Train's Clash (The Last Riders Book 9)

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the man said as he and the woman held out their hands for her to shake.

  After Killyama took their hands, she turned toward Train. “I’ll go and let you—”

  “Stay.” Train’s arm tightened around her. “Captain, Sergeant, I see you solved the equation.”

  “Yes, sir. You couldn’t give me my score because the unit has a failsafe. No two family members, related by blood, are permitted on the team.”

  He felt his wife beginning to tremble under his arm.

  “The equation was: you could remain silent about being related to your sister and protect your father’s reputation, or you could get to know her.” Train turned to look at his wife, waiting for her reaction. “Rae, this is Timothy Cooper the Second, and Marilyn Cooper-Smythe. They are your brother and sister.”

  Killyama practically buried her face in his jacket, achingly aware she felt inferior to them because of the feelings her father had ingrained in her from birth.

  “Sir, no respect, but I’d rather have my sister than a position on your team,” her brother spoke resolutely. “Marilyn and I both would like to get to know Rae, if we may?” His eyes searched Killyama’s.

  Killyama straightened, her courage never far away, even when she was overwhelmed. “Are you always going to talk like that?”

  Train couldn’t help smiling. “Rae, everyone calls him Boomerang, and your sister, Alice.”

  “Like Alice on the Brady Bunch?” She gave her sister a look filled with pity. “I’d kick anyone’s ass who called me that.”

  Her sister shook her head, her hand loosening that had been gripped tightly on her brother’s arm, her own nervousness apparent. “No, like Alice Cooper.”

  Killyama nodded in appreciation. “Hell, I could deal with that.”

  Her siblings laughed.

  “Do you have one?” her brother asked.

  “Uh …” She threw Train a dirty look when he couldn’t stop laughing at her embarrassed expression. “Just call me Mrs. T.”

  Epilogue 2

  Nine Years Later

  “I didn’t do it! You did!” Ela shouted at her younger sister.

  “Don’t blame me! I told you I couldn’t reach it!” Bina yelled back, her eyes welling with tears as she bent down next to the shattered glass.

  Killyama stood in the doorway, watching as her two daughters argued over who had broken the vase on her desk.

  “Don’t touch it. I’ll pick it up.” She stopped Bina before she could cut herself.

  The two girls began crying when they saw her.

  “I didn’t do it, Mama.” Ela shot her sister a furious look.

  “Mama, I told her she wasn’t supposed to be in here.” Bina ran to her, wrapping her arms around her mother’s thigh.

  “You both know you’re not supposed to be in here without my permission,” she scolded them. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  Killyama went to the kitchen pantry, grabbing the broom and dustpan before hurrying back, afraid one her girls would cut themselves.

  “Ela, I told you not to move. I’ll clean it.” She briskly swept up the mess, throwing it into the trash can beside her desk.

  The sight of the roses in the trash can set the girls off in tears again.

  Sighing, she figured she could mop the rest of the mess up after she dealt with her daughters.

  She sat down in the leather chair behind her desk. “Come here.” She held her arms open.

  The girls clambered up onto her lap.

  “I’m sorry, Mama.” Ela patted her baby bump as if the unborn baby was upset, too.

  “Me, too.” Bina laid her head on her shoulder, lifting dark, soulful eyes to her. “Are you going to tell Papa?”

  “No, you two are. We’ve told you over and over again that you’re not allowed to play in here.”

  “I needed some paper. I used all of mine,” Ela confessed.

  “Then you should have asked. You knew I was busy with lunch and snuck in here, Ela.”

  Killyama’s calm reaction started the tears flowing again, Ela’s tiny shoulder shaking with her sobs. “I’m sorry.”

  “I can either trust you or start locking my door again. Can I trust you, Ela?”

  “Yes, Mama. I won’t do it anymore. I promise.”

  “I do, too.” Bina wanted to make sure she wasn’t left out if her sister managed to get out of trouble.

  “Okay, I’m going to trust you both. Now go eat your lunch; it’s getting cold. I made your favorite.” She gave them each a big hug as they slipped off her lap.

  “Save me some!” Killyama shouted out as she heard them running down the hallway.

  She sat back in her chair, smiling lovingly at the sounds of their chatter.

  “I told you it was going to be okay,” Ela boasted.

  “Papa doesn’t know yet. He’s going to make us sit in time-out,” Bina reminded her.

  Killyama used her boot to swivel her chair as they started conspiring on how to get out of Train’s punishment.

  “I told you to wait another year before taking that lock off,” she reproved the painting that stared back at her.

  Shoving her hands in her back pocket to keep from touching it, the sight of her husband never failed to impress her. It was her mother’s talent in Train’s portrait that had convinced Killyama to accept his marriage proposal. Killyama had known her mother could see into the soul of who she was painting, and she had definitely captured Train’s. His love for her was evident with each brush stroke.

  When she was working on a particular case, she could stare up at his portrait and ground herself again. Whatever horror that humanity was capable of, it was filled with love, too.

  “I see the girls have been busy.” Train’s soft voice had her turning toward him.

  “Dude, how many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me? You want me to give birth in my office?” she snapped.

  Train gave her a smug smile, coming toward her to wrap her up in his arms. “You’re only mad because I caught you staring at my picture again.”

  “You’re lucky it’s your picture hanging there.” She sniffed indignantly, trying to pull away. “If Rider’s bike hadn’t broken down the day he was supposed to give me a ride, there would have been a different picture hanging there.”

  Train burst out laughing. “There wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening,” he boosted, gathering her closer.

  “You don’t think I could have made Rider love me?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “It would have been a piece of cake.”

  Train linked his fingers with hers. “Babe, I don’t doubt you could have made Rider love you … if you had been given the chance. Why do you think his bike was messed up?”

  Killyama narrowed her eyes on her husband’s unrepentant face. “You sabotaged Rider’s bike?”

  “Yes. There wasn’t any way I was letting Rider have first dibs on you.”

  She leaned up, kissing him. “Sneaky men make me hot.”

  “Papa!” Their daughters came running into the room, lifting their arms to be held.

  Train lifted them up, kissing each of their cheeks. “What have you hellions been up to? I was only gone ten minutes.”

  “I love you, Papa.” Ela turned his face toward her.

  “I love you more.” Bina made him turn to face her.

  Killyama rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Let’s go let your papa eat his lunch. You can tell him how much you both love him when you’re telling him about my broken vase.”

  Train set the girls back down on their feet. “You two go ahead. We’re coming.”

  Their little shoulders drooped as they obeyed their father’s order.

  “I told you that boys are less trouble.”

  “Lover, don’t blame me. I’m trying!” She pointed at her belly. “If this one isn’t a boy, you’re shit out of luck.”

  “It’s a boy,” Train declared confidently,
bending down to place a kiss on her stomach.

  She ran her fingers lovingly through his hair, whispering, “From your lips to God’s ear.”

  Sometime in the future…

  The sound of the party taking place outside of the club was muted when he shut the door behind him. Going to the refrigerator, he pulled out another six-pack of beer, setting it down on the counter. Taking one out, he opened the bottle, his eyes catching the portrait hanging on the wall.

  The large picture showed the founding members of The Last Riders. His eyes caught on the dark-eyed, somber man with the chain hanging down the side of his leg. He felt the same chain brush the side of his own leg when he turned toward the door.

  “What’s taking so long, Clash?” a sultry voice asked. “Brick is looking for you.”

  “Nothing.” Clash turned back to the picture, tilting his beer bottle in salute before taking a drink then grabbing the six-pack to leave. “I’m coming.”

  Lucca

  Made Men, #4

  Sarah Brianne

  Coming Soon!

  Prologue

  The Story Behind the Scar. The Story of Sadness, Grief, and Torture.

  Pulling his classic black Cadillac onto the side of the street, he positioned himself perfectly to watch the house. Then he looked at the clock and saw he had timed it perfectly. School’s out.

  He flipped his lighter off and on, off and on, waiting for her return. Lucca had never been good at sitting still, nor was he a very patient man when he was tired. The night before had been a long one, and his body still felt it this afternoon. Regardless, he had enjoyed every second of it.

  Last night, he had lain Mr. Johnson to rest and held up his promise of fucking the blonde until she regretted it. Both things had satiated his dark side … for now, anyway.

  Lucca flipped his lighter closed as a stuck-up BMW pulled into the driveway. He had never trusted a German car. The only thing good about it was its black paint color.

  A strawberry blonde exited the car. Elle Buchanan. He couldn’t help the sneer he pasted on his face. His little brother was in big fucking trouble.

  Watching her walk to the front door, he believed the girl only got prettier the more you looked at her.

  It’s going to be a shame when I have to strangle the life out of her.

  One thing was for sure, the girl was going to die, and nothing was going to save her. It was unfortunate she had been there when the trigger had been pulled, but some girls were just born unlucky, this one in particular. She was only going to make it another month to her eighteenth birthday.

  The stuck-up looking car reversed, drawing back his attention. He wondered who would drop off a girl in this neighborhood. Truthfully, he was a little shocked this was the address, considering the girl had come from a prep school.

  Looking at the clock again, he noticed there was a bit of time before Elle went to work. His gut told him to follow the car. Anyone she hung out with could possibly be collateral damage if her fucking mouth blabbed too much.

  Lucca started his car, deciding to follow the BMW. He kept a good distance back, following it in a direction he hadn’t been expecting. This part of town was mostly owned by the city, along with some expensive restaurants and shops.

  Watching the car pull into one of the most expensive shops in town, he parked on the street and pulled out his cell phone to text the license plate number to a friend. He waited in anticipation, the curiosity slowly eating away at him, only growing worse when the car door opened.

  Immediately, he knew it was a woman when tall, black boots and black jeans hit the ground. The next thing he noticed was her long, silky hair. It was the blackest hair he had ever seen.

  He desperately wanted a glimpse of her face, but she never turned around.

  Lucca found himself turning off the car and getting out, wondering how this was more important than anything else he could do with his time. His instincts were what kept him going, following her into the store.

  Lucca prided himself on being able to go unnoticed. His appearance of dark jeans, black shirts, and black sweatshirts allowed him to do that, plus his scruffy face and hair. He could go places no one in the family could go. Made men demanded attention with their suits and immaculate grooming, whereas he didn’t need that kind of attention. I have other ways to get the attention I demand.

  Entering the store undetected was easy with all the expensive shit it held. He navigated the store, finding the girl in all black who seemed to be looking for a particular piece. A slight glimpse of the left side of her face revealed her soft porcelain skin. He stalked closer.

  Have I seen her before?

  Another small glimpse revealed her young age.

  Stopping, he was about to turn around. She’s too young.

  The girl turned then went back to a table she had missed.

  His heart stopped a beat when he saw the whole left side of her face and a striking gray eye. The other half of her face was covered by a veil of hair. He wished he could reach out to feel the pure black strands of silk and move it to reveal the rest of her face.

  Leave now. Nothing good would come of this. He should have left the moment he had noticed she was just a teenage girl.

  He was unable to place it yet, but something about her called to him. It kept him from looking away from the girl and leaving.

  The whole thing felt so wrong yet so right. He was being pulled in different directions. His mind told him to leave, but his body kept him patiently waiting.

  Watching her hand go up to her face, he felt his breath catch in his throat when she swept her hair behind her ear. Fuck.

  His heart skipped another beat at the sight of her face in its entirety. His eyes traveled down the right side of her gorgeous face that held a scar from above her eyebrow down to the hollow of her cheek. Another one graced the right side above and below her luscious lips. The instinct to let his fingertips glide down each mark was so strong he thought he might break his cover.

  Her gray eyes held the story behind the scar, a story of sadness, grief, and torture. It was like staring at a perfect porcelain doll that had been dropped one too many times. Others would see a flaw in the cracked doll, making her no longer perfect, but he saw only beauty. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

  He could watch her study the delicate piece with gentle hands for hours.

  The gold, ornate piece she was infatuated with was unfamiliar to him until she opened the egg-shaped object, and music began to play. Her eyes danced as she watched a ballerina twirl to the music. He wondered what it would feel like if she looked at him that way.

  “It’s a beautiful piece, isn’t it?” the older woman who looked to be the storeowner asked as she came up to her.

  The girl quickly became startled, shutting the music box. He wanted her to go back to the way she had been a moment before.

  When her tongue peeked out to lick her lips, he eagerly waited to hear the voice that belonged to her.

  “Y-yes.” She went back to looking at the box, avoiding the gaze of the woman. “H-how much is it?”

  “Three thousand dollars.”

  She removed her fingers from the piece. “Oh.”

  The woman kindly smiled. “I know Christmas just passed, but you could always ask for it for your birthday, maybe. I could hold it.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but it’s too much.”

  The lady smiled. “Well, you could always come back if you talk your parents into it.”

  “Thank you.” The girl took one last glance at the music box before she left the store.

  Watching her leave was harder than he had thought it would be. He wouldn’t be able to come out of the store until she pulled out. Therefore, he had to watch her go to the car through the display window, and that wasn’t close enough for him.

  A vibration in his pocket had him pulling out his cell phone. He didn’t say a word when he accepted the call.

  His friend Sal came over t
he phone. “The BMW is registered to Maxwell Masters.”

  That wasn’t what he had expected, though it explained why he felt like he had seen her before.

  “Girl,” Lucca spoke into the phone carefully, watching her approach the driver’s side.

  “He’s married to Elaine Maste—”

  “Younger,” he cut him off.

  Sal paused. “Scar?”

  Lucca’s eyes traced her markings. “Yes.”

  “That’s Maxwell’s daughter, Chloe Masters.”

  He ended the call with the push of a button.

  Time stood still for him as he soaked in anything and everything he could about her before she disappeared into the car.

  There was always a moment one faced in life when a choice had to be made, and this was his.

  Her tortured soul called to his dark one, whispering for him to save her. His heart was now slow, steady, finding its purpose—Chloe Masters …

  Taking one last look at the scar on her face, he couldn’t wait for the day he could run his fingers across it. Beautiful.

  1

  Mine

  Lucca sat at the desk in his home office, running his hands through his hair and trying to take deep breaths. The image of her had yet to leave his mind. His fingers still itched to trace her gorgeous markings. He wanted her, regardless of her age, and nothing is going to stop me.

  He had very seldom wanted anything in his life. The first had been becoming a Made Man, and the second had been becoming the underboss. Both things he had accomplished at a very young age. Being just twenty-six years old, he was the youngest underboss in the history of the Caruso family, and had become Made at the age of seventeen, which was also the youngest anyone in the family had ever been Made. What he had done to become Made at seventeen was something that would send most grown men to the psych ward, but not Lucca.

  Lucca was born with a dark side. He had realized at a very young age he wasn’t like the rest of the world. The only emotions he ever felt were when he caused pain. At first, it didn’t take much, just simply pinching another kid until he cried. It brought him joy and contentment. Slowly through the years, though, he needed more and more to bring those feelings back. Now, twenty-six years later, he was a full-blown monster, craving nothing but blood and chaos.