Hard Rider (A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance)

by Wild, Nikki

  I turned around and his eyes almost bugged out of his head. “Shit. You weren’t supposed to be up yet...”

  Gunner didn’t say anything. He just looked me up and down, scouring the curves of my body with the heat of his gaze. I hadn’t been able to salvage a damn thing from my apartment fire, so I’d found an old shirt of his in the guest room closet last night and worn that to bed. And, since I didn’t have any panties, either, I’d thrown those in the wash.

  So I was standing in my stepbrother’s kitchen, wearing a ratty button-down and no underwear. The hem of the shirt barely covered my ass. I pressed my thighs together, knowing he couldn’t see anything… Hoping, at least…

  Awkwardly, I gestured to the still-cooking food. “Surprise?”

  “I’ll say,” he murmured. That tone was back in his voice again. That thick, husky, tell-tale sound. He was horny. Probably had been since last night. And the way I was dressed was just making matters worse, maybe for the both of us.

  Because when Gunner looked at me like that, it lit a flame somewhere deep inside. This time when I pressed my thighs together, I didn’t do it to conceal myself. I did it to stop the tide of lust from dripping down my legs.

  “Sit,” I told him. “I’ll make you a plate.”

  He looked at the clock on the stove. “I don’t have much time, Tanya.”

  “It’s just bacon and eggs. Nothing fancy.” I shut off the gas to the burners and laid out the bacon onto one of his paper plates. “Give it a minute. It’s hot, and the paper should absorb some of that grease.”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Gunner sat down and I put the plate in front of him. As he stared at it, I heard his stomach growl. I smiled. Well, at least what he saw gave him an appetite.

  But when his gaze flicked over my hard nipples, it made me wonder just what I’d given him an appetite for.

  “How about a fuck?” he asked.

  My jaw dropped. All the blood in my body rushed to my face. “Wh-what?”

  Gunner blinked. “Uh, well, you didn’t give me a fork, so I thought...” He shrugged. “Unless you want to see a grown man eat an egg with his hands.”

  “Oh!” I laughed, shrill and hysterical. He probably thought I was insane. “Yeah. Sure. Um.” I pulled out three different drawers before I found the one with the utensils in it. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks,” he said, plucking the fork from my fingers. He stabbed at his eggs, then dipped his bacon into the yolk. “How are you feeling after last night?”

  I pulled my hair over my shoulder, nervously weaving a braid in it. “Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Me either,” Gunner admitted. A little stream of yolk ran down his chin, and I suddenly felt the urge to lick it off him. I pursed my lips to resist the call. “You think he’ll be back?”

  It was my turn to blink. “Uh... who?”

  Gunner stared at me. “Your stalker. That’s who.”

  “Oh, jeez.” I put on my best attempt at a smile. “I thought you were talking about our kiss.”

  My stepbrother stiffened. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he also looked ashamed. My face fell as I realized that he was ashamed, even embarrassed by what we’d done.

  Maybe I should have been, too. But all night long I’d thought about that kiss. About the way his lips had felt against mine. And how right all of it had seemed, despite everything I knew to the contrary. Despite what anyone else would have said about the matter.

  “I gotta go,” Gunner said, dropping his fork onto his plate. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Your food...”

  He shook his head. “Sorry sis... I’m already runnin’ late.”

  “Just...” I searched for a reason—any reason—to stall. “Uh, about that brick...”

  Gunner stopped. “What about it?”

  “You noticed it had burn marks all over it. Right?”

  “No, I...” He turned, looking at the thing, which was still sitting on his kitchen counter. When he looked back at me, his eyes were fierce. Wild. “Hold on, baby. Are you telling me that brick came from your apartment building?”

  I swallowed hard. I’d been thinking it, sure. Hell, I knew it was true. But hearing those words spoken out loud made my stomach drop to my feet. Somehow, hearing Gunner say it made it real.

  “I think so,” I whispered.

  “Shit.” He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. Then he kicked over the trash can, barked an apology, picked it up, and went after the chair instead.

  “Sorry,” he said again, picking that up, too. He covered his mouth with his hand, muffling another word I couldn’t understand, but was probably four letters long.

  “We gotta tell someone,” he said at last. “Gotta tell ‘em what happened. What this guy did. Shit, baby, if that fire wasn’t an accident...”

  He trailed off, and I let him. I was thinking about the bars on my window. The ones that had somehow gotten sealed shut. I’d blamed it on my landlord. Figured it was just Vinnie ignoring one kind of safety to satisfy another. But what if it wasn’t that at all? What if this guy, whoever he was, had been the one to weld those bars in place?

  I didn’t realize I was shaking until Gunner came over to me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Tanya. Hey. Look at me.”

  His voice was so soft. So reassuring. I looked into his eyes and dammit, I just wanted to let all this pain, this worry, this terror melt away. But I had to hold onto it, because letting it go meant letting my guard drop. And I wasn’t about to be that stupid. Not ever again. Not around Gunner fucking Cole.

  I pulled away. “We can’t tell them, Gun. What if they start asking questions? What if they wanna know what we did to piss this guy off?”

  “Then we lie,” Gunner answered, reminding me that to him, lying his ass off was nothing at all. “We tell ‘em a half-truth. I came to pick you up from the club. Dude likes to watch you, got pissed I ruined his evening. Anything else, we chalk up to him being a psycho.” He frowned. “The hell’s that mean, anyway? The part about smiles...”

  “He’s a lunatic,” I muttered. “Chances are even he doesn’t know what it means.”

  We stood there for a while, neither of us really looking at each other. For all his Gunner, Man of Action bravado, my stepbrother sure didn’t have a whole lot to say when it came down to it. Go to the cops. Try to get a TRO. Yeah, right. Like the police issue—or enforce—those. They don’t lift a fucking finger until some jack-off like this guy puts a girl in the fucking hospital.

  Of course, my stepbrother wouldn’t know that, being a guy. They don’t think about shit like that. Guy goes out with a girl, he worries about being laughed at or goin’ home alone. Girl goes out with a guy? She’s worried about him killing her.

  It’s true. Just turn on the fucking news.

  “What’m I supposed to do until you get back?” I asked him. “I’m practically the perfect victim.”

  Gunner fished his wallet from his back pocket. Then he pulled out a card and handed it to me. “So don’t be here. Go to the mall. Use this to get yourself some new clothes and things. Necessities, baby,” he added. “I’m not made of money. I still gotta get by a fireman’s salary, you know.”

  Slowly, I took the card from his hand. My heart sank. Guys were always paying me off somehow. Maybe it was with drinks or dinner. Or shoving dollars into my G-string. To them, my company was always transactional. Just another service they could pay for, like heat or water or cable-fucking-TV.

  So why the hell had I expected better from him?

  “Got it,” I told him, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”

  He took one long, last look at my body just barely covered by one of his shirts. Then my stepbrother turned and walked out of the room, leaving me and his credit card behind.

  “There’s a key in the outside lantern,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to lock up.”

  I sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. M
y life was in shambles. I had a stalker who was hell-bent on seeing that it stayed that way—or worse, flat-out killing me. After last night, I probably didn’t have a job.

  And on top of all those very important things, the things I should have been worried about, I was way more concerned with the fact that Gunner didn’t want to talk about last night. He didn’t even want to acknowledge it had happened. He wanted to erase that memory, to let everything I’d felt, everything I was starting to feel, disappear into a void of silence.

  This was just one more secret he would keep. One more lie he’d tell. Did any of his friends know I existed? Did any of them know where he’d come from? What he’d done?

  Was our entire relationship based on a series of cold and calculating lies, plus an overwhelming desire to just forget?

  I let the bacon and eggs cool on the stovetop. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore.

  Chapter 11

  Gunner

  I didn’t like the thought of leaving Tanya after what had happened the night before. With that psycho on the loose, I felt like I needed to be watching over my stepsister 24/7 in case he decided to make another house call.

  But my professional life had other plans.

  The firehouse seemed a little less than boisterous when I walked in through the garage. Normally I could hear the boys from a few yards off in the dining room talking about the latest game, but not today. It almost felt like I was walking in on someone’s funeral.

  I found Stoggins up in the kitchen cleaning up what must have been a big breakfast for the rest of the firefighters.

  “Everyone already gone out?” I asked, looking around at the practically deserted common area.

  “Yeah,” Stoggins said, hanging a heavy steel pot up to dry. “Probably nothing major, but they asked for a bunch of us. Got enough guys here to man the other engine if something else comes up.”

  “I’m surprised I’m not getting a damn earful from the Captain about the other day.’

  Stoggins let out a laugh as he turned the faucet off, looking at me over his shoulder. “You had us talking about that for a while, but Garfield wouldn’t say what you two got into that had you so mad—he said it wasn’t for him to say.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. ”It’s not something I really want to talk about right now.”

  “It must be pretty bad if you won’t even talk about it with me.”

  “You could say that,” I offered, letting the weight of everything that had happened settle into my thoughts. “When I’ve got it all sorted out, I’ll make sure to tell you everything.”

  Maybe not everything, I thought.

  “Works for me,” Stoggins said with a shrug. “Not like I need to hear you go on and on about your problems. I’ve got my own shit to worry about.”

  “Real sensitive of you,” I muttered, shaking my head. As I turned to go make sure my equipment was all in order I saw the captain pass by the door.

  Before I could even speak, he waved me over, an odd expression on his face.

  “Gunner, I’m going to need you in my office for a moment,” he said, his face setting into a deep frown.

  “Listen, Cap, if this is about the girl—”

  “It’s not. This problem’s way more serious, Cole. Just please, get into my office and have a seat. I’ll be in there in a minute.”

  I frowned, a strange tightness starting to creep into my chest as I gave the captain a silent nod. Something was up, something the Cap didn’t want to talk about in the hallway. Maybe he’d decided to take action against me after I punched Garfield the other day.

  His office was empty save for a red folder set squarely in the center of his desk. I didn’t like the look of it. Something about how out of place it seemed just put me on edge.

  I sat in one of the two chairs in front of the captain’s desk, my hands set awkwardly on the arm rests as I waited for him to return.

  It didn’t take him long, and behind him came a tall, bald-headed black guy I’d seen a few times before, but couldn’t remember from where. My mind jumped automatically to the thought that this man might have been some kind of HR rep from the city, or something, here to talk to me about the plentiful accounts of unprofessional conduct I’d perpetrated on multiple occasions.

  Unfortunately, the truth ended up being much more grim.

  “Gunner, this is Lieutenant Frasier,” the captain said. “He’s with the arson unit, and he wanted to ask you a few questions.” Then he delicately maneuvered his belly around the edges of his desk and flopped into his ratty, worn-out swivel chair.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What the hell does the arson squad need from me?” The fire investigative unit was where all the police transfers headed when a few cops decided their jobs were a little too tough for them. Cops and the firemen didn’t get along—in a sort-of-friendly-but-not-really kind of way—and having some cops hanging around pretending to be firemen never sat too well with me.

  “It’s actually your sister we needed to speak to, but the number we have on file isn’t in service any longer,” Frasier said, sitting down in the chair next to mine. “I heard from the captain that she was staying with you and wanted to set up an interview whenever she’s available.”

  “An interview to find out what, exactly? You think the fire at her apartment was intentional?” If my suspicions—and hers—were true, then it was. But something about the way Frasier said it made my hackles raise. The fuck was he thinking, wanting to question my baby sister?

  Cool it, Gun. Let’s be a professional. Shit, Tanya had me thinking all kinds of things, feeling all kinds of things—all of which were driving me nuts.

  “We just wanted to see if she had maybe witnessed anything before the fire. Or if her landlord was in any kind of trouble that she knew of.”

  “So it was arson,” I mused, clenching the arm of the chair. My mind immediately flashed to Tanya’s stalker, the way he’d broken my Mustang’s window and the scorched brick sitting on my counter back home.

  “That’s what our investigation is pointing to, yes,” the lieutenant affirmed. “We found evidence of an accelerant at a few points around the building. It was sloppy—maybe a crime of passion, or maybe he’s just new to burning shit down on this kind of scale—but he’s done his homework. There was a hole busted through the dry-wall near the building’s laundry facility and a few gas-soaked rags shoved inside. Once he lit those rags, the walls went up in no time.”

  Firefighters like me don’t usually spend a whole lot of time contemplating the why and how of the calls we respond to. For us, it’s a lot simpler than that. Is it on fire? Okay, then how to we put it out?

  We don’t think a lot about the specifics. About the victims. Yeah, sure, we think about them when we’re saving them. And we think about them in this sort of abstract way—every guy fantasizes about pulling grateful citizens out of a burning building. But we don’t think about the little things. The details. Because honestly? That’s what makes it real.

  And to do this job, you gotta keep a certain distance. Have a certain amount of clarity. See the forest, but not the trees. You gotta look at the big picture. Fire: bad. Girls: pretty.

  So knowing how this fucking psycho had done it—knowing what parts of the building had gone up in flames first—it let my well-informed imagination run wild.

  Fuck. All those people...

  “You have a suspect?” I asked, hoping that maybe they already had someone—someone who didn’t know my sister—who looked good for the crime. If Tanya’s stalker was the kind of guy who’d set an entire building on fire, then I didn’t want to think of the lengths he’d go to in order to get to her now.

  Never should’ve left her. Not even at the mall. I’m a fucking idiot. I’m so fucking stupid. Just because I didn’t want to talk about a stupid fucking kiss...

  The lieutenant shrugged. “The usual. Landlord, a few disgruntled tenants. Nothing solid just yet.”

  “I might have a lead for you, then,” I said, taking a deep
breath.

  “Go ahead.”

  “My sister has a stalker,” I began, staring into the space between the captain’s desk and myself. Even talking about this brought to mind the horrible things that happened that night. “A violent one.”

  Frasier leaned forward. “And you think that he could have set the fire? Do you have any evidence?”

  “I brought my sister home from work and my car was broken into. I came outside and found my back window smashed in with a brick. When I brought it inside, I saw that it had scorch marks on it. There was a note, too. A message for my sister. It was weird shit, man. Like... Criminal Minds-level crazy.”

  “I see,” the lieutenant said, taking out a notepad and jotting a few things down as I spoke. “And you just learned of this person last night?”

  “Yes,” I said, flexing my hands anxiously. “My sister and I had been estranged until the fire.”

  “Do you know the name of her stalker?”

  “No, he’s stayed fairly anonymous. Like stalkers tend to do. Look, like I said, I’ve only just been made aware that this guy even existed.”

  “Has your sister filed any police report on the matter?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She never mentioned it, just told me that he accosted her at work. I think that his message and the brick have been the first time he’s communicated since then.”

  “Then we’ll definitely need to have that talk with your sister, Mr. Cole.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, rubbing my hand over my face as my thoughts raced. “I’ll make sure she’s available to talk to you. Mind if I grab your number so we can set something up?”

  “Absolutely,” he said, scribbling what I could only assume was his work number down on his notepad and tearing the page out. “If she can get back to me as soon as possible, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing,” I said. “Is that all you needed?”

  “That should be everything,” Frasier answered as I began to stand.

  No sooner had I reached for the door then it flew open. Stoggins was standing square in the doorway, his eyes wild, face twisted and pale.