New Honey in Town

by Cathryn Cade

  His heavy brows drew together, and he shook his head once, his wide jaw bunching as if it pained him to hold back words. Then he motioned toward the archway into the kitchen. "No, that's not it. Just...don't go anywhere yet, okay? I gotta make a phone call, and then you and me need to talk."

  She eyed him, caught by the tension in his big shoulders, the turbulence in his gaze. "I don't see—"

  He held up one huge hand, his face thunderous. "Please. All I'm askin' is—just wait a bit."

  They stared at each other. Physically, it was only across a few feet of polished wooden floor, but emotionally it was across the chasm of passion and intimacy fractured.

  An impassable distance.

  "Okay," she said. "Fine. I'll go pack and then we'll talk."

  His shoulders relaxed a little, and he nodded. "Good enough. Back in a few."

  He headed through the sitting room, and outside. Shelle watched him go and then trudged slowly up the wide stairs, trailing her hand along the satiny smooth wood of the banister. What on earth was up with him now? Something weird.

  She eyed her belongings scattered around her open pack, and the foot of the bed. Easy enough to stuff them all back in, but it was hard to begin, knowing that this time she truly would be leaving this idyllic place, and she wouldn't be coming back. She'd folded her cardi, sleep shorts and tank and black shorts into the pack, then frowned. Where were her white shorts, and her striped tee? Not to mention most of her undies.

  Oh, right. In the dryer.

  She padded downstairs, her bare feet quiet, and headed for the laundry room off of the kitchen.

  But as she passed the open kitchen doors, Moke's voice stopped her. He stood across the kitchen, his back to her, phone held to his ear.

  "I know," he said, clearly unhappy with whoever he was speaking with. She wondered if he was as angry with the other person as he was with her, and what they'd done to deserve it. "I hear you, Stick. Sound wants her there, I'll get her there."

  Wait, what? Get her somewhere? Shelle, who had been about to move on to her destination, stopped in her tracks, alarm prickling over her skin in goosebumps. Somehow, she was absolutely certain he was talking about her—not Lele, not some nameless other woman. Her.

  "Yeah," Moke said. "I'll look at flights to SeaTac. Prob'ly get on one by Friday. Ain't gonna be cheap, though. Sound's chapter gonna pick up the tab?"

  He listened again, and snorted. "Yeah, happy for him to pay. Being a biker in Seattle must pay good, huh? Better than in Spokane, anyway."

  Shelle stiffened, and her hands flew up to cover her mouth. 'Being a biker in Seattle must pay better than being a biker in Spokane'...?

  She forgot he was in the middle of a convo with another person, clearly one he answered to in some way. She forgot everything but what she'd just learned. It couldn't be true...could it?

  "You're a biker?" she demanded of his back, her voice rising with each word until she was shouting at him. "You're a fucking biker?"

  Moke whirled. He took in her stance, and her words. He lowered his phone to his side, his face hardening. "Yeah, I'm a biker. What about it?"

  "What...what about it?" she shrieked, waving her arms at him. "I'll tell you what, Moke Ahuelo! I hate bikers, that's what. I despise bikers—and the ground they—you walk on! You're—you're one of them! Those low-life slime who attacked me."

  He prowled forward, his heavy brows lowering, his eyes shooting sparks. "Fuck no, I'm not one of them!" he roared. "Woman, open your fucking eyes! The Prairie Rattlers who attacked you are one percenters—outliers, the lowest of the low."

  He stabbed a finger toward his own chest. "I am a Devil's Flyer. We stand together, and we stand for honor. We stand for brotherhood, for looking out for each other, no matter what. And we do...not...hurt women."

  He stopped before her, loomed over her, his gaze thunderous. Well hoo-rah for him. She set her hands on her hips and glared right back up at him.

  "Oh, right. And I'm just supposed to believe that? When you've been lying to me? And don't tell me you weren't, because a lie by omission is still a lie."

  "Yeah, I lied to you," he told her. "'Cause if I hadn't, you would've taken off ,still sick from that infection, and you’d be out there somewhere, camping out, with no money and no one to look out for you. Prob'ly woulda got yourself grabbed by some lowlife, or got into some other kind of trouble. Instead, you're here, safe, 'cause I made you that way."

  She glowered up at him, although this time she bit her lip for a second before speaking again. "I might have been just fine." Which sounded lame even to her, but she wasn't giving up without a fight here, even a verbal one. "And you still lied to me."

  Big, sanctimonious asshole. Going ballistic about her stealing that ring, when he'd been hiding his evil alter-ego all along.

  He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. Sure am sorry, tita. Instead of setting you free, I made you stay all alone with a big, bad, mean biker. One of those guys that rides through life, tromping all over everyone in his path. Yeah, you better run—no telling what I'll do to a hot wahine like you."

  She huffed. "As if. You don't scare me, Matty Ahuelo."

  "Oh, I don't?" He leaned in, so close she could smell him, and feel the heat rolling off of him, The intensity. "Then I better try harder."

  He kissed her, his lips covering hers, his tongue licking in as he took possession as if he owned her mouth.

  He followed this by sliding one long arm around her back and yanking her hard against him, then straightening with her in his grasp, while he devoured her mouth.

  If only he didn't taste so good, and feel so damn good, she wouldn't have let him.

  And she wouldn't have slid her arm around his neck, her thighs around his hips. And she certainly wouldn't have cupped the side of his face in her hand, then grasped his man bun to hold him there so she could kiss him back.

  It took a minute to realize that someone was speaking. "Moke?" called a deep voice from a distance. "Call me later. Right now, gonna do your lady a favor, and end this call before you two get down to it."

  Shelle's eyes flew open, and she let out a startled yelp. She pulled away from Moke. "Who was that?"

  "No one you'll ever meet," he muttered, and kissed her again.

  He turned her, and set her on the island, shoving away a plate that slid with a clatter. They both ignored it, because he had stepped between her thighs, and was pressing his cock into her soft heat. But when he reached between them to unfasten her shorts, she reluctantly ended their kiss again. "Condom," she mumbled.

  He kissed her again, reaching into his shorts pocket. "Right here. Not taking a chance on getting caught short again."

  Helping him unfasten his shorts, she smirked against his mouth. "Nothing short about you, moke."

  He showed his appreciation of her humor by pressing himself into her hand as he ripped open the condom wrapper with his teeth. "Maybe my patience. Fuck, need in your gorgeous pussy."

  She stroked his hot, satin length greedily, leaning in to nuzzle his throat. "You're pretty gorgeous yourself...for a fucking liar."

  He growled deep in his chest. "You're pretty hot, for a fucking thief."

  He yanked her shorts off one leg. She shoved his shorts down and hooked him in with an ankle behind his ass. "Shut up and fuck me, biker man."

  He pushed her back on the counter, his free hand stroking her open, and thumbing her swollen clit. "Oh, I'll show you how a biker fucks, tita. Hang on, gonna be a rough ride."

  It was.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Both Moke and the woman under him moaned as he thrust deep inside her.

  He clamped his hands on her hips and took her in swift, deep, almost frenzied strokes. Baring his teeth, he dipped his chin, his gaze on their joining.

  "Fuck, so hot. Touch yourself, tita, do what you gotta do to keep up, 'cause this is gonna be fast."

  Had to be. He was no more capable of slowing down this time than he was of flying.

  With
a whimper, she obeyed, swirling her clit with one finger as she arched up to him, taking all that he gave and wordlessly begging for more.

  He gave it to her hard and fast, their bodies slapping together as he strove for completion in her sweet, hot depths. And finding it, that momentary hot bliss that had him bowing over her, shuddering and calling her name. "Fuck, Shelle."

  "Moke," she answered, and bowed up under him, her sweet, tight pussy fisting him as she found her own release.

  Feeling that, he found a lingering echo of his pleasure.

  Afterward, he dipped his head, his loosened hair uncoiling over her face and throat like black ropes as he fought for breath, for composure.

  She lay under him, still cradling him deep, her arms limp on the counter beside her head. As he lifted his head, their eyes met. Hers were hazy, her mouth soft with repletion.

  When her gaze met his, he saw a flash of vulnerability. But then her face smoothed, in an all-too familiar mask. The one she gave the world.

  "Guess I hung on all right, huh, biker man?" she demanded, her voice a husky dare.

  "Not bad, for a haole girl." He patted her bare ass, and pulled out of her—not without regret. He could stay inside her fo' days.

  She bared her teeth and swung her leg. "Not bad? You lost your mind, and we both know it."

  He used his arm to fend off the kick intended for his groin, and held onto her leg, leaning in to smirk down at her. "Yeah, and you give it to me that sweet every time, maybe I'll lose it for good, and keep you around."

  Her face flushed, and her eyes flashed fire at him—along with hurt. She jerked away from him, scooting back on the counter. "Yeah, you keep dreaming. That's the only way that's happening."

  He stepped back, tending to the condom, and his shorts, and let her slide off the island to pick up her panties and shorts. But if a crazy part of him wanted to step in, gentle her with a sweet touch and a kiss, he quelled it.

  This was all they had, all they'd ever have. She might be gorgeous, and the hottest fuck he'd ever had, but she was not for him.

  She'd proven that by showing him her dark center.

  His shorts set to rights, Moke watched Shelle wriggle back into her panties. They were just a pair of cheap, black nylon bikinis, but watching her roll her hips as she pulled them up her long legs, and then settle them in place over her pretty little snatch was hotter than watching one of the best strippers out at State Line.

  His cock, which should have been happy for hours yet, twitched at the sight. Damn it all, he'd thought maybe after another go, he could get her out of his system. That she couldn't be as good as he remembered anyway. She was just another woman, passing through on her way to who-the-hell-knew where.

  Trouble was, when she was this close, he wanted not only to get off in her sweet, tight depths, he wanted to hold her, kiss her. Devour that lush mouth, get more of her taste, of the feel of her clever tongue tangling with his. Tease her, get her riled up so those eyes would spit sparks at him, and she'd fire back at him.

  He'd rather argue with her than whisper sweet, lazy nothings to any other woman he'd ever had.

  And wasn't this just his luck? He flew clear the hell out here to his old home, then couldn't track down his own dad, and he got stuck with a stranger who drove him lolo, crazy.

  And far from being able to walk away, he was gonna have to stick as close to her as a stripper's g-string till this thing was over.

  Not only for his club, but for her own good.

  "You want a beer?" he asked, turning to the fridge. He needed one, to calm him down for the chat they were about to have.

  When he grabbed one and turned back to her, she had her shorts and tee back on, and was combing her tumbled hair forward over one shoulder, frowning at him.

  "Now why do I feel like that question just means more bad news?" she asked. "You change your mind again? Want me to leave right now, is that it?"

  "No," he said, and opened his beer. "Not exactly."

  Her look said he was making no sense. And he was afraid when she did get his meaning, she'd bolt. He eased closer to her, sauntering around the island between her and the nearest door.

  "So, now you know, I belong to a club. The Devil's Flyers. Founded in Cali by ex-USAF vets. We have chapters around the western states. Our Seattle chapter is big, and they do not appreciate low-lifes like this Grinder and his guys trying to move in to their territory."

  He took a drink of cold, prickly beer, and came out with it. "So...uh, I need you to fly back to SeaTac with me. Meet up with a few of the Seattle brothers.”

  "What?" She stared at him, her face pale under her tan, as if he'd morphed into some kind of monster. "Me?" she said. "No! What d'you need me for? Just—just turn them over to the cops."

  He stared at her. "You're not getting it, Shelle. We catch these guys...they aren't getting turned over to the cops."

  Her eyes widened, and she grabbed his beer and gulped some of it. "Why not?"

  "Because, tita. They rode into Flyer territory, they did what they did to you—and likely to other women. Now they face Flyer justice. And before I go any further, you need to understand..." he tipped his head down and peered into her face, his carrying the weight of absolute seriousness. "What I say here, you never repeat it—to anyone—not Vicky, not your girl Tawny—no one. You down with that? You're not, just say, and we're done talking."

  She stared up at him, taking it in. "You're going to make them face Flyer justice?" she whispered.

  He nodded. "Absolutely. No one comes into Flyer territory, wearing another club's cut, and does what they did. They hurt you, and they disrespected our club."

  "Okay." She slugged down some more beer, and held the bottle tightly. "That's fine with me. Do whatever you want to them. Hell, stomp them into the mud, use them for target practice. It's all good. I still don't have to be there. Just do whatever you're gonna do to them. You don't need me for that."

  Fuck, she was scared out of her mind, just at the idea of seeing her attackers again.

  He moved closer, and held her shoulders in his hands, firm but gentle. "Hey, tita," he said in a low voice. "It'll be okay. You'll be safe, you'll be with me and brothers from the Seattle chapter. You think any of us are gonna let anything happen to you? No. Never."

  She blinked. "But...you only just met me, and those other guys—your brothers—they don't even know me."

  "Doesn't matter. Those Rattlers did what they did to a woman in Flyer territory, that means we make them pay. We don't, how long you think it will take them to get back to their agenda again? Find some other pretty women, grab them and scare them into whoring themselves? Doing whatever fucked up, evil thing these guys tell 'em they gotta do, until they wish they were dead."

  She gave a kind of low, unhappy laugh. "You don't get it. I don't wanna be in the same city as those creeps—much less close enough to ID them for you. But they're only part of the picture. You catch them, there's more guys where they came from. Hired by Darius Albany—he's why I'm not going back to Seattle."

  He nodded. "I hear you—and I get it. But you need to get this—Albany is going down, one way or the other. We get him, we turn him over to the cops. The cops will be tickled to have him. But far as I know, you're their star witness. They're gonna want you to testify at a trial, or they can't keep him. You want him to go free again?"

  She shook her head slowly. "But...why do you and your biker bro's care about him?"

  He squeezed her shoulders. "'Cause, there's a new drug on the streets. Word is, Albany is the one providing the pipeline for it, straight into Seattle. It's bad shit, a killer on top of creating addicts and—well, all that goes with that.

  She grimaced, and looked away. "You mean thieves—'cause junkies steal to finance their habit."

  "Yeah. So, here's the other play—you don't come back with me, we or the cops catch Albany. Without a witness, they can't hold him. Now, they know you're here, 'cause TSA records of passengers on flights. They send the loc
al cops to collect you, and—"

  "And I spend time sitting around a police station here," she said. "I know, I know.

  Wanting nothing more than to gather her into his arms and hold her tight, tell her he'd make it all go away, Moke forced himself to remain silent, let her get there on her own.

  She got there. She took a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes. "Okay," she said, staring at her hand on his chest. "You're right. I—I don't know why I was so dumb, but I do have to go back, and testify. Of course I do."

  She met his gaze, and something squeezed in his chest at the pain in her gorgeous eyes. "I'll come back with you. And I'll help put Albany behind bars."

  Pride swelling in his chest, Moke pulled her against him. Snagging the empty beer bottle, he set it aside on the counter. Then he cupped the side of her throat and tipped her face up to his. "That's my brave tita. Heart of a warrior, just like your ancestors. And something you should know—my brothers don't know you, but I do. And tita, I'll gladly end those shit-heads for you."

  Her lips parted and she gazed back at him with what looked like wonder. But all too soon, it was replaced by that wary, closed-off look of hers. "Not sure why, since you don't think much of me."

  And just like that, reality smashed his bubble. Fuck, he'd been so full of himself, of the satisfaction of having talked her into flying back to Seattle with him, he'd forgotten.

  He let her go, and stepped away.

  He pressed his mouth in a tight line to keep from saying something he'd regret.

  They could be enemies later, after this gig was finished. For now, he needed her on board a plane back to SeaTac with him when it was time, and on deck to do what his club wanted—which in this case was cooperate with the law.

  "You want another beer?" he asked, headed for the fridge. "Since you finished mine."

  "No," she said, her voice muffled. "I'm just gonna go, uh, sit on the beach."

  Fine with him. Let her go and brood for a while. He'd take a few precautions to make sure she didn't decide to take off on her own again.