Hard Reality (Notus Motorcycle Club Book 5)

by Debra Kayn

  She laughed softly. "What did Daren say when all his girly pictures disappeared?"

  Clara snorted. "That man wouldn't dare say anything. He loves her. I'm really happy for her. You know how at first, we thought he was only going to drag her down?"

  "Yeah, he was out of control. I think Vavoom's was the only bar in town that he hadn't been eighty-six'ed from, but he's really turned into a good guy. He'd do anything for Maureen which I love seeing."

  "Definitely," said Clara. "Maureen deserves to be happy."

  Gracie picked up her sister's hand and turned the ring Wayne had put on Clara's finger. They weren't married, but because it was Wayne, everyone knew their relationship was for life. "Have you been around Avi lately?"

  "Oh." Clara half turned, pulling her hand away. "She's pulling herself up on the furniture now and stands up in her crib."

  "No way." Joy filled Gracie. "She's growing so fast."

  "Nine months old."

  "Oh, my God. Lena must be beside herself." She sighed. "I wish I could see the baby."

  "Soon. You won't be stuck here for much longer." Clara wrapped her arm around her sister. "So, tell me. How are you doing?"

  "I’m fine." She sighed. "I thought when I agreed to stay here with Rich it would be for a week, not five weeks. I don't see an end in sight. He doesn't talk. I don't talk. Notus doesn't come over and interrogate Rich, and I get patted on the back by every member with a "good job, sweetheart" as motivation. Remind me when this is over that I suck as a life coach."

  Clara frowned at her. "I've been feeling weird, and I think it's coming from you."

  Being twins, experiencing each other's emotions and even pain, was something that had happened their whole lives. When Clara broke her leg when they were young, Gracie limped for two weeks for no reason. When she had an earache, it was Clara who ran the fever and felt the pain. During Gracie's abduction, Clara experienced the fear from the safety of the house.

  "I've had more anxiety." Gracie shrugged. "I keep telling myself it's normal, considering I have a stranger living in my house."

  "I wish Wayne wouldn't have asked you to stay here with Rich," whispered Clara. "He thinks he knows him but, how can he? I've told him, begged him, to take him out of here but he won't. I don't understand how he can do this to you."

  "Sis...don't." She leaned her head against Clara's and looked out to the street. "I don't want you having problems with Wayne because of me. I'm doing okay. It's not as bad as I had imagined...you know, having him here. It could be worse."

  "Then, why do I feel so helpless?" asked Clara. "That's coming from you, and I don't think it's because the days of not seeing you seem to get longer and longer, and before Rich's arrival, we've always been together. I hate it."

  "We talk on the phone every day." Gracie's chest squeezed. "We'll both be okay."

  "You're avoiding the subject."

  "And what would that be?" asked Gracie.

  "Rich." Clara raised her brows.

  Her idea to ignore Rich and bide her time in the house turned out to be impossible. To avoid him, she thought of where and what he was doing twenty-four/seven. Over the last three weeks—since she'd had Glen buy the chewing tobacco, her and Rich had talked every day. Usually, a sentence in the evenings after dinner—which they ate separately in different parts of the house.

  His question of the day revolved around the security at her house. Her question would be if he liked onions or if he wanted his laundry washed. The whole situation was strange.

  And, yet, she looked forward to that after dinner conversation. It was the closest thing to a relationship with the opposite sex that she'd had in four years. Every morning, she realized how pathetic it was to base her day around what to ask him.

  "He's quiet." Gracie chewed on her lip. "He's an alcoholic."

  "Can he drink in the house?"

  She shook her head. "According to Chuck, Rich hasn't had any alcohol for at least two months, since two weeks before I moved back to the house. Though I bought him chew."

  "What? Snuff?" Clara laughed. "Gross."

  "Seriously, I understood what he was going through going cold turkey. I think having something that used to bring him pleasure has helped him de-stress a little. He seems...I don't know, not as scary, I suppose." Gracie leaned closer. "He never talks about any of the Notus members."

  "God, that's sad. Rich is their life." Clara blew out her breath. "I'm almost glad that Wayne is busy with the missing person case. If he had extra time on his hands, it'd only make it worse. He's worried. I can see it, but he isn't talking about what's going on with the club. Not even to me."

  Her sister's commitment to Wayne was one of the closest, loving relationships she'd ever witnessed. Gracie linked her hand with Clara's. Her resolve to help the club only grew stronger. It wasn't only Rich's life that needed straightened out. The Notus members needed closure.

  She only hoped the resolution, when it came, would be one of contentment for everyone. She feared finding out more about Rich would only add more hurt to their lives, and nobody deserved that. They'd struggled, they'd fought to remain together, and they'd survived. She hoped they'd endure the coming days.

  Wayne walked out of the house. Clara hugged Gracie and stood. She scooted over, not ready to go inside.

  Wayne walked down the steps and turned to look at her. "Tomorrow night, there's a meeting at our house. You'll be going."

  "What?" She stood. "But, who is going to be here with Rich?"

  Wayne's mouth hardened. "He'll be coming. I'll pick you both up in the truck. Now, go inside. Stay inside."

  Clara shook her head, stopping Gracie from asking any more questions. While she remained curious to the purpose of going to Wayne's house and being relegated to the house, she wasn't going to miss out on the chance of going somewhere else for a few hours. She'd save talking until she was with her sister again when she could find out what was going on.

  "I guess I'll see you both tomorrow then," said Gracie looking at her sister. "Love you."

  "Love you, too." Clara leaned into Wayne and walked to the driveway.

  Gracie stepped into the house, expecting to find Rich in the living room. Looking in the kitchen and still not finding him, she checked the casserole in the oven and then headed for the stairs. A clatter came from the other side of the house. She tilted her head and caught a soft shuffling. Changing directions, she headed down the hallway and opened the door to the garage.

  Rich stood on the far side of the garage, his back to her, and fisted the hair at the back of his head. Even from a distance, she could feel the tension rolling off his body. The muscles on his arms bunched and his back expanded with each breath.

  The obvious pain spoke to her. She hugged her middle. There were times that she wasn't sure if she could make it through the night. Not even her sister's support and love could touch the complete desperation that lived inside of her. She'd never felt so alone. Being a twin, the feelings were alien to her and maybe because she'd always had Clara to soften the bad experiences growing up, her pain was more noticeable when she had to deal with the abduction and terrors at the hands of a serial killer by herself.

  "Rich?" She stayed safely by the door.

  His body stilled, and he lowered his arms. She wanted him to turn around in the worst way. He was always closed off. She'd tried to view any type of emotion from him —anger, frustration, calmness—many times since she'd moved back home.

  It was like he was dead inside.

  The only time she believed he let his emotions out was at night, in private, and the sounds coming from the guest bedroom wounded her. It was as if he fought with himself, or the demons in his head.

  Not wanting to bring attention to his behavior, she acted as if she failed to notice the struggle within him and said, "There's a casserole in the oven. Do you want me to dish some up for you?"

  She'd never asked him if he wanted to eat before. During the appropriate meal times, she'd fixed a plate for him
and left it on the counter. She only knew he'd eaten the food because she'd later find the plate in the sink.

  Rich turned around, combed his fingers through his bushy beard, and shrugged. "Do what you want."

  "It's not what..." She stopped because something about him reminded her of Chuck.

  Except, Chuck usually turned to teasing and flirting to stop a conversation. Or, he had before he met Erikka. The Notus men weren't talkers, especially about their feelings. Glen threw shade to deflect away from his emotions. Wayne got bossy. Thad shut his mouth and refused to talk.

  She wondered when the last time Rich let himself feel.

  "I'll make you a plate and leave it in the kitchen." She walked out of the garage before he could slip back to not talking to her.

  As she dished the servings of casserole onto two plates and added a few florets of broccoli on the side, she realized tomorrow evening would be the first time Rich would revisit Wayne's house since returning to St. John's. From what she'd heard, all five members grew up on the same street. Since Wayne resided in the house he grew up in, Rich had spent a lot of time there.

  Maybe he was stressing about visiting the past.

  She left his plate on the counter. Halfway up the stairs carrying her dinner, her phone rang. She reached into her pocket, read the screen to find out it was Wayne calling, and answered. "Hello?"

  "Are you inside?" said Wayne, skipping a greeting.

  "Yeah." She balanced the plate in her hand. "Why?"

  "Put Rich on the phone."

  "I...uh, he's in the garage." She wrinkled her nose, knowing how lame it was not to want to talk with Rich again.

  "Get him, Gracie."

  Setting her plate on the step, she walked back down the stairs and to the garage. Rich heard her enter because he turned toward her. She held out her arm, holding the phone. "Wayne wants to talk with you."

  "Carter, get on the fucking phone," yelled Wayne through the cell, loud enough Gracie looked up at Rich and their gazes connected.

  Rich grabbed the cell and turned his back to her. "Talk."

  The tension in Rich from earlier multiplied. Her breath came and went fast. Wanting to know what was going on, she stayed in the garage. Wayne rarely raised his voice. Not around Clara or the other members. She could hear the urgency in his voice when he'd called.

  "I don't—" Rich's body stiffened, and he looked over his shoulder at Gracie as if the conversation was about her. "She's not going to believe me."

  Rich's gaze narrowed and he looked away. "Okay."

  Gracie frowned. Somehow, she felt part of the one-sided conversation.

  "You convince her, and I'll take care of it." He walked away from her with the phone to his ear. "Then, you're going to fucking have to take my word that I can deal with it."

  A clatter outside interrupted her concentration. Her gaze jerked in the other direction. It almost seemed as if the noise hit the outside wall of the garage.

  "Gracie." Rich passed the phone to her. "Listen to him."

  "Something hit the back of the house." She pointed. "I don't have anything stored outside."

  Rich lifted her hand, forcing her to put the phone to her ear. "Talk to Wayne."

  She reached out and grabbed Rich with her free hand when he started to walk away. "Don't leave me."

  He nodded at the phone. She inhaled and held on to him, afraid to let him go. "Wayne?"

  "Gracie, you need to give Rich one of your pistols," said Wayne. "Do this for me. You can trust him."

  "No." She let go of Rich and stepped back.

  "Honey, give him the one in your purse. Then, go upstairs and get your pistol from the bedroom. Stay there. We'll be there in five minutes."

  "There's someone outside," she said, knowing the noise she heard had to do with Notus coming over.

  "Yes. Give Rich your weapon. Now," said Wayne. "I'm disconnecting."

  She lowered her arm, looked at Rich, and slipped her hand inside the purse hanging from her side. Her fingers weakened as she wrapped them around the handle of her pistol.

  It took everything in her to hand over her security. Rich wasted no time, tucking the gun under his belt. Then, he planted his hand on her lower back and ushered her into the house. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped.

  "Go upstairs and lock yourself in the bedroom." His gaze hardened. "Get away from me where it's safe."

  She barely recognized the man in front of her. Her body shook, and she ran up the steps using her hand on the railing to pull herself faster. Wayne promised no harm would come to her if she returned home and stayed with Rich.

  This wasn't supposed to happen.

  Chapter 11

  Rich walked out the front of Gracie's house and locked the door behind him. The call from Wayne pushed him into action. He wasn't going to sit inside and let a Komoon member gain access to the house.

  If it were only him, he'd sit and wait. But, Gracie deserved no part of what was going down, and Notus had no responsibility for the crime he'd committed against Komoon.

  Under cover of darkness, he kept to the shadows of the house. Working his way to the backyard, he stopped before stepping out into the common ground and scanned the backyard neighbor's house. All the lights were out. If the neighbors held to their regular schedule, he had an hour before they arrived home.

  He needed to finish the job before Notus members arrived. He gave himself five minutes and moved forward. Careful of each step, he sensed someone, not behind Gracie's house, but standing behind the neighbors to the left. From his position, he couldn't tell if it was man or bush. It was only the feeling of awareness.

  He'd rode under the Komoon patch for over twenty years. They'd found him when he'd hit rock bottom on his own.

  Later, he learned he could fall even further.

  Not wanting to make the Komoon member aware of his presence, he walked backward, keeping to the side of the house, and darted around the corner. He passed through the front yard, crossed the driveway, and dodged between the privacy shrubbery. On the neighbor's property, he crept to the backyard.

  Unlike Gracie's bare backyard, he had landscaping, a deck railing, barbecue, and a dog kennel to use to hide his approach as he inched closer.

  Ten feet from the corner of the house, using the deck to shield him, the back of the Komoon's MC vest came into view. The large size and long hair told him who he dealt with.

  Cross.

  He'd rode, partied, and stripped bikes with Cross. For ten years, he'd had the bedroom next to Cross at the clubhouse. He knew everything that went up and down within the club, and because he'd seen MC brothers lose their life over a simple argument, he never slept without locking his door at night.

  The pistol warming his back a constant reminder to keep his head. He stared into Cross's back. He only took the gun because he wouldn't let Cross hurt Gracie.

  His plan included taking Cross by surprise. No noise from the gun to alert the neighborhood. No added crime to add to his burden of guilt. No failure.

  Rich grabbed onto the railing. The wood on the newer deck never budged. He sprang over the panel and crouched, watching Cross's body through the slats for any sign of him being aware of his presence.

  Confident that he could lunge before Cross pulled a weapon, Rich stood ready to act at the same time a low engine rumble caught the Komoon member's attention.

  Rich ducked back down out of sight.

  Cross moved stealthily across the yard and ran down the center of the shared backyards, veering three houses away out of sight. Rich stood, frustrated at the arrival of Notus Motorcycle Club.

  He'd had a chance to buy more time to try and save his ass. The interruption only prolonged the ordeal.

  He walked back to Gracie's house. Chuck, Glen, Thad, and Wayne stood in front of the door. Without missing a step, he approached the house. His boot hit the top step, and Chuck's fist came flying forward. The impact on his chin drove him backward, and he stepped down into thin air. The split second befo
re he landed flat on his back on the ground, he realized he should've seen that coming.

  Every bit of oxygen smacked out of his lungs, a guttural groan tore from his throat. He rolled to his hands and knees, forcing his lungs to constrict. With his first breath, his face throbbed.

  "Motherfucker," he mumbled.

  It wasn't his choice to come back. He'd planned to spend the rest of his life away from the four people standing over him wanting to beat the shit out of him. Somehow, Komoon changed his plans without his knowledge. The question of how he'd ended up in St. John's with his motorcycle and no memory of riding seven hours across the state of Oregon remained unanswered.

  Cross probably watched Chuck sucker punch him and enjoyed the little show of ass kicking. He pushed to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness.

  "We've given you time to sober up and talk." Wayne crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his armpits. "You've put Gracie in danger. Time's up."

  "Give me my bike, and I'll get out of here. They want me, not her." He rubbed his hand over his beard. His jaw ached like a bitch.

  "I should bury you for scaring Gracie." Chuck moved forward, and Thad planted his hand in the middle of his chest, stopping him.

  Scaring Gracie? Hell, he'd purposely kept Komoon's presence from her. He'd stayed awake through the nights and guarded the house around the clock without letting her know that there was a chance that one bullet could take him out. If it hadn't been for Wayne calling and ordering Gracie to give him the gun and go upstairs, she would've remained clueless about the situation.

  "Do what you've got to do," he said.

  "Like you?" Chuck pushed Thad out of his way. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  Thad rebounded and stepped in front of Chuck. "Give him a chance to talk."

  "He ain't going to talk." Glen spit on the grass. "He's lost his damn head."

  "Everyone, shut the fuck up." Wayne gaze intensified on Rich. "Who do you ride for?"

  The healed tattoo on his calf blacking out his Notus MC emblem that matched the others no longer itched, reminding him of what Komoon Motorcycle Club had stolen from him. Because deep in the night, it hadn't mattered the crimes he'd committed wearing the Komoon patch on his vest. He belonged to Notus—heart and soul. He always had, and he planned to die knowing who he rode for.