“But you—you’re back together, aren’t you?”
“Dude, we were never together to begin with. God you always do this. You think you’re Don Quixote or something. Some knight in shining armor.” Nick would never admit that there’d been a time like in his life, too, when he thought he might have it in him to be that for Liana—instead of irredeemable fuck-up who always seemed to land in prison anytime just when he thought he had something good going.
“I can’t help it, homes. I was always muy romantico. I believe in fate. Destiny. Dios mio, if she came back to you after that long, how could it not be meant to be?”
Nick was pretty sure he had given up on God a long time before Circleville, but something about Chucho’s faith had always appealed to him, as annoying as he sometimes was about it.
“I mean, look at me.”
“Itzel? Are you two—”
“It’ll be five years in July, homes,” said Chucho, reaching down to pull out his cellphone and flip to a picture. “And Yami has a little brother now.”
Nick smiled a sad smile as he regarded Chucho’s wife Itzel and the children in her lap, their three beautiful faces crowded onto a whitewashed front porch, their smiles as big as the moon. “I’m really happy for you, man. I knew it would happen for you.”
“It can happen to you, too.”
“It’s impossible.” Before Nick knew it, he was pouring out the entire story—about Jack, about Tryg, and about how there was no earthly way for him and Liana to be together without bringing the world crashing down on all of their shoulders.
Afterward, Chucho was quiet for a long time. Finally, his eyes came alive. “That’s like a novel, man. That’s better than ‘Don Quixote’!”
Nick glowered. “I’m glad you’re taking this so seriously.”
“No, I mean it. It’s too good.” He rose from the chair opposite Nick.
“Where are you going?” Nick asked desperately, afraid his last chance to save Liana was about to evaporate before his eyes.
Chucho paused in the doorway and titled his head. “Have faith.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
It was past midnight before the door to room opened, again. “Stone?”
Nick blinked and raised his head from where he had rested it against the back of the now-upright chair, temporarily blinded, and touched his face where he’d sure it had left an impression.
Madigan stood there, but only for a second, framed in the golden ring of fluorescent light that lit the corridors at night, so the night guards could see where they were going.
He’d only slept in short bursts. Liana’s text haunted him, flitting through his brain every time he shook awake, reminding himself of the grim reality of where he was. It was like hearing a scream over and over in the middle of an empty house with locked doors, one he couldn’t get into no matter how hard he pounded on the walls or smashed in the windows.
“It’s about time,” Nick murmured. “What are you doing here, anyway? Seems like they wouldn’t make a detective work the graveyard shift.”
“Quiet, smartass,” she said, herding him toward the sally port. “Don’t get cocky,” she said, reaching down to grab his shirt and pull him to his feet, then shoving him forward, out of the cell. “You’re out on bail, only.”
“Bail? For murder one?”
Madigan grimaced, but she spoke all blasé, as if she hadn’t been threatening him with life without parole mere hours earlier. “It isn’t murder one anymore. Some additional evidence has surfaced and they dropped the charges down.”
“To what?”
“Conspiracy, racketeering, and committing a crime for the benefit of a gang.”
Nick sighed and ran his hands through hair. “Excuse me for not jumping for joy.”
“Hey, it beats the alternative, kid.”
It was a small victory for him, but it delivered a major blow for Helena and Jack’s plans to make him take the fall for their crimes. He could only hope he could get enough evidence in the meantime to prove himself innocent of even those charges. Then something else occurred to him. “Where…where did the money come from?”
“Look, I only know what they tell me at intake. I can’t be bothered with that kind of petty stuff. They also left you a note.”
“Give me that.” Nick grabbed the piece of paper, which contained nothing but the words “Hilltop Condominiums” and an address in Cincinnati. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to point him in the right direction. “Did whoever left this give a name?”
“Yeah,” she said.
Nick paused in his steps.
“Dulcinea.”
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
“This was a trap,” Liana cried desperately as Jack hustled her into the elevator, the unseasonable coolness of the air conditioner hitting her in the face.
“Of course it was,” he said calmly. “I don’t think I have to mention not to make a sound.” He patted his pocket.
She watched a stately-looking older woman exit the elevator of the gleaming condo complex, her eyes pleading. The woman just looked away.
Jack had waited to cock his gun before the elevator doors closed. Now he pointed it at Liana casually, lazily, as if he had no doubt that she’d troop along obediently, as she always had before, before she knew she had a right to stand up for herself.
Liana heard her own shallow breath, sweat breaking out in little beads over her body, her eyes turning away from the pores she could almost see on his face, his thin, sneering lips, his smell of Vetiver, cloying and suffocating.
She hated him in this moment, and every moment, including the moment she’d first spotted him standing outside the stage door of her tumbledown little theater, holding a bouquet of flowers. And he wouldn’t stop there. He wouldn’t stop until he’d squeezed every last inch of life and fight out of her, all the fight she’d ever have—what she’d had before Nick, and after, once she realized what being with a man could really be like.
She looked at the floor, as if it could hold the answer, and she thought in vain of the switchblade Nick had given her, wishing she knew of a way to reach for it without Jack seeing it. She knew how to wave it around threateningly, as if she were onstage, but Jack seized on it immediately. In a second, he had reached into her jeans pocket and removed the blade. She reached for it, but he clamped an iron grip on her wrist.
She gritted her teeth as his laugh echoed off the high hotel ceilings. “Oh, this is too cute. Your juvenile delinquent boyfriend gave you his switchblade to defend yourself. What a cliché. What is this, Reefer Madness?” He hit the release and pointed the shiny blade at Liana’s neck. “You know, I could have more fun with this than he ever did,” he said.
Liana swallowed as she felt a pinprick, like the nurse putting the needle in when she donated blood. She could feel the breath wheezing out of her. It didn’t even hurt—not compared to other things she’d endured. But like everything else, it would leave a scar. “Why?”
Jack shrugged. “No reason. I just wanted to see what your blood looked like. I’m going to see the rest of you shortly, so I figured I’d start from the inside out.” His face was close enough to see every single pore on his skin. His hot breath was on her ear.
Liana could feel her chest heaving. The entire room was silent, but it was as loud as if a thousand clocks were ticking right in her ear.
“Why are you afraid, Liana? You know me.” The gentle way he said it, and the casual kiss he gave to the side of her face, with his plump, warm lips, were the most disgusting things of all—almost worse than if he had actually done something, if he had gotten it over with. Jack looked disgusted; he dropped the switchblade and kicked it under the bed.
Liana suddenly remembered why she had been lured here to begin with.
“Kirrily and Kizzy—are they—”
“Safe at home,” said a voice, emerging from the bathroom.
Liana spun around—startled, if not necessarily surprised—by what she saw.
“I
thought we should have kidnapped them for real, but Jack reminded me that Tryg Ryan wouldn’t stand for his wife and daughter going missing, and soon enough we’d have not only him but the entire Black Sparks M.C. to deal with.” Helena Kinski stepped into the room. “You, though, he can afford to lose.”
Liana could barely speak over the dryness in the back of her throat. “But how—”
“Help me, mate! The dingos are eating my baby!” Helena dissolved into hysterical laughter that was almost girlish.
As always, she was coiffed impeccably, her short blonde hair gelled and shaped, her lipstick red, her hips swaying when she walked like a snow-white mink; she was wearing another one of the pale, slinky dresses she favored that seemed to emphasize every one of her sensuous curves, the ones that had so tortured Liana when she’d seen her and Nick walking into the garage together. The hard line of her lips had turned to scornful, sour laughter, a look Liana didn’t like any better than the one she’d worn before. How could she have ever thought Nick could have feelings for this woman? Although it wasn’t as if it mattered now—Helena or no Helena, Nick was nowhere close enough to help her.
“Of course, I don’t sound anything like her, but all I had to do was put on some awful Aussie accent; you were too stupid to know the difference. You know, Liana,” Helena added thoughtfully, “I thought we’d have to go back to Prudence to track you down, but Jack here had a lazier idea.”
“That’s the beauty of the long arm of the law,” said Jack, and the way Helena looked over at him admiringly made Liana want to retch. “It does most of the work for you.”
Helena laughed as she edged closer to Jack, but Jack stood with his arms crossed, not exactly sharing in her joy. In fact, something seemed to move behind his eyes, like silhouettes behind a drawn curtain. Liana knew Jack better than Helena; she was sure of this. Clearly he and Helena had been working together, but she wondered whether Jack was prepared to make it a permanent arrangement. Certainly, he was a one-woman man—and not in the good way.
“Now all we have to do is get rid of the loose ends,” said Helena, nodding at Liana, “and we can be on our way.”
Liana’s knees went weak. Not only had she been tricked, her desire to protect her family had been ruthlessly exploited. Fleetingly, she remembered the text message she’d sent to Nick. Had he even received it? Was there any way she could buy some time? She remembered the switchblade under the bed.
“What are you waiting for?” Helena demanded. “You’ve got the gun.”
“Yeah, about that,” said Jack, and Liana felt herself look up fleetingly. “I may have neglected to be specific about what those loose ends actually were.”
The disgusted look on Helena’s face might have actually been enjoyable to Liana if she weren’t so terrified. She looked back and forth between the two people standing in front of her, the cop and the bedraggled blonde girl in the hoodie and jeans, as if she couldn’t believe that either one of them dared to give her any trouble.
“For God’s sake, Jack. Don’t tell me you’re actually considering keeping her around.” She jabbed her long finger at Liana. “She can’t be trusted. She ran off on you. And the first chance she gets, she’ll do it again.”
“Jack, I was coming back to you, I promise,” Liana insisted, forcing a sugar packet’s worth of sweetness in her voice. “I just needed some time to figure things out. You know how it is.”
“And by figure things out, you mean run off and find Nicholas Stone, so you could fuck him one more time for good measure,” Helena snapped.
“Shut your face,” barked Jack, as if he didn’t want to be reminded for even a second that Liana had preferred Nick to him.
Still, a frisson of hope in Liana emerged as she edged closer to Jack. If she could just turn the tables—let Jack believe that it was Liana that was on his side, and not the tall, willowy other woman.
“This has nothing to do with you.”
Helena’s jaw dropped. “I damn well think it has something to do with me. You never would have been able to hide that dope shipment you ordered the Vipers to steal if it weren’t for my getting access to one of Daniel’s warehouses,” she said. “And half of it is mine because of that. That was the deal.”
“Sorry, honey,” he said, pointing toward the younger woman beside him. “I’m afraid that’s reserved for my and Liana’s honeymoon fund.”
“You promised me we were in this together,” said Helena, stepping toward him, eyes slightly crazed. There was nothing whiny or hurt in her voice. It was pure hatred. “I shot my husband and hid his body in a fucking freezer because you told me that once he was out of the way, we would be together. You told me you’d make sure Nicholas took the fall for it.”
“And that’s exactly what I did,” said Jack. “That’s right, honey,” he turned to Liana and rubbed her shoulder blades. “Nicky boy’s back where he belongs, as we speak, so don’t worry about him bursting in any second here and spoiling our party.”
Liana felt her fingernails dig into her palms, wanting to dig them into Jack’s eyeballs instead. The idea that Jack had managed to get Nick, once again, thrown in jail for a crime he hadn’t committed made her want to scream. It was probably the one place on earth the young man hated and feared the most. After all, he’d been there, and knew what it was like—and because it was the exact same place he’d been when he’d failed to protect Liana from her stepfather. Not that Liana blamed him, but she knew Nick would blame himself. And that was enough.
“It was true I told you to kill Daniel,” explained Jack, almost as if he were bored of the whole thing, and wished he had some minion to snap his fingers at and dispose of the waste. “But it wasn’t because I wanted to help you. It was because getting Liana’s precious biker boy out of the way, and framing him was the best way to do it. Plus, the Vipers and I needed your husband’s infrastructure to help to hide that stolen shipment. You know, these corporate types aren’t only good for fancy manicures and to jet you off to St. Barth’s every winter. But his ego started to blow up, the way they always do, trying to tell me how to do my job. I’m sure you can relate.”
Helena just glared.
“He was almost as much of an asshole as Noel Richardson was back when I was just starting out. After he died, I didn’t think I’d have to deal with one of these corporate bigwigs again. Unfortunately, money talks.”
Helena wasn’t nearly so relaxed. “You were using me,” she said slowly. Liana could see her sharp collarbone subtly heaving up and down under her low-cut top, a hint of the seething anger underneath.
And, suddenly, Liana saw her answer. “No,” Liana piped up. She swallowed before continuing, knowing that if she paused to think about this too long, she’d lose her will. “I was.”
“What?” Helena paused, as if “You?”
“I wanted that shipment. I wanted Daniel out of the way. I wanted to take down the Black Sparks and join the Vipers. Me and Jack,” said Liana, looping her arm through his. “That was the plan all along.”
“And Nicholas—?”
“Poor kid,” Liana said. “He was as much of a tool as you were.” She ran her arm up Jack’s arm, slowly, deliberately, afraid she’d vomit from thinking about it.
She felt the hairs of his arm stand on end, but she kept going, up his shoulder and over to his neck, brushing her fingers along his jawline. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a terrifying smirk form on his face. She knew he didn’t care if anything she was saying was true or not. It sounded good; it was what he wanted to hear. And there was nothing to prevent him from playing along to using this narrative to further his own ends. And at the moment, she knew his number one end was getting rid of Helena.
Besides, if there was one thing about Jack Liana knew, it was that he couldn’t resist her. If she could get him temporarily under her power, even for a second, she might have a chance.
Helena let out a little shriek and immediately opened the drawer in the end table and pawed through it. “Where
’s my gun?”
“Sorry, I couldn’t risk making this a fair fight. Where’s the fun in that?”
“Where the fuck is my gun?” Helena demanded again, the veins in her face red and popping; she couldn’t have looked less attractive if she tried.
“What can I say, baby? Liana knows what I like,” Jack said.
She hadn’t expected for Helena to dive toward Liana, her hands reaching for her neck. Liana leaped away from Jack, trying to swerve out of the way, but Helena was too quick for her. Everything went brown in front of her eyes as her knees buckled and she collapsed like a limp flower stem, Helena’s long, white hands arched around her neck, gagging her into unconsciousness, slipping away, vague images of Nick flitting in front of her, to whom she’d never be able to say proper goodbye…
But Jack was too infatuated with Liana to allow this. It only took a second. He lunged toward Helena; she dropped her grip on Liana, who screamed at the report of the gunshot, crashing like a firework through the room.
Suddenly Liana was lying face down on the carpet—and face to face with the switchblade Jack had shoved under the bed. There was no time to think twice. Hands shaking, she reached down and grabbed the knife from where Jack had tossed it halfway under the bed, shoving it deep into the pocket of her jeans.
When she finally rose, she saw Jack gazing at Helena’s slumped body dispassionately.
“Oh, Jack, the things you do for me,” said Liana, her shaking voice only added to the effect. Helena’s arm was splayed out behind her where she’d fallen, her face turned toward the wall. Liana could just make out a dark puddle pooling beside her on the bedspread and dripping down the frame onto the brownish-green carpet. Her stomach turned to mush as she looked away.
“Look at this mess,” Jack said with a shake of his head. “Why do they always have to ruin everything by getting jealous? I don’t understand women sometimes,” he shrugged.
Long Ride: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Black Sparks MC) (Whiskey Bad Boys Book 1) Page 23