“Okay, two things wrong with that question.” She held up a finger. “One. What makes you think I’m a nice girl? And two…” She added another finger. “What’s so bad about this place?”
He reached over and captured the fingers she held up in his big hand. Big, but gentle. “This place is rough, honey.” His deep voice held a hint of warning.
She grinned and rested her elbows on the table, leaned closer to him, letting him hold her hand. “Maybe I like it rough.”
His topaz eyes darkened. She gave a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, Tommy. I can take care of myself. And…” She looked around, hitched a shoulder. “This place isn’t so bad.”
His rapacious smile tugged at something inside her. Her body, over which she always had firm, determined control, betrayed her. Something about him just caught at her, pulled her to him.
She so did not need this right now. But she had to go with it.
He released her hand and she moved to the music, still looking at him, still smiling. “I like bikes. I like beer. I like to party. This place is great.”
“D’you like bikers?”
The question hung suspended between them.
“Yeah,” she said, holding his gaze meaningfully. “I like bikers.”
He tipped the bottle to his mouth. His lips on the rim were sensuous, and his throat working as he swallowed the last of the beer made her want to press her lips there.
Then Vince and Carly returned to the table, and she sat back to listen and watch Tommy through a haze of repressed lust. She had to get a grip on herself here. This was important and she could not screw it up by getting all hot for a sexy biker. God.
Someone came and dragged Tommy off to play a game of pool and she resisted the urge to watch him, turning her attention back to Carly and Vince and the others who joined them, talking, laughing, drinking.
She didn’t want to rush it, but as it neared midnight, she figured she’d been reasonably successful and wanted to do one more thing to prove she was capable of this undercover gig.
“Who’s holding here?” she murmured to Carly in a low undertone. “I need to score.”
“Meth? Coke?”
“Angel sugar.”
Carly nodded, unfazed by the request. She looked around then tipped her chin. “Zocco. Come on.”
She took Sera over to Zocco and said a word in his ear. He looked up at Sera. Studied her. Her skin crawled and her insides quivered. If he didn’t believe she was for real, didn’t buy her act, didn’t trust her enough to sell drugs to her, she was going to find out now.
She realized she was holding her breath, and let it out slowly and carefully. She tossed her hair behind her shoulder and tipped her head to the side with a hint of impatience.
She held his gaze, his dark eyes narrow and mean looking. Then he nodded, stood up, and Carly said, “Go with him.”
Sera knew the danger. She watched Zocco lumber away from her. Her feet moved. She had to do this. She wasn’t afraid. She could look after herself.
She followed Zocco’s wide shape down the dark narrow hall. The driving beat of Judas Priest’s Angel of Retribution faded to a distant thump of bass behind them and she followed him into a small empty room, chairs and tables pushed up against the wall.
They were alone.
Her stomach tightened and she relaxed her hands and shoved them into the front pockets of her jeans, trying to look casual. A trickle of sweat traced a shivery trail down the groove of her spine.
He faced her and said nothing. Shit. This was it. Maybe she’d gone too far. Pushed too hard. Had she blown her one and only chance?
Zocco’s eyes narrowed. “What d’you want?” he asked.
Her throat tightened. What did she want? Didn’t he know what she wanted?
He waited, his arms folded across his chest, and his brows dipped above his nose.
“I…uh…”
Zocco looked at something behind her and she half-turned. Tommy stood in the doorway watching them, scowling.
Chapter Two
“He’s okay.” Zocco nodded toward him. “Tommy, you want some?”
“Nah.” He tried to keep the disgust and disappointment from showing on his face. She was so sweet— clean, wholesome, pretty—and here she was buying goddamn drugs. Shit. He should’ve known. She was hanging around The Patch, she sure wasn’t a cheerleader from the suburbs.
She also wasn’t that bright, disappearing into a back room with a hulking biker she didn’t even know. Which was why he’d followed her. Jesus.
What the hell was he so disappointed about anyway? He knew better than anyone not to get involved with someone he met there. She was nothing to him, just a pretty face who’d shown up and added a little sizzle to his evening, which hadn’t exactly been going well. He hadn’t had that sizzle for a while. A helluva long while, in fact.
He stepped aside to let her leave the room, having made her deal. He watched her tight, little ass in the snug jeans as she walked down the hall ahead of him. Hot, little body—she had a lean, athletic grace that appealed to him, with strong shoulders and narrow hips. Her long, dark hair shone with a healthy luster, and those unusual light blue eyes, like blue zircons, had snared him.
He wanted to ask Beck who the hell she was, because Beck was a shit-for-brains crack head and there was no possible way she was his girlfriend. Ah hell. It. Did. Not. Matter.
He ordered another beer at the bar, only his second of the night, although others probably thought he’d drunk much more. One more and he’d be outta there too. Tomorrow he had to get to see his mom.
His gut clenched at the thought. She was going downhill quick now that the breast cancer had spread to her lymph nodes and bones. The home she was in did a great job of looking after her, so he knew she was well cared for, but he still felt guilty about how little time he had to spend with her. Business was seriously impacting his personal life. Not that he had much of a personal life.
She probably only had weeks to live. And here he was hanging out, shooting the shit and drinking beer. Hell.
His goal that evening had been to talk to Monkey about a machine gun he supposedly had. He wanted to buy that gun from him. Really bad. But when he’d tried to question Monkey about it, all he’d gotten were faintly suspicious looks and a change of subject.
Damn. The DAs were starting to trust him, and Manny and Axel. But they weren’t one of them. The Coyotes were a different gang and there were still walls up, barriers preventing them from getting too close.
He watched Monkey, the man he’d wanted to cozy up to that night, as he stood up unsteadily. Then Monkey walked up to Sara at the bar, threw his beefy arm around her narrow shoulders and leaned in lasciviously. Fuck.
He stood and moved toward her. As he neared her, he heard a grunt, and Sara say, “Thanks but no thanks, buddy.”
Monkey doubled over in pain.
Ah shit. What’d she do to him? She was going to get herself killed.
Monkey gasped for air then straightened. “Uh…”
Here it came. He waited for every other DA to rush in to Monkey’s defense, for all hell to break loose. But nothing happened. He looked around. Hell, nobody’d even noticed that she’d just hurt the man. Fucking weird. He kept going.
“Problem here?” he muttered into Monkey’s ear, helping him to stand straight.
Monkey snorted, gasped again. “Tommy. Dude. I’m fine.” Clearly he wasn’t, but male pride prevented him from revealing a girl had spanked him.
The DAs didn’t like women who had a mind of their own. They wanted women they could dominate, control, demo their macho masculine strength with. She was smarter than he’d thought by doing something—what?—so subtle to get her “hands off” message across without humiliating him in front of his gang.
He glanced at Sara, saw her smirk. What the fuck?
Monkey straightened, tossed his long hair back. “Bro, you don’t wanna mess with her.” He staggered away.
He met Sara’s
eyes. She gazed back at him innocently, blue eyes sparkling, and he blinked. He narrowed his own eyes at her then looked around, still waiting for war to break out. These guys did not respect women.
She slid off her stool, tapped her empty beer bottle down on the table and patted her purse. “Gotta go,” she said. “Nice meeting you, Tommy. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”
Speechless, he watched her leave, with a hug for Carly and Jessie, and a bump of fists with Vince. He sank onto the stool she’d vacated.
She’d come with Beck, but he watched her say something into Beck’s ear, then with waves and goodbyes she walked out of The Patch alone.
“What the hell?” Manny murmured beside him, also watching Sara leave. “What was that with Monkey?”
“Hell if I know.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her cute ass as she strode out of The Patch on those long legs.
“Pretty hot stuff. Can’t believe you turned her down.”
He huffed out a short laugh. “There wasn’t an invitation.”
“Ah. Too bad.”
He shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Yeah, I know.” Manny disappeared again.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a roll of antacids, popped two into his mouth and chewed.
“Hey, Tommy.” Jessie came up and stood beside his bar stool, pressed her tits against his biceps. “How’s it going?”
Oh man. She was stoned, again. He sighed. She’d been coming on to him every time they were alone together for the last couple of weeks. Now here she was doing it in public. Where the hell was Chomp?
“Good. How you doin’?” He moved away from her, but her body followed. She leaned against him and he was afraid if he moved again she’d fall down.
“I’m okay. You know, Tommy, you’re really hot.”
Fuck. He glanced around to see who was noticing. If he got caught with another dude’s wife, he was a dead man. He tried to slide off the stool, but as he’d feared, Jessie’d had her weight against him and she stumbled and almost fell.
“Whoops!” She gave a little laugh and grabbed for him, getting a fist of T-shirt. He reached for her too and to his dismay got a handful of boob. She was generously stacked, that was for sure, but her stomach was almost as big as her boobs and he wasn’t even a bit turned on by the free groping. In fact, he was scared shitless.
Because Chomp appeared just then with a menacing scowl on his face. “What the hell you doing with my woman?” he growled, staring at the two of them glued together.
He held up both hands, leaving Jessie to wobble precariously on her own. She fell against her husband with another laugh. “Nothing, man. Chomp. I didn’t do nothin’. She just lost her balance.”
“I did, baby,” Jessie said with a hiccup. She giggled. “I damn near fell down. Tommy’s such a hottie.”
He wanted to close his eyes. Son of a bitch.
“You think he’s hot, huh?” Chomp’s mean little eyes narrowed even more, his thin lips disappearing behind his beard. “Fuck that. You know, Tommy, there are rules around here. Number one rule—you never touch another Angel’s woman.”
“I know that, man, I know. I swear I would never do that.”
Chomp’s eyes glittered. He was either stoned or drunk. Or both. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
When Chomp reached for the knife in his boot, Tommy knew he was screwed. His fists clenched and adrenaline coursed through his body in a rush of heat and light.
Then Vince stepped between them and grabbed Chomp’s arm. “Tommy didn’t do nothin’, Chomp.” He shoved Chomp back, away from him. “I was watching. Nothing happened. Go home.”
Chomp glared at Vince, then, without a word, he turned and helped his stumbling wife out of the bar.
Vince shook his head. “You gotta watch it, buddy. She’s not the first old lady I’ve heard talk about you like that. You’re gonna get yourself in deep shit. Why don’t you wanna go out with my cousin? I told you she’s single and she’s cute. I’ll fix you up.”
He looked at Vince. “Thanks, man.” He unclenched his fists, forced a smile, and shoved a hand into his hair. “Yeah. Maybe I should do that.” Vince had come to his rescue and he probably owed the rough, tough biker his life. He could’ve hugged the guy.
Vince was right about one thing—he needed a girlfriend, like, yesterday. He tipped his bottle and drained the last of the beer.
The next afternoon at the ATF offices in downtown L.A., Ryan Thomas sat at a long boardroom table, tracing the grooves of ancient pen marks and cigarette burns with the tip of his index finger as he waited for the others to arrive. His paperwork was behind and his SAC was riding his ass for it, but they’d called this meeting and he could only hope it was good.
He’d lost Axel last week because of bureaucratic crap. The Special Agent in Charge, Darren Forsythe, had sent an e-mail to Axel’s SAC in Pittsburgh, the field office they’d “borrowed” him from, asking for Axel to stay longer on the case. They were making good progress but it was going to take longer than they’d first anticipated. But he’d worded the e-mail in his usual blunt, jerk-off style and had pissed off everyone in Pittsburgh so much they’d said no to his request. Axel was gone.
On top of that, Jackrabbit, their confidential informant, the one who was their link to the real Coyotes gang in Mexico, had been acting weird. He’d agreed to work with the ATF as an informant, and had been very helpful to them, but they suspected he was back doing drugs. He was unreliable, unpredictable and therefore unsafe. Likely off the case.
Ryan leaned back in his chair, linked his hands behind his head and looked up at the square white ceiling tiles.
It was down to him and Manny now. They couldn’t do it alone. And things were getting hot for Ryan because of his unwillingness to do any chick who moved. For some reason, the DAs didn’t believe a guy like him wasn’t willing to do anyone with tits, because Christ only knew, chicks were willing to do him. They needed a female agent, but so far they’d had no luck with that.
Ryan wasn’t oblivious to the way he looked and the effect he had on women. He just didn’t give a shit. He liked women. He liked sex. More than liked it. And it had been a helluva long time since he’d had any. But women involved with a case were bad news and he didn’t have time for a normal relationship. Hell, his record-short marriage had proved that.
He lowered his arms, reached for the coffee cup on the table in front of him and peered into it, as if it may have been magically refilled while he sat there pondering his life’s problems.
So women were good for fucking, and that was about it. But never women involved in a case when he was working undercover. That was just asking for trouble. That was just asking for a knife at his throat. A bullet in his chest. Forget it.
Last night he’d been tempted, more than he’d ever been. But once again—mistake. Do not get involved.
He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
The door to the meeting room opened and Josh Witter strode in. “Hey, Ryan. How ya doing?”
“Great.”
He and Josh had been working together for three months on this case, but had known each other a lot longer. As case manager, Josh ran the operation. He did the behind the scenes work, ran the surveillance, got all the backstopping in place. This wasn’t the first time they’d worked together, but this was their biggest case so far.
“What’s going on?” Ryan asked.
“We may have another agent for your team.”
Ryan brows lifted. “Great. But, Josh, you know I really need a female agent. Last night—”
“I know. Just hold on.”
Others started walking in, Manny and the ATF Special Agent in Charge, Darren Forsythe. Ryan greeted Darren coolly. A by-the-book paper-pusher nearing retirement, he and Ryan did not always see eye to eye on how this op should run. Darren was always worried about rules, procedures and money. Ryan couldn’t give a shit about rules, procedure and money. He had a job to do.
; Darren was followed by a man Ryan didn’t recognize, then by the Group Special Agent in Charge. Ryan nodded and greeted him, waited for an introduction, almost not noticing the woman who followed them in.
Ryan glanced at her. His head jerked back so hard to look at her again he damn near gave himself whiplash. Holy shit. Sara.
Chapter Three
At least he thought it was Sara. She looked different without the heavy makeup. She didn’t need all the black crap around the eyes to make them noticeable; the light, crystal-blue irises still grabbed his attention and held it hostage, and with paler, shiny lips she looked younger and softer.
She took a seat at the table, all the while holding his gaze. Ryan practically had to pick his jaw up off the scarred oak surface. He turned a questioning glance to Manny, who’d also recognized her, a broad grin splitting his face. Ryan frowned. What the hell was so funny?
Ryan directed his gaze next to Josh, who smiled back calmly.
“Let’s get started,” Darren said. “Ryan, Manny, this is Ward Tanner and Sera Manning from the DEA. Sera and Ward—Ryan Thomas and Manny Garrido. I believe you all met last night.”
What the fuck? DEA?
Ryan and Manny traded a look and nodded.
“We know you need a female agent on this op. Sera’s been working on a case trying to implicate the Death Angels in a prominent drug ring. She’s done a lot of work and we think she’s connected the drug lab cooking angel sugar to Dominick Casas.”
Ryan blinked. Angel sugar was the new version of “angel dust”, or PCP, being sold up and down the west coast, particularly to high school and college students. Young girls seemed particularly susceptible to the lure of the new drug. A number of deaths were attributed to either overdosing on the new drug or to doing stupid things while under the influence of it. Ryan’s brows tugged together.
“Dominick Casas is president of the Oakland chapter,” he muttered. “He and Vince are buddies.”
“That’s right. And we think he’s cooking the sugar.”
“You need a female agent, and the DEA needs inside the DAs to complete their investigation. Sera Manning might be the perfect fit.”
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