Threat: A Blood Riders MC Novel (Book 1)

by Tia Lewis

  “It’s okay, Drake. I’m fine. Don’t start any trouble, all right?” I swung one leg over the end of the bike, walking away with Tommy. He waited until we got to his car to turn on me.

  “What the fuck, Nicole! What the hell are you doing?” He managed to keep his voice to a whisper and stay very still as he berated me. Good thing. Drake would have noticed if he flipped out.

  “Tommy—let me explain.”

  “Look at you.” He looked me up and down. “You don’t dress like this. What’s really going on?”

  “Lower your voice. I know exactly what I’m doing, okay?”

  “And what the hell would that be?”

  “Come on, Tommy. You know what, or you wouldn’t have mentioned my father.” We both went silent, staring at each other.

  “Nicole.” He shook his head, pacing back and forth.

  “What?”

  “Do you realize you could get yourself killed? This is not a game.” I saw a lot of worry in his eyes, in the lines on his forehead as he frowned. “I promised your father I would take care of you, and what do I find? You on the back of Drake Collins’s bike. I almost got sideswiped when I made the turn to follow you. I couldn’t believe what was I seeing.”

  “That’s why you stopped him?”

  “Of course, it is. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, except riding around with my friend’s daughter. Jesus Christ, kid. I can’t believe this.” He ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, letting out a big gust of air.

  “I’m going to find out what happened, okay? And I’ll be safe. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Nicole, you don’t understand. You’re getting yourself into some deep shit.”

  “Just hear me out, okay? Drake likes me. I’m getting closer to him, so he’ll tell me what he knows. He would never tell you, Tommy. I’m the only one who can find out the truth.”

  “I know that,” he said. “But you have to be careful with this one. You think you’re getting closer to Drake, and he cares about you? He’ll stab you in the back so fast, you won’t know what to think. He’ll do anything to protect himself and his Blood Riders. He doesn’t care about you.”

  “Tommy—”

  “Please, Nicole. Trust me on this one. The Blood Riders have no heart, and there’s no ‘befriending’ them in hopes of getting information. They’ll sniff you out so fast, and once they find out you’re a spy, then what?”

  “Tommy!” I repeated.

  “Then what, Nicole? You can’t call me because it’ll be too late. Who knows what they’ll do to you once they see you’re a rat.”

  I nodded. “I got it. I understand. I’ll be careful and do everything I can, okay? I have to do this for me and my sanity. That was my father who got fucking killed—”

  “Nicole.”

  “I have to do this, and that’s the end of it. So, in the meantime, I think I should get back to him before he gets suspicious.”

  Tommy took a minute to think it over, he nodded. I looked at him once more, trying to tell him how much his concern meant to me but failing. All I could do was turn around and return to Drake.

  “Hey, what happened back there? What did that pig want?” I cringed a little at Drake’s choice of words but tried not to let it show.

  “Nothing. He wanted to know if I knew anything about that cop. Whatever. Like I would know anything. He didn’t think you were telling the truth.”

  “So he tried to get it outta you. That piece of shit. I liked the other cop a lot more than I like him. At least the other one was a decent guy.” Was he talking about my father? I clasped my hands around his waist and leaned my cheek against his back, struggling to hold back the tears. He knew my father. And he liked him. Oh, Dad. What happened?

  I didn’t say another word until we got back to the Clubhouse, my head in a haze. I couldn’t help but wonder if Drake was telling the truth, and he didn’t know what happened to my father. I needed to ask him somehow, but I didn’t know what to say. How could I approach the topic without making it sound like I was fishing for information and blow my cover?

  I waited until I dropped my backpack off in his room. He followed me there and closed the door. He must have thought we were going to go for round…three? Four? I’d already lost count. I was hardly in the mood, however, and I let him know through the look in my eyes. I didn’t try to hide my concern.

  “What is it? What’s going on?” He asked. “Are you still all shook up because that pig stopped us?” Again with the word ‘pig.’ I did what I could to hide my gut reaction. I wanted to claw his fucking eyes out.

  “A little. He said something about his friend getting murdered, like, a couple of weeks ago. He said he thought you guys had something to do with it because the cop was on your case. He asked me if I knew about it.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I didn’t know, of course. I said I only just hooked up with you guys, and I didn’t hear anything about it around town. He told me you were dangerous, and I should watch my back.” I looked down at the bed, my fingers playing over the surface of the black bedspread.

  “I can’t stand fucking pigs, man.” He clenched his fists.

  “Drake?” I softly whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” Drake asked.

  “Did you—” I paused. “Did you kill a cop?”

  “What? Jesus Christ!” He punched a hole in the wall, making me jolt off the bed away from him. I didn’t know he would show his temper like that, and it made my blood run cold.

  “Stop!” I screamed.

  He roared, and I could see his body turn crimson red with rage.

  “Don’t ever do that again! Please!” I demanded, my voice small. I didn’t have to pretend to be afraid.

  “I can’t believe you would ask me that question.”

  “I didn’t know. I swear!”

  “I thought … well, I mean, you don’t really know me yet, but I figured you knew me better than that. I thought you knew I wasn’t the kind of person who would kill a fucking cop. How stupid do you think I am?”

  So it was a matter of stupidity, not morals. Good to know. I sat back down on the bed while I regained my composure.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean just you, either. Did somebody in the Club do it? I mean, I don’t know if I can be a part of something like that. A club that kills cops. Like, isn’t there a line you’re not supposed to ever cross?”

  He snickered. “Ha! Who told you that old line?” I averted my eyes. I hated him at that moment, more than I had ever hated him or any member of the Club up to that point.

  “No one. I was just asking.”

  He softened. I heard him sigh, and when he sat beside me, his posture told me all the fight had gone out of him.

  “Look, Bree. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Hell, I think I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve ever apologized to, for any reason.” Did you apologize to your stepfather when you almost beat him to death, Drake?

  “I feel special,” I smirked.

  “You should. And to answer your question, yeah, you’re right. There’s a line we shouldn’t cross. That detective back there … He hated us, you know? He was always trying to get a case on us, and that was why he couldn’t stand us—because he couldn’t get to the core. He worked for years to put something together, but we kept slipping outta his fingers. But you know what? There was still a sort of respect there. I always thought so, anyway.”

  “I see,” I replied.

  I hate to burst your bubble, babe. Then again, maybe he was right. My father had a sort of grudging respect for the kind of loyalty men like Drake inspired in the people who worked for them. He admired the so-called brotherhood among the men, the way they would lay down their lives for each other.

  “And you know what?” Drake asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “When we found out the guy Tommy was talking about died, it sucked. Like, i
t really affected all of us. I mean that.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to trust him. I needed to. Why? Why did it matter?

  He nodded. “Oh, sure. He wasn’t a bad guy. Just doing his job, like we do our job. He couldn’t help what he needed to do. It was his assignment. And he always played fair with us. That was something else I liked about him. He wasn’t one of those crooked, dirty guys who tries to plant evidence or makes things out to be bigger than they are. You know? The cops who exaggerate and try to say we beat them up or threatened them. He was a good guy, an honest cop. It sucked when he died. It really did.”

  Uncontrollable tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop them. “What’s wrong?” he asked, brushing them away. I thought fast, trying to come up with an excuse.

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s obviously something that has you crying.”

  “It just makes me think of my dad,” I whispered. I couldn’t help it.

  “Your dad? Your stepdad?”

  “No, my real dad. He didn’t run off. He was murdered. It’s hard for me to talk about, so I just say he left.” I allowed myself to cry. It was okay as long as I was crying for somebody else, an imaginary person, while I actually wept for my father. Even the outlaws respected him.

  “Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gentle. “You wanna talk about it?”

  I did. I honestly did. I just couldn’t tell the truth. “It was a hold-up. My dad was on a job interview in Brooklyn, and it was late by the time he got out. Winter, so it was cold and dark. He stopped off to get something to eat, or so they told us after. And two guys tried to rob him. Maybe he put up a fight, I don’t know. They shot him and left him there, and that was that. We never found out who did it.”

  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Bree.”

  “And the worst part is … I don’t know. I mean, did that detective have a family? You know? Maybe they feel the same way I do about my dad. So, that’s what I was thinking. That’s all.”

  He put an arm around me, and I did everything I could to not flinch. I didn’t know if I could believe him when he said he didn’t know what happened to my father. Why would he tell me the truth? He wanted me to like him, right? He had to know I wouldn’t like him if he told me the truth. And damn, with my story, what were the odds that he ever would? Shit, I shouldn’t have made up that story. Would I ever stop messing up?

  I was so tired all of a sudden, though it could have been a lack of sleep and food that did it. I leaned back on the bed, my head hitting the pillow. He joined me. I let him put an arm around my waist—it was comforting, even if I still thought he was a liar.

  14

  Drake

  Bree fell asleep, and I waited a while before I left her. I wanted to be close to her, to touch her and hear her whisper my name, but it wasn’t the right time. She was too broken up. It would be an asshole thing to do.

  Instead of that, I left my bedroom and closed the door as quietly as I could. I had to talk to Jack about this cop situation. Maybe there was something we had missed. Maybe he knew something about the way the guy died that I didn’t know. We had never really talked about it, which bothered me—usually, we would have talked about it more, but Jack was so damned secretive anymore.

  I knocked on this closed office door. It took a second for Jack to call out. “Who is it?” he asked. He sounded weaker than usual. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth—it hurt, hearing him like that.

  “Hey, it’s me,” I responded.

  “Oh, come in, Drake.” He probably would have turned anybody else away. I could understand why when I saw him. He looked like fucking hell, a strange shade of green. I closed the door fast, before rushing to him.

  “Yo, Jack! What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you sick?”

  “I’m very ill, son, but you already knew that. No need to act surprised.” He grinned a little, then pulled the trashcan up to his face to throw up into it.

  “When were you gonna tell me you already started radiation, you fucking idiot?” I leaned against the windowsill, shaking my head. I could have killed him. “Why can’t you just tell me the truth? You trust me, right?”

  “Tell you what, Drake? That I’m dying?”

  “Jack. This is a big change from what you told me yesterday. Your appearance—”

  He shrugged. “Yesterday I felt a little more optimistic. Today? Not so much.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you started already?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “So walking in here and finding you puking up your guts wasn’t supposed to worry me?”

  “I didn’t think it would make me throw up. It doesn’t always.” He put the trashcan on the floor, letting out a heavy sigh. “Jesus, I feel like hell, kid.”

  “You look it, too. No offense.”

  “You’re an asshole. No offense.”

  “I already knew that.” He grinned a little.

  “You think this is bad? You shoulda been in the bathroom with me just a little while ago.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Please. Save me the surprise for later.” We could joke about it all we wanted, but the fact was, Jack was a very sick man. It wasn’t easy to see. “Why don’t you go lie down? Or go the hell home? I mean, come on, you’re sick. You should be in bed and not at the Club.”

  “No.” It came out as a stubborn growl, like the Jack I used to know until not long before that.

  “Okay, okay. At least get on the couch. Lie down there. Nobody has to know.” I emptied his trash can into the toilet—at least it had been empty before then, without any other garbage in it—and rinsed it, then gave it back to him. I brought him a glass of warm water, too.

  “Thanks.” He drank, then rested again. “Damn, this is kicking my ass. Literally.”

  “Enough with the jokes.” I pulled up a chair beside him, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I had a girl in my bedroom I didn’t know how I felt about, and a dying man in front of me. I hoped he would pull out of it—I knew chemo and radiation were no joke, but people did recover when treatment started soon enough. At the moment, though, it was a little too much to handle.

  “Why did you come in, anyway? What did you need?”

  I’d forgotten about it. “Oh, I wanted to talk to you about that detective who got killed a couple of weeks ago.”

  “What about it?”

  “Eh, it’s not a big deal, it can wait. You should rest.”

  “No, it’s okay. I gotta talk about something or else I’ll go crazy and think about how shitty I feel. Nobody needs that.” He ran a hand over his sweaty forehead. “The cop who got killed. What, that detective who was always on our ass?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “What about him?”

  “One of his buddies stopped me on my bike earlier. What’s his name, Tommy something.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. He was asking me questions. And he pulled Bree off the bike to ask her questions, too, like she knew something. Of course, she doesn’t. But I was wondering if there was anything about that situation you didn’t tell me.”

  “Why wouldn’t I tell you?”

  “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t you tell me you started radiation already?” He looked away, and I shook my head.

  “Come on, Drake.” He scowled.

  “Jack, listen. I don’t ask for much. I have to ask you, to be honest with me. You’ve gotta. I mean, if I’m gonna step into your shoes—years from now—I gotta know what’s gonna come back and bite me in the ass one day. It’s already nibbling. Cops are already stopping me on the street to find out if I know anything. I mean, it makes sense. He was all over us. But I didn’t think any of us had anything to do with it.”

  “We didn’t,” Jack insisted. “I’m telling you the truth on this. We didn’t have shit to do with it.”

  “Why do they keep asking if we do, then? I mean, isn’t that enough? Don’t they have
any other leads besides us?”

  Jack sighed. I knew that sigh. There was something he hadn’t told me, the son of a bitch. He rested a shaky hand on his chest. I waited with clenched teeth, holding myself back. I wasn’t the most patient person, but I had to try.

  “Drake.” He exhaled.

  “I’m listening.”

  “The bullet they pulled from that cop, matched a bullet used in one of our jobs. The whaddya call it, the forensics team, they found that out.”

  “What?”

  “Listen.” He paused. “It came out of the warehouse where Lance and the others got killed. They pulled it from the walls or something. I don’t know. But the bottom line is the bullets matched up.”

  “To one of our guns?”

  “So they say.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense. It could have been somebody else’s gun. It could’ve been one of the Cobra’s guns.”

  “Negative. They used semi-automatic rifles. Our guys don’t.”

  “So just because the bullet in the cop matched one of the bullets from the warehouse, they think it was one of us?”

  “Wouldn’t you? They’re just cops, not God. They don’t know. I can’t blame ‘em—for a minute there, I thought maybe they’re right, maybe one of our guys pulled it. But it doesn’t make any damned sense because none of them would’ve had our guns after our guys died. The cops confiscated them.”

  “Right, of course. But then …” I replied in deep thought.

  “What if one of the Cobras took one of the guns? I know. I thought that, too.”

  I stood, my head spinning. “Of course! Damn it, I wish you would have told me about this.”

  “I’m sorry, kid. I wanted to, but it was a lot to take in. I mean, I got my diagnosis around that time, too. I sort of had a lot on my mind.”

  “But that’s what I’m here for, Jack. I’m supposed to help you with shit like that, you know? You deal with you. You focus on getting better. I’ll figure everything else out.”

  He looked at me, his eyes watery and a little sunken. He still had a green tinge to his skin. “You think you can manage it? Especially when you’ve got your head all fucked up with that girl of yours?”