Chapter 5
NICOLETTA
A half-hour later, we’re overlooking San Marino on the Baja Coast. The exhilaration and freedom on the back of Bolt’s Harley can’t be compared to any other experience.
He handles the huge machine with precision and ease.
Surprisingly, he follows all the road rules and only goes over the speed limit when we’re on an open road.
The power and vibration every time he accelerates zips through me like the strongest aphrodisiac. When he stops on the ridge overlooking the beach, I admire the view but miss the hum of the engine between my thighs. Only one other thing could replace it, and wanting Bolt so desperately scares me.
We ride all the way down the beach road, and when it ends by an inlet, Bolt lowers the kickstand and nods for me to dismount. Then he swings around, circles his arms around my waist and leans us against the seat. The expanse of the wide, mostly empty beach lies just beyond the sea grass.
“Fuckin’ beautiful, right?” He nuzzles his lips against my neck, and I shiver.
“The view?” I tease.
“The view and you.” He pushes away my hair and kisses the soft skin down to my collarbone.
My head drops forward until he palms my cheek, turning my lips to his.
The kiss immediately heats up as he shifts me in his arms, then lifts me onto the wide leather seat.
His hands skim down my sides, then up and under my thin shirt.
He finds my nipples, and when he twists them between his thumb and forefinger, I shift closer to him.
He grabs my hand and places it over the bulge in his jeans. “See what you fuckin’ do to me? The whole ride here I had to recite the alphabet so I didn’t bust outta my jeans.”
I pat the leather seat. “There is something to be said for this giant vibrator.”
He sneaks his other hand into my pants, and when he finds my center, he smiles. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”
“Hmmm.” I jerk my hips into his. “Seems a shame to waste all this.” My fingers are already undoing the belt and tab of his jeans.
“Exactly.” He easily rolls down my leggings, then spreads his legs wide, notching himself between my thighs with his jeans around his hips.
He cups my ass, lifts me, then shifts again, driving his hard cock right where I need it. He rocks me back and forth, grazing over my clit in the best way possible. He drives into me deep, then he grunts and spins me around.
“Gotta get in you deeper,” he growls into my ear, then bends me over the seat.
I wiggle my ass in anticipation, loving this position. He wastes no time spreading my ass cheeks, then thrusting himself into my wet pussy. He grips my hips, filling me up. His movements are strong, his breathing rough.
I scream out when the spasms start, unable to control the power he has over my body. I milk his cock inside my body until he howls at the sky, jerking inside me once, twice more, then collapsing over me.
“Fuck, babe, I can’t stand up.” He wraps his arms around my waist, and we slide to the sand alongside his bike. He rolls with me until I’m on top of him, and my body takes over.
Needing more of him, I spread my legs over his hips and take him in my body again, this time, dangerously slow. Bolt’s eyes slide shut as he moves my hips over him until our bodies break again. In the sand, alongside his bike, in broad daylight.
“I think you’re trying to corrupt me.”
Bolt huffs out a laugh. “Babe, I have a feeling you were corrupted way before I came along.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe. You just took my dick twice, out in the open where all could see, and I think you fuckin’ loved it.”
I lean in and take his lips in a slow, tongue-filled kiss, then pull back slightly. “You think right.” I smile down at him. “You bring out something in me I never knew existed.”
“And you like it.”
“Much more than I imagined. My life has been filled with structure and rules. What was acceptable. What was appropriate. When, in reality, none of that stuff matters.”
I roll off him and right my clothes. Bolt does the same, then we both lean against his bike, mesmerized by the crashing waves in the distance.
“All my life, I’ve been told how to act and react, yet I always felt there was this wild child just waiting to break out.”
Bolt hugs me to his side. “Gotta say, I’m lovin’ this wild child.”
His words hang between us, and we both stay silent, each examining our own feelings. He didn’t actually use the word “love,” but the gentleness in his voice surprises me, and I think it surprises him too.
I rest my head on his shoulder, and a feeling of peace surrounds me. A serenity I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced.
My eyes close, and I let myself drift, but I can’t shake the guilt of hiding the knife. I don’t know what Bolt and I have, if anything at all, but I do know I must tell him before he finds it on his own.
“Bolt?”
His eyes flutter, then he focuses on my face.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure.” He turns to face me, just as his phone vibrates in his pocket. He shifts slightly, retrieves the device, and swipes at the screen. “Yeah?”
I can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying, but the tone is not conversational.
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Bolt straightens his spine. “I’m on it.”
He swipes away the call and turns to me. “We gotta go.” He scrambles to his side, stands, then holds his hand out to me and pulls me up.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Gotta get back to The Tropics.”
The calm of ten seconds ago has evaporated into a cloud of dread.
Bolt swings his leg over the saddle, holds his hand out to me, and I do the same, then wrap my arms around his waist. He fires up the bike, hits the throttle, and, unlike the last time, he keeps his hands wrapped around the handlebars as he wheels us onto the main road.
On the ride back, my mind spins with different scenarios. Somehow, someone found the knife. Illogical, but my guilt is working overtime, and I can’t shut it down.
By the time we pull into the back lot of The Tropics, my stomach is in knots, and my back is sore from rigid tension the entire ride. So unlike the other times when I savored the ride and everything about it.
Bolt parks the bike, waits until I dismount, then he gets off, pockets his keys and heads for the back door. His silence is unnerving.
When we reach the door to the chapel, the prospect nods to Bolt. “They’re in there waiting for you.”
Bolt turns his back to me, punches in some numbers, the lock releases, and the door springs open. He flattens his palm against the door, then turns to the prospect. “Keep an eye on her,” he orders in a flat, unemotional tone.
The door closes behind him, and the prospect jerks his chin to the main room of the bar. I follow him to a table in the back of the empty room. Too late for the lunch crowd and too early for the evening chaos.
The prospect pulls out his phone, basically ignoring me. The time passes torturously slow, and even swiping my favorite apps doesn’t fill the void of not knowing what is going on.
Forty minutes later, Bolt stalks toward me. His face is unreadable, his expression serious.
When he reaches the table, he jerks his head at me. “Let’s go.”
I slowly stand, and he flanks me, ushering me into the hallway and then into the smoke-filled chapel. Like the last time, all eyes are on me, and it’s just as terrifying as before.
“Sit.” Bolt points to the end of the table, and I lower my body into the same chair as the last time. Must be the one reserved for scaring the shit out of people.
Once again, Smoke is at the head of the table, and again he leisurely draws deep on the cigarette resting between his fingers. A steady stream of smoke escapes his lips as the others glare at me. I’m so rattled I don’t know what to think, but whatever is going on is definitely not good.
Three monitors on the wall flicker as Marisol’s brother, Manny—who according to Bolt, is the club’s tech genius—taps at the keyboard of his laptop.
Someone lowers the lights, and one of the screens comes to life.
Grainy security footage shows the outside of a low, squat building wedged between a liquor store and a pawn shop, both draped with iron bars, along with an unhoused man slumped on the cracked sidewalk.
The second monitor flashes on with footage of a black Bentley pulling up to the curb. The driver’s door opens, and my eyes widen as my father steps out in one of his usual golf shirts and khakis, followed by a man in the passenger seat and two more from the back seat.
All eyes are on me, not the screen. No one speaks. My heart speeds up, then beats dangerously slow. “I don’t believe this,” I mumble.
Smoke points to the screen. “Freeze it.” Then he looks to me. “Any of them look familiar?”
“All of them.” I swallow hard. “Aside from my father, the shorter man is Tom Hanson. He owns most of the coastal developments in Southern California. The bald man is Stuart Hinchman. He owns billions in commercial property in and around Southern California, and sits on the boards of three different banks in Los Angeles. The taller man is George Henley, the CEO of Cedars-Sinai, and on the board of Riviera Country Club. He’s responsible for all the charity functions throughout the year and partners with a local children’s organization for the Christmas toy drive. ”
“Pillars of the community, huh?” Smoke’s voice drips with sarcasm.
I push out of my chair and move closer to the monitors, trying to make sense of the Royal Bastards having surveillance footage of my father and his golf buddies.
“Keep it rolling,” Smoke orders.
The footage resumes, and all four men enter the dilapidated building, then the camera switches to inside the bar, showing dim lighting, scratchy music, shadows, and a throng of people all minding their own business.
They move past half-hidden booths and small tables crowded together with faceless people. The men with my father are confident, like they know where they’re going. Like they’ve been here many times before. No one looks in their direction. No one stops them either.
The footage follows them to the back of the room, where the bass of hard rock music and loud voices lower. My father pulls out a key, unlocks a door, and the film cuts out.
I spin around. “What happened?”
“No cameras leading to the basement.”
“What’s down there? Drugs? Guns?” I ask, frantic for the answer.
Smoke steps forward, resting his palms on the table. “This is where it gets ugly.”
His eyes scan over the room. The air around us shifts.