Mine: Black Sparks MC (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Liana didn't quite understand why an unfamiliar cellphone ring tone jarred her out of her dreamless sleep. Or, it had been dreamless, until she found herself in a leotard, performing on an vast, empty stage, a sole patron sitting in the audience, rhythmically clapping, face shrouded in darkness. She picked up the elaborate bouquet he had tossed, bending to inhale the intoxicating aroma of white carnations and purple lilies. She knew who had someone entirely different who had sent the bouquet. Someone her heart was whispering that she wanted to see standing before her in the wings. Someone who filled her entire body with elation, with well-being, with peace.

It is right that he should be here
, she thought. New York, as she knew, was cold and lonely and impersonal, but, somehow, with Nick here, nothing could harm her. Nothing could ever be wrong. It was the way things were meant to be. 

"Nick," she murmured, breathing in the aroma once again. "But how did you ever--" She lowered the bouquet, only to see herself face to face with Jack Camus, his black eyes swirling like twin fires.

"Hi," he said, blowing out the word like a puff of smoke. "Miss me?"

Then she awoke, sat bolt upright with a little shriek. "Nick?" She whipped out her hand and hit something warm and solid--which turned out to be Nick's shirtless back, curled as it was next to the couch, a tortoiseshell cat curled up peacefully purring on his lap.

He pawed the dingy cement floor like a dog being awoken by a sharp whistle, like a soldier sleeping past reveille. Like someone who didn't quite understand that he was allowed to properly rest like anybody else. "Liana," he murmured, his voice full of concern. She watched out of the corner of her eye, the startled cat yelped and skittered under a motorcycle tire. "So much for Pussy Galore,” he said. “Are you okay?"

She yawned, momentarily transfixed by the sight of his bleary gray-green eyes blinking back at her, alive with concern. "I--I'm fine. I had a--a dream," she finished hastily. She paused for the first time to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. She had no memory of how she had gotten downstairs to the garage, or why she was tucked on the couch, naked, with a velour blanket around her, one that looked like it matched the set at Tryg and Kirrily's house and that Nick had probably borrowed at some point and forgotten to give back. "I stole your bed," she remarked groggily.

He laughed. "You didn't steal it, and it's not even really a bed. Besides, I didn't sleep. Much."

"You didn't sleep?" she demanded. "What were you--Oh."
Jack.
It only took a second for her to remember her dream, to remember the night before--to remember the entire reason she had returned to Prudence to begin with. The memory of Jack Camus seemed to crawl into her mind and body as if it had been some noxious gas seeping under a doorframe. Even if she had momentarily forgotten, it was clear Nick hadn't. She owed him for that. "Thank you," she whispered, cupping his chin and giving him a kiss. Even when their lips broke apart, he stayed in that position, looking at her, curiously, almost confused, as if he had been surprised to be touched by her--or to be in this position to begin with. She hoped she'd have enough time get him used to that, to condition him to being touched by her, but the memory of Jack Camus had reminded her time was a luxury they didn't exactly have right now.

The cellphone was ringing again. Nick patted the floor beside him, eyeing it frantically, then finally reaching underneath the cabinet the fridge sat on. Nick's end of the conversation didn't reveal much. "Yeah. Okay. When?"

But she knew already it wasn't just Tomahawk calling to schedule another escort to Cleveland, or Kirrily calling to invite him over for dinner.

"A meeting," he said, looking down at the floor, then back up at Liana, biting his lip briefly. His tone was flat, as if he were afraid if he revealed too much, it would spook her. She was tempted to demand more details, but letting Nick know that she trusted him to make the right decision was the best thing she could do for both of them, at least for right now. “With Tryg.”

"You should go," she said. "I'll be gone by the time you get back."

"No," he said.

She looked up sharply from where she had grabbed her jeans, which Nick must have collected from the roof and place neatly on the wooden kitchen chair next to the couch.

"He wants you, too."

"How did he--"

"Know you were here?" She nodded. "He didn't. But he suspected."

"Did Tomahawk--"

"No. He wouldn't have said anything."

"Helena?"

Nick nodded a little and sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I was an idiot to think I could get her out of the picture this easily. Look, just--there's no way he can know what we--about last night okay? Nobody knows. So--"

"Nick." She caught his hand and brought it down from where it still nervously touched his hair, squeezing his rough fingers together, turning his palm over, feeling the racing of his pulse. Not all of that, she knew, was apprehension about Tryg would think if he knew. Some of it was residual. Nick was an old hand at being blamed for things; he'd come to expect it. The sword of Damocles, dangling over him, waiting to impale, was an old friend of his, and it was going to take a long time for him to get out from under its shadow. "You didn't do anything wrong.
We
didn't do anything wrong. And nothing about this can work if we have to hide. Remember what happened the first time?" He nodded resolutely. "But we'll wait for the right time, okay?"

He smiled. "Okay." He grabbed his shirt from where he tossed it over a cardboard box of spare headlights, and started buttoning it. Suddenly, he stopped and glanced back at her slyly. "You want to ride with me?" he asked, his mouth showing slight amusement.

"I wouldn't go any other way."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Riding with Nick was entirely different from riding with Tomahawk. Last night, she had felt wild, dangerous, a little crazy – like she was riding into some unknown destiny. Now, she felt cocooned, safe, and extraordinarily at home, staring into the giant "Black Sparks MC, Prudence, Ohio.” On the back of Nick Stone's bike, she felt safer than she had ever felt, so much safer than riding in Jack Camus' cruiser with the lights going; the sirens always made her feel like something terrible was about to happen. It helped that the clubhouse was only five blocks away and they weren’t going very fast, but she couldn't help but feel a little smug as the housewives sitting on their porches stared out at her, the teenage girls at the bus stop, the only thing that could distract them from their SnapChat conversations. She could tell Nick was trying not to glance back at her too much, to play it cool. He’d had girls on his bike before, including Helena, probably. She tried not to think about that.

"Worried about me?" she asked, pressing her thighs tighter around the seat, tighter around his body, as he took a corner into the driveway of the clubhouse, knowing he could feel every shift in her body, every sharp intake of breath, every release of tension. He was that attuned. He reached back and patted her thigh. "Oh that's right," she raised her voice over the noise. "You don't worry."

"Never,” he agreed with a grin. He cut the engine, and just sat there for a second, as if to collect his thoughts, his resolve. She swatted the back of his jacket.

The ride was over in less than three minutes, and soon they stood outside the door to the clubhouse, the bikes lined up outside like gleaming chrome-trimmed soldiers, standing at attention. It was meant to be intimidating; Liana knew that. But before they stepped through the dusty, mostly-empty bar and into the oak wood-paneled back room, past old photos and memorabilia, something about the place felt familiar to her as she walked reverently through it, something she remembered long ago, like the smell of gasoline and beer taps and leather. Something elemental in her.

Unconsciously she squeezed his hand, interlacing their fingers, and, to her surprise, Nick, all gentlemanly, brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss. But they weren't holding hands now. Whatever bomb Tryg was about to drop, it wouldn't be smart to choose to parade themselves like a happy couple right in front of him--not when Tryg, as recently as yesterday, had declared that Liana was no longer Nick's concern. They pushed open the heavy oak door.

From the other end of the long council table, Jack Camus stood up. Liana froze, stepping backward, her feet practically racing in place as she pressed into Nick’s chest, trying to escape.

“It’s okay,” Nick murmured into her ear in an attempt to calm her. He was as confused as she was.

But she had to be brave. She swallowed and raised her head, averting her eyes from the man across the room.

There was no sign of struggle, of blood on the floor, of chairs tipped over. Jack Camus had walked right into the Black Sparks clubhouse as if he'd owned the place, then stood there, cold, clinical, calculating. In fact, the mere ordinariness of it was the most terrifying thing at all.

"What are you doing here, Camus?" Nick demanded. "Did you think I was joking when I told you to stay the fuck away from us?"

"No, I didn’t," said Jack. "But I also told you that, no matter what, I'd collect what's mine. And thanks to your club president, I've found an even easier way."

"What easier way?” Nick asked. “There was no easier way. You told me what you wanted, but there was no deal. I never agreed to turn over Liana."

"No," said Jack, his eyes ever-so-slightly shifting to the left, where the club president stood, arms crossed, black eyes boring down on Nick, daring him to challenge his rule. "But Tryg did."

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Watching Liana tremble under the gaze of Jack Camus, Nick knew instantly that he'd made a mistake. He never should have agreed to leave Liana alone. She was strong, sure, but this was entirely different from of fear, like she was looking into the face of her nightmares comes true.

He never should have agreed to go on that date with Helena. He'd been selfish; he'd only been looking out for his own interests, thinking that would be pleasing Tryg. But Tryg had made a mistake, too; he had fallen for Jack Camus' lines, the same way Liana once had. And now all of them had fallen into Jack’s trap.

Liana, her face gone colorless and ashen, turned around, but Martin Malone was faster than her. He grabbed her by the arm. Nick shoved the skinny man away.

"Keep your filthy hands off her," Nick growled, reaching for Liana, but she still spun away, as if she didn't even see him.

Drops of sweat had broken out on her pale forehead. She moved deliberately, as if a loaded gun had been pointed at her neck. Nick didn't even want to think about what that meant for what Jack had done to her in the past, or what he was capable of now.

Worst of all, there was nothing Nick could do. He could only watch helplessly as Martin moved to the door to the meeting room and closed it firmly, blocking it with his body, arms crossed in a self-satisfactory way that made Nick want to wring his scrawny neck.

"What the hell is going on here, anyway?” Nick demanded, turning back to the club’s president, who stood like a slab of marble at the other end of the room, emotionless. “You can't just give Liana away like she was some patch on a jacket, some prize you can award to the highest bidder. She's a person, Tryg. And your niece."

There was a long pause as Nick watched Tryg’s chest move up, then down. "No,” he said finally. “You're right. I can't. I can't give her away." Jack still hadn't said anything. He didn't have to. “But I can make her be an offer."

"An offer? You don’t offer anything to this psychopath,” he insisted, gesturing to Jack. “Do you know what he’s capable of? Do you know what he--” He couldn’t bear to look at the young woman, as if speaking the words out loud would evoke the trauma all over again.

"I know what Liana
said
he was capable of. That doesn’t mean it’s the truth."

“What?”

"Never discount the value of girl talk. I have it from a reliable source that Liana admitted to making up most of that stuff about Jack."

Helena,
Nick thought with bitterness. "She's a liar, too. Ask Liana. Your own niece. Ask her if she was lying."

Liana’s hands were balled into fists, frantically looking from Nick, to Tryg, to Jack. Her lips seemed to tremble. Still she was silent.

"I know you don't like Helena, Nick. I thought sending you on that date would help, but obviously it didn't."

“But that doesn’t mean--”

Suddenly, Nick heard Liana's voice, so quiet as to be indistinguishable. He turned to look at the young woman, and he couldn’t believe it. He knew she was shocked and terrified that her own uncle would put her face to face with the man she feared more than anyone else in the world. Still she spoke steadily. "No. He's right. I was lying. I made it all up."

Nick spun around.
"What?"

Liana wouldn't look at him as she spoke. "I lied because I was embarrassed. I didn't want anyone to know the real reason why I came back – that I moved to New York, that I got involved with someone and that I failed. I wanted you to think I was stronger than that. I wanted you to think I came back because I was brave enough to leave somebody who was hurting me. But really I was just being immature. I was too afraid to put in the time to make it work."

Nick felt his jaw drop. "But now I'm ready." She took a step forward toward Jack. A thin smile appeared on the cop’s taut, pale face. "I know where I belong now, and I'm ready."

Jack put his arm around her. "That's my girl." He bent down to plant a kiss on the side of her face, and Liana didn't look up, but she also didn't flinch. She just stood there, letting it happen, the same way she had back at Tryg and Kirrily's house when Nick had tried to kiss her in a fit of angry passion. It was as if she had just shut down, as if she shoved the part of her that was capable of caring, of feeling, of loving, into the deepest, darkest reaches of her psyche. To know she was capable of doing that made Nick hurt. He never wanted her to have to do that--not with him, and especially not with Jack Camus.

"Jack,” Tryg went on, “has offered to help us with our little Viper problem."

"His help is the last thing in the world we need,” said Nick. He’d turned away from Liana.

Nick looked at Tryg, who looked at Jack as if he were a son he’d just adopted. It made Nick want to retch. He couldn’t believe it had come to this.

"In that case,” Jack finally spoke up, “I couldn't guarantee that the Vipers wouldn't continue to make trouble for you."

"Because you'll order them to make trouble."

"I'm not ordering anybody to do anything,” Jack insisted, holding up his hands. “I'm a cop, not some neighborhood gang lord. But I do have influence. Now don't play dumb. I told you exactly what I'm offering you during our little chat yesterday and you gave me the brush-off and told me to get out, said that if you the choice came down between being with Liana and helping the Black Sparks back on top where they belong--" Jack's teeth gleamed. He had Nick where he wanted him. "You choose the skirt."

"I didn't--that's not--" Nick look frantically from Tryg to Liana to Jack. 

“Look, I don’t care who said what. Jack’s offering us what we need, and we’re making the deal. Now. Tonight. You’re either with us or against us.”

“But what happens if we let him walk out that door with Liana?” Nick demanded. “We’ve got no proof he’ll do what he says he will. For all we know, he could be plotting against us with the Vipers.”

“You have my word. After, you won't hear from me again. Of course, I can't say the same for Liana--but she wouldn't be your concern anymore… Of course you could decide to be a knight in shining armor and ‘save’ her. You could put the entire operation in jeopardy by bringing the Vipers down right on your head. You could leave your own M.C. to twist in the wind. I’m a patient and forgiving man,” said Jack, “but I’m not
that
patient."

"No,” said Nick slowly. He saw Tryg’s jaw drop slightly, his eyes narrow. Nick forged ahead. “Liana can walk out that door if she wants to, but if Jack threatens her, I won’t leave her alone. I can’t. And if that's what the club decides--" The rest of the Black Sparks took a step forward, like a row of black-clad priests, ready to burn him in fire as a heretic. He didn't care. He rushed ahead. "I'll turn in my patch if it comes to that."

"And the tattoos?"

"I'll burn them off." He balled his fists. Already hot, he could feel the flames licking at him; the idea of ridding himself of the only thing that had ever mattered to him was that painful. But for Liana, he would walk right into the fire. He'd left her to suffer once before; if there was one thing he knew, it was that he could never do it again.

"Nick, listen to what you're saying,” rumbled Tryg, as the other Sparks stepped forward, murmuring their agreement. “These are your brothers – your family."

Nick felt his whole body clench. He knew it was true. He stood in the clubhouse, in the closest thing to real home he’d ever had. They’d welcomed him in out of the rain; put his picture up on the wall, called him and a son and a brother. But looking at Liana, he saw the only peace he'd ever found. He saw the only way to set things right for fucking up the way he had, for not being able to protect her all those years ago, for being selfish and myopic and refusing to forgive her, when they could have so many good years together that they'd missed.

He wouldn't miss out on any more. There was only one voice that could speak against him. "Nick.” The young woman swallowed and continued. "Stop. I know what you’re trying to do. But this is for the best, don’t you see? Not just for me, not just for the club – for
you
. If this can save the club--if Jack can do what he promises--"

"But, Liana, he won't. You said it yourself, he's a liar, he 's a cheat, he--"

"I've caused enough trouble,” she cut him off. “You wouldn't be in this situation if it weren’t for me.” Liana seemed to speak robotically, as if the voice she was using was not her own, as if she were reading from a script in one of her plays, just playing a role, the tragic selfless heroine riding to her doom for the good of her people. "Think of my dad, Nick. I always knew the day would come when I'd be able to prove myself – to prove I'm worthy of the legacy he left."

"Liana, you're being ridiculous. This is insane. Your dad loved the Sparks, sure, but he wouldn't have wanted you to do
this.
Not for him. Not for me. Not for anybody."

"But I love him," she said robotically, squeezing Jack's arm.

"You heard the lady," Jack rasped, looking directly at Nick with the eyeless, soulless gaze of a corpse, daring him to challenge him further. "It's done." Then he turned to Liana again. "I'll leave you a couple days to get used to the idea. Meanwhile, I've book us two flights on Wednesday morning to New York. Don't worry, princess," said Jack, rubbing her back in a slow, deliberate, circle, and Nick flinched to see his hands on her.

He also used a pet name Nick knew Liana must have hated, because it was the exact same one her stepfather had used to refer to her, sardonically, tauntingly. Did Jack know? Did he even care? Or did he use it deliberately to torture her?

Liana stood stiffly, her fingers curled at her sides.

"In a few days, you'll be back in Brooklyn where you belong. Not in that shitty roach-infested apartment you were living in, but in a real home. With me." Jack looked at Nick as he said these words, and it took Nick a minute to figure out why. Suddenly, ashamedly, he thought back to where Liana had spent last night: in a filthy, grease-spattered garage, under a borrowed blanket, on a couch with broken springs he'd found sitting on someone's driveway. She deserved so much more than that, and it pained him that he was incapable of giving that to her.

But she also deserved to feel safe. Maybe Nick couldn't give her that either, but Jack Camus certainly couldn't. All it took is one look into the blankness of Liana's face, the mask she had pulled over like the good actress she was, to hide her terror. Nick realized he recognized that look; she'd worn it Noel Richardson's house when he'd gone into one of his rages, as if she were just shutting down, playing the part of the perfect princess, who always did her duty. He wondered if that was why she had been drawn to acting, if that was where it had begun. Nick had never been able to act like that--and it was what had always gotten him in trouble. When he was angry, when he was upset, it showed all over him. It was the way he was born.

“Liana--” He couldn’t help it. He rushed toward her, reaching out. Jack turned, and Nick expected him to fight him, to growl at him like an attack dog. But he didn’t have to. Liana did it all with her eyes.

Nick froze under her gaze. Her lashes fluttered silently over a gleam that could have been tears. There was something in it that was deliberate, that meant something only he could understand. A message? An apology? In any case, it meant,
don’t follow
. Before he could even come close to figuring it out, she was gone. Slowly, Nick left the meeting room and entered the bar. He needed something--advice, a plan, a cocktail or ten.