Calamity: Motorcycle Club Romance (Sleepless Spades MC Book 4)

by Nikki Riker

  Calamity

  Sleepless Spades MC Book 4

  Nikki Riker

  Copyright © 2020 by Nikki Riker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Author’s Note

  Hey reader! I’m so glad you decided to grab my book. I do hope you enjoy the story and characters within. Oh, be sure to join my mailing list to stay up-to-date with new releases and more.

  Click or visit the link below.

  NIKKIRIKER.COM/FAN

  Okay, let’s get this story started, shall we?

  Happy reading,

  Nikki Riker

  Contents

  1. Penny

  2. Calamity

  3. Penny

  4. Calamity

  5. Penny

  6. Calamity

  7. Penny

  8. Calamity

  9. Penny

  10. Calamity

  11. Penelope

  12. Calamity

  13. Penelope

  14. Calamity

  15. Penny

  16. Calamity

  17. Penelope

  18. Calamity

  19. Penelope

  20. Calamity

  Epilogue

  Thanks for reading

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  Also by Nikki Riker

  1

  Penny

  Don't panic, Penny, I instruct myself.

  I drag in several deep breaths through my nose, going over all the bullshit meditation advice that Holly gives me when I get like this. I slip my hand into my pocket, running my thumb over the little worry stone she purchased for me a while back. When she first handed it to me, I laughed at her. Why the hell would I want to carry around what looked like a misshapen marble?

  "All that tension you carry around with you is toxic," she replied with a coy smile. "You're just going to burst like a balloon one of these days if you don't let it out."

  Now, almost a year later, I'm running my fingers over the damn thing constantly. There's been an endless parade of things to worry about. Within the last year, my best friend Cleo was almost murdered by the psychotic ex-president of our MC, a vicious splinter group is trying to kill as many Spades as possible, and one of the few family members I have left was forced to go underground.

  There's no end to the shit life is slinging at me.

  I should be at home watching some garbage reality tv show to take my mind off things. Unlike Cleo or Holly, I don't have a man to strap to a bed for some good old-fashioned stress relief. The last boyfriend I had, Marcus, had been a disappointment in that department, and I was leery of jumping back on the horse, especially in fraught times like these.

  So I fell back on my usual modus operandi and sought to seek out a little peace by checking on the junkies and working girls I work with at the clinic. Our two newest, Dominique and Lily are just seventeen and unable to rent an apartment just yet. In a few months, Dominique can slap her name on a lease, and the pair can move in together. But for now, they're stuck with Mr. and Mrs. Connolly, a philanthropic pair that holds something of a devil's bargain with the Spades. They take in all our strays, no questions asked, and we offer them whatever they need in exchange.

  When I knocked on their peeling front door, I expected to be invited into their usual evening game of cards or Scrabble. Elderly Mr. Connolly often pretends to be the worst card player in existence to make the women he takes in feel right at home. I know for a fact he was a champion poker player in his youth. He's even smoked me in a few matches, gouging a couple hundred from my wallet when I made an ill-conceived wager with him.

  Instead, Mrs. Connolly tells me they haven't turned up since breakfast.

  Probably it's nothing to worry about. I've seen girls do this a thousand times before, especially those like Dominique and Lily, who are just getting used to living outside the harsh purview of a pimp. They'd been rescued not so long ago from the corner of town that’s dominated by the Hellions, the ugly splinter group that sprang from the Spades when our ex-president became their martyr. Now they're getting used to life without a reign of terror and realizing that they can make their own decisions.

  They're probably out turning tricks on Morley street, the hot spot for the sex trade in South Hollens. It's covered by awnings, so the girls and their johns stay relatively dry, despite the constant pour of rain around here. I can't blame them if they are. God knows that it pays better than the waitressing jobs that I've hooked them up with. Labor laws prevent them from working full time, and they make more in one night on their backs than they do in a week of working for the little cafe on 11th street.

  That's what I keep telling myself as I walk mechanically back to my bike, still rubbing the damn stone between my fingers. They're probably fine.

  But they still could be hurt. The Hellions don't give a shit who they attack, so long as they hurt the Spades somehow. I swallow hard against the pulse throbbing in my mouth. I'll go home once I'm assured they're safe.

  I jam my helmet on and peel out of the Connolly's driveway with an audible squeal.

  The streets of South Hollens are painted a dull, monochrome gray. It's late evening, and the sun disappeared hours ago. Hundreds of horny men will flock to Morley to get their rocks off tonight. There will be men working there too if I'm so inclined. But I don't think I'm desperate enough to pay for sex just yet. Ask me in another few months, and the answer might be different. A good fuck sounds like what I need to take my mind off of things. I'm jumping at shadows these days and need to unwind stat.

  I reach Morley street about ten minutes later. Business is in full swing, people discreetly pairing off beneath awnings and in alleyways. The cops that frequent this area are often the best clients the girls get, as hypocritical as it sounds. I see one escorting a mini-skirt clad brunette into the front of his cruiser as I approach. I pity the girls here their wardrobe. I see many skirts, tights, and halter tops. I'm clad in snug jeans and long-sleeves beneath my club jacket, and I'm still freezing.

  A quick scan of the area doesn't reveal Lily or Dominique among their number, but that doesn't mean jack. They could have found a client for the night and are sequestered in a home or the backseat of a car.

  I pull to a stop behind the police cruiser and cut my engine, hopping off as soon as I've secured the bike. I'm not worried about it being stolen. I don't plan to stick around long, and it would be a monumentally boneheaded decision to steal a bike from a Spade.

  Eva is leaning against a man's car window, pouring on the charm when I approach her. She straightens at once when I remove my helmet, disregarding her potential client in favor of turning to face my direction. Eva is easily the oldest among the working girls on the Spade side. She's tipping the scales close to forty but still looks damn good for her age. She's tall and attractively thin, with legs that look perfect for wrapping around a broad male waist. It's no wonder that she's still one of the most popular on Morley.

  Eva is the unofficial leader of the working girls. The Spades don't allow pimps to move onto our turf and hurt the girls. Still, nature abhors a vacuum, and a leader has to spring up somewhere. Eva looks after the younger girls and directs those with subs
tance abuse issues or who simply want out to Holly and me. She makes sure her girls get tested at least once a month. If anyone will know what's happened with Dominique and Lily, it's Eva.

  "Something's wrong," she says, making it a statement.

  "Have you seen Lily or Dominique?"

  Eva blanches, and I have my answer before she even opens her mouth.

  "You haven't seen them? I thought you sent them to the Connolly’s."

  "They're not there, and they're not at work. And they haven't been seen here?"

  "No. Not for a month or two at least. I thought they were flying straight."

  Acid churns in my stomach, and I draw out a pair of twenties, offering them to her. I might have cost her a client, so I don't want to leave her with nothing, even if she can't offer me much in return. Then I pace away from her, trying to hide my mounting fear.

  If my girls aren't here, it leaves only two options. They're dead or in enemy territory. I'm not sure which side will be worse for a working girl. The Hellions will beat them for escaping their clutches the first time. And the Calamity Kings...

  Well, I can't say for sure what the Kings will do anymore. Originally the Kings would have just swept them up and put them to work under a pimp. But if they have an inkling I've worked with these girls, it will be so much worse. Calamity Gardel has hated my family for as long as I can remember. His animosity has risen to new heights in the wake of Brooklyn's departure.

  I want to be angry with my brother Kase for getting involved with Calamity's daughter. But I can't. Sometimes we don't get to choose who we love. And it's clear that Kase loves Brooklyn beyond the bounds of sanity. I'm willing to take the backlash that entails up to a point. But not this. If the Kings hurt those girls because they had the misfortune to know me, I'll never forgive myself.

  I'm getting ahead of myself. I have one last ace to draw before I go leaping headfirst into outright panic. I've saved this favor for a while, waiting until I needed it. I pull out my phone and dial the number by memory.

  At first, no one picks up. I continue calling until a gruff, male voice snaps, "What the fuck do you want?"

  "Want to modulate your tone, Damon?" I say in a dangerous whisper. "I'm not above crossing the line to knock a few of your teeth loose."

  Damon Osbourne falls silent on the other end of the phone. Experience with me has taught him to keep a civil tongue in his head. Even now, when we're technically enemies and the fact I'm the sister of the Spades' president should mean nothing, he doesn't mouth off again. He's probably stroking the scar tissue that marks his left cheek, given to him courtesy of myself and the remains of a glass bottle during a bar fight. He knows better than to fuck with me by now.

  "I'm calling to collect my debt."

  Though I'd done my damndest to hurt him once upon a time, I'd also saved Damon's life. So although we hold very different allegiances these days, he still owes me one.

  Damon hisses out a breath on the other end of the phone. "You can't be fucking serious. Right now? I cross the line into Spade territory, and I'm dead."

  "You cross me, and you're dead. Same result," I shoot back. "But you can unpucker your asshole. I'm not asking you to cross the line. I need you to see if two working girls wandered into your territory. If they did send them back over to our side of town, and you can consider us even."

  There's a wary silence, and then he releases a weary laugh. "You just want me to check if we've collected a few of your whores? That's all you want?"

  "I want you to return them if they're in your area. And don't call them whores, Damon," I say, steel slipping into my tone. "Their names are Dominique and Lily."

  "Fine," he agrees amicably, much happier now that I've handed him an easy task. "Fine. Give me an hour, and I'll do a little digging. And we're square, even if they're not here. You have no idea what I'm risking just by talking to you."

  He hangs up without giving me a chance to respond.

  I spend the next hour waiting with Eva, watching girls come and go. No one is fucking stupid enough to proposition me, no matter how good I look. Maybe it's the Spade inked into my hand. Maybe it's my expression that suggests I'll cut them if they try. I'm itching for someone to start shit so I can pull out my brass knuckles and break jaws. Instead, I just wear circles into my worry stone like an impotent little shit as the minutes tick by.

  The phone barely has time to ring before I've pressed it to my ear and answered.

  "Well?"

  "They're not here," Damon says without preamble. "I checked with all the boys. We don't have any girls by those names on our side."

  My heart kicks into high gear. By process of elimination, that leaves only one other place they could be.

  "Thank you,” I force out, then hang up.

  Eva's worried face peers at me. She heard at least part of the exchange.

  "What now, Penny?" she asks.

  Now I was about to do something monumentally stupid.

  "Now I will bring them home," I tell her with far more confidence than I feel. "Wait for them on this side of the line, won't you?"

  "You can't," she gasps. "Penny, that's suicide! They wouldn't want that!"

  What Dominique and Lily want is a moot point if they're dead. I ignore her pleas for me to return and sling a leg over my bike. It's a short ride from Morley to the boundary line.

  I take a deep breath as I reach that boundary, then gun the throttle, racing right over it and into enemy territory.

  2

  Calamity

  Greer's shrieks echo through the warehouse and bounce back to us in a jumbled cacophony of syllables. He shudders and bucks violently but can't worm his way from beneath my foot. His knee gives way beneath the sledgehammer blows I rain down on him, and the screams reach an inhuman pitch. Fury rides me hard as I bring the weapon down again and again.

  Eventually, I pause, breathing hard as I prepare for another barrage with the hammer. The broken sobs that shake Greer stir no pity in me. He made his choice when he threw in with Dallas during that coup months back. And maybe if I had Dallas, the mastermind behind that plot, chained to a petal peg in this warehouse, I would have ended Greer quickly for his part in all of it. But Kase Cruz blew a hole out the back of Dallas' head, robbing me the chance of exacting my vengeance. Yet another thing that Cruz's family stole from me, I reflect bitterly.

  I cock my head to one side, peering over my shoulder at the diminutive figure perched on top of the packing crates nearby.

  "It almost looks like you're getting off on this," I remark dryly, meeting the eyes of the Hellions' newest representative.

  Avis Harding's smile is a sharp little thing. Copper waves have been pulled back away from her face in a short tail that gathers at the base of her neck. Her hazel eyes regard the broken figure on the floor with amusement. The overall impression she gives off is a vulpine temptress, clad in dark leather. Maybe Kolton thinks sending a woman to parley with me will increase his chances of securing the Kings as his allies.

  "I am," Avis admits with a little shrug. "I love it when I see a man get what's coming to him. Not sure how much longer this one will last, though."

  She gestures vaguely at Greer. He's in bad shape. There's barely a bone unbroken, and dark blood pools beneath his skin. She's right that he's on his way out. If I wanted to keep him alive, I could. I know how to draw this out over months if I have to. Years, if I'm careful. But Greer's a shabby stand-in for the people I want to kill, and I'm quickly losing interest in torturing him.

  Avis' thighs rub together, and she touches her top lip lightly with the tip of her tongue. She is getting turned on by this. It would take no effort at all to drag her to a pile of pallets and fuck her within earshot of Greer. I consider it for a nanosecond. Fucking and fighting are the only things that can distract me from my fury for more than a few minutes.

  But I'm not an imbecile. Fucking Avis Harding isn't worth what that act would cost.

  Kolton is hoping I'm rock stupid enough to thi
nk with my cock. That a pretty face and the pussy attached to the bearer will make me weak enough to be led around like an obedient pup on a leash. That perceived weakness led a quarter of the men in King territory to follow one of my lieutenants, Antony Dallas, in an attempted takeover. And it had ultimately cost me the one thing I still cared about most in the world.

  Thoughts of my daughter steel me once more, and I feel the pressing urgency to be inside Harding recede. It's fucking ridiculous to want her, anyway. If Kolton wants to appeal to me, he should send a spunky brunette instead.

  "End him if you like," I say, jerking a thumb at Greer. "I'm going to head back."

  Avis purses her lips, as though that wasn't what she wanted to hear. "I can't stick around long. Kolton will want your answer."

  "It hasn't changed from last time," I tell her, turning to walk away. Greer is trying to form a plea through a mouthful of blood. "Tell him I'm still thinking about it."

  Avis’ sigh trails behind me like the wind. "Fine. But he won't be happy."

  Like I give a damn what makes Kolton happy.

  I reach the doors and wrench them open just as Avis' shot cuts Greer's moans off.

  I still haven't decided an hour later.

  I don't for one second think the Hellions are sincere in their desire to share the territory once they've eliminated the Sleepless Spades. Things will quickly settle back into the way they've always been, with two warring factions toeing a boundary line that keeps the city from devolving into all-out anarchy.