BAD BOY ROMANCE: DIESEL: Contemporary Bad Boy Biker MC Romance (Box Set) (New Adult Sports Romance Short Stories Boxset)

by Parker, Kylee

  Sinclair dropped her eyes. “No, I’m smarter than that. I should have seen through what he was doing.”

  “Many a woman has said that in hindsight.”

  Sinclair raised her eyes, and it pained Niall to see tears welled in them. It made the green deeper, harsher than the normal bottle green.

  “I was so lonely! I was so tired of being lonely!” A fat tear escaped and rolled swiftly down her cheek.

  Niall drew his eyebrows together and wiped the tear away. He didn’t want to see her this way. He never wanted to hear her say she was lonely ever again.

  “Don’t cry.” His words filled the space around her softly. “Please, don’t cry.”

  “I guess it’s stupid to cry.”

  Niall leaned forward instinctively. “No, not stupid; just painful.”

  Sinclair’s eyes widened slightly. “Painful for you?”

  “Yes.” It was barely a whisper.

  Sinclair remembered several times she had cried in front of Joseph, most of the times he had caused it himself, and never once did he feel pain from it.

  Niall ran his tongue over his lower lip, gently placing a hand at the base of her neck and pulling her to him. The kiss was not a moment of passion, the instantaneous and uncontrollable type of kiss they had shared before. As their lips met it was tender and meant to heal not arouse.

  Sinclair regretted it as Niall pulled away from her and the heat of where his hand had been vanished.

  “I don’t want you to ever feel that way again.”

  Sinclair chuckled dryly. “For someone like me it’s inevitable.” Her attempt at the self-deprecating humor fell on deaf ears. Niall stared at her intently before standing and walking from the room.

  Niall watched Sinclair sleep on the couch of the sitting room. Her mouth was open slightly and every now and then her lips twitched a small smile. He hoped she was dreaming of him.

  He turned back to the open balcony doors with a scowl. He had let her get to him. She was under his skin so deep he was losing sight of the job at hand. He may very well have to turn her over to the authorities once they were back in Florida, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he could do it. She had been through enough.

  His eyes narrowed and he ground down on his teeth as he thought about the pain Joseph Overman had caused her. She deserved so much better. She was funny and bright and beautiful. It was rare to get that combination in a woman. Niall was reminded once again of American culture: she may have been all those things and more, but she was overweight, and unfortunately that dictated her worth, not only to others but to herself as well.

  Maybe I can change that for her.

  Even with the task at hand, Niall was happy with the way Sinclair’s face lit up as they stepped from their hotel front doors and onto the already crowded Bourbon Street. Different types of music wafted from various establishments up and down the street and the aroma of food mingled with laughter and voices buoyed Niall as well. Sinclair looked at him and giggled.

  “This will be a fun night.”

  “I think so.” He smiled, and took her hand.

  She glanced at their hands, and back up to Niall’s face. She couldn’t explain what was happening between them, and she doubted it would last, but for the moment she chose to enjoy it. She squeezed his hand slightly as they started down the street.

  The first choice was a tiny bar where blues music was quietly heard from the door, but once inside, they soon had scanned the entire place and moved on to the next.

  “Let’s eat.” Niall said, leaning in to her ear.

  “Aren’t we on a mission here?”

  “Yes, but…we need to eat.”

  Sinclair nodded. She was beginning to feel like this was more of a date than a quest to find Joseph.

  They chose a brightly lit restaurant with only a small crowd present inside. Niall asked for a table towards the back so he could monitor who came in and out the front door.

  “So, tell me about yourself.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What’s your favorite music?”

  Sinclair smiled. “I love music in general. I’m a big fan of rock, but I like a lot of other kinds too.”

  “Contemporary, or classic rock?”

  “Both. And you?”

  “I don’t listen to a lot of music.”

  “Why?” Sinclair tilted her head to the side and supported it on her hand.

  “Just busy, and when I go home at night, I just want the quiet.”

  “Quiet in Palm Beach? Now that’s a funny joke.”

  “There’s a few places that are quiet there.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, go down to the beach sometimes alone at night just to hear the waves.”

  “Me too!” Sinclair’s head lifted abruptly from her hand. “I love the water, don’t get me wrong, but I often just want a different environment.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’ll think it’s dumb!” She laughed. “You’ll think I’m crazy to want to give up the water for it.”

  “Try me.”

  “I would like to be high in the mountains. I wouldn’t even care if it snowed ten months of the year.”

  Mountains.

  “Yeah, me too.” Niall smiled. “When I finish this last job, my hopes are to either go home, or go to the mountains somewhere.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “India.”

  Sinclair’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s very cool.”

  “Yes and no. Some parts of India are beautiful, but much of it is poor and run down.”

  “When did you come to the United States? You don’t really have an accent.”

  “I was seven. My mother and father met while my mother was there on a missionary trip. She tired of it quickly.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “My father is back in India. My mother lives near the Rockies.”

  “Nice. I’m sorry they’re divorced.”

  Niall shook his head. “They aren’t. He comes to visit once a year, and she goes there once a year as well. It’s better for them this way.”

  Sinclair looked at him curiously. “If I loved someone, I wouldn’t want to be apart form them.”

  “Me either.” He replied quietly.

  Niall and Sinclair ceased their conversation as the food arrived. Niall would never admit it out loud, but had been surprised when Sinclair had ordered a grilled chicken salad.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “You mean one with a little more kick?”

  Niall smiled. “Yes.”

  “Sure. But I want something exotic and memorable.”

  Niall flagged the waitress down. She returned, her face showing the pinched signs of feeling busy and over worked.

  “Do you have a specialty drink?”

  “We have the Bayou Blast and the Voodoo Temptation.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Bayou Blast has vodka and peach schnapps in Margarita mix, and the Voodoo Temptation has coconut rum, spiced rum, and whiskey.”

  “Well?” Niall looked to Sinclair.

  “Voodoo Temptation.” She grinned wickedly.

  “Two of those.” Niall shook his head as the waitress disappeared. “Not sure that was a good idea.”

  “Why?” Sinclair laughed. “Because we are entangled in a Voodoo mystery of our own?”

  “Exactly.”

  Niall and Sinclair left the restaurant at seven and by nine were well on their way to a real bar crawl down Bourbon Street. Niall had liked the way the Voodoo Temptation had softened the edge of what they were really out there doing, and the way it had flushed Sinclair’s face and made her eyes bright. He wanted it to continue.

  “Where’s we gonna go now?” Sinclair asked and twirled in front of Niall on the sidewalk.

  He laughed and took her hand. “Maybe we should head back to the hotel. I think we’re both getting hammered.”

  “No! No, not true.” She shook her head furiously. />
  “Right.” His eyes were bright as he watched the transformation unfold. She was carefree for a moment. Did he really want to spoil it? As it turned out, he didn’t have to.

  Niall scanned the opposite street trying to determine their next stop. A man with his arm draped across a woman’s shoulders walked casually, his head angled towards hers in conversation. His light hair and lanky frame was familiar. Niall instantly sobered. He took Sinclair by the upper arm and roughly pulled her into the shadows, earning only a cursory glance from a few passersby.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Look.” Niall pointed across the street as the man and his dark skinned woman with braids passed on the opposite side.

  “Oh God…”

  “Come on.” Niall took her firmly by the hand. They crossed the street, waving at the cars which slowed to allow them to pass.

  “We can’t let them get out of sight, but I don’t want to risk them seeing us…not Joseph anyway.”

  The side of the street they were on didn’t have as many people, and Niall often applied pressure to Sinclair’s hand and slowed their steps. The night was cool, cool for Louisiana, but Niall was feeling sticky and disjointed. Something felt wrong. Joseph Overman didn’t look over his shoulder, but he often looked from one side to the other. The motion was slow and innocuous, but Niall sensed tension.

  Joseph slid his arm off of his woman’s shoulder and they entered a tiny bar at the corner of one of the many streets which intersected Bourbon. Niall waited, counted to five, and entered as well.

  The bar was dirty, and out of place, the wooden floors were in good need of a sweeping, the walls nicotine stained and peeling. Eight sets of eyes were instantly on them, and Niall knew without a doubt that he had been set up. The air in the little place charged and his skin prickled.

  The bartender, a woman of indeterminable age with oily hair of an indeterminable color, stared at him with flat eyes. Her hand stilled over the rag she had been wiping the bar with. The small tables, seven in total, had a spattering of people sitting at them. Niall tightened his grip on Sinclair’s hand. He swept his eyes over the silent staring people again as a voice came from the shadows in the back.

  “It’s a shock to see you, Sinclair.” Joseph stepped from the back, his woman remaining partially enclosed in the shadows.

  Sinclair squared her shoulders. “We need to talk, Joseph.”

  He shook his head and smiled coldly. “Nothing to talk about.”

  “Ya’ll ordering, or just standing around gawking.” The gravel voice of the woman irritated Niall instantly. He jerked a chair from under the only empty table.

  “Two Bud Lights.”

  The woman shrugged and grabbed two bottles from a cooler with a sliding top. The tops came off the beer with a hiss, and she set them on the counter with a clatter.

  Niall handed one to Sinclair and sat down, keeping his eyes on Joseph. Joseph whispered to his woman before approaching their table without her. He swung a chair around backwards and straddled it, yelling to the bar tender for the same that they were drinking. His smile was tight.

  “You don’t mind buying me a beer, right? Since you both are so intent on talking to me.”

  “Look,” Niall began, relaxing slightly as the other patrons lost interest and began ignoring them. “You have unfinished business in Florida. Finish it, then you can go on with your life.”

  Joseph turned his attention to Sinclair. “So, what are you doing here? Couldn’t live without me?”

  Sinclair raised her eyes from the table top and glared at him. “I don’t need you, Joseph, but I do need my name cleared in all of this.”

  “You should have never told the cops what you told them. That’s on you.” He took a long pull from the bottle the bartender set in front of him.

  “I did it for you.” She whispered. “I did it, because I thought you loved me.”

  “That was also on you.” He tilted the bottle at her.

  Niall wanted to grab the back of his neck and crack his forehead on the table.

  “We aren’t here to discuss your failed attempt at a relationship with her. We need to discuss the item you’re carrying around, and Enrique Arrays.”

  Joseph’s face turned to stone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Sinclair’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you can explain how your son ended up with a mark on the back of his neck then. Want to talk about that?”

  Joseph’s face remained unreadable, but there was a flatness which entered his eyes, and Sinclair knew he was attempting to block all emotion out.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He repeated.

  Sinclair leaned forward and hissed. “We met Carla! We met your son!”

  He shrugged. “So? He’s none of your business.”

  “How can you leave him out there with your Grandmother? What if something happened to her?”

  Joseph licked his lips. “I have that under control.”

  Niall shook his head. The conversation was going nowhere. “The stone. Where is it?”

  “Safe.”

  “I need it. You can either hand it over willingly, or not, but make no mistake I will have it.” Niall also leaned towards him. “And you, for that matter.”

  Joseph laughed. “Sure.” He snapped his fingers once, and the room became a flurry of movement.

  Sinclair sucked in her breath as the barrel of a gun touched her temple the same time one touched Niall’s. The black woman with braids slinked behind Joseph and ran her slim hands along his shoulders. Joseph smiled smugly.

  “Enjoy New Orleans, Sinclair, but I suggest you just go home.”

  Niall raised his hands slowly as he rose from the chair. Sinclair mimicked his movement, with the barrels following them. Niall reached for Sinclair’s hand and began moving cautiously toward the door. He glanced at Joseph. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  “Sure.” Joseph laughed. “Sure you will.”

  The night air felt like a cocoon as they stepped outside. The effects of the alcohol was long spent, and Sinclair was left feeling nauseous.

  “I’ve never had a gun to my head before.” She said shakily.

  “It was a bluff. It was a tool used to make us leave.”

  Sinclair let go of his hand and leaned into a wall. “He snapped his fingers and…” Her eyes were wide and confused.

  “Yeah. I saw. It’s an interesting twist in this story, that’s for sure.” Niall ran his hand down her arm. Her skin felt oddly cold considering the heat and humidity of the evening. “Let me take you back to the hotel.”

  Sinclair shook her head and straightened. “And lose our chance of following him? No way!”

  “We found him once. We can find him again.”

  Sinclair eyed him steadily. “No.”

  “Alright.” Niall nodded his reluctant acquiescence. “Then we better position ourselves a little better.”

  Claude Monroe was a busy man. He owned a restaurant bar with several pool tables. He had even been conceited enough to call it Monroe’s. He had a loving wife and a gaggle of grandchildren. He was respected within the French Quarter. He was also one of the top Voodoo Priests for New Orleans. Yes, he was a busy man; and feeling his age in his hips and feet.

  Claude wasn’t surprised to find the door of Angela’s unlocked on a Tuesday at eleven o’clock. The nature of her second business meant that she needed to keep odd hours. He was surprised, however to find that no one greeted him as he made his way through the shadowy interior of her antiques shop.

  He hesitated at the foot of the first stairs. There was a presence up there. He hoped it was only Angela. He called a quiet uncharacteristic “hello” up the stairs before forcing his stiff legs into action. Once he got to it, the winding staircase would be a bitch.

  Claude kept his eyes upward as he made the spiral advance to the attic. The soft glow of candlelight flickered and moved as if someone walked past the flames, or breathed to close to them. He bit his
tongue to stop himself from calling out again. When he reached the top step, he stopped, disconcerted by Angela’s still presence staring at him.

  “Hello, Claude. I thought I might be seeing you tonight.”

  “Angela.” He said flatly, allowing his eyes to make a quick sweep of the room. She appeared to be alone, but with Angela appearances were deceiving. As satisfied as he could be, he moved a cautious foot towards her.

  “We need to talk, I think.”

  “You think?” Her laugh was light and airy, but caused Claude to feel a tick in his chest. “Yes, I guess we do.”

  Claude watched her move gracefully to the long counter and lean against it. Her light colored dress almost swept the floor; its hem cut in odd wispy angles.

  “There’s another shifter in town. I know he and the girl have been here.”

  “Yes, twice actually. They want the stone and Joseph Overman.” She clucked her tongue. “I warned you about him.”

  “Yeah, you did, but he has something I want.”

  “Which he has failed to give you.” Angela tilted her head to the side. “Why is that?”

  Claude narrowed his eyes. “He brought it here; why didn’t you buy it?”

  Angela’s demure façade vanished. “Because it’s potently dangerous.”

  Claude laughed with true amusement. “I didn’t realize there was anything too dangerous for you.”

  Angela walked behind the counter and lifted a small vial from among the hidden contents. “Do you know what this is?”

  Claude came closer and picked the tiny bottle up. Enough air space was left within to allow the powder inside to move. His mustache twitched.

  “Looks like powder.”

  Angela lifted on side of her mouth. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? Mix the contents of this with three drops of an undead’s blood and you have a concoction so powerful it will create a real zombie, not the parlor trick ones you raise up in the swamp.”

  At a different time in his life Claude would have been offended by her words. He did many powerful and incredible things, but there was the other side of Voudon that wasn’t so incredible. A man had to make a living! But at the end of the day a man was all he was. Sometimes it was necessary to take a few measly fist clenched dollars from some crying female. Sometimes it was necessary to chant and shake a feathered rattle over a heaving oiled chest; knowing the whole time that crying woman’s loved one was going to die anyway. He shook the thoughts out of his head.