at me and—how can I let you be with Jack, when I can tell just by looking at you that you’re afraid?”
She had stepped back, and now he looked down at her critically, almost parentally, his hands on her elbows. As if her face were a test he were trying to study for, the earnestness on his face heartbreaking.
“I didn’t mean it when I said I lied about him hurting me,” she whispered, a lump rising in her throat.
“I know. I never doubted you.”
“Thank you,” she said, impulsively reaching up to brush his hair off his face and give him a kiss there.
He squeezed her against himself tightly, just for a second, as if he were transferring his strength to her. “Now come on,” he said, striding across the two-car garage, beckoning her toward the door leading into the house.
She paused. “What?”
“You want to stay in the garage? I spend enough time in garages. Let’s go upstairs and jump on the beds.”
“How could they afford to leave all this furniture in here when they left?” Nick asked as they spied the polished oak dining table with place settings for four, a vase of nasturtiums in the middle. “And the silverware, too?”
Liana paused, then burst out laughing. “Nick, haven’t you ever heard of staging?” Liana asked, shoving his shoulder.
He turned around, bewildered. “What, like a play? We weren’t all in the drama club.”
“No, I mean, like in real estate. I guess we didn’t all watch as much HGTV as I do, either. Come on,” she said with a laugh.
Nick had gotten assurance from Becky Summers that he’d be free to use the house for at least tonight and tomorrow morning. Becky would make sure that none of the neighbors called the cops, that if anyone noticed him entering the house, she had assured all of them that he was a real-estate assessor.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Liana hesitated to touch anything as she moved past the hall closet and into the hall the house she’d spent most of her childhood in. Nick stood behind her. “This is where you used to hang your backpack.” Liana shuddered. “To warn me when Noel was in a bad mood.”
“I know it didn’t always work,” he said. “It was just my stupid, helpless teenage self trying to convince myself that I could save you.”
“Nick.” She touched his arm.
“What?” he asked quickly, a surprised expression on his face.
“You tried. And that’s what matters. Hey,” she said, glancing up the stairs and speaking before he could respond. “We could go up to your old room.”
“In the attic?” Nick scoffed.
“It wasn’t the attic,” Liana countered automatically. “It was the third floor.”
“Yeah, that’s what your mom told me, too. At least when my other foster parents gave me a room in an attic, they called it an attic.”
“Yeah, I never bought it either,” she said with a laugh. “It was also where—” she bit down on her tongue to keep from saying the rest: where Noel found us.
The door swung open, and Liana clung to the doorframe, her stomach suddenly churning, memories coming back to her in flashes of bloody red and black. Noel screaming at them, hauling Nick up to his feet and sending him crashing into the window. Then, the flashing lights of the police car that pulled up, its siren haunting her like a scream. And after that was gone, the way she had stood shaking in the doorway, trying to slink off, as if there were any chance of being unable to attract Noel’s attention, when the very first thing he’d done after shutting the front door was stride across the room to slap her across the face and call her a disgusting little whore. After that, her memory had blocked most of it out. Only the marks on her skin told the tale, the way he’d grabbed the extension cord from the lamp, shattering it, before hurling the broken lamp at her. He’d come after her with the cord, lashing at her, the shards of the broken bulb grazing her shoulder, sinking into her flesh like bared teeth. As if the humiliation and grief she was already feeling about what had happened with Nick weren’t enough…
“Liana? Are you okay?” Nick’s voice seemed to filter back into her ears as if she were hearing it from underwater, fathoms below the surface. He braced her against himself, as if she were a plant with a flimsy stem. In that moment, that solidity was all she could feel.
“I—” She sank to her knees, and Nick immediately reached for her. She figured he was already blaming himself, thinking it had been a mistake to come here. And maybe it had been.
“This is where he—”
“Oh, Jesus, Liana. I’m so sorry. I was an idiot. We shouldn’t have come up here. Come on. We’ll—”
“No,” Liana heard herself saying. “I want to do it, Nick. It’s important to me.”
And for six years, the idea that those memories were the last ones she had of Nick—scared they’d be the last ones she’d ever have of Nick. Maybe it was a mistake to have come up here. She swallowed and her grip tightened on his shirt, his heartbeat and warmth. He was here. Nick was here now. And that had to count for something.
She squeezed him closer, a child with a security blanket, burying her head into his neck. “It’s just—” she gasped. “The memories.”
Nick was silent for a moment. “So let’s make new ones.”
She raised her head slightly. “Can we?”
“I spent so many nights up here lying in bed, staring out that window, thinking about you,” he whispered, turning his head slightly, gazing at the narrow window like
an old friend who had done him wrong. Sunlight filtered in, alighting the dust swirling in the room, the shadows of the maple leaves outside casting strange shapes on his face. “And I felt so guilty about it. I knew it was the worst thing I could have done.”
“No, it was the best,” she whispered back, reaching to give him a gentle kiss on the side of his face, and she felt his eyes close underneath her lips, the muscles of his face tensing slightly as she kissed his jawbone and his neck. His hand slid up her arm. “You just didn’t know it. And I should have told you earlier. But I was scared.”
Her hands fumbled around his chest, hitting zippers and buttons, and then she heard the familiar sound of leather hitting the floor as he shed the jacket.
“Good thing I never stopped,” he said.
She felt her insides curl and uncurl, as he slid his hands underneath her shirt and up her back, steadying her as she put her weight on her knees, tumbling awkwardly, her feet underneath her. She felt her bra unhooked, then her shirt. They tumbled to the floor and she felt herself being eased backward, unsure whether she was guiding him or he was guiding her. They were guiding each other.
In fact, there was innocent quality about all of their movements. They had touched each other, been inside each other before. But, somehow, this was like the first time. In a way, it was the first time.
Nick reached down to place his head in the crook of her neck, his soft breath rushing across her bare skin, his lips warming her, prickling every nerve, the ends of his hair brushing the places where he had just kissed. Liana’s hands were suspended in mid-air, almost paralyzed for a second by what he was evoking in her as his lips moved lower, grazing her now-bare breasts. She grabbed his hand and guided it downward, and he followed her in a way that was almost obedient.
Long Ride: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Black Sparks MC) (Whiskey Bad Boys Book 1) Page 19
