Kicked: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (76 page)

I sigh and turn the ignition, well aware that the club's on their best behavior right now. It's not like I'm going to see them trafficking illegal weapons or making drug deals in the bright light of day.

“Screw you, Royal,” I murmur, pulling out of my parking space and heading towards the front gates. It's not until I hit the highway that it starts to really pour, drops splattering against the roof of my car. I could go back to the office, but my dad's going to want to hear all about my meeting, and I have even less to report back on than Toni Gladstone did.
She
got laid by the president; I got dismissed like a stray dog.

My hands tighten around the wheel and my eyes wander to my cell phone, plugged in and laying across the passenger seat.

I press the dial button on my steering wheel, connecting with the Bluetooth in my phone.

“Call Royal McBride,” I say and listen as the phone rings over the speakers in my car.

“Wolf Cycle Service and Repair, this is Janae, how can I help you?” The sugary sweet voice of Janae, the club secretary, fills the quiet car and forces me to take a breath to clamp down on my anger. It isn't directed at her, isn't her fault that her boss is a dick. I think—though I'm not certain—that she's an … an
old lady
or something. Isn't that what bikers call their wives? A small shudder goes through me, but I make myself smile. People can hear it in your voice, you know.

“Hi Janae, this is Lyric from the mayor's office, I was wondering if you could get ahold of Royal for me?” There's a small pause as she considers my request. “I know he said he's busy today, but—”

“Busy?” Janae repeats with a small laugh. “Is that what he told you? Oh, bless his heart. Did he dodge out on your meeting?” My smile fades from my face. “There's a party tonight at the clubhouse. The boys are swearing in a new VP tomorrow.” I don't bother to ask what happened to the old vice president—I know she won't tell me. Club business
stays
club business. “He's probably just flirting with groupies and hauling in kegs.”

“Uh huh.” I can feel my mouth twitching with frustration. “Is that so?”

“That's so,” Janae says with a small laugh. “But I can try to wrangle him up for you if you want.”

“No, that won't be necessary. What time is the party tonight?”

There's a pause on Janae's end of the line.

“Could you hold a moment for me?” she asks.

“Sure thing.”

I'm already at my exit by the time she comes back.

“The party starts at six here at the clubhouse,” Janae begins, her voice holding a strange sort of hesitancy. “Although I'm not sure that this is the sort of party that you'd be interested in.”

I narrow my eyes, even though I know she can't see me, my gaze focused out the windshield on the wet pavement and the green of the trees flickering by on either side of the car. It's easy to see why they call this the Lost Coast; even with the fairly recent population boom, the area's still wild enough that I feel like it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to catch sight of some sort of Jurassic period monster—like Royal McBride.

“Six at the clubhouse,” I say, just to reconfirm.
Not the kind of party that I'd be interested in.
Please. If Royal thinks he can use his secretary to scare me away, he's dead wrong. “I'll be there.”

CHAPTER TWO
Royal

Holy hell.

Talk about a shit fest.

I slide a cigarette between my lips and feel my mouth curl into a smirk. Somebody hired strippers—not me, too busy dealing with my
ex
VP—but I owe whoever it was a favor. Fifteen minutes to six, and I'm already enjoying the show, watching my boys piss away two weeks worth of rage and frustration on alcohol and leather lovers. One of my favorites, a slim waisted brunette with legs for days, is smiling at me from across the room. I give her a wink and a silent promise to check in later. Right now, I've got business to take care of.

“You invited the mayor's daughter to one of our parties?” Smoky asks, lighting up and giving me a sideways glance that says he doesn't approve. “You think that's a good idea? On so many levels I can see this going wrong.”

“I'm not planning on shagging her,” I say, raising my brows and exhaling. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals a sea of leather cuts and scantily clad women, not a single gray skirt suit in sight. “I'm not a complete idiot, you know.”

“Only a half-wit,” Smoky says with a smirk, his green eyes narrowing as he shakes his head at me. “You never pass on a beautiful girl, even if fucking her's likely to get you tossed in the slammer. So tell me, what's wrong with this one?”

Royal McBride.
I can still hear that girl's voice ringing in my head, the mighty punch she packed into the four simple syllables of my name. I have to admit, it was a fucking shock to turn around and find Pint-Sized and Pretty glaring up at me, not even a hint of concern for where she was or who she was talking to.

I liked it.

I run my tongue over my lower lip and Smoky groans.

“Goddamn it, Royal.” I flick my gaze over to my friend and smile. “You're so full of shit your eyes are brown.”

“Yeah, well, you can blame my mum for that one.” My smile turns into a grin as I move away from Smoky and into the crowd. It parts like the Red Sea, bodies shifting aside as I make my way towards the front entrance. I know how to crack a joke and a smile, but I also know how to break a man's ribs without leaving any bruising. There's a reason I'm the youngest president in the club's sordid history, thirty-two years old and the officers twice my age don't have shit to say about it.

“She's here again.”

“Damn it, Dober. I thought I told you I wanted the night off?” I pause just outside, my boots dark against the rich red stain of the deck. A quick scan of the parking lot and there's no black Chrysler in sight. Eh, I don't know why I'm letting myself get so worked up over some bureaucratic government bitch that's just as likely to screw me in the courtroom as the bedroom. She wasn't even very attractive, more plain than anything else. But there was just something about her …

“What do you want me to do? Throw Rebecca and the kids out and close the gates? She's not stupid, Royal. Clearly, there's a party happening here, and as far as she knows, her husband died to protect the club.”

I grit my teeth and realize I've forgotten to ash my cigarette. Gray flakes drift in the breeze and fall to the black leather toes of my boots. I flick it away and grab a new smoke from my pocket.

“He
did
die to protect the club,” I growl as Dober steps up next to me, arms crossed over his broad chest, his mouth turned down in a frown that I can barely see through that thick brown beard of his.
I know because I took care of him myself. Fucking rat. Fucking backstabbing, idiot, blindsiding twat.

I miss him so bad it's like a knife to the gut every time I think about it.

“Yeah, well, what do you want me to tell Rebecca?”

I close my eyes and listen to the heavy bass throbbing in the background, taking a drag on my cigarette as I try to figure out how to handle this. I've already offered to keep paying Rebecca her husband's salary, at least until she gets herself on her feet. Landon might've been a snitch, but he was my VP and, once upon a time, my best friend.

I sigh.

“Where is she?”

“In Janae's office, bawling her eyes out.”

“Lovely.” I snub my cigarette out in a nearby ashtray and ignore the squealing and shouting and jeering that's taking place all around me. My brothers need a party to get their minds off things; I don't have that luxury.

Without another word, I take four steps down from the deck and hit the pavement in front of the parking lot, preparing myself to look Rebecca in the eye and lie through my teeth. No fucking way I'm telling her what really happened between me and Landon.
I can still feel his blood on my hands.

I shake the thought away with a growl and jam my fingers through my hair. This surprise visit, last thing I needed tonight.

“Rebecca.” I don't bother to knock, opening the door to the Wolf Cycle office without preamble, slipping in and closing it behind me before one of the guys notices and decides this is any of their business.

“Royal.” Rebecca is a mess. Her blonde hair is tangled and twisted around her face, mascara streaming down her cheeks in two dark lines. Her lower lip is a bloodied mess, all scarred and scabbed from being worried at by those pearly white teeth of hers. It's a habit she's had since high school, one that Landon was always trying to get her to break.

Dober said the kids were here, but I don't see either of them.

“In the back watching TV,” she says with a sniffle and a small smile, one that fades just as quick as it came. “I need to talk to you.”

A crash sounds from somewhere outside, but I don't bother to check on it. I'll leave that to Smoky—he's my sergeant-at-arms and even drunk, he's
good.

“What about, sweetheart?” I ask, and I actually feel bad, I do.
I killed your husband, I'm sorry.
It's what I should say, but I can't bring myself to feel anything but betrayal.
He put all of us at risk, all of us, even you.

Rebecca puts her hands on her lower back and turns in a small circle, her brown boots clicking against the cement floor of the office. Even as a grieving widow, she cuts a nice figure in her tight denim and leather jacket. It's not hard to see why Landon was smitten with her from the beginning all the way until the end.

I grit my teeth against the pain, push it back and bury it away. I haven't felt pain in years. I can't. It doesn't fit my job description.

“There are things a man can tell his wife,” she begins and then pauses, breath hitching as she stares at the soft sage green on the office wall's—Janae's pick, not mine. “There are things a man should be able to tell his wife that don't leave the four walls of their home.”

Shit.

When I fed Rebecca the bullshit story about Landon's death, she didn't react. I thought it was shock. But now?

“Look, Becca,” I begin, but she's already spinning around and fixing me with those bright blue eyes of hers. I want to go cold, shut my emotions off like I do when I'm with the club, but the way she's looking at me …

“I know Landon was feeding information to the feds.”

There's a long moment of silence, too long. Part of me knows that Rebecca is a loose end, that she should be taken care of the way the Alpha Wolves former president took care of things, but that's not me. I don't hurt innocent women and children. The fuck kind of monster would I be if I did?

I took my best friend's life to protect the club, but I won't hurt his family.

Fortunately our conversation is over before it starts. Rebecca breaks down into hysterical sobs again, her makeup running down to her chin and dripping on the red fabric of her tank top. Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I step forward and wrap my arms around her, holding her tight until the shaking subsides and she pulls away, swiping an arm across her face.

“Thanks, Royal,” she says, looking up at me with a tortured half-smile on her face. “You always knew how to take the edge off, for Landon and for me.”

I try to smile back at her, but the expression won't come. It's frozen inside of me, trapped down there with all of the other emotions that I fight off, that I push back just to survive.

I take a step back and open my mouth to respond when a flicker of movement catches my eye, the blurred streak of a face at the window.

Who in the bloody hell is that?

CHAPTER THREE
Lyric

Shit, shit, shit.

I
knew
following Royal over to that office was a bad idea, but I just couldn't help myself. As soon as I pulled through the front gates, I saw him walking towards the bike shop with his leather vest slung over his shoulders, his legs encased in that dark denim. It was almost like there was this magnetic pull between us, urging me onward.

And now …

“Stupid heels,” I mumble as I click across the wet pavement, my arms springing with goose bumps and my teeth beginning to chatter. I feel sort of … naked in this dress. And stupid, too. Why am I even wearing it again? Oh yeah, because I had to prove Janae—but mostly Royal—wrong. I'm not intimidated by a little alcohol or … are those girls
topless?

I pause for a moment, my jaw dropping as a pair of shirtless blondes explode from the front door with shrieks of laughter, two men in leather jackets hot on their heels.

Okay, so maybe I am a
little
intimidated.

“Wait up.”

Boots pound the pavement behind me, and I pick up my pace, wondering how my brand-new studded peep-toe pumps are going to hold up if I sprint across the wet blacktop while I'm wearing them.

“Hey, you.” Royal's big hand wraps around my bare upper arm, sending thrills of flame through my body that I just have no idea how to interpret.
What is happening to me?

“Let go of my arm,” I snap, jerking back on his grasp as I whirl around and come to face him, narrow eyed and panting, the wind fingering that sexy dark hair of his into a mussy mess. Royal lets me go fortunately because there's no way in hell I could get him to
let
go if he didn't want to.

“What the fuck are you doing over here?” he growls at me, taking a menacing step forward that would have me shaking in my heels if I wasn't so used to men trying to bully me around. “Get your ass back to the party and maybe I'll forget the fact that you were spying on me.”

“
Excuse me,
” I breathe, my own voice precariously close to a growl. “Get my
ass
back to the party? Who the hell do you think you are?” Royal gives me a quick once-over and then his lips tilt up at the edges in a slight half-smile.

“Well, hello there,” he says, cocking his head to the side like he's finally just realized I'm wearing a red dress that's about two inches shorter than I'd like it to be. His five o'clock shadow emphasizes the naughty curve of his mouth and makes my thighs clench together when I imagine all of that stubble sliding along them … “Sorry about the outburst, but you caught me off guard. Tell you what, let's go back to one of the dorm rooms and I'll make it up to you.”