Hard Rider (A Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance)

by Wild, Nikki

  “Something wrong, Stoggins?” the Captain asked, his mustache bristling at the intrusion.

  “We just got a call, Cap, and I think Gunner’s gonna wanna be on this one.”

  Cap snorted like a bull about to charge. He hated being interrupted. Hated cryptic shit like what Stoggins said even more. “The hell are you talking about?”

  “It’s your house, Gunner,” Tom said, turning to me. “There was a 9-1-1 call just a few minutes ago.”

  My stomach went cold and I froze in place. My thoughts drifted right to the worst possible scenarios—Tanya lying dead on the living room floor, some freak in a drama mask standing over her with a knife. My house in flames.

  “Let’s go,” I said. When I moved, I didn’t think about it. I was action man again, muscle memory taking over. The exact same thing that let us charge into burning buildings without ever thinking about the consequences.

  I was still on autopilot as I geared up and climbed into the cab of the fire engine. My pulse pounded like a war drum in my ears and the siren wailed as we pulled out of the garage, a symphony I’d heard a thousand times before, but now it was different. Personal.

  Loss wasn’t really my thing. I tended to book it before I could get attached. I’d learned that from a shitty father—drink it away, or get away. But now, with Tanya, I had no choice. I had to wade right into the thick of it. For once, I had to stick around and see how it all turned out.

  I started preparing myself for the worst.

  Chapter 12

  Tanya

  I knew the second I saw the house that something was wrong.

  I was on the phone with Chelsea, walking back to Gunner’s from the bus stop. I’d just finished a mini shopping spree at the mall. I wanted to get there early enough so’s I wouldn’t be getting home after dark. Gunner lived in a nice enough part of town, but considering some psycho had the hots for me and was on the loose, I wanted the sun beating down on me at all times. I wasn’t gonna make it easy for him.

  Besides, I was on my own carrying bags full of new clothes and holding a brand new cell phone to my ear. No way I was gonna chance it.

  “You’re serious?” she asked me. I could almost see her wide, doe-like eyes through the phone. “Jesus, Tanya. You think it’s the guy with the mask?”

  “That’s my best bet,” I told her, plodding along the sidewalk. It was an older neighborhood and I had to be careful of cracks and raised tree roots. “It makes the most sense, at least. I can’t think of anyone else who’d go through the trouble.”

  “What about Craig?” she asked, and I cringed. If I never heard that name again, it would be too soon. “He was always kinda nutty, huh?”

  “Craig was infatuated, Chel. Not obsessed.” He was an old ex of mine, some fan from my days at the Dollhouse. I was just nineteen when I met him, and he was forty-six. I guess I thought back then that having an older guy interested in me meant I was hot shit. I didn’t realize until later that all the perverts go for the chicks with daddy issues.

  “Besides,” I continued, “Craig’s been out of the picture for years. Why would he show back up now?”

  “That’s true,” Chelsea admitted with a sigh. “I don’t get it, sweets. You got all the bad luck.”

  I smiled a little. That was one hell of an understatement. But I knew Chelsea had seen her fair share of bullshit, too.

  “Well, both our moms are dead,” I pointed out. “Maybe this is just the shitty part of the movie right before we become Disney princesses.”

  Chelsea laughed at that, a shrill chortle that nearly blew out the speaker in my phone. When she came back down to earth, she said, “I love you, sweets. Just be safe, huh?”

  “I will,” I’d promised her.

  So when I got to Gunner’s driveway and saw his house—when I knew something was wrong—it took me a long time to build up the courage to figure out what it was.

  It’s hard to say, even now, how I knew. Even from the outside, I could tell something was just... wrong about the whole thing. Jax wasn’t where I’d left him this morning, either—out front by his dog house, safe and sound behind the chain-link fence. And I didn’t hear him bark when I got to the stoop.

  I put my hand on the knob. “Jax?” I called out. “Here, boy...”

  Nothing. Silence.

  I let go of the doorknob to grab my key, but when I did, the door just swung open. It was already unlocked. And I was sure I hadn't left it that way.

  I set my bags down on the stoop and dialed 9-1-1. Most people only ever have to call once or twice in their whole lives, but for me, it was becoming a habit.

  “9-1-1, state your emergency.”

  I peered through the open door. “I think someone’s in my house.”

  “Okay, ma’am,” the dispatcher said in this stoic way that made what was happening to me seem even creepier. “Are you alone?”

  “Yeah. And it’s my brother’s house. Not mine. 4288 Camptown Drive. Yellow with a teal door. You can’t miss it...”

  Stupidly, I crossed the threshold into the house. When I did, the silence around me was deafening. Thick, like it held actual weight that pressed down on me like a vise slowly, slowly clamping shut.

  I glanced around. Everything seemed the same. And yet not the same. Somehow, I knew that everything around me had been violated.

  The dispatcher’s voice startled me. “Where’s your brother, ma’am?”

  “At work,” I whispered. “He’s a firefighter.”

  “Are you in the house?”

  I was moving down the hall. I couldn’t stop myself. Something was pulling me forward. Urging me on.

  “Yes,” I told her.

  The dispatcher said, “Can you get out?”

  “The dog,” I answered. The door to Gunner’s room was open. I had to look inside. “I can’t find the dog...”

  “Ma’am, the police are on their way. If you can get out of your house...”

  Gunner’s room looked normal. Or normal as far as I knew, anyway. There were some clothes on the floor. A wrinkled, unmade bed. But nothing out of the ordinary, except for one conspicuously open drawer.

  I knew better than to touch anything that could be a crime scene. I backed out my stepbrother’s room and turned toward my own. That door wasn’t open.

  That door could have someone behind it.

  Someone who was in my room. Waiting for me. Breathing, just on the other side of that door.

  Wearing that awful mask...

  “Ma’am? Are you still there?”

  “I think...” I paused to swallow. My mouth was so dry. “I think he’s in my room.”

  The operator was telling me to run. To get the hell out. Solid advice, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t move.

  Except to reach out toward the door. The one that might have held my death behind it. The one I should have, under no circumstances, tried to open.

  But I did. As if in a dream, or guided by some unseen force, I thwarted my own will and used the back of my wrist to open my bedroom door.

  “Jesus,” I gasped. “Oh, fuck.”

  My room was trashed. I hadn’t owned much, but the furniture and bed I’d been using were strewn across the floor. The TV was broken, fragments of the screen scattered right in my path. The dresser was overturned, drawers pulled out, its flimsy back panel in splinters.

  As I surveyed the damage, I saw my mattress had been stripped, as well. And hanging over the wall in front of me was the top sheet, covering up something beneath it. Something that smelled.

  “He left something for me,” I said into the phone.

  But as I reached up to pull down the sheet, I saw it. Right at the top, there was a glass container with what looked like powder in it.

  That was when I’d finally listened to the dispatcher and left the room, wishing I knew where the fuck Jax was.

  Almost an hour later, I was standing in that room again, but this time there were cops everywhere. They’d called in the big guns—bomb squad, fo
r starters. The CSI team was there too, ready to start dusting for fingerprints once the other guys were done with the scene.

  Gunner was beside me. He’d raced home as soon as he’d heard. It was because of him we were even let back in here at all. He wanted to know what was under that sheet. I did, too, but I guessed firemen had a bit more pull than strippers did.

  “We’ll analyze the material in the vial and get back to you,” one of the officers was saying, “But I think I have an idea of what it is, based off this painting.”

  Gunner shook his head in wonder. “Christ. It’s a fuckin’ mural.”

  They were talking about what they’d found under the sheet, which was a massive, hastily-drawn scene, a collection of frantic strokes made in a hundred shades of red. There was a naked woman sitting on top of a man or beast, something with way too many heads, while little humans writhed and stretched before her.

  I touched the side of my neck. The woman in the picture had a tattoo just like mine. In fact, it was mine.

  “That’s the Whore of Babylon,” the officer said. “Mother of Prostitutes and Abominations of the Earth.” When he caught me staring, he shrugged. “I was an altar boy.”

  “Great,” I muttered. “She’s got my tattoo.”

  Gunner looked at me, then back at the painting. His hands were clenched into stark-white fists at his sides. “So this guy’s got a hard-on for you,” he gritted. “We gotta get you out of here, baby. Before he does something worse.”

  I turned to the cop. “What do you think was in the vial?”

  “Flash powder,” he said matter-of-factly. “If I had to guess, whatever your guy drew the mural with is flammable. Bomb squad says there’s a little device in there rigged to spark on impact. If you’d pulled that sheet down, the glass would’ve broke and the powder would’ve ignited. Boom! Wall goes up in flames.”

  I shook my head, staring at the portrait with seven heads that all looked like Gunner’s.

  The cop said, “Did he take anything?”

  “A picture,” Gunner told him. “From my room.”

  The cop raised his brows. “Picture of what?”

  “Her.” My stepbrother jerked his head toward me. “When she was a kid. Before I left home.”

  For just a moment, Gunner’s eyes met mine, and I could see the sadness there behind them. Maybe he really had never stopped thinking about me. For all the good it did.

  But still, knowing he’d kept my picture around, that he hadn’t just forgotten me...

  Slowly, the officer nodded. “Anything else?”

  “I didn’t bring much with me,” I said. “When my apartment burned down...” My eyes widened and I turned to Gunner. “Did you tell them? About the brick?”

  “I did,” he assured me. “They’re taking it into evidence.”

  “Gotta say I agree with your brother on this one,” the officer said, tucking his thumbs into his belt. “This guy’s goin’ for the throat. You should get out of town. Lay low for a while.”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m staying here. I can’t let this bastard win. And besides, the way things are, I wouldn’t feel safe on my own.”

  “Then I’ll go with you,” Gunner said, taking me by my shoulders. His touch was so warm, so gentle. My overstimulated nerve endings faded into a mere fizzle. “You’re not gonna go through this alone, baby. Not anymore. I’m here.”

  “You’re a firefighter, Gunner,” I reminded him, desperately trying to steel my resolve. “I can’t ask you to give up your job. To just walk away...”

  But Gunner gripped me tighter. “You’re not. I’ve got vacation saved up… Besides, that’s a choice I’m making on my own. A choice I’ve made before.” His lips flattened into a grim, pale line and his eyes blazed. “Last time, I hurt you. This time, I’m gonna make sure I save you. I don’t care what it takes.”

  Part of me wanted to pull away and tell him I didn’t need to be saved. That was the kid inside who remembered all the hurt his absence had brought me, all the wounds he had inflicted on my soul. And a grown-up part, too, who remembered a tender kiss that my stepbrother didn’t even want to acknowledge, let alone talk about.

  How could I trust somebody like that to take care of me? I was better off saving myself.

  But I also knew he’d pulled me out of a fire once already. And some other part of me knew he could do it again, if only I’d let him.

  Feebly, I asked him, “What about Jax?”

  Gunner brushed both thumbs over my collarbone. “He’s fine. Well... not fine.” His eyes darkened. “Asshole put something in his food bowl. A sedative. Probably not lethal.”

  It was the probably that bothered me the most. “Where’d they find him?”

  “In his doghouse, dead asleep.”

  I closed my eyes. “Just... tell me he’s gonna be okay, Gunner.”

  My stepbrother enveloped me in his arms. “He’s at the vet’s now.”

  That really wasn’t the same thing as telling me Jax was okay, but it was a start. I sighed and pressed my forehead to Gunner’s thickly-muscled chest, still worrying my fingers across my tattoo.

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Gunner murmured in my ear. He wove his hand through my curls the way he’d done the night we kissed. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll save you.”

  I breathed him in, trying to ignore the fact that whatever Gunner said, he and I were running again. Maybe neither of us really knew how to stand and fight.

  ---THE FLAME---

  I watched the comedy of errors unfold from across the street, standing in plain view yet knowing that nobody would see me.

  That was nothing new. Nobody had ever seen me. I was invisible. Inconsequential. In their minds they were gods, and I was just an ant. I didn’t even show up on their radar.

  They were stupid. Pitiful. Monstrosities of ignorance and clay. I was beautiful, the Lucifer to their clumsy gods. I was rebellion and forbidden knowledge. I was fire and brimstone.

  I’d been hoping she would be just as clumsy as all the rest, that she’d pull down that sheet without even thinking and set her stepbrother’s house ablaze. I’d gotten hard just thinking about the flames and their colors, the smoke billowing toward the sky, blacking out the sun. A solar eclipse of my very own making. Yes, that would have done nicely.

  I’d wanted to touch myself, but shame had gotten the better of me. I remembered the lessons I’d been taught. The sermons. I didn’t believe in them really, but I was Pavlov’s dog, taught to recoil in terror at the mere idea of bodily pleasure, what my mother had always referred to as sin.

  Sin was what had brought me into her life. Sin was what drove our family apart. Sin was what I’d paid for in spades and what had left me with a collection of very deep scars.

  Sometimes at night, just before I drifted off to sleep, I could feel them aching. Phantom pains from a time when I’d been weak and cowardly. Memories of when I was a child.

  The more I stood and watched that house, waiting for it to burn, the more those demons boiled beneath my skin. They wanted out. They wanted the flames just as badly as I did. And when they didn’t come, I felt more than a little disappointed.

  I felt rage.

  Rage, because sometime between then and now, this whore had gotten smart. Rage, because she wasn’t supposed to do that. She wasn’t supposed to evolve.

  She wasn’t even supposed to be alive!

  I seethed when the bomb squad showed up. I stewed in my frustration when that stepbrother of hers swooped in, coming to her rescue. Again, I realized. He was coming to her rescue again.

  First the apartment fire. Now this. He was ruining everything for me. Ruining all my plans.

  Guys like him always did. He was the strong, mouthy type. Arrogant. Cocky. Muscular and ruggedly handsome. Shrewd, in his own verminous way. He might even prove a bigger enemy than his stepsister would. He’d be the thorn in my paw that determined how well I could strike.

  I didn’t like being hindered. And I didn’t like
being fucked with. Not when I’d made such careful, beautiful plans.

  If any of that was going to come to fruition, I was going to have to be a little smarter about this. A little sneakier. A little more persistent.

  I decided right then and there that when she died, I was going to stick around and watch. There’d be no saving her next time.

  Chapter 13

  Gunner

  “I don’t think I’ve ever actually stayed in a hotel before,” Tanya said, looking up at the tower as we drove to the covered entry way. Waiting for us was a sharply-dressed valet—not the stoner high school drop-out one usually pictures working that kind of gig.

  “How have you never been in a hotel?” I asked her, eyebrow raised.

  “Well, when your legal guardian is a raging alcoholic who blows all his all his money on cheap whiskey, some things need to be sacrificed.”

  I sighed, shaking my head. As long as I lived, Tanya would never let me forget what I’d done to her. Nor would she understand that I did way worse to myself.

  I stopped and the valet came around to my side as I opened the door. He gave the broken back window one quick glance before nodding as I handed over my keys. He probably felt the same pain I did whenever he saw that window. I still couldn’t understand how anyone could do that to a classic—the pinnacle of American engineering.

  Burning down a building was one thing. But fuckin’ up a Mustang? Man, fuck this guy.

  “Let’s get inside,” Tanya said, tugging on my shirt. When she clenched the fabric in her fingers, I had the sudden image of her pulling it off me. My abs shuddered and she bit her lip. Fuck. She’d noticed.

  Wordlessly, we made our way past the front doors. They glided open, smooth and silent, like they were just an illusion and not really there at all. This whole place had that kind of ethereal vibe to it. I’d never brought a girl here, myself. It always seemed too much. Like maybe I’d given them the wrong idea.

  But with Tanya, I wanted her to feel safe. Even special.

  “Good evening, sir,” the concierge said with a practiced smile as I approached. Tanya was only a little farther behind. “Checking in?”