by Gemma Weir
Barging in here this morning with all of my metaphoric guns blazing probably didn’t help, but at the time I had no idea these people had become my sister’s pseudo-family, and that we wouldn’t be on a plane to start our new lives by now. Blowing out an agitated breath, I step to the side of the building and dial Trish’s number.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Trish, it’s Nikki. I’m sorry to call you so late, but could you arrange for me to see two of those properties you sent over?”
“Don’t worry about it, Nikki. I’m still in the office anyway. Which properties did you want to see?”
“The Cape Cod house on Lake.”
“Oh yes, that one is gorgeous. It’s also empty, and I’m sure the owner would be happy to rent it to you until the sale was complete. Which was the other one?”
My heart stutters in my chest and I have to force the words out of my mouth. “The bank foreclosure, off Maple.” My parents’ house, I think, but don’t say aloud.
“Perfect, right let me check the schedule. Okay, I can show you the house on Lake in the morning, say 10am, but I don’t have the keys for the other one. I’ll have to go pick them up from the bank. I can meet you there about 3pm if that works?”
“Yes, that’s fine,” I say, my mind swirling.
“Fantastic, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay, bye,” I say, and end the call. Lowering the phone from my ear, I cradle it against my chest. What did I just do? Why did I arrange to look at my parents’ house? I know what it looks like. I know what it feels like. I’ve lived the evil that festers within the walls of that place, so why did I just agree—no, ask—to go spend time there?
“What are you doing, Duchess?”
I can feel the swirling menace of a meltdown ready to implode within me, but his voice drags me from the brink and forces me back to the present. Spinning in the dusk light, I spot Blade hidden within the shadow of the building doors. His face is half-masked but his expression is imperious.
“I asked you a question,” he growls, stepping closer to me.
“Err, I was on the phone to my realtor.”
“I heard. But that’s not what I meant. What are you doing arranging to see your parents’ house?”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I snap, forcing my cell into my pocket and stomping back into the bar.
His fingers wrap around my upper arm, stopping me. “Tell me why you left? What happened to make you leave her there?”
“No.” I shout, ripping my arm from his grip.
“Duchess.” his voice is a warning, but I don’t heed it.
“No, no, no.” I shout. Spinning on my heel, I walk away from the club, rushing toward my car, parked on the other side of the lot. My heart beats a frantic staccato in my chest and my vision starts to blur, but I ignore it all, focusing solely on getting to my car and getting away from him and his questions.
How can I explain to him what I barely understand myself?
“Nikki?” A voice shouts.
The voice isn’t Blade’s. It’s another voice; a familiar voice that I’ve not heard in at least six months. Skidding to a stop, I look around, eager to find the owner. My eyes fall on the tall figure of a man fifty yards away from me. His loping gait and the pink tips of his spiked hair are like a balm to my exasperated and anxious mind.
“Nik, you little minx. Where the hell have you been? Get your ass over here and give me a hug.”
A grin edges at my lips, spreading into a glorious smile, and propelling my body into action I run. Closing the distance between us, I jump into his waiting arms. “Park,” I cry, winding my arms around his neck. Park’s hands spread under my butt and he encourages my legs around his waist while he spins us in a circle, my body wound around his.
“What the fuck is going on?” An angry growl demands.
Park stops moving and I look over my shoulder to see a furious looking Blade standing a few feet away from us.
“Boss. This is Nik; she’s a friend from way back,” Park says, his lilting Irish accent melodic.
“I know who she is. I want to know what the fuck you’re doing with your hands all over her ass.” Blade growls.
“Boss? You know my stalker?” I ask Park.
“Stalker?” Park asks, his brows drawn together in confusion.
“Long story. But you first. How do you know stalker boy?” I probe.
“Blade’s my V.P., Nik,” Park says.
Wiggling free from his hold, Park lowers me to the floor and I take a step back from him. “Holy crap, you’re a Sinner? How did I not put two and two together?”
Park laughs. “No idea, love. Your turn. What are you doing here?”
I open my mouth to speak, but Blade’s deep voice interrupts me. “She’s Dove’s sister.”
Park turns his attention to Blade. “Daisy’s woman?”
Blade nods.
“Dove’s sister’s dead,” Park says.
“Apparently not,” Blade says dryly.
Park’s head spins back to me so quickly I’m amazed he doesn’t stumble. “You’re Dove’s sister?”
“Yep, and I’m not dead,” I say, waving my arms up and down my body sarcastically.
“No, you’re not,” Park says with a wink and a smirk. Slinging his arm across my shoulders, he steers me back towards the clubhouse. “Come on, Nik. Let’s go get a drink and you can catch me up on why you’re supposed to be dead, and why you haven’t been to see me in the last six months.”
Giggling at my friend, I wrap my arms around his torso and let him guide me across the lot.
“Wait.” Blade growls, reaching for my arm and pulling me free from Park’s embrace. “Duchess, explain.”
“Duchess?” Park asks me quizzically.
With a shrug of my shoulders, I release myself from Blade’s touch and roll my eyes. “No idea.” Turning my attention to Blade, I scowl up at him. “I thought we’d already established I don’t have to explain myself to you?”
Blades eyes burn with intensity, as they rake up and down my body and settle on my face. I cross my arms across my chest and purse my lips. My life is absolutely none of his business. He stares at me expectantly for a solid minute, and then realizing that I’m not going to answer him, he looks to Park. “Explain.”
Park chuckles lightly. “I did all of Nik’s ink. She’s been coming to me for a couple years now. We’re tight.”
Glaring at Blade a final time, I turn and wrap myself around Park again. His long arm instantly drops over my shoulder in a move he’s done a million times before, and we walk together back toward the clubhouse.
I swear I hear Blade growl, but I hold in my victorious giggle. I shouldn’t enjoy his annoyance, but from the moment we met this morning, he has interrogated and demanded information from me. Seeing him a little shocked is a gratifying experience.
When we enter the bar, Park guides me across the room to the couches where my sister and Daisy are sitting with Anders and Grits. Park eyes the full couches, then sinks onto the arm and pulls me into his lap. The others in our little group all stare at us, openly surprised and curious.
Giggling, I look back at Park and he winks at me mischievously before turning to face the others. I smile and decide to open up and explain a little about myself. “Park and I have known each other for years. He did all of my tats. I knew he was a biker, but I didn’t realize he was a Sinner.”
“Yeah, you should have seen her the first time she came to me. Looking so sweet and blonde and wholesome. I asked her if she was in the right place,” he says, laughing at the memory.
“How long ago was this?” Anders asks, his tone assessing.
Park looks down at me and smiles, then turns back to Anders. “I don’t know, two years ago? I’ll never forget it, she got two lines of script and cried the entire way through.”
Park laughs, but I don’t join in. Ander’s eyes are focused on me, his gaze burning into me. Someone else looking for a reaction, se
arching for answers to secrets that aren’t his.
The first time I’d met Park had been only a few weeks after I’d run from the sperm donor. I’d spent every day looking over my shoulder, terrified he’d come after me and force me to go back home. I hadn’t planned to get a tattoo that day. I’d been couch surfing with one of Kenny’s friends that lived a couple of towns over, and I’d seen the tattoo shop and been compelled to stop. Even now, I don’t know what possessed me to open the door and step inside, but I had. Park had been sat on a chair behind a desk, his feet propped onto the wood, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
I’d stared at him, my mouth dry, and the words stuck in my throat. When I’d finally managed to tell him I wanted to get a tattoo, I’d followed him back to a private room and sat down on the leather couch. I hadn’t even known what I’d wanted until the moment the quote came out of my mouth. I’d cried as he tattooed me. Not from the pain, like I allowed Park to believe, but because the tattoo was a cathartic symbol of my escape, my freedom, and allowing myself to heal and move on.
I’d left his shop that day with the words “Be brave my heart. Have courage my soul.” Tattooed in beautiful swirling scroll along my ribs, and a new friend.
Park’s arms tighten around my shoulders, and I relax into his chest. I hadn’t realized how much I needed an ally right now. Over the years, Park and I had grown closer. He watched me learn who I was and be confident in showing it, and he knew snippets of my past, but not everything. Noone knew everything, except me and my father, and he was gone.
Anders eyes are narrowed suspiciously at me, and unable to sit still under his scrutiny, I scan the room until I find Blade. I honestly couldn’t explain why, when I felt uncomfortable, I sought him out, but from the moment my eyes land on him I feel relieved. Unsurprisingly, I find him staring at me. I think I’ve felt his eyes on me constantly since I walked away from him. But his gaze is no longer assessing like it was this morning, or suspicious like it had been this afternoon. Right now, his stare is angry. In fact, it’s more of a glare and it’s not just aimed at me. Blade’s glacial gaze is being equally split between me and Park. I furrow my brow in confusion and continue to stare at him. I get why he doesn’t like me—despite his sexual taunts he thinks I’m here for some nefarious plan—but why the death glare at Park? Blade’s steely focus continues to bore into me and my confusion morphs into anger. He’s branded me the villain before I’ve actually done anything to justify the label.
This is why I don’t want to be involved with the club. I don’t have a place here. I’m not a member, and I’m not fucking a member, so I’m an outsider. I hate that feeling, like you don’t belong. It’s something I’m so incredibly fucking familiar with. My whole life I’ve been the odd one out, the weird kid. I was the girl with parents so strict, that after saying no to every invite because I wasn’t allowed, people just stopped asking me. I was the teen that was forced to dress like I was forty; the one hiding the bruises and pretending everything was okay when I was suffocating on the inside without anyone to comfort me. I’ve perfected the art of looking like I’m okay and happy, so even the few close friends I have believe it, but it’s a lie and beneath the façade, what’s left of me is small and empty, and alone.
I’m an intruder in my own life.
Suddenly I’m overwhelmed with the need to get out of this building and away from these people. Tapping Park on the leg, I signal for him to let me up. Standing, I brush down the creases in my shirt, and turn to my sister. “I’m gonna get going.”
The bright smile on her face falls and handing the sleeping puppy in her lap to Grits, she jumps to her feet. “Don’t go. Have another drink, we only just got here.”
With a brightness that I don’t really feel, I force a smile and reach out to squeeze her hand reassuringly. “I’m tired, sweetie. But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’m going to go look at that house on Lake at 10am if you still want to come with me?”
“Of course I want to come. But are you sure you have to go? I’m sure there’s a spare room you can use here for the night,” Dove asks, her voice imploring.
Shaking my head, I gradually angle my body toward the exit. “I’ve been in New York for three weeks, I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed. Do you have a car, or should I pick you up in the morning?”
“We’ll be at the apartment in the morning. The bed’s being delivered, so come get her from there,” Daisy says, moving to stand behind her and pulling her into his body.
“Perfect,” I say to Daisy, then smiling at my sister I lean in and kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sissy. Love you.”
“I love you too,” she replies quietly.
I turn to leave, wanting nothing more than to get outside and breathe, away from all this suspicion and the suffocating feeling of being an intruder. “Nik, I’ll walk you out,” Park offers, slinging his arm across my shoulders again.
I sigh and smile up at him. Park’s such a sweet guy, wrapped up in the body of a rebel. If he didn’t have the piercings, tattoos and bright pink Mohawk, I could totally imagine him in an Armani suit. He’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever met, and yes, I mean beautiful. A lot of men are handsome and ruggedly attractive, but there are very few men who are truly beautiful, and even fewer who I could liken to a Greek god—but Park is one of them. Leaning gratefully into his tall body, I offer a cautious smile over my shoulder to the others in the group and let Park guide me outside.
When we reach the car, Park backs me up to the driver’s door and cages me against the car with his long, tattooed arms. “Nik, wanna fill me in on what the hell’s going on?”
Sighing loudly, I lean forward, letting my head fall to rest against his chest. “It’s a long story.”
His arms wrap around me and I’m cocooned in his warm body and familiar spicy scent. “Wanna give me the short version?”
I pull back from his embrace and shrug. “You know I left home because it wasn’t a good place for me to be? Well it turns out the sperm donor told people I was dead. Also turns out he wasn’t just a sadistic bastard to me, but after I left he started up on my baby sister.” The feel of the words on my tongue as I say them, brings tears to my eyes. “It’s been two years since I saw her, and now I’m here, in this town that I fucking hate, and I have no idea what to do.” My voice cracks and the torrent of emotion I’ve been trying to hold back bursts from me.
“I left her there,” I cry, sobs wracking my body. “I didn’t know; I swear I didn’t know.”
“Shhh,” Park soothes, hauling me against his chest and rubbing my back as I cry, my body shaking violently.
Eventually he opens the driver’s door and lifts me into the car. He slides me along the bench seat and climbs in behind me, shutting the door and then pulling me back into his side. I bury my face into his chest and breathe in his familiar scent.
“Come on, love. Let’s get you home,” he coos, in his lyrical Irish accent.
I watch Park lift her into the car, then climb in after her and drive away. His arm was around her and she was clinging to him like he was her lifeline. He’s been touching her since she literally jumped into his arms and I don’t fucking like it. It’s none of my business who Dove’s sister is touching, or kissing, or screwing, but it really pisses me off that it’s one of my brothers. Throwing back the glass of Jack in my hand, I watch as the taillights on her Comet disappear from view.
I don’t know why her knowing Park bothers me. She’s not mine. I don’t fucking want her to be, but she makes me suspicious and that pisses me off. I’m an answers man and she’s hiding something. You see, I understand about secrets. I have enough of my own; shadows that follow me everywhere, never letting me forget, never letting me move on. A constant link to my past and the things I can never take back.
Nikki has shadows too. I can see them almost as clearly as I can see my own. Are the demons that are chasing her, regrets, or the torment of past sins? Are they hers, or is she burdened with som
ebody else’s shadows? Forced to endure them because she can’t push them into the light?
I want to know her secrets. Something about her is compelling me to dig at her, to scrape at her layers, till she’s raw and open to me. Shuddering, I swallow, repulsed at my thoughts. Why do I need to know anything about her? Is it to expose her and keep Dove safe, or to assuage my own guilt by finding someone else whose soul is as scarred as mine?
Heading back into the bar, I signal Smoke to keep the drinks coming, and several large Jacks later I feel the familiar hum of alcohol pulse within me. When the room spins, and my hand can’t grab for my glass any more, I stumble off my stool and amble down the corridor that leads to my bedroom. Fumbling with the lock, I push open the door and stumble through the gap, barely stopping myself from falling by hanging onto the door handle.
I laugh to myself, and still clinging to the door handle, I carefully walk my feet forward until I’m upright again. Pushing the door closed behind me, I reach down and try to undo the button on my jeans, as I navigate the few steps from the door to the bed. When the button refuses to cooperate, I glance down and then fumble with drunken eyes as I try to coordinate my hands enough to release myself from my jeans. “Fuck.” I shout, when my shin hits the edge of the bed. My knees buckle, and I fall on my ass, giggling like it’s the funniest thing in the fucking world.
Like a drunk, beached whale, I flail around the floor until my hand hits the foot of the bed and I use it to claw my way back onto the mattress. My eyes begin to close, drunkenness pulling me toward blissful unconsciousness, but I fight the urge to sleep and haphazardly remove my clothes until I’m as naked as the day I was born. The room spins and my gritty eyes will me to close them. I allow sleep to pull me under and pray for a merciful dreamless slumber. My last conscious thought is of Nikki and the lost look in her expressive eyes.