Whiskey Throttle (The Bikers of Boston #3)

Chapter 1

HOLLISTER

“Dommy Darko, you alive back there?” Emilio’s smug voice buzzes through my helmet. Taunting and teasing as usual. “You disappear without saying shit. Now you’re riding like an old man. Should we stop for prune juice or—?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dom grumbles, loud and irritated.

Em’s right. He’s been more distant and grumpy. How that’s even possible is beyond me.

“Same shit, different day with these two,” Massimo says through his laughter.

Diego blasts ahead on his black bike, leading our formation. A rarity for him. He’s quiet. A hand at his hip, the other on the throttle, looking back at us. It’s good to be back. It’s been a minute since we last rode.

A long damn minute.

The five of us own the road on a clear spring day.

The air even feels fresher with winter finally over.

It was long and sort of boring, with Diego dipping out on us for his lady professor.

Then, Dom after that. I heard they were working on something, and I wrangled it out of Diego after apologizing to him and his woman on more than one occasion.

I was a bit jealous. A bit of a pussy. A bigger asshole.

He didn’t talk to me either for a while. After I wore him down, we made up. Sort of. He’s more distant than before, siding with her over me, but I get it. The smile that hangs on his face when he thinks no one is looking speaks to it.

I respect the space he’s put between us, even if I don’t like it.

Now, Dom, he’s a different dude. He never calls.

Never texts. Not anyone. Not ever. We only became friends when I asked him for a puff of his joint at a gala years ago.

I spotted the white rolled marijuana in his fingers as he was pushing out of the ballroom.

I followed him and have been friends ever since.

He didn’t talk much then and still doesn’t. I don’t know much about the Barrett family, except that they seem to be miserable. Then one day, he showed up with Diego. Shocked the hell out of me.

He had another friend? Two people in the world who could stand his ass?

“Who’s up for Silhouette tonight?” Em yells when the comms go silent for too long. His brother groans in disgust. Responding to what we’re all thinking. “Diego? Dark daddy Dom?”

Never one to take the hint. Those guys haven’t gone out with us to Silhouette in a while. No matter how many times Em asks.

“You know they are not going, Em,” I finally contribute to the conversation.

“Don’t say that, Holli Balls.”

His whine is loud. The new nickname is annoying. I’m starting to get how Dom feels. Both remain quiet. The silence speaks their answer.

Massimo blasts up toward Diego, signaling to head right, out of town for a longer drive.

Fine by me. I’m glad to have my boys again.

Even if two are changed, the other two are identical.

The twins are always down to ride. Literally ride or die in many ways.

The other two are harder, not just because of their graduate school courses.

“Hey, don’t drag Holli into this,” Diego adds, his voice light. Not irritated as I would have guessed. “He’s just trying to keep the family together.”

Honestly, he’s right. I’m the glue. The bridge between everyone. It’s how I am in all my friend groups.

“Fuck off, Em, or I will turn this ride around so fast, you’ll be going to Silhouette alone,” I threatened, knowing full well I wouldn’t.

“I hate going alone,” he pouts, then overtakes the two guys in the lead out of spite.

I’ve missed this. Them. The five of us are flying down the road and leaving our cares behind. Out here, I’m not Hollister Prescott Morgan Harrington III. I’m not a legacy. I’m not the future.

I’m just Holli.

The guy with tatted arms, a slight whiskey problem, and an addiction to speed. We slow at the next curve, engines growling as we roll through like a pack of wolves in carbon fiber and leather. Diego drops back by me, holding a fist out.

“Glad you pulled us together, man. It’s been too long.”

I fist bump him. Glad he appreciates it.

With summer approaching and each of us going our separate ways, I’d like us to ride every weekend.

I’ll head to our house in the Hamptons, a family tradition.

I’ll wish I wasn’t there, smothered in obligations, garden parties, and the other bullshit requirements I’ve endured for as long as I can remember.

Summertime in the Hamptons can be suffocating.

“Yeah, Dom hasn’t been out of his hole in forever,” Em chimes loudly and dramatically. “Like a damn vampire, never seeing the light of day.

“I will end you, Emilio,” Dom deadpans. The guy could do so without being bothered.

“Vampires don’t live in holes, idiot,” Massimo corrects him.

Going over 90 mph, Em turns to flip him off, only to receive double birds fired back at him. Massimo almost swerves into his brother. Em shoves his foot toward Massi’s bike, which is a terrible move, nearly getting it smashed or cut off.

Neither of them thinks. It’s just action and reaction, all the damn time. I shake my head, watching them fight. This is the good shit. Not the galas, the fake smiles, the mothers shoving their daughters at me. Not the Morgan name that drapes around my shoulders like a custom-tailored cape.

Just my bike.

My brothers.

And a stretch of road that doesn’t ask me to be anything but me.

“If you nut brushes want to know, I was helping put away my professor,” Dom mumbles unexpectedly.

I turn to look over my shoulder at him. Still content to be at the back of the formation. He doesn’t gesture. Doesn’t flash me any signs. Just rides.

“Wait, is that true?”

For once, the twins are silent when I ask.

“Yeah, Diego and I.”

Diego drops back by Dom. Everyone has partnered up, except me. I feel a bit left out. Not by the formation, we trade places constantly throughout the ride. He got Diego involved instead of me, Dom’s oldest friend. I try not to sound butthurt, but I sort of am.

Why him?

The question burns my throat like cheap whiskey, bitter and unwanted. I push the throttle a little harder, feel the bike surge beneath me. It doesn’t help. I’m still stuck on the image of Diego and Dom working side by side.

The two quietest guys in our crew, now bound by some dark shared mission. I realize their chem degrees bring a shared interest and commonality, but fuck . . . Dom didn’t call me once.

Me.

The one who risked talking to the moody bastard while getting high. The one who opened the door to this friendship. But I guess even shadows find each other in the dark.

I don't want to be jealous bitch, but I am. Not just of the time they spent together, but of the closeness it built. Like they’ve got something between them that I’m not a part of. Fuck that, I know I’m the glue to this group.

“You good, Holli?” Diego’s voice cuts into the comms again.

He's back by my side, easy and chill, like he didn’t just throw my heart in a blender. Not on purpose. He’s not that kind of guy. Which somehow makes it worse.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Just vibin’.”

“You sure? You’re riding stiff.”

His concern sounds genuine, but now I feel like a moody bitch for being in my feelings.

“Just wishing it was summer,” I add, fake chuckling.

It’s another lie.

I won’t be able to ride with these guys much over the summer.

That bothers me.

Everyone goes their separate ways except for Dom and me.

He usually stays at school, haunts that out-of-town mansion of his, or holes up in the apartment building he owns.

The twins are always gone, flying to God knows where and doing God knows what.

They always come back with outlandish stories and a new STD.

Except for the time he spends in the Hamptons, even Diego flies home, as much as he doesn’t want to. Not that he complains about it. He turns solemn and more inward as we get closer to the end of school. Maybe it will be different now that he’s got a woman.

“You sound like a whiney little bitch, Holli Balls,” Em screams through the comms, about to do some trick with the road clear ahead. “All sad and gloomy like Dommy Darko.”

“Fuck you.”

The only reaction out of Dom.

Massimo is riding beside Em, rooting him on as he rides his bike side-saddle, dangling his feet to the side. His way of calling me a baby. Like I give a shit. The twins are fun, comic relief. Always down to ride and not tripping over feelings. It’s cool.

I just want to make sure everyone is chill with each other. I’m the one making a big deal out of nothing. If Dom needs Diego for work stuff, he still needs me as a friend. His best friend.

That won’t change.

I tell myself that over and over like a mantra. Like if I say it enough, it’ll be true. That whatever he’s working on with Diego doesn’t replace the years we’ve clocked together, the quiet loyalty we’ve always had, even if it was mostly unspoken.

The truth?

I don’t even think Dom notices how much it bothers me.

Or maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he stays quiet.

He doesn’t know what to say, and silence is easier.

I can’t blame him for that. Not really. He’s not wired like me.

He doesn’t need the validation, check-ins, or dumb traditions to feel like we’re good. But I do.

“Can you stop running your mouth, Em?” I counter, revving my engine to run astride to him, kicking at his feet to throw him off balance.

“You gonna cry, Holli?” Massimo taunts, one hand off his bike as he makes a mock wiping motion across his visor. “Need a tissue for your tears?”

I flip him off, but I’m laughing. Sort of. Not the gut-punch kind, but enough to keep the moment from tilting too far.

“Don’t tempt me. I’ve got backup tissues embroidered with my initials and scented with my ex’s perfume,” I shout over the roar of the engines. “You want one?”

“You’ve never had an ex,” Dom huffs, surprising me that he’s joining in.

“That’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said,” Em cackles, then shifts his weight, lying flat on his stomach across the seat like a damn lunatic.

The engine growls beneath his chest, one gloved hand tucked under his chin, boots kicked up behind him, and swinging back and forth like a bored kid on a bed.

He’s fucking crazy.

“True, Dom. Did you not see the assless chaps you wore on Halloween, Em?”

“Hey, those were leather.” He definitely sounds like a kid now. “It was a statement piece.”

“Yeah, a statement with your hairy ass hanging out. No one wanted to see that shit, Em,” Diego joins in, and someone groans in disgust.

It’s easier to gang up on Emilio when he’s talking shit about everyone else.

“That’s not fair. My waxer was out of town. Tell them, brother.”

We all erupt in laughter, even getting a chuckle from Dom. For a second, it feels like old times. Like two years ago, when we were all closer.

“You’re only digging yourself deeper, Em,” his brother sides with us. Emilio, getting his panties in a bunch, crawls up his bike, straddles it, and then takes off.

“Fuck off, fuckers.”

Exactly like old times. Easy. Stupid. Fun and loud. Still, I can’t help the sting in my chest.

I’m going to miss this. Miss them.

Summer always feels like the end of something, no matter how many beginnings it promises. I slow a little, letting Diego pull ahead again. Letting the twins continue their circus act up front, I fall back, just far enough to ride beside Dom. Even if he doesn’t want to be close, I still need it.

I don’t say anything, just ride. That’s what he and I do until an incoming text.

Thank you.

Plain and simple. Nothing else, but I’m surprised. My mind grinds to a stop about my boys and switches gears to think of her.

Dom’s mom.