Midnight Lust: A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 2 Read online

  MIDNIGHT LUST

  A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance

  Part 2

  Olivia Thorne

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  Books By Olivia Thorne

  MIDNIGHT DESIRE

  A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 1

  MIDNIGHT LUST

  A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 2

  MIDNIGHT DECEIT

  A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance Part 3

  ALL THAT HE WANTS Volume 1

  The Billionaire’s Seduction Parts 1-4

  Or you can buy the installments separately:

  All That He Wants Part 1 - free on Amazon

  All That He Desires Part 2

  All That He Demands Part 3

  All That He Requires Part 4

  ALL THAT HE LOVES Volume 2

  The Billionaire’s Seduction Parts 5-7

  ALL THAT *SHE* WANTS

  The Billionaire’s POV Part 1

  A Retelling of the story from Connor's POV

  ALL THAT *SHE* DESIRES

  The Billionaire’s POV Part 2

  ROCK ME HARD

  The Rock Star’s Seduction Part 1

  ROCK ALL NIGHT

  The Rock Star’s Seduction Part 2

  HARD AS ROCK

  The Rock Star’s Seduction Part 3

  PASSION AND PRIDE

  MIDNIGHT LUST

  A Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club Romance

  Part 2

  1

  10

  20

  Afterword

  1

  Fiona

  In the memory, she laughs as she says my name.

  “Nana!”

  That’s what Ali called me. When we were toddlers and learning to say each other’s names, I couldn’t pronounce ‘Alison,’ and she could only say the last syllable of mine. ‘Nuh-nuh’ became ‘Nana,’ and it stuck – especially when she teased me years later about being an old lady, too conservative to join her on her wild escapades.

  Ali, my cousin – the one who had been shot in a back alley a year ago.

  The one whose murder had been ruled a cold case by the Richards, California police department.

  The one for whom I had left my life in LA.

  The one whose death I was here in Richards to solve.

  The one whose photo was on the bedroom wall of the man I had just slept with.

  The man who might have killed her.

  2

  In the memory, we’re both ten years old. Ali’s standing at the top of the stairs, twirling around in one of her mother’s sparkly cocktail dresses. She’s trying to get me, the tomboy, to join her.

  “Come onnnnn, Nana! Just try one on!”

  Another memory: Ali at sixteen, throwing pebbles at my bedroom window at midnight, whispering “Nana!” as she tries to get me to sneak outside. Two cute, long-haired, disreputable teenage boys stand behind her, trying to look cool (and failing miserably) as they wait in terror for my former Marine dad to come out of the house and start shooting at them.

  I finally relented and did sneak out, though… and my dad never woke up.

  One of the boys teased me by calling me ‘Nana.’ Ali turned on him furiously.

  “Her name’s FIONA. Only I get to call her Nana.”

  That was my cousin. Fiercely protective, loving, adventurous, wild.

  I looked at her photo on the bedroom wall and prayed that if she was listening, to help me.

  I was going to need it.

  3

  You can do this, I thought. Not only were you a private investigator, you were an actress, too. You can pull this off.

  Trouble was, I’d never had an audition where if you didn’t get the gig, you wound up with a bullet in the back of the head.

  I didn’t intend for that to happen.

  Time to nail the part.

  “Breakfast’s ready,” Jack’s voice called from the other room.

  I didn’t answer.

  I thought about where I was, then stepped over in front of another woman’s picture. Wouldn’t do to go directly to Ali.

  As I stood there in front of the photographs, I crossed my arms judgmentally –

  No, that’s not right…

  I shifted my arms and wrapped them around my body, put one hand over my collarbone and the other over my hip, like I was hugging myself against the cold.

  Better.

  “Fiona?” Jack’s voice called again.

  I didn’t answer.

  He started walking towards the bedroom.

  I ignored the fear I felt and put on a cold, distant expression as I stared at the photograph of a redheaded biker chick.

  Showtime.

  Jack came to the door and looked in. “What’s – oh.”

  He chuckled slightly and walked up behind me, put his arms around me, nuzzled my neck.

  Despite how frightened I was, something inside me still responded to his touch. I’d just spent last night with him – one of the best nights of my life. Jack Pollari was 100% man, a bad boy with a gentle side, the leader of the Midnight Riders Motorcycle Club and reputedly the most powerful man in town.

  But I was acutely aware of how powerful those strong arms around me actually were.

  How quickly they could strangle the life out of me if I didn’t play this right.

  “Is that your wife?” I asked coldly.

  “Who, her?” he asked, looking up at the redhead. “No. No, there’s not a picture of my ex in this house. For a lot of very good reasons.”

  “So… what is she, then? Your girlfriend?” I paused, then added some venom to my voice for effect. “Your fuck buddy?”

  I felt his arms tense up, and then his body pull away. He circled to my side and forced me around to face him. His expression was gentle but concerned. “Hey. Hey, look at me.”

  I didn’t, of course. I looked down at the floor, avoiding his eyes.

  “Fiona… last night was fucking incredible, but – seriously? Are you really going to pull this shit just because I have some pictures on my wall? Pictures that were up there before you ever walked into my life?”

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” I muttered, though I didn’t look up at him. “I just… I get really jealous sometimes.”

  Total bullshit.

  Well, maybe not total bullshit.

  But it wasn’t what was really going on with me at that moment.

  He bought it, though. Hook, line, and sinker.

  I could hear the grin in his voice as he said, “I can see that.”

  I avoided his eyes and looked up at the picture of the redhead. “So who is she?”

  “An old girlfriend from years ago. She’s married with three kids now.”

  “And your wife let you put her picture up on the wall?”

  “No… but she’s my ex-wife now, and she doesn’t get to say shit about whose pictures I put on my wall.”

  I got the implicit warning.

  I ignored it.

  I didn’t think I should risk sounding like a three-year-old – Who’s that? Who’s that? Who’s that? – so I just went straight for the jugular.

  I walked over to Ali’s picture and pointed at her. “Who’s she?”

  Silence.

  I looked over at Jack.

  His expression was… odd.


  Hard to read.

  He looked a little pained… but there was something else there.

  Like he was hiding something.

  “An old friend,” he said neutrally.

  My heart skipped a beat.

  From fear.

  “What kind of an old friend?” I asked, forcing my voice to get jealous again. “An old girlfriend?”

  Same inscrutable expression.

  “No,” he said quietly. “Just a friend.”

  I didn’t want to ask… but I had to know.

  “Did you sleep with her?” I asked.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, angry.

  My stomach knotted up.

  “Well… did you?”

  “NO, I didn’t sleep with her,” he spat. “But I fucked the rest of them. Do you want a list of their names and numbers? How many times we did it? Positions? How many times they came? Jesus fucking Christ.”

  I closed my eyes because I didn’t want him to see what was going on inside me.

  Part of it was relief. Ali hadn’t slept with him.

  I cannot tell you how glad I was to hear that.

  Part of it was… and I feel really strange admitting this, but… I was turned on by his anger. There was something animalistic there… some sort of elemental, raw male power that just did something to me, deep inside.

  And the last of it was fear.

  Because, for the first time, I could see how maybe it had happened.

  How he might have killed her.

  Out of anger.

  Which I had just awakened, like kicking a sleeping bear.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  The whispering part was an act. I was trying to sound sorry.

  It worked, at least partway. He didn’t say anything. I could still feel his anger radiating off him… but it was less than a moment before.

  “I had no right to ask about any of that,” I continued.

  “You’re goddamn right you had no right to ask,” he snapped, but the fury was gone out of his voice now. Now it was just righteous indignation.

  I couldn’t blame him. If he’d asked me how many men I’d slept with, especially in the same tone of voice I’d used, I think I would have told him exactly how he could have gone and fucked himself.

  The only difference was, I’d been faking it. I just wanted information.

  “I told you I get jealous,” I said defensively. The defensive part was fake, too.

  “That doesn’t give you the right to – ”

  “I know. I know.”

  We stood there in awkward silence.

  Well… it was quite possibly awkward for him. For me, it was calculated… though my heart was beating faster out of fear.

  How far should I push it?

  Fuck it.

  I might not get another shot.

  “If you didn’t sleep with her, but you… were with the rest… why is her picture up here?” I asked.

  His expression hardened, and he didn’t answer.

  At first I thought I’d blown it – pushed him too far.

  But then he spoke. “You remember when you said you lost somebody in LA?”

  “Yeah,” I said softly.

  “Well… she was somebody I lost, too.”

  My emotions churned. I couldn’t tell whether I was happy he seemed to miss her… or terrified that maybe he was just sorry he’d gone too far in a moment of anger.

  “How did you know her – ” I started.

  “Drop it,” he said coldly, and walked out of the room.

  4

  Things didn’t exactly improve from there.

  I walked out into the main room, got my discarded clothes from the hallway, and went back into the bedroom to dress. The entire time he stayed with his back towards me, his hands braced on the counter, as the eggs and bacon he’d set out so nicely for our breakfast grew cold.

  While I dressed, I considered whether I should press for more information – for about half a second.

  That was a resounding ‘no.’

  Then I weighed whether I should try and make nice.

  I wanted to… but some glimmer of intuition told me that wasn’t the way to go.

  The ‘psycho bitch’ route probably wouldn’t get me a call back – and I wanted a call back, because I still wanted to know more – so I opted for the sympathy ploy instead.

  I walked out into the main room and stood about ten feet away from me.

  He looked over at me, irritated and irate.

  “I’m sorry I ruined everything,” I said.

  His eyes softened, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I’m gonna go. I just… I wanted you to know I had an amazing time last night. One of the best nights of my life.” (That part was true, at least.) “And I’m sorry I ruined it.”

  I turned towards the door.

  “You didn’t ruin it,” he said.

  Bingo.

  I smiled sadly over my shoulder, like Thanks for lying, but we both know the truth. “Yeah I did. I know, ‘cause I’ve done it before.”

  I turned and started walking.

  His boots thudded quickly over the floor, quicker than my footsteps. I felt his hand grab my arm, spin me around –

  And then he was kissing me.

  For a moment, everything was blotted out.

  Ali… the photograph… all the unpleasantness of the last five minutes.

  Then I remembered the possibility that I was kissing her killer, and my insides went cold.

  He pulled away a few seconds later and looked me in the eye. “Stay.”

  I put a hand on his chest. “I should go.”

  He searched my eyes. “You alright?”

  I shrugged like, I fucked up – how am I supposed to feel?

  “I’ll call you later,” he said.

  I nodded sadly, like I appreciated him saying it, but we both knew better.

  “Bye,” I whispered, and walked out the front door.

  5

  I made it out of his neighborhood before the shakes hit.

  I had to park the car because I began to shake uncontrollably.

  I thought I’d done pretty damn well, considering. My first deep undercover assignment, and I’d passed with flying colors. Not only had I found a huge clue, but I’d established that Jack hadn’t slept with…

  …with…

  I started to cry. To sob uncontrollably.

  Because my cousin was dead.

  Because I’d found her photograph on his wall.

  Because I didn’t want it to be possible that he could have hurt her.

  Because I wanted him so badly.

  I cried like that for another few seconds, then wiped my tears and forced myself to get a grip.

  I put the car back into drive and headed for my motel.

  6

  Jack

  I was sitting there in my office, lost in my thoughts, when Lou walked in and shut the door behind him.

  “Jesus, I’d hate to be the guy you’re thinkin’ about killin’ right now,” he joked.

  I looked up at him in a daze, then shook it off. “It’s not a guy I’m thinking about.”

  He plopped down in a chair opposite my desk. “Do I need to start lookin’ for another waitress?”

  “No,” I sighed.

  “She got her hooks that deep in you already, huh?” Lou chortled.

  “No,” I said decisively.

  Maybe.

  I don’t know.

  “Well, putting aside pleasure for a little bit, we need to discuss business,” Lou said. “There’s a shipment coming in next Friday. We need to arrange a welcoming party for the transfer, we need to get the money together, and we need a place to store it.”

  “What about the warehouse on Abernathy?”

  “We used that last time. I don’t like repeating so soon. Just in case.”

  The rest went unstated, but I fully understood.

  Just in case somebody was watching.

 
Like the feds.

  Or somebody worse.

  “I don’t want it here,” I said.

  “Of course not,” Lou agreed, though I could tell that’s exactly what he’d been about to suggest.

  “And the Seven Veils is out,” I said, mostly just to even things out. I owned the body shop, he owned the strip club. If my business was off limits, his could be, too.

  He knew my token gesture just that – a token – and he wasn’t about to play along.

  “Since we used the Veils two deliveries ago,” he said sarcastically, “yeah, we might wanna wait a little while for the next one.”

  I ignored his tone. “There’s the liquor store on Mason.”

  “Or the motel on 19.”

  Lou owned that one, too. But I immediately thought of Fiona, since that’s where she was staying.

  “No,” I said, a little more sharply than I meant to.

  Lou put up his hands in a Whoa, don’t shoot gesture. “Okay.”

  “It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just… something really weird happened this morning with Fiona.”

  “What, she stick her finger up your ass when you blew your load?”

  “I’m serious, Lou.”

  He sighed and waited expectantly.

  “She asked about Alison Levitt.”

  Lou frowned. “Who?”

  “That stripper of yours last year. The one who…?”

  Lou’s eyes suddenly came dangerously alive. “What the fuck was she asking about her for?”

  “Relax. She saw a picture of her on the wall and – ”