Chapter 18
NICOLETTA
Someone flicks on the lights, bathing the stage like a spotlight. Men charge the stage. My father spins around. He twists the gun out of the guard’s hand, then yanks me away from Bolt with inhuman strength.
He fists the gun, holds it out in front of him, then wraps his arm around my waist, using me as a human shield. “Don’t anyone come any closer.”
“Mr. Williams, put the gun down.” The guard carefully approaches as my father walks us backwards.
Bolt sidesteps around the guards, his eyes never leaving mine.
The ballroom goes quiet. Some huddle at the foot of the stage, waiting and watching the drama play out. Others are frozen in place on the stairs leading to the stage.
My father aims the gun at the crowd. “Don’t anyone try to intervene.” He pulls me closer to him.
“Clark, let your daughter go,” a woman shouts from below. “You don’t want to hurt your own daughter.”
My father grounds out a harsh laugh. “Daughter? She’s not my daughter. She’s the result of another one of my faithless wife’s affairs.”
Shock envelops me. Forgetting the gun, I twist out of his grasp and face him. “What?”
“You’re no more my daughter than anyone else in this room.” Clark’s face twists in rage. “I only played along all those years ago to save face with my family. How would it look if, not only did the heir to the Williams fortune marry a stripper, but that stripper fathered a child with another man?”
“I don’t believe it,” I spit out, but deep down, I know it’s true—and I’m glad.
“Your mother was nothing but a worthless whore. She tricked me into marrying her, then tried to pass you off as my child.” He shakes his head.
“But I found out the truth when your sperm donor bum of a father came around trying to blackmail her and me.” Clark flings his hand at Bolt.
“Your real father is a criminal just like him.”
My mind is spinning so fast I can’t keep up.
“I couldn’t have a scandal of that magnitude get out, so I took care of him too.” My father’s eyes shine bright under the lights. “Two days later, he was involved in a fatal crash on Mulholland.”
I suck in a short breath, not believing my ears. I’d never know for sure if that man was my father, but one thing I do know—Clark Williams is deranged and unhinged.
His crazed smile widens. “He got what he deserved, just like that weasel Brad. Greedy fucker. I thought I could placate him with you, but no. He wanted more money, when it was me doing all the work. Me taking all the chances.”
“Mr. Williams.” The guards circle my father as Bolt comes up from behind him. “You need to calm down and give us the gun.” One guard holds out his hand while the other moves in closer.
“I had the perfect plan. Demand your mother go to Brad’s beach house and break it off with him. Leave the knife, and call the cops. But, no, you had to show up and ruin everything.”
“Mr. Williams, we don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“I’m tired of doing all the work, and everyone always wanting more. My whore of a wife, her ungrateful daughter, and even you.” He points the gun at Stuart. “Making me do all the dirty jobs while you profit.”
Stuart Hinchman goes pale under his golfer’s tan.
“And you two.” Clark points the gun at George Davenport and Tom Hansen.
“One party wasn’t enough to satisfy you.
No, you had to have more drugs, more women.
Ha, not even women. You wanted them younger and younger, and who did you turn to?
” Clark waves the gun at them. “Me. It was always me who made all the parties happen.”
There’s an audible gasp throughout the ballroom.
“Me who made sure you had the drugs and the sex. Twosomes, threesomes, it didn’t matter as long as you all got what you wanted.
” Clark points the gun at the senators and elected officials crowded around the stage.
“Most of you were part of it too. Looking the other way as long as you got off in the privacy of my listed properties.”
“Mr. Williams, you need to settle down,” the guard warns.
“I’m not—”
In a flash, the guard pounces from the side as Bolt grabs Clark from behind. He shoots wildly, the cracking sound filling the ballroom. Women squeal.
Another shot hits the ceiling. Lights pop and explode overhead before the guard wrestles the gun out of his fist.
Bolt grips the lapels of Clark’s tuxedo. “You ever come near her again, and you’re over.”
“This man is threatening me.” Clark tries to squirm out of Bolt’s hold.
“No threat, asshole, that’s a promise.” He shakes Clark hard. “And just for the record, the Royal Bastards are a motorcycle club, not a gang.”
Bolt shoves Clark to the guard, then holds me at arm’s length. “Are you all right?”
I nod once, and he angles me toward the stairs.
One of the guards steps in our path. “You two aren’t going anywhere until we question both of you thoroughly.”
The guard reaches for me, and Bolt pushes him off. One brutal shove, and the man folds.
The other guards wrestle Clark off the stage as sirens blare outside. Obviously, someone had the good sense to call the police.
Bolt pushes me in front of him, just as a loud whistle draws everyone’s attention to the back of the room, where Smoke, Blood and Diesel stand, no longer in catering uniforms. They look every bit like outlaw bikers here to protect one of their own.
Smoke moves into the room, and the crowd literally parts for him. Eyes widen, taking in the leather, denim and chains—some with a hint of admiration.
Smoke waves his arm overhead “Let’s hit it.”
Bolt tips my chin. “Time for us to leave.”
He hustles me down the steps and off the stage. We reach Smoke just as the police enter, blocking the main door of the ballroom.
“Fuck!” Smoke nods at Bolt. “It’s about to get ugly.”
“I think it already has.” Bolt grabs my arm, steering me toward the side door. “Let’s go.”
Behind us, footsteps pound. Police shout for us to stop, but we keep running—not thinking, just running. Bolt angles me in the other direction as Diesel and Blood hold off the cops.
People scream. Tables upend, and plates crash to the floor behind us, but Bolt veers off and pushes us through a fire door. Suddenly we’re outdoors on the side of the building. We take off for the front, the pavement hard and uneven under my stilettos.
As Bolt scans the area, a wave of dizziness engulfs me, and I falter. He swings me up like I weigh nothing and jogs with me in his arms to the carport.
A black SUV idling in the circular driveway guns the engine and speeds toward us, then slams on the brakes. When the back door swings open, we hop in to see Manny behind the wheel.
A few seconds later, Diesel, Smoke and Blood burst out of the main entrance. Manny pulls forward, and Blood hops into the third row of the Escalade as Diesel shoves in next to us. Smoke jumps into the passenger side, slams the door, then bangs on the dashboard. “Go, go!”
Manny hits the gas and jerks the SUV around on two wheels, then speeds down the long driveway and onto the main street.
My head won’t stop spinning, and nausea grips me hard. Manny’s stunt driving isn’t helping—or the look Bolt’s giving me.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“I don’t feel so good,” I mumble.
“Of course you don’t, babe,” Blood says. “You were just running for your fuckin’ life.”
Diesel bangs on the back of Smoke’s seat. “Fuck, that was crazy.”
He jostles me, and a sharp pain rips up my side. I press my hand against my rib cage, and the pain worsens.
“Something’s wrong.” I remove my hand, and it’s covered with blood.
“Shit!” Bolt bellows. “She’s been hit.”
I look down at myself again, and blood has now soaked through the side of my dress.
Bolt’s jaw tightens, and my heart kicks up. His expression stills, then a second later, it’s controlled, like he’s trying to contain his fear.
“Ahhh, fuck.” Diesel leans in, tearing away the fabric where the bullet tore into my dress. “Looks like a flesh wound.”
Bolt angles my body, and I moan.
Smoke turns in his seat. “What’s goin’ on?”
“She got grazed.” Bolt’s voice floats above me. “We gotta pull over so I can get the first-aid kit outta the back.”
“Not yet,” Blood says from the back seat. “We gotta wait till we get out of L.A.”
“Stay off the highways and head for Long Beach,” Bolt says. “We’ll hit up the doc who patched me up when that asshole slashed me down by the beach.”
“Fuck yeah,” Diesel agrees. “You were bleeding out way worse than this.”
Smoke turns in the passenger seat, nods to me, then gives Bolt and Diesel a look. “Watch what you’re sayin’.”
“I think taking a bullet while running a sting makes her one of us,” Bolt says to Smoke, then looks at Diesel. “Take off your t-shirt. I wanna put pressure on it.”
Diesel shrugs out of his cut, then pulls his t-shirt over his head. Bolt balls it up, and when he presses it against my side, I wince. Then he cuddles me tight to him, and my eyes slide shut.
“Hey,” Bolt is in my face, “you stay with me. No sleeping.”
I force my eyes open, but intoxicating sleep is so close and inviting.
“You know what?” Bolt asks. “You’re officially one of us now.”
The words “one of us” resonates in my foggy brain.
Blood leans over the back seat. “You claiming her?”
“Of course he is.” Diesel smirks. “How else could this bastard get a woman unless she was half unconscious?”
This wasn’t about breaking the rules or being a rebel anymore. Or the romantic notion of being free, the wild sense that Bolt made me feel more alive, carefree, without the restrictions of my former life.
This life has its own set of rules and regulations. Codes that have to be followed. Orders given and taken. Freedom, yes—but different. Because no one or no life is truly free without limits or obstacles.
Now, it comes down to a matter of choosing one over the other. A decision I will be forced to make. A decision I thought would be easy has just become dangerously hard.