Her Wild Ride: An addictive, steamy biker MC romance suspense novel

by Van Fleet, Heather

  I scrubbed a hand down my face and leaned my head back against the seat, wishing for some sort of manual on life and how to deal with the shit in it, mainly when it came to women and brotherhood.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive? You can sleep in the backseat.”

  Summer shook her head and yawned, already finished with her gas-station coffee. “I’m fine.”

  A two-word answer was better than the nos or nods she’d been giving me since we left. I got that she was pissed at me. And I couldn’t blame her; I’d fucked up, kept things from her. But somewhere in my dumbass head, I’d thought by not telling her about the possibility that we were being followed, I was protecting her. We’d already been through so much. The part that was feeling things for this woman wanted nothing more than to make her smile. Keep her happy. I guess I just had a really jacked-up way of going about it.

  “All right then.” I cleared my throat. “But we’re gonna need to make a detour around dawn. Head north. See about getting another vehicle to drive.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s necessary.”

  “I need an actual reason, Niyol,” she groaned. “And I also need answers. I’m tired of just doing as I’m told. This is my gas we’re riding on. My car that got messed up because of some stupid tornado at a stupid camp where you decided to stay at.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, elbow on the window seal.

  I had to tell her, get it out once and for all.

  So, I did. I told her everything Slade and Archer had told me. About the rogues. Who they were. What they wanted. And how they likely wouldn’t stop until they made it happen.

  “You’re telling me we’re likely being followed right now?” Surprisingly, she was calm, but I saw her arms tense in the dark, her hands clutch tighter around the wheel.

  “Yeah. Probably.”

  “Like, there are seriously a bunch of big, bad bikers out there hunting you down at this moment in time, looking for revenge on you because of your stupid, guilty father?”

  I reached over and touched her thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “This is about me, not you.”

  She laughed sarcastically. Manically.

  “Yeah, because crazy-ass bikers will take one look at me and assume I’m nothing to fear, obviously.”

  I scratched at my throat, then shrugged. “I’m not that worried about them. You shouldn’t be either.”

  Least not yet. Archer said his Vegas buddy’s club were tracking them down—or trying to. In turn, Flick had, for some fucked-up reason, asked for them to stay on us. Keep us safe until I got us to San Diego. Those guys knew the area better than anyone else. I told Summer this too. She still wasn’t impressed.

  “Had I known that there was a freaking chance that we’d be stalked by crazy-ass people, then I would’ve never agreed to this,” Summer whispered this time.

  The words on my tongue were stuck. The ones that said, Then we would’ve never been together. But there I was, being selfish again. So, I told her what I knew she wanted to hear.

  “You’re right. I should’ve told you.”

  “Good.” She lifted her chin. “Glad you can at least admit that.”

  I winced, covering my mouth.

  She got quiet on me then. Too quiet. I had to look at her a couple of times to make sure she was awake. But her eyes were always wide. Her hands at ten and two. She was nervous.

  Just before I begged her to pull over and let me drive, she gave me a one-two sucker punch.

  “Why are you really running away, Niyol?” I almost didn’t hear her. The words were that quiet.

  I rubbed a hand over my forehead, not really having an answer myself. I’d left it open with Slade and Arch, telling them I wasn’t sure when, or even if, I’d come back. I needed another couple of days to think on it. Figure shit out. They said they’d give me one—mighty fucking good of them. But I also knew their reasons why.

  Flick was generous. But not that generous.

  By not going home last night, I knew I was setting up Summer and myself for trouble. Not just with the rogues either. My lack of commitment to the club wouldn’t go unnoticed by Flick and the other brothers. They’d likely get pissed, then I’d be out for good, retaliation and consequences be damned.

  But to tell Summer the real reason I wanted to go to San Diego now was too risky for me to share yet. I was fucking scared. Big time. Why? I had no idea of the outcome.

  Uncertainty really fucking sucked for someone who had a control issue like myself.

  “I’ll tell you. Just… not yet, okay? Soon.”

  Her shoulders fell. I could tell she was done with me. But if she’d just give me a little more time, then everything would make sense.

  “We’re also gonna get a bike to drive the rest of the way. It’ll help us get where we need to go.”

  “If you ask me that’s a stupid idea. We’ll be more out in the open like that.”

  I shook my head. “Not with the kind of bike I’m planning on getting.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t argue again. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign, or not.

  “Just… tell me where to go.”

  I punched in the address on the GPS, then leaned back in my seat, fear and regret eating at my gut. Every so often, I’d steal a glance at Summer to help me get through, memories of our time in the back of her Rover together flashing through my head like a temporary bandage.

  We stayed quiet like that for a while, the open road widening, and the thick tension slowing dwindling the further down the road we went. Eventually the sun slid up into the sky and I got to watch my first sunset in two years.

  Couldn’t enjoy it though. Not when I was keeping secrets again.

  “Where are we going exactly?” she asked after I told her to get off the highway not long after six.

  “My gramps’ place. He owns some bikes. Runs a Harley repair shop too.”

  Pops’ dad was a big, tough-as-shit guy who I hadn’t talked to since I was sixteen. Needless to say, I wasn’t sure how he’d react to seeing his long-lost grandkid—the son of the guy he swore off a long time ago. Hell. I’m not even sure if he still owned the place—Slade said he was pretty sure he did, but at this point, I was willing to put my money on any bet just to get us out of this car.

  “Is he a psycho like your father?”

  I shrugged. “In his own right.”

  “Great. Just what I need. Another crazy Lattimore in my life.”

  I laughed a little at that, mostly ’cause she was right. Us Lattimores were a bunch of fucked-up fools.

  “Can he turn this car back into the rental place for me at least?”

  “Yeah. He can.”

  “Okay.” She breathed, smiling softly at me. “I guess I don’t have any other reason not to trust you, Niyol.”

  My chest got tight at her admission. That trust was a gift to me, whether she knew it or not.

  We drove for another three hours until we finally crossed the Nevada border and made it to the small town. Sure as shit, the building was still there: Lattimore’s, owned and operated by Sani P.

  My hands started sweating at the thought of seeing him. Would he know who I was? Tell me to fuck off? Or welcome me with open arms? Slade talked to him more than I did, had even suggested I come here for a bike, but Slade’s dad wasn’t my dad.

  Bikes of all shapes and sizes sat in front of a small, dilapidated building. Next to it was an even smaller house, which was more of a trailer. Gramps’ place. The closest business was a good three blocks away due to the sheer size of the land which he owned and ran his business on.

  I’d been here once when I was a little kid, barely seven, I think, but it wasn’t the land I remembered most. It was the look on Pops’ face when Gramps told him not to come back. It was the first time I’d ever feared my father.

  “We’re really going to do the Harley thing then.” Summer’s lips twitched as she put the rental car in park.

  I grinne
d, using my smoothest voice. “You wouldn’t mind, would ya?”

  “I’m beginning to realize that with you, I don’t necessarily get a choice.” Smile dropping at the corners, Summer’s blue eyes went a little sad.

  Those words she said could go a lot of ways, but I wouldn’t call her out on them, not when I was thinking the same thing myself. Every second of every moment that Summer was near me, I started liking her a little more—wanting her even more. And yeah, anything she wanted, I’d do it, no hesitation. Especially if it made her eyes light up.

  “Come on.” I squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s go inside and meet the old man.”

  The bell dinged as we stepped inside the building, the smell of incense and pipe tobacco filling the air. Some kid sat behind the small desk just inside the door to our left. He looked no older than fifteen.

  “’Sup,” he said as he stabbed the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray. I’d not smoked in twenty-four hours, and I was feeling it.

  “Looking for Sani,” I said.

  The kid stood, grabbed his leather coat from the back of the chair. He eyed me from head to toe, then moved his gaze to Summer, eyes nearly popping out of his head.

  “And you are…?” He licked his lips and stepped around the desk to stand in front of her. The kid was short, his head hitting the tops of her tits. Tits he couldn’t stop ogling.

  I stepped in front of her. “Tell him Niyol Lattimore’s here for him.”

  “Chill, man.” He held his hands out in front of him, his gaze giving Summer a last once- over before he left the room.

  “Is this what bike shops normally look like? I’ve never been inside one before.” She rubbed her arms and took a step back. Summer’s pretty looks countered the grease and grime of the shop. It was a damn nice view.

  I smiled and looked away. “Yup.”

  Summer walked around the small office, fingering the different Navajo heirlooms along the way. Instead of watching her like I would’ve liked, I sat down in the chair by the desk and put my face in my hands, rubbing it.

  God, I was a fucked-up mess. The rogues, the guilt over not heading back with Slade and Archer, the feelings stirring in my chest for Summer most of all… It was wrecking me. Four days with a new pair of legs and I was second-guessing what I’d been dying to do for two years. Sad part was, this was only just the beginning.

  Twenty-Two

  Summer

  “Well lookie here.”

  A smoky voice sounded from behind me. I twisted around, finding a man just a little taller than Niyol, with gray hair that hung down to the middle of his arms. He wore a red bandanna on top of his long hair, and was dressed like Ny: black jeans, black shirt, black boots.

  He hovered in the doorway between the office and what I’m assuming was a shop, while the creepy kid remained at his right, arms folded over his chest, winking at me.

  “Gramps.” Niyol stood from his chair and pushed his hand out to shake the man’s. “It’s good to see you again.”

  The old man didn’t budge and Niyol’s hand was left hanging in the air. My teeth clenched together at the view. I couldn’t take disrespect when respect was given. It was my biggest pet peeve.

  “It’s rude not to say hello when someone greets you,” I snarled, glaring up at the man.

  The boy laughed under his breath, hiding it with a fist. Everyone ignored him but me. I flipped him off this time, which only made him laugh harder.

  “And who’re you exactly?” Niyol’s grandpa focused on me, his dark eyes penetrating.

  I shuddered at the look, instinct pulling me closer to Niyol’s side as I answered. “I’m Summer Parks.”

  The man glared at me for another few seconds before sitting on his chair and leaning over the top of his desk, hands folded.

  I looked to Niyol, watching as he spoke again. “We need your help, Gramps.”

  “No.” The old man didn’t hesitate with his answer. “Don’t do nothing to help with that group your father’s got you involved in. You know that.”

  “I’m not—”

  “What part of no don’t you understand?” Hatred poured off the man like a thick, foggy morning. It was the only analogy I could think of as I peered into his dark, hazy eyes. Staring back at us, he reaped nothing but abhorrence.

  “Please, sir,” I added, ignoring the goosebumps along my arms. “Niyol is a really good person. Nothing like his father. He just wants peace and happiness and he really wants to get away from those… those men.” I sucked in a breath, then said, “If you don’t help him, he might never be able to leave that club. Find a new start. I can’t stand the thought of that happening, and as his grandfather, you shouldn’t want that for him either.”

  When I was sixteen, I was the queen of the debate team. Not the drama club. But I was hoping to combine the two ideas together. So, I sported a few crocodile tears—waterworks always sealed the deal with men. Add in the fact that I was blonde and, well… crap. Something had to work out in our favor, right?

  The old man sat back in his chair, eyeing us both. He folded his hands over his chest, and said, “Why should I help you, boy? You chose this path.”

  “Because I didn’t have a choice,” Niyol spat.

  “You had a choice.” He pointed a finger at Niyol. “You could’ve called me.”

  “And you really think Pops would’ve let me go? I was a kid, for Christ’s sake. Had nothing but the patch on my back and the bike beneath my legs.”

  And a girl he was traveling across country for—though I kept that one silent. For some reason, I couldn’t admit it out loud anymore.

  “I could’ve sent for you.” His grandfather frowned.

  “He would’ve killed you.”

  “Guess you’ll never know, will ya?”

  Niyol shook with undisclosed rage. It had me pulling straws from mid-air in turn. If his pleading didn’t work, then maybe my lies would.

  “I’m pregnant,” I shouted over their bickering.

  Niyol stiffened, as did his grandpa, but I kept going, no time to waste.

  “Niyol’s the father. If we don’t get a bike to drive, those men will come after us and… and…” I lowered my hand to my stomach and worked up as many tears as I could this time. “They’ll kill our baby.”

  Niyol’s eyes shot to my face, burning me with a glare. But I couldn’t stop with the lie now that I’d spilled it.

  “Please, sir,” I whispered. “For the baby? Your great…” I sniffed. “Grandchild?”

  The old man stared back at me, dark eyebrows furrowed, pink lips pursed. Then he looked at my stomach and a change passed over his features, a softness I could only hope was him relenting.

  “Pregnant, huh?” He tapped his lips with a finger.

  I nodded slowly, leaning against Niyol even more—praying to God that we looked like a real, legit couple in love, pregnant with our first child, and on the run from the bad guys.

  “Yes,” I whispered, bringing Niyol’s free hand to my stomach before pressing my palm over the top of his knuckles. He stiffened but didn’t make a move to stop me.

  Ny’s grandfather stood from his desk and lifted something out of a box on the shelf where he kept what looked to be hundreds of dream catchers. Under my wet lashes, I watched him, his movements slow and sure. Something jingled in the air, the sound of keys, I guessed. I held my breath thinking we’d gotten what we came for. But when he turned back to face us, he curled his lip in disgust and shook his head, that softness eliminating.

  “Lying ain’t okay, girl.” He tossed the keys in the air and Niyol caught them mid-swipe. “But because you’ve got some balls, you two can take this bike, keep it till you get your issues worked out.”

  My face grew hot, and I looked at the floor, wondering if hell’s gates were going to open right up for me. I wasn’t a religious woman by any means, but if I were, I’d have a year’s worth of repentance to serve for these last five days alone.

  “Thank you, Gramps.” Niyol urged me clo
ser to the desk, keeping his hand along the small of my back. “I’ll get this bike back to you soon as I get Summer where she needs to be.”

  My back stiffened at his words. Where I needed to be? I quickly shook my head and tried not to read into his words.

  Twenty-Three

  Niyol

  I really shouldn’t have been enjoying the hell out of the fact that Summer was on the back of this purring Harley, body flush with mine. There was something right about riding with her arms wrapped around my waist like she was. It was like everything I’d been missing had finally clicked into place.

  It could’ve been the fact that my Gramps and I were on speaking terms again too. That the last thing he said to me after he fed us a bucket of chicken and told us a few stories about the history of his tribe was, I’m sorry, Niyol. I should’ve tried harder.

  He hadn’t known about what’d happened to me within the last couple of years. Had no idea I’d been behind bars either. And he sure as hell didn’t know that his own flesh-and-blood son had been the one to put me there. Wasn’t his fault in the least, but he still blamed himself.

  Thing was, he couldn’t have stopped my dad from making me into an RD if he’d tried. And he couldn’t have taken me away from the club either. That was my life back then. And I loved it.

  Until shit got out of control.

  The only thing I’d allowed Gramps to be sorry for was not trying harder to keep in touch, even if he did hate my pops as much as I hated the man myself.

  “Tired?” I asked through the helmets, our ear coms in sync if we needed to communicate. Normally I didn’t wear one when I used to ride—too restrictive—but it helped keep us undercover this way. No RD would recognize me with the oversized helmet on my head, or the sidecar attached to our right that held our bags. We looked like a couple of old hippies taking a cross-country journey, nothing more.

  Instead of speaking, Summer wrapped her arms tighter around my lower stomach, sending a shot of heat through my body.

  “We’re gonna stop for the night soon.”