Guts & Glory: Hunter (In the Shadows Security Book 3)

by Jeanne St. James

  She shook her head as if in a daze. “No. I had no idea.”

  “You only found out when you saw his back?” He fought the urge to grind his teeth at what that meant. But it happened, and probably more than once, since she had become pregnant with the man’s child.

  “I asked him about it and he vaguely explained it away. Said it was all in his past and that life was behind him.”

  Right. “That was his father’s club. He followed in his father’s footsteps.”

  Her eyes raised to his. “How do you know?”

  “Because one of my veteran buddies is his brother. That’s why I’m looking for him.”

  Suddenly she moved, surprising him as she approached. He held his breath as she reached out and pressed her fingers to his T-shirt between his pecs, outlining his tags.

  “Dog tags,” she murmured.

  He didn’t answer.

  “You know Leo’s uncle.”

  Then it hit him like a brick over the head.

  Leo’s uncle. Fuck. Slade’s nephew. He’d want to know. Slade would also want his blood protected from a psychopath, even if that psycho was his brother.

  If Slade knew what Taz did to Frankie, he would have no love for his “long-lost” half-brother. Especially when Taz tried to prevent his own son from being born.

  “Yeah. He’s a former Marine but now belongs to an MC, just like Taz.”

  “The Shadow Warriors?”

  “No. Their rivals,” or former rivals, “the Dirty Angels.”

  “The two brothers are in rival gangs?”

  “The DAMC isn’t a gang, but yeah. If they ever met, they’d automatically be enemies.”

  “But if their father was in the Warriors, why did his other son choose to be a rival?”

  “Because their father was a piece of shit just like Taz, so Slade never knew him. Buzz didn’t take responsibility for the children he put on this Earth, he just made them. He was also a murderer.”

  Frankie’s face paled. “Like father, like son.”

  Like monster, like son, more like it. “He admitted he killed someone?”

  “Since he didn’t want to take responsibility for a child, he almost killed me. And Leo.”

  But he didn’t. Thank fuck for that.

  Suddenly, with her face paler than normal, she moved away from him and toward the back door. “I need to get my son. And you need to go.”

  Just like that, she wanted this over.

  It wasn’t that easy, because at this point, he couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t leave her to her own defenses if Taz came back to finish what he started, especially because her son was Slade’s blood. And, fuck him, for some reason, he wasn’t done with Frankie, either.

  “I can’t go anywhere with my vehicle like that.” He needed an excuse to stick around until he figured out how to handle Frankie and Leo. He couldn’t in good conscious leave this woman and Slade’s nephew vulnerable to a monster.

  If Taz was still alive. And until he had confirmation the fucker was dead, he was going to assume Taz only went underground to avoid being picked off by one of the Shadows.

  “I can call you a tow truck.”

  “One you’re going to pay for?”

  He couldn’t miss the panic on her face, though she tried to hide it. She was clearly struggling financially.

  That was her weakness. That’s what he’d need to use to convince her to cooperate with him. Well, that and Taz.

  “I can take you to a motel in town where you can wait for your vehicle to be fixed.”

  “One, do you think any body shops around here will be able to fix my Rover that quickly? And two, you still haven’t answered all my questions.”

  Her hand was on the door knob and she was like a bird ready to take flight. “I need to pick up pizza and get my son.”

  “They only left a few minutes ago.”

  “But he’s my son,” she said in a broken whisper.

  He approached her and curled a hand around her neck, looking down into her worried brown eyes. “I get it. He’s your everything and you want to protect him. But helping me will protect him. I need to find Taz. Once I do...” He let that drop.

  A little light flickered behind her brown eyes once more. That light equaled hope. “Once you do, I won’t ever have to worry about him again?”

  He couldn’t guarantee that. But... “That’s the plan.”

  “Are you my only chance of living the rest of my life in peace?”

  “I can’t guarantee you won’t have problems from anyone other than Taz. As you know, life’s unpredictable. But any problems you have won’t be from him.”

  She released the knob and turned, his thumb sliding along her pulse. Fuck, he wanted to be the one to wipe that apprehension out of those eyes. Which surprised the fuck out of him. He didn’t even know her.

  His only concern should be finding Slade’s brother, not protecting Frankie from her former lover.

  But her next words touched his very soul. “I’m tired of being scared. I hate that he holds that much power over me just by existing.”

  This woman shouldn’t have to live her life in fear just because she slept with the wrong guy. A decision which ended up becoming a life-altering mistake.

  “Look, I’ll get out of your hair for now. Drop me off at a motel, get your pizza, spend time with your son and think about it tonight once he goes to sleep. I’ll give you my number, so you can call me tomorrow. I’m going to find him one way or another. With or without your help. But I do have more questions when and if you’re ready to answer them.”

  The woman was not good at hiding her emotions, which was currently relief. He wanted her to chew on why he was in town and maybe she’d be more accommodating.

  She nodded. “I can drop you off. But I still have to clean up all the glass.”

  “I’ll help you do that. Then I’ll hit the motel, find a tow truck and someone who can fix my Rover.”

  “We never finished working out the payment details.”

  Right. “Let me find out how much it costs to fix my vehicle first.”

  “It’s going to be a lot.” The worry was creeping back into her face.

  “Probably best to think before you act,” he reminded her. And he got the reaction he hoped for. The hard-headed woman was back in full force.

  She set her jaw and yanked open the door, heading outside. He followed with a grin and helped her clean up the glass.

  She then dumped his ass as fast as possible off at some motel on the west side of town.

  He did discover something about her during that time, though. She liked to hold onto grudges, so that might just work in his favor.

  Sitting on the bed, Hunter flipped the cop’s business card over and over in his fingers. He paused, read the name on the front one more time—Matt Bryson—then he dialed the cell phone number the cop had scribbled on the back.

  His call went straight to voicemail.

  “Bryson. Hunter. Just giving you a heads up. Staying in town for a bit at The Grove Inn. If you hear anything about Brandon Bussard, get ahold of me right away.” He rattled off his cell phone number.

  Hunter ended the call, then sighed. Since the moment he’d stepped into the tiny motel room that looked like it had been updated once—back in 1978—he’d been on the phone. He found a tow truck that would haul his Rover down to the nearest dealership, which was all the fucking way in Harrisburg, a good two and a half hours south.

  He called the dealership, warned them it was coming and instructed them to do whatever was needed to get his baby back to her original splendor. No matter the cost.

  He called around for a rental car. One would be delivered in a couple of hours.

  He called Walker to have him keep digging when he had the chance and also caught him up to date with what Hunter knew so far. He talked to Diesel, leaving it up to his boss whether to tell Slade that he was an uncle. He also let D know he wouldn’t be back in Shadow Valley for a bit.

  Ho
w long that “bit” was, Hunter didn’t know.

  It all depended on the dark-haired, dark-eyed spitfire who had gotten under his skin in a very short amount of time.

  He really should just jump into the rental car once it was delivered and roll out of this town. However, Manning Grove was the last spot on his list to gather info. He relied on what Frankie might tell him to take his next step.

  What he needed to know was, where she met him. He knew she ended up in a hospital in Lancaster County, but that didn’t mean that was where the two met.

  Once he had that info, he could head in that direction and do a little more sniffing around.

  In the meantime, he would wait for the car to arrive and maybe catch a nap. That nap being enhanced with a little fantasizing about one Sucely Hernandez aka Frankie Reyes.

  He had to hand it to her, it was smart to change her name. But he wasn’t so sure if it was smart to return to her hometown. Though, Taz probably didn’t know or care about her history. He probably wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted to know where she was born or where she graduated high school, or even what her hopes and dreams were.

  For some strange reason, Hunter wanted to know all of that about Frankie, even though he’d only known her for a few hours.

  Taz knew her long enough to get down her pants and knock her up, but he hadn’t given a fuck about her. If he had, he wouldn’t have done what he’d done. Even if the man didn’t want to be responsible for a child, he didn’t need to go about it the way he had.

  Enough about that fuckwad Taz. Hunter glanced at the old clock radio—one which the plastic tiled numbers actually flipped in a circle—surprised it still worked. If it was accurate, he still had an hour and a half before the rental car company dropped off his temporary ride.

  He could do a lot in an hour and a half. While he should be on his laptop doing more research, the place didn’t have Wi-Fi and he’d have to use his cell as a hot spot. And being in the valley where he was, his cell phone coverage was barely good enough to make phone calls, forget data coverage.

  Which meant there was only one thing left to do...

  Strip the bed of its worn-out, thin bedspread and settle onto the hopefully clean sheets to pull one off.

  All he had to do was replay Frankie attempting to start her lawnmower on a constant loop in his head.

  Was it wrong? Probably.

  Would that stop him? Probably not.

  The only ones who would know would be him and his fist. And his fist wouldn’t be talking.

  He set his cell phone on the old scratched up nightstand, then leaned over with a groan to unlace his boots. Once he had them pulled off, he lined them neatly next to the bed, tucked his socks inside, got to his feet and unbuckled his belt, unhooked his waistband holster and placed his Sig next to his cell phone. After yanking off his T-shirt and dropping his pants, he tossed them to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress to unstrap the knife sheath he had wrapped around his calf. He put that next to the bed within reach, too.

  He got up to dig into his duffle bag, took out his toiletry kit and searched for something to use as lube. Nothing.

  Fuck. He would just have to dry fist it.

  Once he got his rental, he would pick up lube somewhere because if he stayed in this town for any length of time, he would need a lot of it. Especially if he was dealing with Frankie.

  Most motels had at least a little bottle of lotion. Not this dump. He wondered if she picked this flea bag motel for a reason since it couldn’t be the only place to stay in town.

  On tomorrow’s agenda: Find lube and a better place to stay.

  On the immediate agenda: work out some tension.

  As he settled on the bed, he leaned back against the headboard, making it creak loudly as he put his weight on it. Then he shoved his boxers down just enough to tuck them under his balls, gave them a slight squeeze, and closed his eyes.

  Fuck yeah.

  He hit the replay button over and over of Frankie’s tits as she bent over and then yanked the starter cord of the mower.

  Once. Twice. Three times.

  The faster she pulled, the faster he pulled.

  His balls got tight, the pressure built, his hips jerked and...

  Yeah, he was glad he took off his shirt.

  He opened his eyes to see the mess he made all over his stomach and up his chest.

  Now he only had one hour, twenty-nine minutes and thirty seconds left until his car was delivered.

  Fuck.

  He hated not having a vehicle. He hated being stranded. But if it got to be too much, he could hoof it somewhere. Being right outside of town, it couldn’t be too far to get to any kind of civilization. Hell, he’d marched for miles in the Army carrying a heavy rucksack. He wasn’t opposed to using his two feet.

  He glanced down at his gut. Once he cleaned up his DNA spill, that was.

  He eyed the socks he’d tucked in his boots. No. He had no access to a washing machine, and he didn’t feel like packing stiff socks back into his duffle. He leaned over and jerked open the drawer of the nightstand. It didn’t budge.

  He tried again, yanking harder. The knob almost ripped off in his hand but the drawer broke free and he glanced inside.

  A bible.

  Great, he wasn’t in the mood to rip out pages of the “good book” to clean up his cum.

  But, thank fuck, in the back of the drawer was a box of generic tissues. They were probably from 1986 and about as soft as sandpaper, but they’d do to wipe up the load enough so he could wash off the remainder in bathroom.

  He pulled one, two...

  Fuck. Two tissues left. They would have to do as long as they didn’t disintegrate.

  He scooped up the thick streams, threw the tissues onto the nightstand, and pushed to his feet, yanking his boxers back up and adjusting everything back into place.

  In the bathroom, he cleaned his stomach off with a washcloth that, if possible, was rougher than the tissues and, with a yawn, headed back out into the maybe twelve by twelve room.

  A cell. Not much bigger than a fucking cell.

  He pushed that thought out of his head.

  He didn’t need those wood-paneled walls closing in on him.

  He didn’t need a full-blown panic attack. He needed to get dressed and head outside until it passed.

  But before he could tug on his clothes, a knock at the door filled the tight space.

  His eyebrows dropped low as he glanced at the old clock radio again.

  Had the rental company arrived early? Impossible. They would’ve had to drive at warp speed.

  He snagged his Sig off the nightstand and in two steps had his eye pressed to the peephole. His heart flipped because the subject of his jerkoff was standing on the other side of the fucking door.

  Fuck!

  He blew out a breath and held his gun to the small of his back. With one hand, he slid open the joke of a security chain and unlocked the door before opening it only enough to see her and give her a view of only a sliver of him.

  She held something in front of her like a shield. A plastic container.

  His gaze slid back up from her hands, slowly over her chest, then up to her face. Well, he didn’t feel so bad now, she was staring at his chest, too.

  Or what she could see of it.

  Hell, if she wanted to eye him up, he wasn’t going to discourage her. He opened the door wider to give her that chance. “Thought you were getting your son pizza.”

  “I did.” Her dark eyes lifted and met his.

  He cocked a brow.

  He noticed she mentally shook herself before saying, “I dropped it off at my mom’s and felt bad about attacking you, so I brought this for you. I figured you might be hungry and there aren’t any restaurants nearby.” She shoved the container into his bare chest.

  He didn’t grab it because he still had one hand gripping the door and one on his gun. And, more importantly, if he accepted it, she might turn around and l
eave.

  He stepped back and opened the door even wider, jerking his chin toward the interior.

  Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder, then back to him.

  She was unsure.

  No shit, Sherlock. Of course, she would be. He was still a stranger, something he wanted to change, and she’d be alone with him, a man who was only wearing boxers, in his fucking motel room.

  Not to mention, he just shot a load with her in his mind’s eye.

  But he took a chance and told her to “come in,” anyway. And, fuck him, she tentatively stepped inside.

  He quickly closed the door, leaving the chain hanging and only twisting the lock.

  She surveyed the tiny room. “I didn’t realize it was such a dump.”

  Sure, she didn’t.

  He moved back to the nightstand, putting down his Sig. Her eyes followed his motion and landed on his gun and knife, then slid to...

  Fuck! The sticky wad of tissues next to them.

  He quickly stepped in front of the nightstand to block her view, reached behind himself as stealth as possible and snagged the tissues within his fingers. He tried not to make a face when they squished in his hand.

  That had been one hell of a monster load.

  Now he only needed to discreetly get rid of the evidence. Easier said than done.

  Leaning back slightly, his fingers found the edge of the cockeyed drawer so he could slide it open just enough to drop the tissues in and work it closed. Of course, none of that was done silently. Fuck no. The scraping of the wooden drawer had sounded a thousand times louder in the small room than it should’ve.

  Did her lips twitch?

  Yep, she was fighting back her amusement. Until her gaze dropped, and the slight curl of her mouth flattened out.

  His lungs emptied of air as she studied the puckered scar on the lower left of his stomach, just above the waistband of his boxers. Then her gaze dropped even lower to the matching one on his right thigh.

  When it lifted, she stared at his dog tags.

  He cleared his throat to catch her attention.

  It worked. She unfroze herself and held out the container again. “It’s still warm.” When he didn’t take it from her, she tilted her head. “It’s just some leftovers I reheated.”