Nick: Black Tuxedos MC Read online

  Nick

  Black Tuxedos MC

  Darlene Tallman

  Contents

  Cover Page

  Acknowledgments

  Character Bible

  Prologue

  1. Nick

  2. Nick

  3. Nick

  4. Nick

  5. Nick

  6. Brody

  7. Nick

  8. Nick

  9. Nick

  10. Nick

  11. Nick

  12. Nick

  13. Shayla

  14. Nick

  15. Shayla

  16. Shayla

  17. Shayla

  18. Nick

  19. Shayla

  20. Nick

  21. Shayla

  22. Shayla

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The Black Tuxedos MC - Nick

  Copyright 2019 © Darlene Tallman

  Published by: Darlene Tallman

  Editors: Kat Beecham, Joanne Dearman, Melanie Gray, Beth DiLoreto, Shannon McFadden,

  Mary Sittu-Kern

  Cover by: Tracie Douglas of Dark Water Covers

  Format by: Liberty Parker

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from Darlene Tallman, the author / publisher.

  Dedication

  When I first thought of The Black Tuxedos and realized that Nick from “His Firefly” was going to be a member, I knew one of my betas, Joanne, was going to go nuts. She has loved “Nicky” since he first appeared as a little boy and wanted him “all grown up.” Joanne, I hope that Nick is everything you envisioned. He’s certainly one bossy biker, that’s for sure!

  Acknowledgments

  Without a tribe of women who push me, encourage me, and sometimes, yell at me to get back to writing, none of the books I write would be possible. In addition to two bossy PAs, my ‘team’ of ladies who beta/proof/edit, as well as Liberty (my co-author on several series to date), I’ve got author friends who reach out and say, “Are you writing? Shouldn’t you be writing?”

  Nick is no different. I had originally thought his story would go in one direction and then Shayla showed up. Once again, my ideas were tossed to the curb as he demanded to tell ‘their’ story!

  So, to #MyTribe, which seems to morph and grow on a regular basis, thank you. You and the readers who want me to write are why I listen to the voices in my head!

  Character Bible

  Reese – President (Corrie)

  Porter – VP (Kirsten)

  Matt – VP’s Enforcer

  Motor – President’s Enforcer

  Specks – IT

  Ripper – SAA

  Atlas – Road Captain

  Doughboy– Treasurer

  Chrome - Secretary

  Pug – Patched Member

  Slim Jim – Patched Member

  Jacob – Prospect

  Joseph – Prospect

  Garrison - Prospect

  Prologue

  Ten Years Ago

  “Nicky, you be sure to be careful,” she said.

  “I will, Mom, I promise,” he replied, eager to board the plane that would take him to basic training.

  “Firefly, he’ll be fine,” his dad said, stepping forward and pulling his mom into his arms. “You’ll do fine, Nick. I’ve got faith in you.” He grinned at his dad and nodded. Since Brody had entered their lives thirteen years ago, he had always acted as if he, Nick, was his own flesh and blood. “Just make sure you call and write your mom whenever you can. I don’t think she’d handle it well if she didn’t hear from you.”

  Nodding, he grabbed his duffel bag and then ruffled his younger brothers’ hair before kissing his little sisters’ cheeks. “You guys behave, y’hear?” he told them.

  “We will, Nicky!” they chorused, almost in unison.

  He took one last look behind him before he went to stand in line to board the plane.

  Twelve Weeks Later

  “Johnson!”

  He turned and saw his squadron commander coming toward him. Standing at attention, he saluted while saying, “Sir, yes, sir.”

  “At ease, Johnson. I wanted to talk to you about what you’ll be doing. We need more canine handlers and I’ve seen how you are around the ones on base. Would that interest you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then it’s settled. You’ll do your ‘A’ school training down in Florida before you head to Texas to learn how to train the dogs and also how to be a handler. Once you’ve graduated, you’ll get your assignment.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He headed back to his barracks fighting a grin. Time to call home and fill them in on everything.

  One year later

  Based at an undisclosed location

  “Nick! We need you and Jester!”

  He woke up slowly, having just come off a twelve-hour patrol. “What’s up?” he asked, already pulling on clean socks before grabbing his boots.

  “Got a lead about possible insurgents about twenty miles from here. Women and children are being held hostage. We need you two to scout the area.”

  “Got it. Come, Jester,” he said, snapping his fingers. The black Malinois rose from his pallet and walked over to him so he could put his working gear on. Giving him a pat, he clicked his tongue and the dog fell in step as they walked over to the truck they’d be taking. They’d completed numerous assignments like this and come out unscathed, so he sent up a prayer to a God he no longer believed in that they’d come through this one as well.

  * * *

  “What’s the plan?” he asked the driver after he and Jester were settled. There were four others, including the driver, and he looked around at the team. They had worked together for the past four months, and he felt confident that they’d be successful.

  “We’ve got to secure the area from about a mile out right into the village. The tanks will be behind us as we go once you signal that we’re good, and there are more trucks behind that to get the hostages.” He nodded then went to the place in his head so he could be ready to focus on his job. Peoples’ lives depended on him and Jester not fucking up.

  They finally stopped, and he rechecked his weapons before double-checking that Jester’s bullet-proof vest was secured. Assured that they were as ready as possible, he flipped on his night vision goggles and with a command of, “Seek,” he and Jester began the tedious but necessary inspection of the area. Several times, the dog stopped and indicated there was something buried underground, and they would wait until the others dismantled the bombs before continuing. They finally made it into the village and he sent up another prayer. So far, so good.

  Hearing yelling up ahead, he and the others, along with Jester, quickly but quietly moved forward. “Focus,” he hissed at Jester. He was acting peculiar and it sent a frisson of fear up Nick’s neck. Just as McCoy moved forward, he heard the unmistakable ‘click’ of a landmine being engaged and he turned and screamed, “RUN!” as he and Jester moved.

  He woke up on the transport helicopter, groggy and unclear of what had happened. “What happened?” he rasped out.

  �
�Roadside bomb. You’re one of the lucky ones,” the nurse who was checking him over, stated.

  “Jester?”

  The nurse gave him a pitying look and he realized that the heavy weight he had felt just before falling was his dog, doing the other thing he was trained for, protecting his ass. “How… what’s wrong with me?”

  “Definitely a concussion and a nasty compound fracture, but truly, you’re lucky to be alive. The guys behind you returned fire and most of the hostages were rescued as well.”

  “I fucked up,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Excuse me?” the nurse inquired.

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  * * *

  He found himself medically discharged and at loose ends. Unable to face his family, he bought a bike and started riding, destination unknown. He was in a small bar one night having a few beers when he met Reese, a man he greatly respected who he’d served with on his first tour before Reese was discharged. After talking for a while, he decided to see what The Black Tuxedos MC was all about.

  1

  Nick

  Present Day

  Waking up with the taste of last night’s mistakes in my mouth, I groaned at the pounding I felt in my head. Glancing to my left, I see the bare shoulder of the woman who had obviously spent the night, something I normally don’t allow. Jeez, I must have been more wasted than I realized. Giving her shoulder a shake to rouse her, I say, “Time for you to go, babe,” when she rolls over to look at me.

  “But I thought…I mean, that is…,” she stammers.

  “Babe, I know I didn’t promise you anything beyond last night, so get gone.” My voice is firm and unyielding. This was why I didn’t let them stay the night – they always wanted more than I was prepared to give.

  After a few minutes of huffing and puffing, the still-nameless woman leaves my room after giving me a dirty look. As if I give a flying fuck.

  Sitting on the side of the bed with my head in my hands, I wonder just how my life got so fucked up. It wasn’t like I had a bad childhood – well, not exactly, but all of that ended when my real father died when I was five years old. I’d then grown up surrounded by love – my mother, my surrogate aunt and grandmother, and finally a man who adopted me and made me his son. Not to mention the half-brothers and sisters I’ve been given thanks to my mother and father. I followed in my dad’s footsteps and enlisted in the Marines, and then spent the next few years fighting for my country until I got hurt. Coming home, I found another brotherhood to join – The Black Tuxedos MC – and while my folks don’t understand why I didn’t come home and join them in the family businesses, they understood my need to spread my wings and fly. I smile thinking of my mom – Dad calls her his firefly and I certainly understood why. She never stops moving, is always on the go and manages to light up the room whenever she’s in it, even when she’s in what I call ‘mom’ mode.

  I shake my head, groaning at the movement. They would never understand how fucked up my head is after all I’ve seen and done. But my brothers understand. They may not grasp why I find solace at the bottom of a bottle, but my brothers do since many of them have experienced the same shit-storm that is the war on terrorism. I’m worried, though, because I get the impression that my president, Reese, is about at his wit’s end and that means I’ll have to straighten up and fly right.

  I just can’t seem to find a purpose to grasp onto that’ll help me achieve that goal. Working with the dogs at the sanctuary Reese’s old lady started is helping, but it isn’t enough. There’s a huge hole and I just don’t know what to do to fill it. Drinking myself into oblivion isn’t working and neither are the nameless women I bring back for a fuck. Maybe if I found the right woman it’d be different, but every one I come across is after one thing – becoming the old lady to a patched MC member and I don’t think I can handle that right now. So, I find what I need when I have that need, but never hit it a second time. No sense in giving out false hope, right?

  Heading into my bathroom, I stand under the hot shower and allow the pounding water to seep into my body. I’m so tired of trying to fight the demons I face on my own and I know that alcohol isn’t the answer. Perhaps it’s time to reach out to Reese and see if he can help – he had been there with the nightmares and memories of war. It was one of the reasons he and his buddy, Porter, had started the MC. Now dressed in my customary Henley, jeans, boots and cut, I head out of my room and down the stairs to see what I can find for breakfast.

  In the kitchen, I pour myself some coffee and stand at the counter downing the first cup with a handful of ibuprofens, before I make a second cup and then look for food. Seeing something out of my left eye, I turn to see my president, Reese, walking in the room.

  “S’up, Prez?” I ask.

  “Could ask you the same thing, Nick,” Reese responds as he grabs his own cup of coffee. “You got a few? Want to talk to you.”

  Ah hell, here it comes. “Sure, man.”

  “Let’s ride and grab a bite to eat, yeah?”

  “Sounds good, some fresh air might clear the rest of the cobwebs.”

  We finish our coffee and then head out to our bikes. Thankfully, the late night before means not a lot are stirring, so we’re able to leave without any tag-alongs, which I’m grateful for seeing as I have a feeling I won’t like what comes out of Reese’s mouth.

  * * *

  As we ride, I think of and discard a hundred different excuses. I know I’ve been doing a half-assed job, know I should probably see someone for my PTSD and possibly take meds, and know I have to stop drinking. Finally, I realize that anything I say will be an excuse so instead, I’ll do what I’ve thought earlier about that morning – ask for help. Pulling into a diner about ten miles out of town, I look around and then inwardly laugh – I always compare every diner with the one my folks run. And they always come up short in my mind.

  Inside, we take a back booth and quickly place our orders, asking for a pot of coffee and as much privacy as possible. Taking a deep breath, I finally look at Reese and say, “Brother, I need help. I don’t know how life got so fucked up for me, but this isn’t who I am or who I want to be.”

  Reese looks at me. I know he knows I’ve been struggling for a while with the things I’ve done and seen, most of which was classified and not able to be discussed, and I can tell that he’s glad I’ve realized I’m in over my head and need help. “Look, Brother, we’ve all seen that you have gone off the rails a bit, fighting more, taking bigger risks, and generally drinking yourself into oblivion every night. And while no one has said anything, I know the nightmares are getting worse. Have you thought of talking to a trauma specialist? I had to in order to get my head straightened out when I got home.”

  Reese had to see someone? “They deal with fuck-ups like me?” I question.

  “Brother, you’re not a fuck-up. Believe me, I know a fuck-up when I see one and you are not one. However, the shit you’ve seen and done has fucked with you. The trauma specialist I know of has a high success rate with folks who have PTSD. In fact, while her story isn’t mine to tell, Corrie saw his partner for a time. Plus, with all the work you’ve done with Corrie and the sanctuary, you know how important Louie and Duke are to both of us. Maybe you need to see about training one for yourself. Both dogs sense when we are beginning to stress and signal, something you trained them to do, man. You’re already handling the sanctuary and I need you to take on something else as well, but I need you clear-headed.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say, Brother,” I finally stammer.

  “Nothing to say – you’re one of us and we take care of one another. I’ll get you the number for the therapist.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. Guess I need to check over the dogs and see if any are good with kids, though.”

  Reese gives me a puzzled look and then asks, “Why? You don’t have any kids.”

  “No, but I have brothers and sisters and it may be time to come clean to my folks about what is going on in my
head. I know my mom has been worried and if she’s worried, then you can bet my dad will be on the phone soon to see what the hell is going on. I’ve kind of been avoiding going home, y’know?”

  I hear Reese sigh before he says, “Wish I had realized it had gotten this bad that you’re avoiding your family. The way you talk about all of them, I know how much they all mean to you. If you need one that’s good with kids, I’m sure you’ll find one out there.”

  “Okay. Listen, I wanted to ask you about something. I noticed the other day when I was checking the perimeter around the shop that there was an older van parked off to the side. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Yeah, it belongs to a woman who I’ve hired to clean the offices at our businesses. She’s kind of young and a single mom. Thought I’d give her a helping hand. Why?”

  “Parked out back in the middle of the night? When does she clean?”

  “Usually early morning. Maybe you need to check it out and make sure nothing’s wrong with her van. She’s new to town so I don’t know where she’s staying, but we pay her in cash, so I didn’t worry about all the paperwork.”