Sebastian (Thunder Valley MC #3)

Chapter 1

Sebastian parked his motorcycle beside the shed in the rear lot of the vintage white church.

He’d arrived twenty minutes early. Maybe he should just circle around the block again so he wouldn’t seem too anxious.

He took down criminals for a living for years.

Teaching people to ride their motorcycles safely sounded like a breeze when his high school buddy requested the favor.

Asking Yeats to check on Sebastian’s family had been a mistake, as was letting Yeats talk him into coming back here to check on them himself.

And somewhere in the conversation, Sebastian ended up as the one doing the favor.

Thomas Yeats had a way of negotiating to ensure he always got the better end of the deal.

He removed his helmet, slid down, and sat on the ground beside the Honda Rebel, carefully avoiding the hot pipes—one leg bent, the other out straight. Sebastian scanned the area. There were a few access roads and play equipment on the other side of the churchyard.

The sound of a motorcycle caught his attention. The rider pulled in on a shining silver Yamaha, curvaceous and sleek like the rider. After parking, the rider swung a long leg over the seat.

Catching sight of the custom paint on the tank, Sebastian rose, whistling low.

It took a talented artist to make it look like the metal was tearing away to aqua blue with blurred skulls beneath.

He tore his gaze away from the artwork as the rider pulled off her helmet.

The woman shook out long, shiny black tresses that cascaded down past her shoulders.

She kept her back to him, taking care of her gear.

Reaching inside a saddlebag, she pulled out a clipboard and some other papers.

The view of her backside wasn’t all that bad, and when she turned, Sebastian met her sunglass-covered gaze. He anticipated their removal.

“Sign-in isn’t for another hour.”

“I’m not here to register,” Sebastian said, amused by the way her lips turned down. “I’m a rider coach. You must be Cortés. I’m Daniels—Daniel Jones.”

No matter how many times he practiced it, the alias always rolled off his tongue as awkward as it sounded. Awkward for him, anyway, because how would this woman know that wasn’t his name at birth?

Her brows furrowed between eyes he wished he could see. “Thomas never mentioned a fill-in. My schedule says Davis, not Daniel.”

“The last name is Jones.” He needed to get used to using this new name and accept his new identity before he blew it. Someone else he cared about might get hurt if he didn’t.

She walked past him, pulling out keys from her pocket and slapping the clipboard to his chest as she approached. She unlocked the shed full of motorcycles. “He offered me the position. It’s my understanding the other guy isn’t coming back.”

“Thomas told you that?”

“That’s what he said when he hired me.” He and Yeats went way back. While Sebastian headed off for the police academy, Thomas Yeats joined the army and became a ranger. Thomas returned home years ago, while Sebastian worked undercover in Johnstown.

“We’ll see.” She pulled out a cell phone, keeping her gaze locked on him. “Call Thomas Yeats.” Her phone responded, and she lifted it to her ear as it rang. She lifted her slender brow as she spoke. “Did you replace Davis?”

No hello? A direct woman was someone to be admired.

“Okay. Thanks.” She slipped her phone back into her jean pocket and turned toward him.

“Looks like you’re legit. Have you ever taught before?”

“No.” He tried not to get offended by her brisk manner. No one called Yeats Thomas unless they wanted to get under his skin or didn’t know him personally. What had he gotten into?

She took the clipboard away from him. “You have your certification?”

“Yes, I took the course and passed the test.”

She nodded. “Fine. We have ten riders for each session today. We only take twelve riders, so there might be walk-ins or no-shows for the morning.”

“Just tell me what you want me to do.” He kept his gaze on her face. Most men probably only ever ogled her the first time they crossed her path.

“Once we have the course set up, I’ll let you observe while I demonstrate it. These are beginner riders, and some need more instruction than others.”

“As you wish,” he said.

She glanced back at him. Her expression was unreadable through the sunglasses. He envisioned the options of her eye color with her Hispanic heritage.

They worked together for the next half hour, starting up motorcycles, pulling them from the shed, and ensuring they all had enough gas. She gave the orders, and he obeyed, something he learned to do while working in law enforcement.

When the first rider came, Sebastian tensed.

His hand went through his hair. Remember, you signed up for this.

What were the chances someone recognized him?

He didn’t know any of the men approaching.

Sebastian stood behind the table, prepared to check their registrations.

As each student came, he relaxed more. His presence went unnoticed.

None of them wore cuts with patches in association with a biker club.

They had one no-show, and four people showed up to fill in, so they had to send one potential rider away.

The extra rider had come in with her boyfriend on a single motorcycle, so she had to stay on the side during the four-hour morning session.

The morning passed quickly. Cortés mounted her Yamaha and demonstrated the course by weaving through cones laid out on the asphalt.

Soon, the others followed her lead. She said little to him as they watched the men and women ride the course.

She spoke to him only when she needed him to move the cones or help a rider.

The morning stretched out while the asphalt grew hot beneath his boots.

At lunch, the group left, and they prepared for the next round.

They’d both packed lunches. She chose an apple and a granola bar while he ate half a sub and a bag of chips from last night’s deli run.

“Not bad for your first time. You did good.” She sat in the shade at the far end of the shed where grass provided cool relief from the hot asphalt.

He sat beside her and offered her a baked cheddar chip. “Does this mean I passed the test?”

She didn’t give him a direct answer. “You handled the guy with the Harley well. I admit, out of all of them, I figured he would be the one to drop his ride. There is usually always one rider who drops his bike, but this afternoon is full of experienced riders. I should warn you, most of them are Ghosts. They come more for fun than for the learning aspect, and they’ll likely give you a hard time. ”

“Is that so?” His eyebrow rose. She’d finally spoken to him. She’d probably wanted the other guy to show up so she could get rid of Sebastian. Or maybe she wished he’d get bored and decide the job wasn’t for him. “I think I can handle it. You said they’re Ghosts?”

“Ghost Riders.” She drank from a thermos probably filled with water. “They’re the local motorcycle gang around here. Their clubhouse is in the more populated section of town. Since you ride, they may try to recruit you.”

“No, thanks.” He had been there, done that, and vowed he wouldn’t go there again. Sebastian knew he would encounter motorcycle club members with this kind of job and hoped it didn’t bring him any more trouble. He reached up to push his sweat-dampened hair from his brow.

“You sound like you know them pretty well.” Sebastian wanted to get to know her better. Alarms rang in his head to stop. Memories of Audra in those last moments of her life churned his stomach.

“That’s because they consider me one of their own.” Her voice conveyed a sense of wistfulness or defeat. “Once a Ghost Rider, always a Ghost Rider.”

In his experience with biker clubs, most women had old men—boyfriends or husbands—who claimed them. This was another reason for him to keep his involvement with her professional.

“I ride alone,” he said, deciding not to butt in her business. Her affiliation to them was not his concern.

Caitlyn Cortés pushed her sunglasses up in her hair, and for the first time that day, he caught the color of her eyes—liquid amber, like when tea in a jar caught the sunlight on a hot day. It had been worth his wait.

The sun beat down on him. Sebastian rose and cleaned up his lunch. It looked like he had enough time to take a walk before the next session. Maybe he should reconsider this gig and stay somewhere close enough to watch over his family.

The law enforcer inside him scanned the area again. No, he wouldn’t leave her alone and unprotected. A few hours with her, and all he cared about was her safety. Not again. Maybe this was a bad idea. He couldn’t do this again.

He failed too many times, and his shoulder ached as a reminder. The sooner he got this gig over with, the sooner he could distance himself from the curvy, long-legged coach.

By the afternoon session, Caitlyn had shed her leathers and applied another coat of sunscreen across her nose and cheeks. She adjusted the bill of the ball cap to keep the sun from her face and walked out amongst the bad boys of the Ghost Riders, who came to give her a hard time.

Antonio, her brother and VP of the Ghosts, sent them to spy on her. Like Pops, many believed that a woman should be by her man’s side, caring for him and raising a family. This is why Caitlyn showed the members of the Ghost Riders that she could hold her own, with or without a man.

Antonio disowned her father when the club stripped him of his position as president, and her husband, Silas, nearly cost the club everything.