Chapter 15
BOLT
The next morning, I went to the cafe on the corner, but all I got was our coffee. Nicoletta looked as tense as I feel, and I didn’t think either of us was up for a big Mexican breakfast.
The hours before a job are always tense. In the bad old days, a few lines of coke made me feel like the king of the world, chased with a few shots of Jack to take the edge off. But those days are far behind me. Now, the best I can do is a pack of smokes and gallons of strong, hot, black coffee.
When I return to the apartment, Nicoletta’s staring at one of the novellas, but I don’t think she’s listening to it. I hand her the coffee, and she sips at it. She doesn’t make her usual comments on how delicious it tastes, so I’m guessing she’s not even tasting it.
With this fuckin’ weirdness between us, and the country club job, my nerves are wound tight.
I can’t sit still, so I go out into the lot, straddle my bike and rev the throttle.
A ride usually settles me, but the whole time, I can’t forget that the job tonight is about way more than taking down some rich assholes.
It’s about figuring out what I want. What Nicoletta wants. Life in Tijuana is way different than her life in L.A., and life with the Royal Harlots/Royal Bastards is a planet away from her old life.
I return to The Tropics hours later, feeling no calmer or settled than when I left.
When I enter the bar, I head down the back hall, and swipe my keycard over the pad. The door to the chapel unlocks, and I’m faced with Smoke, Blood, Diesel and Manny, all in their catering uniforms.
Diesel points at me. “Don’t say one fuckin’ word.”
“Gotta say, you guys look authentic.” I contain my grin and give them a once-over. “Badges and all.”
“Your woman made sure we got everything we need,” Blood says.
I don’t correct him with the “your woman” comment even though I’m sure after the night is over, she’ll go back to L.A., never to be seen again.
Manny points to himself. “We may be wearing these dumbass uniforms, but I can’t wait to see your ass in a tux later.”
They all laugh with comments and cracks about me in a monkey suit, and finding a tux to fit me, until Smoke glances at this phone. “Better hit it. Caterers have to get there early.” He pulls a face. “Don’t wanna piss off the boss.”
The event at Riviera starts with cocktails promptly at six. Dinner at seven, then the long-awaited awards.
Manny pats the front of his uniform. “Got everything I need tucked underneath.”
I walk them out to the lot, and we all tap fists. Smoke says, “See you on the other side, brother.”
They pile into the Escalade ESV eight-seater with Manny behind the wheel. Taking their bikes is too conspicuous, especially since each of us has the Royal Bastards logo stenciled onto the engines.
I trudge upstairs, and Marisol is helping Nicoletta with her hair and makeup in my bedroom. Can’t help noticing how they’ve bonded over the last two weeks. Probably because they came from the same money background. Along with fathers who were assholes.
“I’m leaving soon, and you can have your bedroom back,” Marisol offers, then points to a garment bag hanging on the closet door. “That’s your tux.”
“Can’t wait.” I roll my eyes. Marisol laughs, but Nicoletta has no reaction. At this point, Marisol has said more to me than Nicoletta, and I don’t know if it’s because she wants to stay focused, or she’s pissed ‘cause of all the shit that’s passed between us.
I shower and dress. Or more like I put on the tuxedo pants because I don’t wanna be strapped into the rest of those clothes any sooner than necessary.
When I come out of the bathroom, my bedroom door is closed, so I take that to mean stay out.
I pad into the living room, not really sure how all these clothes go together.
I lay the polished shoes on the floor, not looking forward to squeezing my size fourteen feet into those stiff, narrow shoes.
I lay the shirt, jacket, vest and suspenders over the back of the couch.
Thank fuck, Nicoletta said I could nix the bowtie.
She mumbled something about it being trendy and fashion-forward to go without it.
Who the fuck knows what that means? With my thick neck, I’m just happy I won’t be strangled all night.
Although, I’m not so sure about the white shirt.
Looks to me like, if I have to throw a punch, it’ll be ripping away like Hulk Hogan.
NICOLETTA
“I know I’m being a pain in the ass, but do you really think I look all right?” I ask Marisol for probably the tenth time.
“First, you look gorge; secondly, yes, you are being a pain in the ass.” Marisol motions to the chair. “Now, sit down and let me finish your hair.”
When she’s done, she looks around the room and huffs. “Typical man, no mirror.” She curls her lip. “Does Bolt hang up any of his clothes, or does he just drop them where they lie?”
“The second option.”
“Smoke was the same way until I told him if the bedroom is messy, I can’t have sex.” She laughs. “That changed him real fast.” Then she sobers. “You’ll get Bolt whipped into shape.”
“I don’t think so.”
“They’re all trainable. Even big, tough bikers. You just have to take something away from your man that they really want.”
“Bolt’s not my man.”
“After this is all over, you’re staying in Tijuana, right? Myself and the other girls hoped you would be a part of the Harlots.”
“I’m staying in Tijuana, but not with Bolt.” I push out of the chair and fuss with the front of the dress.
“What do you mean, not with Bolt? You and him are—”
“Nothing—we’re nothing.”
“Did he say that?” Marisol asks.
“He didn’t have to. There’s been a lot going on, and after tonight, I promise to fill you in, but—”
“Hon, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but one thing I’ll tell you—that man is crazy for you. Everyone can see it.”
“Like I said, we’ll see, but for now, I have to stay focused on tonight and getting this done, but, don’t worry, I have no intentions of leaving Tijuana. I think I can do more good down here than even up in L.A.”
“You wanting to help the women down here is so amazing.” She gathers me in a hug, and I can almost feel the sisterhood she and the other Harlots talk about.
“This is the first time I’ve ever really connected with other women. Up in L.A., friendships are different, at least in my experience, but you girls are real.” We separate and I smile. “Plus, I’d miss your bossy self too much.”
I check the time on my phone and draw in a deep breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life, but it’s time to get this done.”
Marisol heads for the living room, but I have to stop and at least glance in the bathroom mirror on the back of the door. She did a great job on my makeup and hair, and the dress is perfect. Classy with just enough sass.
Satisfied, I straighten my spine and head for the living room. When I enter, Bolt turns toward me, and his eyes widen.
“Well,” Marisol prompts. “Aren’t you going to tell her how beautiful she looks?”
Bolt throws Marisol a look, then pushes off the couch, shirtless, scrolling tats from his neck to his very sexy abs, and I swallow hard.
“You look amazing.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Thank you.”
“Geez, the two of you are acting like strangers,” Marisol interjects.
Bolt turns to face her. “You got somewhere you gotta be?”
“All right, I can take a hint.” Marisol gives me another hug, then spins around to Bolt. “You better keep my man safe tonight.”
“Don’t I always?”
She nods to me. “And my girl.”
Bolt jerks his head in a nod. Marisol gives us one last look and leaves.
Bolt and I stare at each other for a long minute, then I wave my hand over him. “You’re going to need more than just the pants, or they’re not going to let us through the front door.”
He rolls his eyes, and I proceed to help him with the rest of the tux, including the suspenders and the cufflinks.
“Why the fuck don’t they just put buttons on the cuffs?”
“This is what you call formal attire. Just be glad I didn’t make you wear the bowtie.”
“I would’ve rebelled.” He catches my hand in his and stares into my eyes. “We got this.”
My stomach twists with anxiety the entire drive up to the country club.
We’ve rented a Mercedes, and aside from the performance of the car and a few words on where to turn or how the traffic is moving, Bolt and I are awkwardly quiet.
I assume we’re both caught up in our own thoughts about how this evening will go down.
Plus, I’ll be seeing my father for the first time since he tried to hold me captive in his home.
Although, I hate to admit it, my father still could stop me with a glance.
He’s never been physical with me, but he has a commanding presence that demands attention, not unlike Bolt—a terrifying comparison.
I’m banking on the element of surprise, and the fact Clark Williams would never cause a scene at the country club, to make this all work.
We turn off Sunset onto Capri Drive, and my heart flutters faster as we drive through the residential canyon area. The club has kept the entrance discreet, blending in to conform with the rugged, tree-lined landscape.
The gatehouse looms in front of us, and Bolt’s eyes shift to me.
“Just pull up, and I’ll do all the talking,” I assure him. “You might need to show your driver’s license, but that’s all.”
We inch up behind the line of cars attending the event, and I hope my prediction is right. After all this, not getting in on a technicality would suck.
Finally, we’re next. Bolt pulls up the Mercedes; I lean over into Bolt’s space and breathe a sigh of relief.
“Jonathan, how are you tonight?” I ask the security guard who’s been at the gate since I was a teenager.
“Just fine, Miss Nicoletta. Big turnout. Your father just got here about fifteen minutes ago.”
He pushes a button, and the gate rises. “You have a good night now.”
“You do the same.”
Bolt powers up the window and gives me the side-eye. “That guy didn’t give me a second look. I guess it pays to know the right people.”
“It pays to be nice to people and treat them like human beings,” I counter. “Sadly, I can’t say that for all the attendees here tonight.”
As we ascend the winding driveway, a sprawling clubhouse appears on a hill overlooking the course.
“Shit, this place is fuckin’ huge.”
Bolt’s simple description hits me in a strange way. He’s right, of course, but for so many years, this building and the surrounding area represented parties, galas, tennis tournaments. It’s been my second home, and it’s strange seeing it through someone else’s eyes.
Bolt does one more check-in with Blood and Smoke.
When he swipes away the call, I ask, “Everything all right? I mean, they’ve never been here before so . . .”
“Don’t worry, babe. They might’ve never been to a country club before, but pulling off a job seamlessly is what the Royal Bastards do best.”
“I don’t doubt your abilities, but I also know the top political figures and billionaires attending this event will stop at nothing to secure their fortunes.”
“Just stick to the plan.” His voice is hard and controlled.
I long to say something to at least bring us to a compatible alliance, but there’s no time for personal issues. We both need to be clear and focused.
We inch our way around the circular driveway, finally making it to the valet at the front door. Bolt hands off the key, then takes my arm, and we move through the entrance like we belong here.
Not sneaking in.
Not hiding.
Just belonging.
We enter the foyer, and Bolt’s gaze travels from the high-beamed ceilings to the large chandeliers and cozy fireplaces.
“Nice.” He nods in approval, and for some reason, I enjoy seeing his reaction. Like I’m letting him into my world—even if it won’t be my world for much longer.
We approach the main ballroom, and I sigh with relief when I see Claude the banquet manager collecting the invitations.
“Good evening, Miss Nicoletta. We’ve missed you.”
“Yes, it’s been too long.”
Bolt stays still at my side. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shift.
I open my evening purse and pretend to look for the invitation. “I know I have it here somewhere.”
“No worries. You come to this function every year. The invitations are more of a formality and to keep out the uninvited.” Claude discreetly glances at Bolt.
I smile up at Bolt and then at Claude. “He’s my plus-one.”
“Of course, miss. Will your mother be joining us tonight?”
“No, Mother’s off at a spa on the Baja Coast.”
“Lucky her. Your father’s already arrived.” Claude motions toward the entrance, and we glide into the opulent ballroom. “Enjoy your evening.”
Two people have now confirmed my father’s presence. I want to see him as much as I don’t.
Bolt leans into my ear. “I saw the look that guy gave me.”
“Just play the role. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Bolt’s understated black designer tux with a crisp white shirt from Elegant and Elite not only fits him perfectly, but it’s the perfect mix of formal and trendy with the open-neck shirt. Simple but very avant-garde—Marisol’s words, not mine.
The dress Marisol loaned me from her unlimited collection of couture dresses is exquisite. The woman’s closet resembled a small boutique, and with her help, I chose a beaded, backless Versace in taupe, because according to Marisol, I have an elegant back.
Together we make the perfect couple—if only for the night.
We walk into the main ballroom, and I immediately notice the women trying desperately to be discreet as their eyes rake over Bolt. Most of his tats are covered, except for the ones creeping up his neck, but he still screams outlaw, the way he moves like he owns every space he occupies.
Not in an obvious way, but no other man in the room has his combined height and width. It’s similar to seeing professional athletes. No one has to tell you—you just know by their size and the way they carry themselves that they’re different.
Different but, in a way, similar to the strategy I use dealing with these people. We both have an innate knowledge of our surroundings that can’t be taught or learned.
“Stop fidgeting,” I whisper, keeping my eyes forward.
“Can’t help it. Fuckin’ shirt is too tight.” He shrugs. “Feel like I’m in a goddamn straightjacket.”
“Smile. At least look like you’re enjoying yourself.” I glance up at his grimace. “Better yet, stop smiling.”
“Nicoletta?” a voice cuts through the air behind us.