So Steady: Silver Daughters Ink, Book Two (Silver Daughters Ink Book Two)

by Eve Dangerfield

  “Stop.” Noah voice was hard. “Stop hurting yourself.”

  She untwisted her fingers. “Nervous habit.”

  He muttered something, exhaling a silvery stream of smoke.

  “What was that?”

  “Probably something your ex gave you,” he said through his teeth. “Along with the dumb cunt idea you’re not sexy.”

  “Oh.” Her lips spread in an unbidden smile. “Does that mean you think I am?”

  “Nicole, I swear to Christ…”

  “What?”

  Noah inhaled, turning almost an inch of cigarette to ash. “You better not be serious.”

  It was silly to be flattered by a non-compliment, but Nicole couldn’t stop smiling. She rubbed her upper arms, trying to smooth the goosebumps.

  Then a horrible idea occurred to her. “Are you in love with Kelly? Are you taken?”

  Noah scowled. “Fuck, no.”

  Lightness, with an unpleasant aftertaste. “So why can’t we…you know?”

  He let out a little groan. “Nikki…”

  She knew she was whining like a brat who wanted a pony, but it felt like she was edging toward an honest answer and she didn’t have anything to lose. “If you think I’m sexy and we’re both single?”

  “Dumping your ex doesn’t mean you should come looking for a fuck from me.”

  He did want to go home with her, Nicole realised. She could hear it in his voice, but she could also hear his resolve. She might get a reason but she wouldn’t be touched, so why bother?

  She rubbed her shoulders, trying to relax. You’d think the big guy with the dirty tattoos who stared point-blank at her tits was a safe bet, but you never knew, did you? She moved her hands lower; her nipples were swollen, aching from rubbing against Sam’s dress. Maybe she’d take a bath when she got home and—

  “Nicole.”

  “What?” She frowned, then realised her hands were inside her dress, massaging her breasts.

  “Sorry,” she said, pulling her hands away. “I’m…you know. But that’s not your problem, as you made clear. And I respect.”

  Noah slowly ground his second cigarette into the ashtray. Something about it made her mouth dry. She turned to look out the window and realised they were on her street. Noah pulled up outside the studio and turned off the engine. She could hear crickets and cicadas, nature penetrating even the inner suburbs. Her fingers shook as she unclipped her seatbelt. “Okay, thanks for the lift—”

  “Give me your hand.”

  His voice was low. Hard. Before she processed what he’d asked, she’d extended her palm. Noah took it, his fingers rough and warm. Then he positioned her hand on his thigh. Only it wasn’t his thigh, she was touching his…

  Nicole whimpered. “That’s…”

  “Yeah.”

  Heat spread through her belly like lava, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except clasp her hand to Noah’s erection. She was breathing hard and fast like an accordion. “What are you…?”

  Noah leaned across the inner console, bringing the burr of cigarette smoke with him. She didn’t want to find it attractive but the edge of it, the ugliness, was making her heart pound.

  “You still want me to fuck you?”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “No, you don’t.” He moved closer. So close, stubble scratched her cheek. “I’ll give you nightmares.”

  “You won’t.” She still sounded bratty, but she couldn’t help it. Her nipples were throbbing and her—god it was so hard to call it any of the words—ached. She had never wanted a man so badly. Why couldn’t Noah just take her? Not make her touch his penis and discuss her feelings, but take control of this situation.

  Noah’s hand covered hers, guiding her palm along his erection. She felt him swell beneath the denim and the situation was so bright, so real. She tried to jerk her palm away but Noah’s hand tightened, keeping her where she was. “You are scared of me, aren’t you?”

  “A little bit.”

  “What if I said I like that?”

  Nicole closed her eyes, too turned on and overwhelmed to make sense of the question. He was so big. So big and so hard… “I don’t know.”

  He made a chainsaw noise in the back of his throat. “You like it, too, don’t you? The thought of me forcing myself on you? Making you take it?”

  Yes. She felt the answer as much as she thought it. She licked her lips, her skin ten times more sensitive than it should have been. “Can we do that?”

  His face was in shadow, but she could see him shake his head.

  A stab of misery. “Because you don’t want me?”

  A snarl and her head jerked back, pain bursting at the back of her skull. Noah’s fist was tight in her hair. She jerked her head forward, but he held her fast. “Because I’ll hurt you, Nicole. I’ve wanted you for too long, too fucking bad to hold back. You let me into that little pussy, I’ll fuck you until it hurts. I want it too bad not to.”

  Her stomach tightened, she felt like she was falling, spinning through space with no fear of hitting the ground. “Noah, please?”

  He gave a hard laugh. “You think you’ll like it, but you don’t have a fucking clue. It’ll be hours, Nikki. I’ll fuck you in every hole you have. You’ll be so desperate you’ll do whatever I want, beg for shit you’ve never heard of.”

  She was shaking, sure if he wasn’t holding her, she’d slide to the van floor. “I want that.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded, the movement sending pain shooting through her scalp, but it was nothing compared to the liquid heat between her thighs. “I know I do.”

  He bent forward. She thought he was going to kiss her, but his teeth closed on her lower lip and pain whistled through her. She gasped.

  “You don’t know shit. You’ve only fucked three guys and I bet you wanted to marry all of them. You won’t want to marry me, Nikki. You won’t want to look at me once I’m done with you.”

  He released her hair and she slumped back into her seat, scalp tingling. Noah eased her palm away from his cock. “You okay?”

  The question confused her. Was she okay? Was anything okay? It all felt up for debate. “Kinda?”

  He nodded. “Want me to walk you up?”

  She looked over at him and as with their hallway kiss, she wondered if the hair-pulling and lip-biting had been a hallucination. “Will you come inside?”

  But she knew the answer was no even before he shook his head. “Go to bed.”

  She could have stayed but in truth, she was so rattled, it was a relief to leave his strange van and the strange thing between them. To get back to the familiar un-sexiness of the real world and away from the undeniably sexy, but incredibly confusing unknown that was Noah Newcomb.

  Chapter 5

  Nicole slept badly. She woke multiple times, her pillow crammed between her legs, the memory of Noah pulling her hair back so vivid, it might still have been happening. When she got up to pee she was still lopsided with alcohol and a guilty conscience. For once, she successfully fought the urge to be productive and got back into bed, determined to sleep her bad mood away. It didn’t work. She stayed entirely conscious, replaying her ride with Noah; the tobacco and cinnamon smell of his van, the feel of his cock through his jeans, the sting of his teeth closing on her lip.

  As the sun rose and her mind stayed on Noah, Nicole found her hand had idled into her underwear. She was so wet, it was obscene. Gross, but she couldn’t stop. She stroked herself and was soon so swollen, her panties felt like a chastity belt. But no matter how turned on she got, she couldn’t embellish her memories into a satisfying fantasy. Every time she tried, she saw Noah ordering her to bed like a strict parent and winced into her pillows. Eventually, she gave up, lying back and hating her needy body. She was a grown woman masturbating over a man who didn’t even want to sleep with her. Pathetic. She got up and took a shower, scrubbing away the slipperiness between her legs. She brushed her teeth and completed her Korean skincare regimen,
an anti-pollution oil cleanse, a green tea water-based cleanse, a lemon exfoliating scrub. She applied a thin layer of AHA toner followed by floral essence. Next came Vitamin C serum and a coat of collagen moisturizer. By the time Nicole dabbed tinted SPF 50+ CC cream under her eyes, she felt renewed. The problem was, now she was out of bed, she had nothing to do. The studio was closed, Sam was still with Scott, and Tabby wasn’t home. She supposed she could call Aaron about cancelling the wedding, but that ranked slightly above ‘cleaning the toilet’ as a fun way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

  She wandered to the kitchen, wondering if she should make keto muffins when her gaze fell on Tabby’s iPad. There was something she could do…not the smartest idea, but compelling enough to push apart her clouds of Sundayitis.

  She turned on the tablet and opened the Silver Daughters email account. After looking around fervently, she pulled up Noah’s last paycheck invoice then copied his tax file number into her work accountancy program. His details came up at once. Noah Harold Newcomb.

  Harold? Her inner Tabby cackled. Fuckin’ woof!

  It was a fairly bad middle name. She didn’t know if anyone had ever looked less like a ‘Harold.’ Her fingers hovered over the touchscreen—to click or not to click? What she was doing wasn’t illegal, but it didn’t feel moral.

  If you want to know about Noah’s past, why don’t you ask him? her inner Sam suggested.

  Because he wouldn’t tell me anything.

  What do you think you’ll find?

  Something.

  She knew there was something to find, knew it down to her bones. Noah’s refusal to talk about his past was more than stoicism, she was sure of it. Then there were some of his tattoos—a spider web on his left elbow, a clock with no hands hidden inside his right sleeve, the bushranger Ned Kelly’s last words ‘such is life’ scrawled along the back of his neck. Noah wasn’t the kind of guy who jazzed up his middle-class background with criminal tattoos, so why did he have them? She’d always been suspicious but now he’d bitten her lip and told her his fantasies would give her nightmares, she’d be an idiot not to dig. She had a moral imperative to dig!

  And you’re single enough to dig? Sam asked.

  “Shh.”

  Nicole took a deep breath and clicked his name. The first thing she saw was his birthday—November 15, 1985. He was thirty-four. That wasn’t a huge surprise, but it felt good to know. The man who’d held her palm to his cock had a birthday, just like everyone else.

  The rest of the results weren’t nearly so straightforward. Noah had only consistently filed taxes for the past five years—when he’d started working at Silver Daughters. Had he been earning so little before that he didn’t meet the minimum threshold? It didn’t seem likely and he didn’t seem the type to have been studying or living overseas or any of the obvious explanations. Disappointed, Nicole exited the accounting website and googled ‘Noah Newcomb.’ The top results were the Silver Daughters website and Instagram. The rest of the Noah’s were randoms.

  Nicole’s gnawed her lower lip. Not being able to stalk someone in this day and age was infuriating. Her research options were dwindling. As his boss, Sam could apply for a national police check on Noah, but she wasn’t going to do that. As Sam’s genetic double, she could pretend to be her twin and ask for the police check, but if Sam found out, she’d slap her into the next decade.

  She drummed her fingers on the kitchen table, trying to think of things to Google. She added Noah’s middle name to the keywords and tapped search. A wall of flaming skulls filled the screen.

  An old tattoo design of Noah’s? They didn’t look like his style, though they were weirdly familiar... Nicole squinted and realised they weren’t skulls, they were helmets. Square helmets with a slit for eyes, the same kind Ned Kelly and his bushrangers wore. Was Noah related to Ned Kelly and trying to keep it a secret? That would be kind of cute…

  She scrolled to the text results and saw news articles accompanied by more flaming helmets.

  Further arrests in Rangers Motorcycle gang operation.

  Bikie Boss jumps bail for Bali.

  Two in court on drug charges following Rangers gang raids.

  A golf ball lodged itself in her chest, forcing her ribs out and away. She did know that flaming helmet, but not because of Ned Kelly or a tattoo she’d seen growing up. She knew it from the news.

  With shaking fingers, she clicked the link that said Bikie Boss jumps bail to get to Bali.

  “Oh my gosh!”

  The man in the image wasn’t Noah, but the resemblance was uncanny. He had the same wide forehead and hollow eye sockets, though his irises were brown, not green. Nicole stared at the flabby, unshaven face and her heart gave a hot squeeze. She felt like Bluebeard’s wife, standing at the door of her husband’s forbidden room, key in hand. There was still time to turn away, though she knew she wouldn’t.

  In for a penny, Sam whispered.

  “In for a pound.”

  She inhaled and scrolled down.

  Notorious one-percent bikie boss, Harold Newcomb, is believed to be hiding in Bali’s Kuta beach. Newcomb is avoiding prosecution for manslaughter, blackmail, possessing a prohibited weapon, drug trafficking and assault, all crimes he conducted during his reign as chapter president of The Rangers Motorcycle Gang.

  Spit filled Nicole’s mouth. She kept scrolling through the details of Harold Newcomb’s crimes, speculation he was being hidden by fellow bikies, reminders that he was incredibly dangerous and, right down the bottom, a quote from his ex-wife, Natalie Newcomb.

  I haven’t heard from Harry for years and neither has my boy. P**s off the lot of you.

  She stood, and paced the kitchen, the tablet loose in her hands. She knew Noah was hiding something, but she’d thought it was tattooing without a license or selling weed or punching someone in a bar fight. Not a dad who was the head of an infamous bikie gang. Despite how people like Aaron regarded tattoo studios, she had never met a bikie. Her dad’s policy had always been to respectfully turn away men who wanted him to do club tatts. He was a hippie who took a dim view of organized crime and the violence it inspired. Yet, he’d hired the son of one of the most notorious bikers in Australia. Had he known? He couldn’t have or he’d have told her or Sam. And where was Noah in all this bikie business? His mum clearly wasn’t a fan of Harold. Had he grown up estranged from his dad? Outside the criminal lifestyle?

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she muttered and Googled ‘Harold Newcomb,’ ‘Rangers,’ ‘Family’, typing quickly, as though the words might burn her.

  The first result was a website called one-percentbikers.com.au. She scrolled past the details of Harold’s childhood and how he formed The Rangers in the eighties. The writing was amateurish and peppered with grammatical errors. There was no reference to Noah anywhere. She scrolled to the section labelled ‘personal life.’

  From 1985 to 1995 Noah Newcomb was married to Natalie Dreyer. They had a son in 1985. He’s believed to have been patched into The Rangers in 2003.

  Nicole’s heart was pulsing, pounding. It didn’t prove anything; anyone could set up a website and write any old garbage…except Noah looked like Harold and Harold was undeniably a biker and he had a son born the same year as Noah and Noah was big and scary and had big scary tattoos and…

  “Oh my god.” Nicole pressed the tablet to her forehead. “Oh my god, I tried to sleep with a bikie.”

  What would Sam say when this got out? She hated bullies, and bikies were just bullies covered in the skins of dead cows. And Tabby… Tabby was going to freak out. They’d be lucky if she didn’t live stream herself confronting Noah and post it to every social media platform on earth.

  Nicole paced back to her bedroom and locked the door. Then she curled back under the covers, shoes and all, comforted by the soft weight and the fact she was alone. That the secret was still hers. She couldn’t tell her sisters what she’d discovered. They’d accuse her of snooping on and suspecting the worst of someone they liked
. She needed proof.

  She unlocked the tablet and searched for articles about Noah. There was nothing. She expanded her search to The Rangers, but most of the news copy were lists of crimes with few names and details added. She needed context. To understand how dangerous bikers could be—how dangerous Noah might be. There was that TV show, Sons of Anarchy, but after scanning a few plot summaries, she doubted watching it would be helpful. She doubted Noah’s mother had ever murdered one of his girlfriends. She’d found an eBook, Blood in the Gears, that had been written anonymously by a Rangers ex-member in 2006. She bought it and downloaded the copy onto the iPad.

  After a pit stop, she returned to her bed with a cup of peppermint tea and began to read. The first few chapters tracked the biker tradition from America to Australia in the 1900s. She skimmed the flabby exposition and wondered where Noah was. Home? In bed with Kelly? Riding a motorbike across the countryside because he was a criminal?

  The memoir picked up slightly in chapter three. The author described how meth production and distribution boomed in the early nineties, flushing money into the gang. Everyone got new bikes and a three-storey clubhouse was paid for in cash. The Big Boss—Nicole assumed this was Harold Newcomb, though he was never addressed by name—threw a party with unlimited alcohol, cocaine and thirty ‘prozzers.’ Nicole thought of Noah’s bulky, greying father and poked her tongue out. Whatever they’d paid the sex workers, it hadn’t been enough. The role of women within the gang was limited and demeaning. They were either wives, granted a thin status as a biker’s property, or the ‘sluts’ who hung out at the clubhouse.