Vindication: A Motorcycle Club Romance

by Valentine, Sienna

  It was over. The white flags had to be raised.

  “I can be ready to fly home tonight.”

  ~ NINETEEN ~

  Noah

  This would be the last time I sat around this conference table—or any table—with these men, and I knew that now in my heart. On the far side, away from Quinn and I, sat the three I had thought were my brothers. Or in the case of Duke, at least an ally with a mutual goal I could count on to protect the band when things got dark.

  But I was wrong about all of them. And now they would pay for it.

  Gavin stood at the head of the table near the windows. The day outside was fitting for my mood: completely gray-black with swirling violent skies keeping out the light. As Gavin fumbled with the TV display and the DVD I had given him, I watched the skies churn and ignored everyone in the room. Unlike previous meetings, the feeling of having Duke so close just slid by me like water off a duck’s back now. This was over, and I had the victory. He didn’t have any power over me anymore.

  The pain in my heart came from a different place now. The spot that held my band was beginning its mourning period, something it was well practiced at, even if this one would be the toughest. But the deep, bright place that Laurel had burrowed into didn’t have the same kind of experience with darkness, and every beat sent fresh waves of ache through my muscles. And that pain was greater than anything Duke could have ever done to me.

  After a moment, Gavin got the equipment working. Before he played the DVD, he turned to the assembled table. “As you all know, Noah’s asked us here today because he has something important related to his case to show us, and he wanted us to be the first. Noah, do you want to say anything before we get this going?”

  I shook my head, and didn’t move my gaze from the window. “Just play the damn thing.”

  Gavin didn’t reply, only followed my instructions. The men stared at the looped video from a front-row attendee. They watched the soon-to-be-dead man creep his way past the security guards, whose attentions were focused on the crowd per their job instructions, watching for surfers or anybody potentially getting crushed by the mob. They were used to photographers moving behind their backs in the pit all the time. As mad as I wanted to be at them, the video only made it apparent that it was a tragic mistake, a perfect storm of bad timing.

  The man crawled up onto the stage, and that was when fans in the front row started pointing. One of the security guards finally turned and saw him, but would never move fast enough to catch him. The fan doing the recording had a perfect angle when he got to his feet and began to advance on Quinn, who was shredding with his eyes closed up against his amp during a solo.

  In the man’s hand, a five-inch blade glinted under the stage lights like a Roman candle, clear as day. Everyone in the room started muttering to themselves.

  “I told you motherfuckers!” yelled Quinn immediately at the men across the table. “I told you Noah didn’t bullshit about that knife!”

  Gavin stood, staring at the TV with his jaw hanging open, completely shocked. “This is a fuckin’ miracle.”

  Jeff and Ash both had hollow, pale looks on their faces, like they’d been caught telling a massive lie. Duke just stared at the TV as the video looped again, his face a still sheet of quiet anger and some other emotion I couldn’t quite place. Maybe he wasn’t a complete monster—maybe part of him was just now realizing how he’d thrown a good man overboard.

  “We have to get this to the DA and the press immediately!” said Gavin. He put a finger to the Bluetooth headset on his ear, connected to his assistant in her office. “Shelly, can you get—”

  “No, wait,” I said, raising a hand. “Just wait, please.”

  Gavin froze. “Standby please.” He clicked the receiver off. “What are we waiting for?”

  “We can get this to the DA, but do it quietly. I don’t want the press to find out yet.”

  Both Quinn and Gavin stared at me with wide, questioning eyes. “Noah, why? This is going to fix everything! The band!” said Quinn.

  “Fuck this band,” I said with a laugh, and pointed over to the three on the other side of the table. “I don’t trust these assholes as far as I can throw them. I’m not gonna make music with a bunch of cowardly fucks who can’t even stand by their brothers. We can make something new, Quinn. I just wanted to see the looks on their faces when they realized the truth. Figured I earned it.”

  Ash and Jeff leaned around Duke to exchange glances with each other. Jeff tried to sputter at me, “Noah, we… look, we’re sorry. We were just trying to look out for ourselves and our families.”

  “Yeah, and what the fuck was I doing?” said Noah. “What about my life? My family?”

  “What family?” muttered Ash, bitterly.

  That one actually stung. I looked him in the eyes and said, “Fuck you, Ash.”

  With nothing left to keep him here, Ash flipped me the bird and got up out of his chair. He yelled at Gavin that his lawyer would be in touch and stomped out of the room. A few moments later, Jeff got up with far less drama, a pathetic stoop to his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, Noah. I should have stood by you,” said Jeff as he patted the top of the chair at the head of the table. I couldn’t look at him, but he didn’t wait for it, or for a reply. He gave an awkward wave to Quinn and Gavin and left the room.

  I was surprised Duke was the last to go, allowing himself to be outnumbered in the room. He typically stuck to situations where he had the advantage. But the video seemed to have thrown him off his game just a bit.

  None of us had anything to say to him. Quinn just stared, arms crossed, glaring. Convinced the air in the room wasn’t one of violence, Gavin turned back and watched the loop again and again, shaking his head in amazement every time the shot of the knife appeared.

  Finally Duke pushed his chair back from the table and rose to his feet. He watched the video loop one more time and started for the door.

  “Cat got your tongue, dickwad?” said Quinn to his back.

  Duke stopped. He turned his head just a little bit. “I’m glad you’re not going to prison, Hardy.” Nothing in his voice was malicious or sarcastic. It was just that dark, southern drawl that belonged to him on the nights in the bus, in the middle of nowhere, when he finally had his guard down and was just a dude that loved playing guitar.

  I let him sweat for a moment before I said, “Thanks.”

  Duke left the room. It was the last time we would ever speak to each other.

  “Seriously though, Noah,” said Gavin as he switched off the TV, finally satisfied. “What is your plan, here? I’m having trouble wrapping my head around why we don’t email this video to every major media outlet right fucking now.”

  “Because I’ve already got plans for getting it to the press; I just need you guys to chill and let me get it finished.”

  “Noah,” said Gavin, worried. “What is this plan? You should really let me take a look, I don’t want anything to happen that might—”

  “That might what, Gavin? Fuck up the band’s future?” I laughed. It actually felt like a real laugh, for the first time in a while. The bitterness in my heart could never outweigh the feeling of freedom from knowing the truth was out. “Cut Up Angels had a great run, but we’re done. You don’t need to protect us anymore.”

  “You’re all still my clients, and you two are my friends. I’ve protected you since you were kids. I’m not about to stop now,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “The other guys can do their own interviews and fight me if they really want to, once it’s all out. I don’t care. They can’t stop me now. And you can protect whatever it is Quinn and I decide to do next… after a serious fucking vacation.”

  “Oh, good God,” said Quinn with an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t even think of that… Fuck, I’m taking the old lady to Maui.”

  That made me smile. I leaned over and patted Quinn on the shoulder and gave him a big smile. For the first time in weeks, his eyes were clear and
bright. “Thanks for sticking by me, bro.”

  “Don’t get all fucking mushy with me,” said Quinn with a laugh. “We established this a long time ago, man: where you battle, I battle.”

  “Just tell me I have the trust of both of you about this,” I said, glancing at each of them in turn. “Trust me you’ll let me get this out my way and be okay with it.”

  Quinn and Gavin looked at each other, and then back at me, each of them nodding. “We trust you,” said Quinn.

  “And you know we have your back if you wind up needing it,” added Gavin. “I’ll get this to the DA within the hour and tell them to keep quiet about it.”

  Another wave of relief washed over me and I smiled at them. “Thanks, guys. I need that strength today.”

  “Why, what is it you’re going to do?” Quinn asked as I got up from my chair.

  With a sigh, I said, “Maybe the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. But I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t.”

  ~ TWENTY ~

  Laurel

  Another episode in the day-long marathon of Seinfeld came on and made me realize I was running late. After I got off the phone with Domino, I told Steve we were ready to get home, and he could not get on the airport’s website fast enough. Every day we had been in Seattle, his bitching about missing New York had grown exponentially. And now, every ten minutes he was texting me, asking me if I was getting packed, and every time I answered “yes, God!”

  As I looked over the clothes still strewn on the bed, I realized maybe I should have been a little less snarky with Steve this time. And maybe a few other times. And maybe that Steve was right about me being horrible to fly with.

  Hell, that was nothing a few mimosas couldn’t fix. I saw my phone on the nightstand light up with a message and ignored it, instead pulling up my suitcase onto the bed to begin packing in earnest.

  The trip had been so chaotic that I hadn’t even kept track of what needed to be washed, so everything got stuffed with equal disregard into the square black bag as efficiently as possible. As I threw in garment after garment, my hand grabbed one that still felt unfamiliar. It was Noah’s heavy, soft sweatshirt—the one he’d gotten on The Rising End’s first tour ever, and kept safe and close since. The one he’d gifted me that day on the beach.

  It was all I had left of him. It was strange to acknowledge how quickly everything had happened, despite how deeply I could still feel him in my bones. I wished I had left something of mine with him, something he could see now and remember me by. But something like that might just cause him pain, and that was the last thing I wanted.

  Seeing his sweatshirt caused me pain. But it was nothing like the bolt of agony that overcame me when I put the soft thing up to my face and inhaled Noah’s scent mixed with wetness and earth. I hadn’t been around him in days, and yet the scent was so strong, so recognizable, that I collapsed into sobs on the edge of the hotel bed, because it felt like he was in the room with me. I wept into Noah’s sweatshirt until I didn’t have any tears left, and my eyes were swollen and tender.

  Slowly, I tried to compose myself. I stuffed the borrowed top into the suitcase with a bit of anger and got up. But I only made it a few steps before my hands were back, pulling the sweatshirt out again and yanking it over my head. Warmth rushed over my body, and Noah’s scent was all around me now. I didn’t care if it hurt.

  Out of the corner of my eye, the screen of my phone lit up again. It was a call this time. I slid over and, expecting Steve, was surprised instead to see Domino’s face looking back at me.

  “What’s up?” I answered with only the slightest sniffles.

  “Was I right to assume you are running late for your flight?” she said with a smile in her voice.

  “I, uh…” My brain was too fogged from crying to even come up with a quick white lie.

  Domino just laughed. “I’ve told you before, fate puts together pieces in ways you wouldn’t expect. Today, my girl, your seemingly rebellious aversion to being on time has worked in your favor, so find some god to thank.”

  “Who is this?” I asked, only half-kidding. “You congratulating me for being irresponsible has made me feel like I missed a cut scene, here. What’s going on?”

  “Are you ready for this?”

  “Ready for what?”

  I could practically see Domino squirming in her seat like she always did when she got excited. She could never hide her passion. “I just got off the phone with Gavin Jones.”

  “Gavin Jo…” My memory kicked in before I could finish my question. My heart stopped beating for a moment.

  “Gavin Jones, manager of Cut Up Angels. He asked to speak to me personally.”

  Legs heavy and shaking, I sat down on the bed. All I could think was Noah had told Gavin what I was, and Gavin, ever the guard dog he was for Noah and the boys, was calling Domino to chew me to bits and blacklist me from ever working in the industry again. But I couldn’t reconcile that theory with how happy and excited Domino sounded. Would she really be so thrilled to have me gone?

  “W-What did he want?” I asked.

  “Noah Hardy has requested us to conduct his first interview to the press about the festival. He says he has developments that the public hasn’t heard, and he wants us to be the ones to present it to them—exclusively. Every single fucking news outlet that wants to talk about Noah Hardy is going to be running your byline.”

  Time stopped. The breath in my chest was all I could hear. “He… he what?”

  “Specifically, Laurel, Noah Hardy has asked to speak to you. And only you. Those were the conditions of his interview.”

  Heart racing, Domino’s words were difficult to wrap my head around. “This is a joke, right? Noah wants to talk to me—wants to give me an interview?”

  “If you’re still in town to take it. He wants to give it today.”

  “Yes, I’m still in town,” I said. “I… I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it.”

  “Of course you’ll do it,” she repeated, “I don’t remember offering you a choice. You ready to write down these instructions?”

  ~ TWENTY-ONE ~

  Noah

  I was already waiting on the beach by the time Laurel arrived. Actually, I had been on the beach for hours, ever since I left the label’s office in Seattle. Gavin took my instructions to call the Slipstream Magazine offices in New York and speak with Laurel’s editor. The tactic felt a little dramatic, but part of me knew that Laurel was swimming in an ocean of guilt right now, and just like I needed Quinn and Gavin, she was going to need her best allies to convince her to get back up and fight.

  Still, there was no guarantee she would take the invitation. She had no idea what state I was in. And I wouldn’t have blamed her if she passed it off to some other writer after everything that had happened. But I knew I had to try—both for her, and myself. Laurel always seemed to reward my effort.

  She came down the hill toward me, sitting on the driftwood log by the river. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and her face looked like she hadn’t had a very good few nights. It had the unmistakable puffiness of someone who had been crying, and my heart ached at the thought. It ached even more when I saw she was again wearing my sweatshirt, too big for her frame, wrapping her halfway down her thighs and almost over her hands.

  I stood up as she approached, hands in my pockets. She looked almost afraid as she approached, like she thought I was going to announce this was all a fucked-up prank to hurt her. I didn’t move; I let her come to me. Laurel was a shark, like me, and I knew what people had to do to get me to listen; so that was what I did for her. I let her get her bearings and approach on her terms. The rush of the river overlaid our silence.

  “Hey,” she said, stepping to the driftwood.

  “Hi,” I replied. We stared at each other with wet, unsure eyes.

  Laurel swallowed and looked around. “Domino asked me to meet you here…”

  I nodded. “It’s for real. I asked for you.”

  �
��Okay,” she said. “So, what do you want to…”

  “Why don’t you sit down, and we can just start the interview?” I said, waving a hand over half of the driftwood log. “Did you bring your recorder?”

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and followed me. I straddled the giant log to face her, while she hiked one thigh up side-saddle and turned toward me. Wispy strands of pale blonde hair drifted around her face in the light wind.

  Laurel activated the recording app and held the phone out in her hand between us. She stared at me and took a few breaths before she began.

  “Noah… tell me what happened that day at the festival.”