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

by Kathryn Thomas

  “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Touch me here,” she said, and his fingers flexed, his knuckles brushing over the bone between her legs, the mound of flesh covering it, the place that waited in anticipation for him.

  She felt her back flex against the hard wooden floor, and she must have winced a little, because Nick reached behind him and grabbed his leather jacket, tucking it lovingly underneath back. “This should make things more comfortable,” he murmured.

  “Touch me everywhere,” she gasped, her words garbled as she tipped her head back as if she were going underwater, and she could barely respond in more than a hiss as his fingers became electric on her body, down between her breasts and the nerve-filled line down to her navel. Then, between her legs, hot and suddenly wet, slickness gathering in the folds of her flesh as his mouth drew it out of her. She closed her eyes, then forced herself to open them as Nick continued to kiss her, his mouth moving in rhythm with his hands.

  Nick had such a serious quality on his face as he obeyed, and his eyes were always the eyes of a man who had seen more than he should have. Simultaneously, he was the grown man brave enough to take her, and the boy young enough to be awed by the fact that he was allowed to. The idea that he would come closer to her, rather than spending his entire life running away, as she had once feared, enthralled her and she fell, losing herself in this moment, however brief and monumental.

  “Do you think we can come together?” she whispered, her hands clawing for him, trying to get him to undo his jeans, hardly realizing what she was saying.

  Nick didn’t reply, merely grunted. He had caught on, already shedding the rest of his clothing, and soon she felt his full weight upon her. She reached up to slide her hands down his broad back, already becoming damp with the sweat of exertion, the shoulders that had borne weight both literal and figurative. This was the body of a man who had been punched, beaten, shot and locked in prison, and through all that had fought for his brothers—and had stood firm in his willingness to abandon them all for her. It was a simple thing, but, perhaps, the most important thing of all.

  He took his hand deeper, into a different spot, raking across her clit. A flash of pleasure gripped her as she burrowed deeper into the leather that braced her back, stiffening her limbs. Now, she reached for his shaft and stroked it gently, as she arched her back as he continued to touch her. She knew if she could just get this right, it could happen, and she closed her eyes, heaving as she stroked the firm, rippling smoothness in her hand, picking up speed, her jaw clenched as she concentrated, wanting to ensure that the pleasure she gave him was at least equal to every feeling he had evoked in her. In her willingness to surrender, she felt powerful.

  “I have an idea.” She rolled him over so she was straddling him, his back resting against the jacket. She stiffened as his hands gripped her hips tightly.

  He clenched his jaw, holding in her place like some precious jewel he had been awarded, as if it were enough just to be able to look at her with clear eyes. She could feel his body change underneath her, stiffen, grow rigid, just as she braced herself on him, her bare feet raking against the floorboards. He paused for only a moment before he realized what she had in mind, and he took her hands and cradled her. She lowered her body down onto his shaft, his penis penetrating her in a sensation that was sharp and left her breathless.

  Nick reached up for her, his hands sliding down her hips, and she watched his strong shoulders flex and his bare chest expand before her, coated with sweat. She could tell he was in the midst of his own climax and she allowed him to come inside her, reveling in the warmth. He was strong, but she knew she was just as strong, and it only took a few seconds of his thrusting.

  Liana arched her back one more time and closed her eyes. It was almost as if she could see the intensity of his gray-green pupils staring at her still. She opened her eyes to look at his face and, suddenly, she felt a single tear fall down her cheek that she didn’t dare reach up to wipe away. The crash of emotion and the waves of ecstasy coursing through her body were unlike any other. She felt a full-body shiver move through her as she doubled over.

  She gently rolled off him and collapsed in a heap next to him. In an instant, his mouth was covering hers, kissing her lips and neck like she was the only thing he wanted to taste for the rest of his life, like she was something he had waited for in the long days and even more endless nights they had been apart.

  Finally, he bared his teeth, a bite mark on her shoulder, intense, possessive. And it was okay. She had her moment; he could take the lead. She yielded to him, allowing the rest of her energy to drain away, to flow into him. She wedged herself closer, knowing she was clinging, relishing the feeling. They were now sharing the surface of the leather jacket in the bare attic room that had once haunted her memories. She lay still for a few seconds, their breathing in sync. She had just enveloped herself in a velvety darkness, suspended halfway between wake and sleep, when she felt him rise and cross the floor.

  Her eyes flew open. She was surprised to see him crouched down, prying at one of the floorboards with both hands, brow furrowed in concentration.

  “What are you doing?” she murmured.

  “I just remembered something,” he said with a grunt and a yank. His hand emerged from the cavity with something long and glinting clutched within it.

  “A switchblade?” Liana wrinkled her nose. “How very Rebel Without a Cause of you. How come you didn’t—oh.” Nick looked down at his hand and gave a sad smile. “I guess you didn’t exactly have time to pack a bag when you left here.”

  “Plus the fact that I was stockpiling weapons in my room wouldn’t exactly endear me to the cops.” He turned it around in his hand, his damp bangs falling across his face, shielding the pensive look in his eyes.

  “Why did you have that anyway?” she asked.

  “It was nothing personal,” he said, looking up. “But by the time I ended up here, I was used to needing something to protect myself, wherever I went. Not like I wasn’t prepared to use it,” he said, rising to his feet. “Anyway, I want you to have it.” He held it out.

  “Why me?”

  “I can get all the weapons I need from Tryg. This means something to me. I never got to use it to protect you, but—maybe you can use it to protect yourself. Just in case. Here, let me show you how to use—”

  “You mean like this?” She spun around suddenly, flicked the release, and the spring-action blade popped out, aimed toward Nick’s heart. He backed up, stumbling a little, his eyes wide with surprise. “Whoa! Um, yeah,” he said with a little laugh. “Like that.”

  She laughed. “Sorry. I had to learn that for this ridiculous off-Broadway musical I was in. It was supposed to be this tongue-in-cheek parody of West Side Story, but it never once worked. It closed after three performances. Of course, all the knives we used were rubber bladed-trick knives. Still, I think I’d be pretty good in a rumble.”

  Nick laughed, but there was a seriousness behind his eyes that she couldn’t help but notice. “Liana—this is serious. If somebody threatens you, he won’t be some actor doing choreography.”

  “I know.” She hung her head and studied the floorboards. The undertone of what he was saying was, of course, and I won’t be there to help you. And the worst part was, Liana couldn’t argue with him about that. It came flooding back then: they had no plan; this couldn’t last, the moment they shared might have been all they’d ever have. Liana felt a sob rise in her chest.

  Nick recognized it in a second, and pressed her to him again. “I wish I could always be there for you. I wish I could give you something better than some shitty knife. Maybe I could—”

  “Nick. It’s okay,” she murmured, though she didn’t really believe that. “I mean, I’m still alive, aren’t I? After all this time?”

  “You’re a survivor.”

  Liana had never thought of herself this way; in fact, she’d only said to Nick to ease his fears. In fact, she’d thought of herself as the anti-survivor
, the girl who was always running, always fleeing, always stupidly putting herself back in the same types of situations she was fleeing from to begin with. She wasn’t proud of it. But maybe she had something to be proud of, after all. Besides, whatever she’d gone through, Nick had been through worse.

  “We’re survivors.” Liana tightened her lips, watching the light filter in from the narrow window. “When Noel came up there that day, I thought it was the worst thing that could have ever happened. I was like why me? Why does God, or whoever or whatever’s up there, want to ruin everything I do to even try to be happy? I thought I must have been cursed. Like I must have done something horrible in a previous life that would prevent me from ever finding fulfillment.”

  “Well?”

  “Now I know,” she whispered, fingering a lock of his copper hair, gazing at the bone structure that was even more exquisite than it had been, the gray-green eyes that were even deeper, more filled with sadness, but also more filled with love—love for her. How could she have ever doubted that? How could she have ever thought he hated her? He was looking at her like she was the only home he needed, as if she were the only shelter the world could offer. For a minute, it was enough to make her believe she could let him do what he had told her he was prepared to do—sacrifice himself, sacrifice his home, his family, and his happiness — for her. To pay the price for her mistake. Again. But it lasted for a moment, only. She reached up and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, threading her hands through his hair. “Because I know now. It wasn’t supposed to be then. It was supposed to be now.”

  “And if it all goes to hell—” Nick said. He didn’t finish.

  Nick didn’t often sleep, Liana knew. But he did now, turned slightly toward her, his chest rising and falling imperceptibly, lips parted, eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, as she rested her hand on his shoulder for the sake of being close to him. And she knew she had to let him. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but she knew it wasn’t the least comfortable place he’d ever slept, either. She knew Nick could probably count on one hand the times in his life when he’d had nothing haunting him, nothing chasing him, nothing keeping him awake nights. There was only one place he’d found that could give him comfort, could give him some modicum of protection from everything that threatened. And that place was not with Liana.

  Being here with her was among the most dangerous places he could be. Liana had thought growing up was going out on her own, proving she could make it, finding success and happiness in a new city, without anyone’s help. But she hadn’t really grown up until now. Looking at Nick, she could make the choice she knew was waiting for her. The choice she would have to make to set everything right. To give Nick back what she owed him, after taking so much from him, after stealing years of his life, after casting him into a dark pit of grief.

  He would disagree, of course. He would tell her he’d forgiven her, that he’d forgiven her a thousand times already, that the only thing he needed was to be with her, that he’d turn against his brothers, cast himself out in the cold once again, turn into the lonely boy he’d been before the Black Sparks, that he’d make the sacrifice.

  But part of being a grown-up was sticking to her guns. And what she knew was that Nicholas Stone had sacrificed enough.

  It was Liana’s turn to sacrifice now. And if she didn’t do it happily, she would at least do it willingly. She rose from the floor, tiptoeing toward the windowsill where she’d left the switchblade, hoping she wouldn’t have to think about it again. Despite having lain underneath the floorboards for years, it was surprisingly free of tarnish or rust. But it also spoke to her silently, of dangers to come, of dangers Nick knew about but wouldn’t always be there to protect her from.

  It was worth the heartache, she realized, bending down to kiss his eyelids as gently as she could, as she silently rose to her knees, then to her feet, quickly gathering herself. She retracted the switchblade deep into the deepest pocket of her handbag, knowing that if she paused to think about what she was doing, she might burst into tears, wake him up, and she would lose her chance.

  This would be her ultimate gift: to leave him with that faint memory of her. It was worth the grief. And she knew what she had to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  “Do you want the 3:15 to Los Angeles?” asked the dreadlocked woman behind the counter, tapping at her computer screen. “Stops in Cincinnati, St. Louis, Oklahoma City, Las Vegas, and Los Angeles.”

  “I’ll take it,” said Liana trying to steady her voice.

  “All the way to L.A.?” the woman asked, eyebrows slightly raised.

  Liana couldn’t tell if she thought it strange that someone would decide to travel halfway across the country on a bus on a ticket they bought the same day, but she decided not to think too much about it—after all, all kinds of characters must drift through this station, fleeing all kinds of pasts. She swallowed. “All the way.”

  She knew if she paused to think about the step she was taking—whisking herself a thousand miles away from Prudence and Nick, perhaps irrevocably—she wouldn’t go. So she agreed. She did it as quickly as she could. She glanced at the doors anxiously, wondering if the bus had arrived yet. The sooner she could get on that bus and see the highway falling away behind her, the better.

  She tried to keep her thoughts positive, though she felt a lump forming in her throat as she dug out cash from her wallet to pay for the ticket. At least Jack wouldn’t be able to track her credit card activity; she would be careful about that. How had it come to this? she thought as she collapsed on a hard bench to wait, keeping her bag snug in her lap.

  A bus labeled “Los Angeles” had just pulled up at the door across from her, and the driver dutifully unloaded baggage from the compartment underneath as passengers milled around, smoke from cigarettes swirling around their heads. Across from her, a black-haired woman breastfed a fussy baby as the hoodie-clad young man who had accompanied her fed change into the snack machine a few feet down. Down farther, a dark-skinned man in a suit sat rigidly with a suitcase, talking to somebody on the phone. “Okay, baby, see you soon. I love you. Goodbye.”

  They have places to go, Liana thought as she took her place in line forming at the door and edged up closer, preparing to give her ticket to the driver. They had people waiting for them. Even if they were leaving on some other journey, heading someplace far away, they knew they had someone waiting for them at home who would be happy to welcome them back with open arms, no matter how far they strayed, how long they stayed away. She had that, for a short time. Now, because of the choices she had made in New York, because she had let Jack Camus control her, she had given all of that up.

  She was aware she’d run out of cash at some point, probably sooner than later. I’ll cross that bridge when I came to it, she thought as she ducked into an empty seat halfway down the row, trying to be unobtrusive, hoping none of the people who followed were looking at her as a possible seatmate. It’s not like she was antisocial; she just didn’t trust herself to interact with anyone right now without breaking down or giving herself away. She wished she’d brought some earphones and an iPod, but she’d sold them to Misty when she’d left New York for some extra cash.

  A middle-aged woman across the aisle, broad and bewigged, with skin as black and shiny as mahogany wood, gave her a smile. “Where are you headed, honey?”

  Liana sunk down in her seat and told her, stumbling over the words.

  “I’m going to see my son and my grandbabies in St. Louis,” the woman offered proudly. “I’ve been saving my time off and I get to stay for a whole week. I’ve been looking forward to it all year. You see pictures, you know, and you can Skype, but it’s just not the same.”

  Something about the wistful longing in the woman’s voice, for family members loved and so seldom seen, made Liana’s throat hitch. She nodded and turned away.

  “Did you bring anything to eat?” the woman asked.

  Liana shook her head.

>   “Here,” she said, rustling a shopping bag and emerging with a banana.

  “Oh, I don’t—” She didn’t even remember the last time she’d eaten. Logically, she knew she could use the nourishment. In reality, she never thought she’d eat again.

  “Here,” the woman insisted. “We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”

  She fumbled with her phone as she heard it vibrate from deep within her handbag, and she hated the feeling of dread it invoked in her. The woman across the aisle looked at her, probably thinking she was about to become one of those chatterboxes who had everyone on the bus hating them by the time they got off. She didn’t recognize the number.

  “Liana?”

  “Kirrily?” she asked, surprised.

  “Liana?” The older woman’s voice, suddenly blaring through the mouthpiece, sounded strained, almost raspy, different from her normal joyful Aussie lilt. “I’m in Cincinnati, and—”

  “Kirrily?” Liana shouted. “What’s wrong? Is—”

  “The blokes Tryg sent me to meet? They’re not—” Liana heard a thump, as if Kirrily had dropped the phone, or clumsily tried to hide. There was a sound of scrambling. Then a scream. “I can’t reach Tryg. You have to—” The phone clicked off.

  “Kirrily?” she shouted into the phone. She dropped the phone as if it were red-hot, blood rushing to her head, her face on fire. Nick, where are you? she thought desperately, then shoved the thought out of her mind. Here she went, getting him in trouble again. Nicholas Stone rushing into danger for her sake was out of the question and, besides, he’d never get there in time—and that’s assuming he was still in Prudence. If he knew what was good for him, he’d be in the next county right now.