Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(96)

Dunn pushed up from the stairs and strolled toward his vehicle parked just inside the shop—Donna Ward was already tied up in the backseat—and the Knights began to move toward the stairs, trying to be inconspicuous about quitting the scene in order to give him and Vanessa some privacy. But Rock caught Boss’s eye, subtly shaking his head and making his intent clear.

Stay, mon ami. I need your help.

Boss nodded and hung back by the stairs as the rest of the Knights disappeared onto the second-floor landing.

Rock gave himself a moment…just one moment to hold Vanessa close, to drink in the minty-sweet smell of her, to press her warmth and lushness and, yes, love against his heart. Then he did what he had to do. For himself, for his sanity, but mostly for her wonderful, brave, far-too-open-and-giving heart. He couldn’t do this knowing she’d mourn for him, for his loss, the way he’d mourned for Lacy. He had to make sure if she had any pain at all, it was as quick and as insignificant as he could make it.

So, grabbing her shoulders, he softly pushed her away. Her face was a mess: red, blotchy, covered in tears, and so goddamned beautiful it nearly brought him to his knees. “You know what I told you out in the jungle,” he said, making sure his tone was kind but also hard and immovable. “That hasn’t changed.”

“Don’t say that,” she shook her head, sniffling. “You don’t mean it. Not after last night. Not after we—”

“I do mean it,” he insisted quietly but firmly. Still, her next words told him she wasn’t really listening.

“They won’t be able to put you away for very long,” she said, wiping a shaky hand over her wet cheeks. “You didn’t do the killing. You just did the interrogating. So, what can they charge you with? False imprisonment? Surely you’ll be out in a few years, and I’ll be here waiting on you. I’ll be here—”

“Vanessa,” he gave her another little shake, the air in his lungs on fire. Because even if he had changed his mind, even if he had done something colossally stupid and allowed himself to fall for her, there was nothing to be done for it now. She couldn’t spend her life waiting on him. She had to go on living. She wanted a family, a husband and children. And there was no way he could give her those things. Not now. So he gave her what he could…

He gave her her freedom.

“I don’t love you,” he said, lowering his chin and holding her watery gaze, knowing his own was probably just as watery. “I don’t love you, you hear me? So there’s no use in you waitin’ on me. You need to move on. Find someone else.”

But even contemplating the thought cut him to the bone.

“No,” she shook her head, hiccupping, her voice rising in a wail. “I don’t believe you! You’re lying!”

He looked over at Boss. The man’s face was the picture of sorrow, but he nodded and jogged over to them, gently taking Vanessa from his arms. It took everything Rock had to let her go.

“No!” she screamed. “Don’t do this, Rock!”

And he had to get out of there before he did something completely stupid, before he did something completely undignified and unethical and took her up on her offer to just run away. Fred Billingsworth’s true murderer needed to be brought to justice, and he and Dunn were the only men who could do it.

“No, Rock!” Vanessa wailed, but he couldn’t stay a second longer or he didn’t know if he’d be able to make himself leave at all.

Jogging over to Patriot, he grabbed his leather jacket from where it lay over the seat. The back patch read Black Knights Incorporated: May the Road Never End…A hard lump formed in his throat. Today was going to be his last day as a Knight. And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow he highly suspected his road was going to end…at least for a good, long while.

Shrugging into the jacket, he threw a leg over the bike and unhooked his helmet from the handlebar. Unfortunately, shoving the helmet over his head did nothing to drown out Vanessa’s cries. And each tearful wail, each begging plea not to go, was a razor-sharp arrow to his heart.

This was slaying him. She was slaying him.

Pushing the button on the hydraulics, Patriot lifted to riding height, but before he started the engine, he glanced over at Boss. “It’s been an honor, mon ami,” he said, placing his hand over his thundering heart.

Boss dipped his chin, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The honor has been mine, my friend.”

Rock nodded and tried to ignore the fact that the foundation of his life was cracking and crumbling beneath him. Then he let his gaze linger on Vanessa, fighting like a tigress, struggling in the big man’s grip to no avail.

“Chere,” he said, and she stopped squirming, looking up at him with puffy, pleading eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Live your life. Live a good life. And know that I’ll always cherish the time we had.”

And before she could answer, he turned away, cranking over Patriot’s big engine while simultaneously pushing the button on the handlebars that activated the huge garage door. It rolled up. It’s loud whir barely discernible over Patriot’s throaty grumble.

Without a backward glance—he couldn’t bear to see everything he was leaving behind—he followed Dunn’s SUV and motored out of the shop, away from the past he’d grown to love, and off to put himself into the hands of some of the very people who’d tried to kill him.