Cruz, p.1
Cruz, page 1
part #1 of Sleepless Spades MC Series
Cruz
Sleepless Spades MC Book 1
Nikki Riker
Copyright © 2019 by Nikki Riker
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Contents
1. Holly
2. Cruz
3. Holly
4. Cruz
5. Holly
6. Cruz
7. Holly
8. Cruz
9. Holly
10. Cruz
11. Holly
12. Cruz
13. Holly
14. Cruz
15. Holly
16. Cruz
17. Holly
18. Cruz
19. Holly
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1
Holly
This is turning into the most god awful day of my life. Whoever is in charge of distributing misfortune gives me an unhealthy helping of it, and I want to scrape the shit right off my plate into someone else’s lap.
I came in this morning to find my lunch stolen, an official reprimand slapped onto my desk by HR for shouting at a patient who’d grabbed my ass, and had coffee spilled down my front by a fumbling intern.
I bang through the doors of the South Hollens Free Clinic at half-past eight, and I’m already so bone-weary I could nap on the concrete sidewalk outside the doors. Sleep is a long way off for me yet. I still have a shift at the women’s shelter on eighth street and after that, I have to stop by to make sure that Yasmine hasn’t relapsed. She’s only just received the 30 days sober chip, and I know her control is tipped on a knife’s edge the last few days. I need to be there to talk her through the night.
I’ll probably end up catching three hours in my car before the clinic opens again. I climb into the black, dinged up little bug that my mother left to me after she passed. I’ve just pulled onto the freeway when my phone rings.
The shrill tone makes me jump, and I grip the steering column of my car. I reach into my bag—which is more of a tent than anything else, given how much shit I carry around—and fish out the phone after a few seconds of frantic searching.
It’s on the third ring when I finally retrieve it and glance at the screen.
Harvey Madden. My brother is calling, and for a guilty second I consider letting the call go to voicemail. If my brother is calling me, he’s probably trapped at the casino, too broke to call for an Uber. His car got repossessed by the dealership when he’d failed to pay for it the third month running, and I’d been unwilling to pony up the cash to save him, once again, from his own stupidity. Allowing him to keep a car would only give him more opportunity to gamble away his paycheck.
With a sigh, I answered the call with a curt, “What now, Harvey?”
Labored breathing on the other end of the phone and then a muffled sob. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harvey whines into the receiver. I can’t tell if he’s speaking to me or not. Wind rushes past, making loud crackling sounds on my end of the phone.
“Harvey, you better not have butt-dialed me,” I warn.
I didn’t have the patience to deal with this tonight. I should have been on the road fifteen minutes ago if I wanted to make it to Yasmine’s house by eight. Gabrielle from HR seemed to take malicious glee in reprimanding me for “inappropriate workplace behavior.” When I emerged from her office, everyone else had clocked off already.
“Harvey!” I snap when there was nothing but another litany of fucks.
He let out another sob and croaked, “Holly?”
“Harvey, what’s the matter? What’s going on? Why are you crying?”
I should have registered that first. I’d seen my brother cry three times in my life. When mom died, when dad died last year, and again when he gambled away his own wedding ring. If my brother cries, there’s a damn good reason for it.
Cool fear trickled into my veins as I awaited his response. What had he done this time? What fresh hell was I going to catch because of it?
“I messed up. God, Holly, I was so stupid.”
His shoes beat a thudding tempo against the pavement and I can tell over the sound of the wind that he’s running. From what? Oh God, is he being chased?
“Harvey, what did you do?”
I slam to a stop in the middle of the intersection, taking a hard left back the way I’d come. I’m nearly t-boned by a Jeep Grand Cherokee as I do so. Wherever my brother is, I am almost certain he started near the Black Spade Hotel and Casino in downtown South Hollens. It’s smack in the middle of what we locals affectionately term MC Country, riding the line between the west side, dominated by the Sleepless Spades, and the east, which is run by the Calamity Kings.
Though they started out as motorcycle clubs, they’d evolved over the years into thuggish gangs, all of them thoroughly corrupt and doing their level best to ruin lives. Half the kids that filtered through the rehab center I volunteered with had gotten their first hit of smack from a drug mule working for the Kings. I could only assume the Spades were just as bad.
“I ran out of money at the Black Spade,” Harvey choked out. “The whole damn paycheck. I gotta start paying child support again since Gina left me. I don’t got it. But I knew where I could get some money. I was gonna give it back once I’d hit the big one, I swear to God.”
My chest feels clammy and my stomach pitches. It’s a good thing I haven’t eaten since breakfast, because the fear that seizes me is nauseating. Oh God, oh God, oh God. What has he done?
“Harvey, who did you take the money from?” Fear steals the volume from my voice, though I want to scream at him. I know addiction does strange things to people. But even my bone-headed brother couldn’t be stupid enough to cross someone in the west side?
“They moved it to the clubhouse,” my brother panted. “I only took a couple grand, honest. I didn’t think any of them Spades was gonna miss it. And I was gonna put it right back.”
But he didn’t. If he’d pulled off his latest bout of idiocy, he wouldn’t be calling me. My voice sounds hollow when I ask the only follow-up question I can think of.
“How much did you lose, Harvey?”
Palpable hesitation on the other end of the line. I wait, hands trembling around the wheel. The buildings that flash by in my periphery are grimy and sagging beneath the perpetual slam of rain that pelts South Hollens, Oregon. We get less than Portland, which is only about an hour away. The neighborhood will only get shittier from here. While city hall keeps promising change, no one counts on renovation anymore.
Not for the first time, I wish I were settled anywhere but here. In my private fantasies, I see myself in a cozy New England town, a nurse in a respectable clinic, not a tech in South Hollens. But Harvey makes those dreams impossible. How can I tear myself away from this shitty little town when my brother seems so determined to get himself buried in its small graveyard, right next to mom and dad?
“Five grand,” he says. Another sob. “Oh God, Holls, they’re gonna kill me. We have to run. Pack up all my shit and we’ll go. I swear to God I’ll do nothing like this again. We can start over someplace new. I’ll get clean, I swear.”
My chest tightens and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. He says those words to me every time he asks for money. But this time, I don’t have it to give. I’ve barely got enough to cover the run-down studio apartment we’re living in now. I’d have to sell a major organ to afford what the son of a bitch just stole from the most dangerous MC gang in town.
“Harvey, you fucking idiot,” I whisper, furious tears hazing my eyes. I want to slam his head into a wall. But undoubtedly someone else is already planning to do it for me. “Where are you? I’m coming.”
“I’m on 22nd and Crescent. Hurry up, Holly, I think they might be—”
A loud, basso voice booms my brother’s name in the background and then the phone hits the ground and the line goes dead.
It’s hard to swallow. Is my brother dead? I didn’t hear a gunshot, but that means nothing.
I blow through a stop sign, belatedly surprised I’m not being tracked by a cop for my illegal turn or the twenty miles over the limit I’m driving. Acid creeps up the back of my throat as I take a turn into the west side and into Spade territory. I don’t come here. Ever. Rule one in South Hollens: Don’t fuck with the MC gangs. Harvey just had to trample over the last taboo, didn’t he? Bad enough he spent every cent he had fueling those bastards. He had to put himself in their sights.
I fly past the Black Spade Hotel and Casino. I know its profile well. It’s probably the ritziest place in South Hollens, a jut of glass and steel that towers over the rest of the surrounding landscape. It’s ablaze with gold and red light, the flashing signs a siren call for addicts like my brother. I glare at it as it flashes in my periphery. How many people have ruined their lives in its lavish interior?
I don’t have time to dwell on it at the moment. My brother could be dead or dying. The craziest thing is, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to help him. A group of gangbangers won’t stop just because I say please. The rain slams against my battered car, beating a staccato rhythm on my windshield. My heart keeps pace, trying to escape me.
I come to a screeching halt at 22nd Street and throw my car into park in a very illegal spot, straining against my seatbelt before it’s undone. I throw myself into the rain, getting soaked to the skin almost at once. The ivory top with its fringe of lace is one of my favorites and one of the few nice things that I own. It’s gonna get ruined by the rain, and the petty grievance just increases my irritation with Harvey. Couldn’t he have kept himself out of trouble for one goddamned second?
I sprint up Crescent street, slipping in the muck as I go. My leg goes out from beneath me and my left knee hits the pavement in an explosion of pain. I let out a small whimper as the pant leg splits and the asphalt strips off at least a layer of skin. I can’t focus on it, not with the almost inhuman wail that echoes down the alleyway to me.
Harvey. Oh God, what are they doing to him?
My stride is more of a stagger by the time I find him. At first, he’s all I can see. His face is a mess, the nose twisted entirely the wrong way. Blood pours from his lip, and his eye is swelling shut. His back is pressed up against a dumpster, and he huddles in on himself, crouching like a child afraid of the dark. His arms are raised to protect his head from further blows.
And the nightmare is here all right. Three men are arrayed across from Harvey. The closest to me is huge and somehow familiar, though my panicked mind can’t identify why. Easily six and a half feet tall, he’s probably the closest thing to a giant I’ve ever seen. His arms are all rippling muscle and covered in tattoos. A grinning skull leers at me from somewhere around his elbow. I squint and a patch on his leather jacket catches the eye.
Ryker.
My gaze shifts to the next. He’s smaller than the other two, probably the same height as me at 5’6. His clothes aren’t what I’d have expected either. He looks like a clerk of some sort, wearing a red shirt, dressy slacks, and a tie. A tag in the shape of a black spade is pinned to his lapel. Leo it reads. He must work at the Black Spade Casino. He’s probably the one who ratted my brother out to these thugs.
The last captures my attention. Commands it. Not as tall as the proverbial giant, he still cuts quite the intimidating figure. He’s decked out in all black, save for the studs on his glove. No doubt what gave Harvey the slash across his nose. His face is all planes and angles. A sharp, aquiline nose, a jaw that’s square and shaded with dark stubble that looks distractingly touchable. Tats wind up his arm and a few are visible on his neck, past the leather jacket.
And even from here, I can feel the intensity of his fury. It’s all for my brother, and the man’s dark eyes regard him coldly, as if deciding what parts of him to carve off first. Only an idiot would step between this man and the target of his anger.
I am that idiot.
I shoot forward, covering the distance in just a few seconds. I nearly catch Ryker’s elbow on my way past. Shoving my body between him and the oncoming rain of fists, I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare for a blow.
It doesn’t come.
When I dare to peek, I find all three men staring at me. Leo’s mouth hangs open as if he can’t believe someone would dare step between his buddies and their intended target. Ryker’s fist freezes in mid-swing, inches from my face. It’s almost comical to watch the struggle play out over his rough-hewn features as he registers the new target is a woman. Finally, his arms fall to his side and he swivels his big head to look at the last man in the group. The one I can hardly keep my eyes off of.
“Cruz?” He makes it a question, and I’m grateful to have the name of the man in charge. I’d read somewhere that saying someone’s name over and over can create a rapport of sorts, eliciting empathy where there previously was none. Here’s hoping there was something to it.
“Step aside, girl,” Cruz barks, eyes narrowing to slits. Now that I’m closer I can see he’s Hispanic, and the slight accent to his words makes my stomach clench in an entirely inappropriate manner, considering the situation.
“No.” Even I’m surprised at the vehemence in my tone. “You want to beat the shit out of him, you’re gonna have to go through me.”
My bravado probably won’t last past the first punch. But what sort of sister would I be if I didn’t at least try?
Cruz studies me, and I can feel his gaze sweep from the soles of my orthopedic shoes to the crown of my head. The rain has turned the blonde beach waves into a stringy ruin. The drugstore mascara began to run the second I stepped out into the deluge. I probably look like a drowned raccoon.
I raise my fists for emphasis, showing I’m serious. I’m not letting them get to him without a fight. I’ve punched no one in my life. With my luck, I’d perform some pirouette and land ass-first in the mud, opening Harvey up to attack. Cruz seems to think so too because an incredulous bark of laughter escapes him. For the briefest of seconds, I catch a flash of dazzlingly white teeth in the darkness. In the next second, I’m sure I imagined it because he’s stone-cold serious and he’s giving me that searching look again.
“He owes us five grand, little girl,” Cruz says, cracking his knuckles audibly. “Someone’s got to pay for it. This will go better for you if you just walk away.”
“I have a grand in my accounts,” I say. “I can give it to you in the morning. I can work off the debt. Just give me a month or two. I’m good for it, honest. This isn’t the first time I’ve bailed Harvey out of a tight spot.”
Cruz’s expression is inscrutable. I remain tense, fists raised, waiting for his answer. Just about the time I’ve decided he would start swinging again, the tension goes out of his shoulders. He nods once.
“Fine. You can pay off his debt. But you’re coming with us. We’ll discuss the details at Rapture.”
I balk. The name rings a vague bell. Dr. Green had a raunchy bachelor party there. It nearly tanked his marriage before it even began. And he wants me to go there? With him? I don’t think so. But he’s already turning away, back straight and confident that I will follow.
I glance back at Harvey. He barely glances in my direction. My chest aches and tears spring unbidden into my eyes. I wasn’t expecting starry-eyed wonder or effusive gratitude. My help is a given these days. But this? He’s not even meeting my eye. The second Ryker steps out of the way, he scrambles to his feet and takes off, running down Crescent like the hounds of hell are nipping at his heels.
“Bastard,” Ryker mutters, expressing my sentiment entirely. Then the big man glances down at me. His expression softens, and he offers me a half-smile and a shrug.
“Sorry, little lady. But you heard the boss. We’re off to Rapture.”
I cast one longing glance toward my car, aching to follow my brother down the street and out of sight. Ryker places a gentle hand on my shoulder and pushes me in the direction that Cruz disappeared to. I follow mutely, hoping that the rain hides any tears that slide down my cheeks. I won’t show weakness to these vultures. I refuse.
We don’t have far to go. Three bikes are parked at the back of the alley. It opens up onto Oak Street on the other end. Cruz is waiting, one leg already swung over a massive silver motorcycle. He picks up a helmet and offers it wordlessly to me. My heart is in my throat again, and I stare at the helmet like it might grow fangs and bite me.
“Put it on the damn helmet and climb on,” he insists, face set in impatient lines. “I’m freezing my fucking balls off out here, girl.”
“Holly,” I snap. “My name is Holly.”
His lips twitch. “Fine, put on the damn helmet, Holly.”
I snatch it from his hand in a moment of pique and fit it snugly over my head. The helmet mostly cancels out the sound of the rain, and it feels good to have it off my face. The bike is huge, and I take a few tries to sling my leg over the side and curl my feet up so they’re off the ground. The handlebars are far out of my reach, so I’m left with no other option than holding onto his waist. Leaning into him gingerly, I settle my hands as far away from his belt as possible, hugging him just beneath the armpits.
