White Lies (Lost Kings MC 15)

Earlier, his declaration sent a shiver of fear through my belly. Had me questioning whether I’m ready to make motherhood twice as hard.

Now it sends heat pooling between my legs. “All right.”

He pulls me in for a longer, searing kiss.

Abruptly, he pulls away. “Can you grab something out of the saddle bag?” He tips his head toward his bike.

“What?”

“Anything.”

Confused, I bend over and start undoing one of the buckles. It hits me that he’s messing around, and I laugh. “You just want to stare at my ass.”

He confirms my accusation by grabbing my hips and pulling me into his groin. It’s dark enough now that I press my hands into the seat, still warm from our ride, and arch my back.

“Do you think I would’ve made a good dancer?” I sway my hips from side to side to underscore the question.

“At Crystal Ball?” Even though I can’t see his face, his tone does plenty to imply the absurdity of the idea.

“Blake?” I glance over my shoulder and find him staring at the sky.

“Give me a second.” He points to his head. “I got a mental image of what that would look like and now I want to go on a murder spree.”

I face him and loop my arms around his neck. “Do you think I’d be that bad at it?”

He finally meets my eyes. “I barely tolerate anyone looking at you clothed. Dancing? Fuck no. There’d be a trail of dead bodies from Crystal Ball to the highway.”

“You’re crazy.”

He pulls me tight against his body and squeezes my butt. “This is what you signed up for, beautiful. I rein it in every day.” He leans down and brushes his lips over mine. “But you should know it’s a struggle not to follow you to school or work and scare away every guy you see.”

“That’s so sweet in a totally terrifying way.”

He barely cracks a smile.

That’s okay, I have an admission of my own. “I wanted to whack that girl with one of her stripper shoes when she said your name.”

Instead of laughing, he frowns. “I told you—”

“I still didn’t like your name coming out of her mouth.” I poke him in the chest. “We’re two psychos in love, you and me.”

Now I finally get some laughter out of him. He grabs me by the hips and spins me around. I perform a weak imitation of a sexy dance with extra special attention on grinding my ass against him.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “This is dangerous.”

“What’s wrong?”

He grabs my ponytail, tugging my head back while squeezing my hip. “Just like this. When I get home, I’ll text you. Come meet me in the garage.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Come here.” He releases me, and I turn. Desire dances in his eyes, and he takes my hands. “How am I supposed to get through the rest of the night?”

“Just think of me waiting for you.”

The teasing smile on his lips fade. “You get me through everything, Heidi.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “More than just midnight garage sex. You know that, right?”

I tap my finger against his chest. “I do. Otherwise, there’d be no midnight garage sex.”

He pops my ass once. “All right, if you don’t go now, I’m not gonna let you leave.”

At my car door, he stops. “Call me when you get home. Let me say goodnight to Alexa.”

“I can do that.” I glance at my phone. “Shit, it’s late. She might be out already.”

“Go.” He nudges me into the car. “Drive carefully.”

I give him one final kiss. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Eleven

Murphy

It’s after midnight when I finally leave Furious. As much as I’d been looking forward to meeting Heidi in the garage, I don’t have the heart to call when I know she’s probably asleep and needs to be up early.

“We need to hire someone else, brother,” I say to Wrath. “Can’t keep doing these late nights.”

“These longer hours are stretching us thin. We’ll have to sit down and talk about giving Dylan more responsibilities.” Guess Wrath’s mellowed out since earlier. He flashes a maniacal grin. “Besides, you’ll be busy with all your new VP duties soon.”

That’s something I hadn’t considered. Unless we’re on a run, Road Captain responsibilities I can pretty much handle whenever the fuck I feel like it. Servicing the club’s vehicles and mapping out any club trips can be done on my schedule.

Vice President is totally different. Rock mentioned I’d have to be more visible in Empire. Keep up the illusion that we’re nothing more than a bunch of bikers who wouldn’t dare run a criminal enterprise and all that.

What Rock conveniently didn’t mention is that I’ll also have more responsibility over the rest of my brothers. They’ll bring any issues they have to me first.

I’ll also have the pleasure of making sure the other officers are doing their jobs—which, yeah, I’m sure Wrath will be a joy to deal with.

And hell help me if Rock’s away for any reason, I’ll have to assume his role as well.

“Thanks for the reminder.”

Wrath’s eyes widen in fake surprise. “Figured you’d be dying to rise in rank above Teller.”

“Not at all.” Even though I think he’s fucking with me, his comment makes me wonder. “Why would you say that?”

He shrugs. “And that’s why you’re the right man for the job.”

All the pep talks from everyone are getting old, so I say good night, straddle my bike, and head home.

Bright lights almost blind me as they pull out of the parking lot a few doors down from ours. Fucker.

Usually a cool night ride settles my mind. The rumble of my engine and whistle of the wind puts everything into perspective.

Not tonight.

The voices in my head won’t stop yapping.

I roll the throttle, praying more speed will drown them out. No such luck.

A couple miles outside the Empire city limits, I shift my gaze and realize the car that’s been on my ass since I left Furious is still there.

This part of suburbia doesn’t have a lot of traffic at this hour. But it’s not unusual to encounter the occasional car.

One riding my ass this hard almost never happens.

There’s no other lane to pull into, so I tap the brakes a few times. He backs off, but he’s still too close for my comfort.

I speed up, and he speeds up.

This motherfucker.

Still, I keep cool. With the blinding glare from his headlights, I can only tell it’s a sedan, not much else.

First thing you learn as a rider—no matter how much of a fearless motherfucker you are, if a car and motorcycle go head-to-head, the car’s going to win. It’s simple physics.

So even though my preference would be to turn and put a bullet through his windshield, my goal is to

avoid impact at all costs.

Miles go by, and he doesn’t turn off anywhere. Suburbia turns rural, and the car’s still there. No way this clown just happens to be headed my way.

I should’ve stopped earlier to confront him.

Teller and the other guys busted my balls for buying the tricked-out Road Glide before our trip to San Antonio earlier in the year. I almost never use its integrated Bluetooth system. Riding takes enough concentration. No need to add distractions.

Now, I’m glad I have it, and I happily ask my phone to call “speed dial two.”

Teller answers, cranky and out of breath. “This better be good.”

“I’ve had some asshole tailing me since Empire.”

“Fuck, I can barely hear you. Where are you?”

“Not far from your place.”

“I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead.

Not much of a plan, but I have faith in Teller. He’ll either be waiting at the end of his driveway with a shotgun, or he’ll come find me. With the shotgun, of course.

I keep moving at a slower clip, giving Teller time to take a piss or whatever he has to do before leaving the house.

Maybe a couple hundred feet from Teller’s driveway, there’s a pull-off. I flick my blinker on and slow the bike.

The car slows with me.

Show time, motherfucker.

I make a lazy turn in the dirt and end up facing the car. Still can’t make out what it is, other than some low-to-the-ground import.

We sit there staring at each other. Sure, I’m still vulnerable if he decides to stomp on the gas, but at least I’ve gained control of the situation.

Five minutes later, the roar of Teller’s monster-truck engine has the corners of my mouth twitching.

He pulls up behind me. The light bar on his truck illuminates the area like a glorious neon sunrise.

Whoever’s behind the wheel of the car must finally realize the error of his ways. He reverses quickly, spins around, and takes off the way we came in a cloud of dust.

The car’s been modified enough that I can’t figure out the make in the brief window of time. The plates are blacked out, so that’s no help. Doesn’t matter. He’s gone. More importantly, I didn’t lead whoever it was to the clubhouse.