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

by Kathryn Thomas

  “Precious moments,” came a contemptuous sneer. “Your buddies can’t help you,” gasped Jack, his neck and shoulders twisted at an unnatural angle, dark blood gushing out, gathering in the wrinkles of the black leather jacket and pants he wore.

  “The cops know everything, Camus. It’s over,” said Tryg. “They know you killed the Kinskis, you tried to kill Liana, and that you’re as crooked as my—”

  “The cops will back me up,” Jack croaked, breath wheezing out of him like an out-of-tune organ. “They always do. The drugs. They’ll find them. And the Vipers will make you pay.”

  “The Vipers won’t be bothering anybody anymore,” said Tryg. “Without you, the police won’t be in their pockets, and they’ll sink back into whatever hole they crawled out of.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Nick, feeling as if cold water had been dumped over his head. The tables had turned in an instant, and he was having a hard time keeping his grip on what was real. “The shipment? The one they shot me for and stole? You got it back?”

  Tomahawk stepped forward. “The whole thing hidden in the Kinskis’ basement the whole time, right next to Daniel Kinski’s corpse.”

  “So the cops—when they found him—”

  “Who do you think called them?” Tomahawk asked. “Right after the boys and I loaded it up. I’m not just good for moral support, dude. I do have my uses.”

  Nick just sat there astonished, trying to take it all in. “It’s back in our warehouses in Prudence, and the cops never got a sniff of it. All thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to me?”

  “Jack was using it as temporary storage until he could get it back to the Vipers,” explained Tomahawk darkly. “He was using Helena as temporary storage for his—”

  “I get it, okay?” Nick interrupted, running a hand through his hair distractedly. “You don’t have to draw me a diagram.”

  Tomahawk looked from Nick to Jack’s quivering body. He was going to be dead within minutes, if he wasn’t already. A sense of peace and serenity seemed to float over Nick, the same kind of peace he’d felt in the Richardson’s house, when Liana’s body had been curled in the little nook his body made for hers, as if they had been carved puzzle pieces, created to fit together. He knew that, perhaps, too much had passed between them to ever be able to get back to that space. If Liana wanted to cut ties, to make a new start, he would accept that and let her go. But if there were chance, even the ghost of one, he would keep fighting. If there ever was a chance he could prove himself worthy of her love. Killing a man wouldn’t do it, but if it would bring them closer to peace, it was a start.

  Tomahawk looked behind them. Far off were the sounds of sirens. The looks on his fellow Sparks’ faces told him it was best if all three of them were gone by the time they arrived.

  “You do what you have to do, kid,” said Tryg, a fatherly hand on his vice president’ shoulder. “We’ll back you up. We always will.”

  Nick only knew one thing: it was time for this to be over. Nick raised the tip of the Glock to his face, then stepped forward with purpose, his head high. He aimed the gun, pulled back the trigger and fired.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  At the penthouse flat in Sydney, overlooking the neon skyline of the city, the wrap party went late. The soap opera, Liaisons, had finished its twenty-seventh season of filming, but tonight, amid the twinkling chandeliers, flutes of champagne, and catered hors d’oeuvres, all eyes were on its newest star.

  Liana Ryan perched on a stool at the marble bar, sipping her champagne she held between her manicured fingers, and watched Alfie, the actor who played her on-screen boyfriend, approach from across the gigantic living room. The leather jacket and fake tattoos he wore during the show, meant to cement his bad-boy image, had long been abandoned for an expensive designer suit, and she suspected exactly how much he had paid for that razor-sharp haircut and that paper-white smile. It kind of disgusted her more than the smell of gin on his breath as he leaned over her. “What do you say we get out of here?” he whispered, a pronounced slur in his voice.

  Liana laughed lightly and extricated herself from his shadow, trying desperately to catch the eye of her curly-haired friend Sienna. “I’d love to, but look at the time,” she said, grabbing her handbag and showing him her phone’s display.

  Sienna raised her eyebrows. She was a no-nonsense assistant producer and could always be counted on to extricate her younger friend from uncomfortable situations. Now, she beckoned her away expertly, and Liana leaped off the stool, remarking that the wrap party for a major soap in Australia wasn’t exactly like what she thought it would be, back when she was struggling with auditions back in New York. Everything was so much more laid back—in fact, the entire business was. In fact, one of the paparazzi photographers she saw most often lived in the flat below hers; she always waved to him when she was getting the mail—or the post, as she had to remember to call it.

  As she joined her friend, Liana’s eyes were already somewhere out of the penthouse. Outside, the night awaited, and the lights of the Sydney skyline twinkled neon, alive and inviting. Show business people in Australia weren’t as phony as they were back in the States, but, still, she knew her heart lay elsewhere. And it was already calling her to come out and play.

  “Wait, wait, wait, love,” shouted the executive producer, a silver-haired guy in a Brooks Brothers suit whose fatherly nature was often belied by his greed for more ratings and more money. “Where do you think you’re going? You’re the guest of honor.” He held up a glass and whistled to get the attention of the gathered crowd. “To Liana Ryan. Who would have thought introducing an American girl with a mysterious past and a thing for bad boys would be the breakout we needed to push us ahead of Here and There in the ratings?”

  The crowd drank, and Liana took it with good humor, even though she suspected the fact that the entire writing staff had been fired and replaced had more to do with it than she had. “My whole life is a soap opera, so why should my job be any different?” she remarked, before taking a sip of champagne. It was kind of a bitter irony after everything she’d been through.

  She hadn’t shared much of her life before the soap with her costars. Unfortunately, that just seemed to make them all the more curious, about how an unknown American actress, living in a cottage in Brisbane with her cousins-in-law, had rose to success on an Australian soap. It was okay, though. Any secrets she was hiding were not shameful—she’d had enough shame for a lifetime. They were just facts she preferred to keep close to the vest, because they were hers and hers alone.

  Sienna elbowed her, the champagne sloshing out of her glass as she put the flute down and followed her down the steps and out into one of Sydney’s main thoroughfares. The late-night crowd was still thick, and music and chatter poured out of the bars and clubs that lined the avenue.

  A skinny blond man with gelled hair pushed his way through the crowd with a camera, snapping the women’s pictures. “Liana! Are you and Alfie Carter an item?”

  Sienna postured. “Leave her alone.”

  Liana pushed past her friend. “How many times have I told you? I don’t go for actors pretending to be bad boys.”

  “You don’t go for anyone, apparently,” said Sienna with a sniff, as the photographer frowned and made his way down the street, apparently sensing he wasn’t going to get a scoop this way.

  “I don’t go for anyone who’s never had to make hard choices. And Alfie has had everything in his life handed to him. I mean, he’s the third generation of his family in show business.”

  “He’s also gay for pay, but you didn’t hear that from me. Where are you slipping off to, anyway?”

  “I’m spending the weekend in Brisbane.”

  “You’re spending the weekend with him, in other words.”

  Liana laughed as she drew her black leather jacket closer around her shoulders. She didn’t see the blond man with the camera slip into the alley behind her, or follow her down the street.

  Lian
a felt herself walk faster as she rounded the corner to the grittier district of town, where neon signs advertised Foster’s beer and Harley choppers were lined up outside the bars. The outlaw motorcycle culture in Australia was stronger than she’d ever suspected, and something about it made her feel at home. It was in her blood, after all. She’d tried to outrun it, but it had chosen her. Bells greeted her as she pushed open the door after a short pause to gather her wits. Even after years, her stomach still dropped into her knees in anticipation.

  Immediately, the tall man at the bar turned away from the leather-clad biker next to him. On the front of his jacket, Black Sparks Motorcycle Club, Brisbane, Australia, could clearly be read, alongside a patch reading “Founder.” Even among the other hard-looking guys lined up at the bar, Nicholas Stone seemed singular, with the proud curve of his shoulders, the way he, at last, held his head like a true leader.

  He didn’t look the same as he had in Ohio. The dark circles that seemed to always haunt him, the shame and privation and guilt behind his gray-green eyes, had all fallen away, leaving only his perfect bone structure, the vividness of his full-lipped smile, and the thick chestnut hair that brushed his shoulders. But best of all was the look of curiosity and joy that passed his face when he saw her—that was something she could never put a price on.

  All the grief and pain of the past year had been driving toward this moment. How could she have ever doubted that some cosmic force, some higher power, had been looking out for her all along? Liana couldn’t wait any longer. She crossed the bar and leaped into his arms. His lips were comfortable, warm yet hungry, and seemed to want to devour her. His arms embraced her in the strength of an oak, one she leaned into, transferring his strength. This was beyond the glitz and trappings of fame—this was real.

  “Ready to go home?” she whispered. “I’m done being famous for the time being.”

  “Really?” he asked. “I was kind of getting to like the idea of telling people I’m dating a star. Even though they never believe me.”

  “Are you kidding, mate?” asked the other man, knocking back a glass of whiskey. “I’m calling TMZ the second I leave here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can mention my name, you know. Isn’t it funny,” she added, “that for the first time in our lives, we don’t have to hide the fact that we’re together. And we’re still keeping it a secret.”

  “But it’s different,” he observed resolutely. “We’re doing it because we want to, not because we have to.”

  “Everybody thinks you’re somebody famous,” she teased.

  She knew Nick couldn’t deny how much that appealed to him—not because he had any interest in being thought of as famous, but because he enjoyed the effect it had on Liana. She was right back there in the garden at Noel’s house—terrified and fascinated and aroused by the boy sleeping just upstairs, and who seemed to enjoy stealing a glance at her whenever he could. And here he was standing in front of her, grinning. That was the miracle—the only one she had ever known.

  “Remember,” she said, “we don’t have anything to hide anymore.”

  Nick looked at the floor. “It’s going to take a while before I can get that through my head.” Besides,” he said, with a cocky flash in his eye that sent frissons of excitement through her, “It makes it more exciting. And you know I will,” he said. “When I’m ready.”

  “I can’t believe your uncle let this guy get away,” said the other man.

  “Me neither, but Tomahawk’s vice president now,” Nick explained. “Tryg liked the way he took some initiative the way he followed me to Cincinnati to ambush Jack.”

  Nick always looked at Liana with concern, and squeezed her hand a little tighter, whenever her dead cop ex’s name was mentioned. But she steeled herself and let it wash over her like a wave crashing on the rocky coast, then draining away. He was dead, and he couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  “So he gets promoted, and you get exiled?”

  Nick laughed. “Hey, I chose this assignment.”

  Liana smiled at him. She could still remember the day she came to Kirrily’s parents’ cottage in the sunny, palm-lined suburbs of Brisbane. She tried to keep busy; she learned yoga and stand-up paddle boarding. She watered the succulent plants, walked their poodle every day amid the calls of the kookaburras, and auditioned religiously, hoping a director would see her charm and earnestness and would be willing to take a chance on an unknown American. Sometimes she prayed, for comfort and peace. She didn’t know whether anyone was listening, but it made her feel better. She kept one of Kirrily’s crystals in her pockets all the time. She tried not to dwell on the piece of her that was missing, or think about whether it would always be missing. She knew she was strong enough to let that go. After what she’d been through, she had to be.

  Until one day after an audition, the director called her into his office. And there sat Nicholas Stone, in a chair, looking oddly guilty, and totally out of place there. He swallowed. “I didn’t know how else to find you,” he said with a shrug. “And I just came to apologize. And say goodbye.”

  Liana just stood there in the doorway with her mouth open. All this time, she had been pretending to laugh, pretending to love, prancing around onstage in someone else’s clothes, when the real thing, the only thing she had been waiting for, sat right here in front of her at last. “You came all the way to Australia to apologize?”

  “For not being there.”

  “You’re here now.”

  Nick looked at the floor.

  “And that’s all that matters,” she said as he rose from the chair and crossed the floor. She reached for him and drew him down to kiss her, before she could reconsider or second-guess her decision. She suspected it was what Nick had wanted, too, but he was too intent on being respectful to go for it. She was greeted by his hungry lips feasting on her, inhaling her like oxygen. And in the second she felt his touch, she knew. This was right. “You’re here now. And so am I. And we never have to say goodbye again.”

  He whispered into her ear with a grin. “And by the way, you got the part.”

  Now, the ginger patted Nick’s shoulder and held up his drink, jarring Liana out of her memory.

  “And what happened to that tweaker Malone?”

  “He swore he was quitting to join the Vipers. Unfortunately, by then, there were no Vipers left to join.”

  “To the Black Sparks family,” said the guy, holding up his whiskey. “In Prudence, Brisbane, and everywhere in between.”

  Nick handed Liana a pint and she smiled as she held up her glass.

  “Did Kirrily’s family say what time they’re expecting us in Brisbane?” Liana was looking forward to the long, winding drive up the Gold Coast, the vast Coral Sea to their right as far as the eye could see, the gulls winging down over the ancient rocks. It was a scene she never could have imagined when she was trudging to auditions in her cheap shoes, through the slush of New York City, or curled up in her bed during a long Ohio, winter, dreaming of sun and new horizons, and—she would admit now—of the boy in the garden she had once and too briefly touched.

  “No, but they’ll have the kangaroo stew on the stove, I’m sure,” he said.

  She batted his shoulder. “Brisbane isn’t the outback. And besides, even there, they have grocery stores.”

  “I know,” he joked. “But their kangaroo meat isn’t as fresh.”

  She ran her hands lovingly over the chrome handlebars of the Harley she had begun to think of as much hers as Nick’s, although she doubted he’d agree. That was his baby, and he deserved that. She slung her bare leg over the plush leather seat, its smooth metallic finish glinting in the moonlight. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands underneath the leather, basking in the warmth and solidity of the masculine shape beneath. There was a long ride up the coast ahead of them, but she wouldn’t be cold.

  Suddenly, they were both blinded by a flash of light and noise, a camera shutter going off.

  “What the—” Ni
ck exclaimed, leaping off the bike, his hand grazing the inside of his jacket where he carried a switchblade for protection all the time now. Guns were nearly impossible to get in Australia, either legally or illegally, and, for him, it had taken some adjustment—and some practice.

  “Relax,” said Liana reassuringly, though her own stomach had briefly turned a backflip. She looked wildly around her, only to spot the back of the blond photographer—the same one from outside of the wrap party—retreating down the street, camera case in hand. “You’re so jumpy. All this means,” she said with a little laugh, “is that your picture is going to be in the tabloids.”

  “As long as it’s not a mugshot, I’m okay with that.”

  Liana placed her hand over his chest; she knew his heart had sped up, and he leaned into her touch. “Soap star gets cozy with real-life biker boy. Exclusive photos inside!” she joked.

  He looked back with a smirk. “What about you?” he asked. “There’s no turning back. Are you ready for this?” He turned back to her as he gripped the handlebars fiercely. He kicked the bike into gear and pulled out into the street, heading for the motorway. She knew his eyes were on the open road. His eyes were on freedom.

  She squeezed him close. “I was born ready.”

  THE END

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  Books by Kathryn Thomas

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