So Steady: Silver Daughters Ink, Book Two (Silver Daughters Ink Book Two) Read online

  Nicole blinked, trying to process his outburst. “So, The Rangers are involved in criminal stuff? I did some research and it said not all biker gangs are. Some are just about riding bikes, and the cops drum up charges against them because of the stigma.”

  Noah’s laughter was cold. “The Rangers are crooks to their back teeth, Nikki. And I’d bet my legs the others are, too. It’s a cover, saying you’re ‘bike enthusiasts.’ The stigma’s there for a reason.”

  His voice had changed, become harder and more ocker. Nicole felt a creep of nerves at being in such a close space with him. She looked at the paper bag, reminding herself she knew Noah; her dad knew Noah. “What did you do in The Rangers?”

  “All kinds of shit.”

  “Was it… like a regular job? Like nine to five?”

  “Nah, for most guys, it’s an after-hours thing. They do their own work during the day. But like I said, boss’s son. I got patched in when I was sixteen.”

  If she hadn’t read Blood in the Gears, Nicole would have had no idea what he was talking about, but she understood he’d been made a full member of The Rangers. “You were so young!”

  He grinned as though she was as woefully naïve as she suspected he found her. And she was. She’d grown up in such a bubble, finding out that real, dangerous bikers existed was a bit like finding out Hugh Jackman was actually Wolverine.

  “So you were involved in…?”

  An ugly smile. “Everything, Nikki. Fuckin’ everything. Drugs, driving sawn off shotguns up north, paying off cops. Everything. But mostly, I did the tattoos.”

  “The patches?”

  “And anything else the crew wanted. I had a lot of work.”

  She nodded, trying to absorb what he was saying. She looked across and saw the spider web on his elbow. Her heart pulsed hard. “Did you go to jail?”

  He nodded, barely inclining his head. “Ten months.”

  Nicole tried to absorb this. It wasn’t shocking, exactly…more surreal. “What did you…?”

  “Aggravated assault.”

  “Oh.” Nicole had subconsciously hoped it was drugs or theft or a non-violent crime, but if she was honest with herself, she’d suspected it was something like this. Noah’s menace wasn’t artificial—she’d known that from day one. He was hard in a way she’d never seen in another man. She remembered the paintings hanging in his house. How could one man contain such contradictions?

  “Do you want to know what happened?”

  No, but if she didn’t hear it, her imagination would fill in the gaps, probably making it ten times worse. “Okay.”

  “I kicked the shit out of one of our guys for talking to the cops. Dad’s idea. He thought I was young enough to get away with a suspended sentence.” He snorted. “I was young enough to believe that bullshit and that’s about it. Barely left the guy’s house before I was arrested.”

  Nicole could barely swallow. She kept her eyes locked on the road, the grey tarmac, the rushing white lines. “How old were you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  Nicole pictured herself at twenty-one, living at home, finishing her last year at uni, trying to eat less fried chicken. “How was jail?”

  He shrugged and, perhaps remembering he’d agreed to discuss his past, added, “Boring.”

  “You didn’t get beaten up or anything?”

  “Nah, people knew who I was.”

  Of course, men would hardly have been lining up to take a swing at the son of a biker boss. She tried to imagine Noah behind bars and found it surprisingly easy; he’d have had a rounder face, less tattoos and adult muscles beginning to drape themselves over his arms and chest. She smiled, imagining him doing push-ups and chin-ups in his cell, then remembered how he’d got there—assaulting someone for talking to the police. She glanced sideways at his profile and squirmed at how bluntly, viscerally, attracted to him she was. What did that say about her? About both of them?

  Maybe he sensed her discomfort because he added, “I regret it. All the ugly shit I did.”

  “Do you? Even though you miss being in the club?”

  “Yeah, I don’t miss the life, I miss feeling like…” He broke off with a shake of his shoulders. Nicole was reminded of a duck, ruffling its feathers after a fight. She waited, trusting him to speak.

  Noah sighed. “It sounds like horseshit, but before I got locked up, I didn’t know any better. Everything that went on at the club was normal to me. Then I got locked up and realised none of that loyalty, blood oath, brotherhood shit mattered. I was responsible for my life and I didn’t fucking like my life. So, I changed it.”

  Nicole opened her mouth to say something then closed it.

  “You think I’m scum, don’t you?”

  “No! No, I promise, it’s just confusing.”

  “What’s confusing?”

  She exhaled, trying to loosen her chest. If she’d learned anything from spending time with Noah, it was that there was no point in softening your words. “I like you and I’m attracted to you, but what you did is scary and I have no idea what to think about it.”

  “Sure.”

  Silence fell, breathing like a living thing. Had she said the wrong thing? Had she utterly screwed this up?

  It doesn’t matter, Sam reminded her. It was the truth. You’re not judging him, but you’re allowed to be unsure.

  Ten minutes passed and she started to feel the after-effects of the coffee. She fought the sensation for another half-hour, but when it became clear Noah wasn’t going to say anything or stop the car for some unrelated reason, she cleared her throat. “I have to go to the bathroom. For real this time.”

  “I’ll pull over at the next place.”

  Five minutes later they pulled into a petrol station, this one shiny-new and plastered with ads for Snickers and energy drinks.

  “I’m gonna fill up,” Noah said without looking at her. “Want anything?”

  “I’m good,” she said, making a beeline for the bathroom. She performed her ablutions, then stood in front of the mirror, finger-combing her hair. Despite her lack of makeup, she looked okay. Better than okay. Her eyes were bright and there was a glow to her cheeks that had nothing to do with the CC cream.

  “Stop it,” she told her reflection. “He’s an ex-biker. He’s been to jail.”

  But that seemed abstract, blurry in the face of the man who’d bought her coffee. Did it matter that Noah had an ugly past if he regretted it?

  No, but she knew her forgiveness was motivated less by compassion and more by the fact that he’d made her orgasm so hard her brain had melted. Was she one of those women who got suckered in by a charming criminal? Became complicit in his dodgy behaviour without even knowing it?

  Dad liked him, she reminded herself. Dad liked him, and Sam trusts him, and he paints like an angel. And he’s driving you to Adelaide to help you move—

  And to get away from a bikie-wife who may or may not have spray painted the c-word on his house. So how broken are those ties?

  Valid questions, but not ones she could answer. She’d have to wait, give Noah the benefit of the doubt. Trust. She washed her hands in a way she wished she could wash her mind and left the bathroom. She paused as she passed the petrol station counter and grabbed a couple of bottles of water, beef jerky, and salt and vinegar chips. The attendant looked at her strangely. “Doubling up?”

  Nicole frowned. “Um, I guess so?”

  Was this some new kind of slang? She’d have to ask Tabby. She walked outside to see Noah already inside the van.

  “Hey,” she said as she climbed inside. “I got water and snacks and stuff.”

  Noah’s brow furrowed.

  “What? Are you not hungry?”

  He pointed at the inner console where she saw two bottles of water, a packet of beef jerky and salt and vinegar chips.

  “Oh!” Nicole said. “Doubling up! That’s what that meant!”

  She beamed, and to her surprise, Noah beamed back. Truly. His face broke wide and the s
kin around his eyes crinkled, and he was so handsome, she felt dizzy. Before she could say anything he leaned in and kissed her, hot and hard. Her surprise evaporated. She clutched the back of his neck and pulled him in closer, relishing his warmth, the short bristles of his hair. When they broke apart, her head was spinning. “What was that for?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “No, but I’d like one.”

  “Okay, how about you’re fucking beautiful?”

  He said it hard, like a challenge, watching to see how she’d respond.

  There was pleasure, yes, but a million write-offs hovered. Was he just trying to get on her good side to keep her from asking about The Rangers? Was he just trying to get laid? Was she as beautiful as Daniella in his eyes? What about Kelly? He could say this to everyone because she wasn’t, couldn’t be, had never been beau—

  “Nikki.” Noah’s green gaze bore into hers. “It’s a fucking croissant.”

  And she laughed again. Laughed the way he’d smiled when he saw her carrying the doubled up snacks. He was right. It was just an effing compliment. Why couldn’t she just eat it? Believe him? She swallowed. “Thank you. I’m glad you think I’m beautiful. I think you’re—”

  But he’d put a knee into the console and kissed her again. She moved closer to him, feeling the salt and vinegar chips crunch beneath her and not caring one bit. His mouth was needy, crushing against hers like he had an urgent message to give with his tongue. They kissed for a long time. Nicole’s spine hurt from the awkward position, but she didn’t stop and neither did Noah. Some part of her knew she was being ridiculous, but the reality of it couldn’t touch her. Not when he was. She kissed him back without thinking, without breathing. Her body was so tight it felt like she could break.

  And maybe it would be good to break? Break and see what comes next.

  A horn blared behind them and they broke apart. A bald guy in a Ford Fiesta flipped them off. They were blocking the pump. Chuckling, Noah released the handbrake and drove away, waving a lazy apology to the man.

  Nicole moaned and buried her face in her hands. “How old are we?”

  “Old enough that we can make out at a petrol station.” Noah grabbed her hand in his warmer one. “You okay?”

  Nicole looked at their joined hands. Hers pale and thin, his big and scarred and covered with gothic-looking tattooed tendrils. They were nothing alike, but it felt good to touch him.

  Trust, Nicole thought. “Yeah, I’m okay. Can we keep going?”

  Chapter 14

  Nicole’s neighbourhood was about what Noah expected; neat brick houses, bright white fences, green grass despite the sweltering heat. A place for young professionals to rear their two-point-five children and aim for the upper echelons. A place where the likes of him were as welcome as antibiotic resistant gonorrhea. Nicole was twisting her fingers in her lap. She’d fallen silent in the last hour, fiddling with her phone and staring out the window. He’d thought about saying something, but he’d already asked if she was okay—to which she said ‘fine’ in a high boiling kettle voice—what else was there?

  “Noah?”

  His hopes skyrocketed. “Yeah?”

  “I know we talked about it but you don’t have to come inside with me. I can just go in by myself.” She said it quickly, as though he might want to see the evidence of her life with another man.

  “No problem.”

  She kept staring out of the window, curling her fingers so tight, her knuckles were white. He saw himself reaching over and taking her hand, forcing her to stop self-flagellating, and talk to him. His palm tingled. He could do it. He counted down; five, four, three—

  “We’re up on the left.” Nicole said. “Number twenty-seven.”

  Fucking perfect. Noah slowed down, looking for twenty-seven. His eyes locked on a two-story slice of middle class. “That it?”

  Nicole wasn’t listening. She craned her neck, looking around. “Oh, thank God. Aaron’s car isn’t here. He mustn’t be home.”

  Noah felt a thrum of disappointment. It’d be easier this way, but he’d been nursing a couple of dumbshit confrontation fantasies. Mostly of shoving Nicole’s ex through a window while making it clear he’d fucked his fiancée into multiple orgasms. He parked at the curb and pulled out his cigarettes. “I’ll wait here. Call if you need me.”

  “Sure.” Nicole’s brows drew together. “You haven’t smoked the whole drive.”

  “You don’t like it.”

  Her smile drilled a hole in his chest. “Thanks, Noah, for driving, and the croissants, and talking to me. It’s been great.”

  The heat in his chest tried to turn itself into words but then his brain jammed. He nodded, stuck a cigarette in his mouth, felt like a fucking idiot.

  Nicole pushed the passenger door open. “Okay, I’m going to head in.”

  He watched her walk up her garden path, her watch flashing in the sun; the one that covered her tattoo. He realised he’d never actually seen Nicole’s daisy tattoo. He had the sudden urge to follow her, convince her to pull the watch off her wrist, see the pretty lines inked into her delicate skin. He could picture what it would look like—Edgar, Sam, and Tabby had the same daisy chain on their left wrists—but he wanted to know.

  He closed his eyes. What would he ink on her, if he had the chance? The answer came at once—the ocean beneath an apricot sunset. He’d put it on her right wrist, wrapping around the delicate web of navy veins, the whole thing smaller than a book of matches. Pretty, feminine, perfect. He opened his glove compartment and pulled out his notepad and biro. The design wasn’t complicated. The beauty would come into the kiss of colours; cerulean and lilac water, ruby skies and butterscotch sunlight. He wasn’t competent in watercolour style of tattooing but compared to painting, how hard could it be? He made a brief list of the inks he’d need and then paused, cigarette hanging from his lip.

  What the fuck was he doing? Drawing out this tattoo like it was going to happen? Like Nicole didn’t want to get rid of the ink she had? He threw the notepad back in the glove compartment, beyond embarrassed at himself.

  Don’t forget why you’re here. He’d told himself that over and over while he was driving, but some dipshit part of him refused to get the message. It was time to sit himself down for a little talk. It was time to Make Some Things Clear. “Newcomb. You fuckin’ idiot. Don’t go telling yourself you’re in love with her.”

  A response came in the form of an indignant head-rush. Who knew if you were in love with someone or not?

  “I mean it. What do you and Nicole DaSilva have in common?”

  Sex. They both liked…pancakes?

  “Exactly. Look at yourself.”

  He flipped down the mirror and studied his face, and Harold Newcomb stared back with his mother’s fish-green eyes.

  “Do you look like her next boyfriend? Do you think she wants people to see you two together?”

  Sick of looking at himself, he flipped the mirror back up and scanned his arms, examining the black roses, bloody axes, charred bones and brick-toothed dwarves, Cthulhu’s tentacles and snapping dragons.

  “She wants kids. You think she wants to have your kids?”

  He saw himself walking toward school gates to pick up a perfect black-haired, blue-eyed kid, the other parents locking their car doors as he passed. In the social media age, it’d take about twenty minutes for motivated mums and dads to find out who he was. Who he’d been.

  “Daddy, why is everyone scared of you?”

  And Nicole’s disappointment. Her stress. Her regret in procreating with someone who looked exactly like a professional bail jumper. A heaviness settled in his gut, dousing the fire that ignited when he was planning the watercolour tattoo. Who the fuck did he think he was kidding?

  He got out of the van, needing to move, to get out of his own head. He paced the footpath, smoking and searching for something else to think about when Nicole burst out of the house. Her face was bunched up, her eyes rimmed red. He flicked hi
s cigarette onto the asphalt and stomped it. “You okay? He in there?”

  “No!”

  There was an odd ring to her voice. She doubled over and he realised she was laughing. Deep belly laughter. “What’s going on?”

  “Come look!”

  “I…”

  She ran up to him and grabbed his hand. “You have to come look.”

  He followed her to the house and into her snow-white hallway. The place smelled strange, a flowery freshness undercut with something vaguely familiar. There was a picture on the sideboard—Nicole in a tight white dress with her arms around a guy in a suit. He had a long neck, curly hair and a distinctly cuntlike aura. Noah wasn’t one of those guys who hated white collars on principle, but this guy looked like a cunt. The way he gripped Nicole’s hip rubbed him the wrong way. Like he thought he owned her.

  You don’t, Noah told the image. You were an ungrateful fuck and she’s leaving you.

  She led him into a poshly decorated living room and he realised what it was at once—old party stank; flat beer, old wine, stale chips and meat fat. The source wasn’t hard to find; the coffee table was heaving with garbage. Cheese rinds, greasy sausages and strawberry stubs were all slowly rotting on expensive flower-patterned plates. “What the fuck?”

  Nicole giggled. “Aaron’s been entertaining, but that’s not the worst part. The worst part is this.”

  She tugged him around a corner and inside a flash-looking kitchen, or he imagined it was flash in normal circumstances. Right now it was more putrid than the living room. Plates were piled on the marble countertop and every glass in the house appeared to be piled on the sink. The bin was overflowing, spilling food packaging everywhere. A crusty chicken carcass lay in the sink and a huge peach-smelling candle had melted all over the kitchen bench, giving the trash a disgusting faux-sweetness. Noah had a solid stomach, but right then he was close to heaving. “Your ex is fuckin’ foul.”

  “You haven’t even seen the piece de resistance.” She moved around the bench and pointed to a wine glass. “Look.”