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

by Jeanne St. James

  She brought him food. As a peace offering? Or was she here to poison him? “What is it?”

  “Stuffed peppers. Believe it or not, one of Leo’s favorites.”

  “You made it?”

  She nodded. “I grow my own peppers, too.”

  Oh great, now he had a picture in his head of her bending over in some veggie garden wearing that fucking bikini top. He cleared his throat. “Kid’s got good taste.”

  Mentioning her son made her lips curl slightly again. “I’m lucky he’s not a picky eater. But he still loves his pizza, hot dogs and mac and cheese.”

  “Can’t blame him there.” He finally took the container. “I don’t have any utensils.”

  She reached behind her and produced a set of plasticware she must have tucked into the back pocket of her shorts.

  He took them, sat on the edge of the bed, and popped open the lid. He didn’t have to lift the container to his nose, his mouth watered and his stomach growled from the unbelievable smell wafting up.

  If it tasted as good as it smelled...

  He lifted his gaze to the woman who stood between him and the door with an unsure look on her face.

  If she tasted as good as she looked...

  He closed his eyes for a moment, willing his blood not to rush south again.

  “You don’t like stuffed peppers?”

  He fucking loved stuffed peppers. The spicier the better. And they smelled as if they might burn not only his lips but his stomach lining.

  “I added an extra kick to yours. I keep Leo’s a bit bland.”

  He wondered how much spice she liked.

  Jesus. He shook himself mentally. “You just gonna stand there?” he asked more roughly than he meant to. At least his voice didn’t break like a fucking teenage boy crushing on some busty cheerleader.

  Her eyes widened. “No, I’ll leave...”

  His next words stopped her. “No, I meant you can have a seat.”

  She glanced around the room. There wasn’t one fucking chair in that room. That was because there was no space for one. The room was fit for a hamster.

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s a good idea,” he confirmed, then used the plastic fork and knife to cut into a red pepper and made sure he got a good chunk of the filling before shoving it into his mouth.

  Damn. This woman could cook. And, fuck yes, it was spicy as hell. It was perfect. His favorite foods were ones that burned on the way in and then burned again on the way out.

  As he chewed, he watched her take a step closer to the bed. “Sit,” he said around his mouthful, trying not to pant from not only the heat of the food but of the woman in front of him.

  She probably wasn’t one to take orders, so he was surprised when she perched on the edge of the bed next to him.

  “You eat?”

  She shook her head, her long, dark hair sweeping over her bare shoulders. She was now wearing a snug pink camisole-type thingy that clung to those tits he didn’t think he’d ever forget and a navy pair of linen shorts that were short enough to give him a generous eyeful of her thighs. “Not yet. I’ll grab something when—”

  He cut off another piece of pepper and lifted it to her lips, cutting off her words. She stared at the fork for a second, then him for another, before opening her mouth. Her luscious mouth closed around the bite of food, and he slipped the fork from her lips so she could chew.

  “Best stuffed peppers I ever had,” he murmured, watching her mouth move. When she swallowed, he couldn’t pull his eyes from her delicate throat.

  He would like to see it arched with her head thrown back on his pillow. He would love to see the feminine lines of her throat vibrate when she screamed during an orgasm. He would love to hear his name on her lips as he buried his face between her thighs.

  But not here. Not in this dump.

  “While I appreciate you bringing me this, I told you to sleep on your decision.”

  She licked her lips and he had a hard time dragging his gaze away and back to the contents of the container.

  “I didn’t need a night to sleep on it. I only had to see him.”

  Him?

  It hit Hunter who she was talking about when she continued. “His innocent face, his smile. Hearing his laughter and his bossy little three-year-old self. I realized...” Her breath hitched. “I realized I can’t risk losing him. I would die if I did. You’re right. He’s my everything. He’s my heart, he’s the blood in my veins. I’m willing to help you in any way I can.”

  He placed the fork into the container and considered what she said. “He’s your son’s father.” Taz might not be a real father to Leo, but she had to be sure.

  “He’s no father. No real father would want to kill their unborn child by killing that child’s mother.”

  Hunter agreed. However, this talk of Taz was making him lose his appetite.

  “You’re not hungry?” she asked.

  He dropped his gaze to his half-eaten food and unlocked his jaws. “I’m full,” he lied.

  “A man like you eats more than that.”

  A man like you.

  He grunted. She knew nothing about a man like him.

  “I pay my debts. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  What she needed to do was let him enjoy the rest of the meal she brought him before talking business. He wouldn’t want to let what she so thoughtfully made him go to waste. Leftovers or not. Appetite or no appetite.

  He never had stuffed peppers this good and probably wouldn’t again.

  He shoveled in the rest of the meal, popped the lid back on and handed her the container. She accepted it and gripped it in her lap. He wanted to take the container back, throw it across the room and smooth out her clenched fingers.

  Instead, he curled his into fists to avoid reaching out to her. “For starters, tell me where you met Taz.”

  “A bar called The Boneyard outside the city of Lancaster.”

  The Boneyard. “You hung out there?”

  She shook her head. “I worked there. I mostly served drinks and food so I could make tips. Sometimes I filled in behind the bar if my boss was short a bartender. I occasionally worked in the kitchen when he was short a line cook. I took all the overtime I could get. There were nights I stayed until the early hours to mop the floors and wipe down tables to make ends meet.”

  He was right about her. She was a survivor. Someone not afraid of hard work. She did what she had to do to make ends meet and now take care of and protect her son.

  “Taz was a customer?”

  “Yes. He showed up one day and became a regular. He was in there almost every night. He always sat in my section, tipped me well, told me jokes, anything to keep me at his table.”

  “He was charming.”

  She stared across the short expanse of room toward the door, saying flatly, “Until he wasn’t.”

  The man tried to kill her, snuff out her light. For what? Because she accidentally became pregnant?

  Taz also bore some responsibility for that.

  “Some men are like that, loquilla, they work hard to get a woman to trust them, gain their interest. But their true colors don’t come out until they have that woman hook, line and sinker.” He hadn’t meant to call her that nickname again, but it slipped out. He didn’t mean anything bad by it and he hoped she didn’t take it as such. He needed her to cooperate, not storm out pissed.

  But it wasn’t anger that fueled her next words, it was regret. “You mean crazy fools like me.”

  “It can happen to anyone. Some people are great liars. Slick. They have skills. He never wore his colors?”

  “The Boneyard didn’t allow colors. The owner kept a sign out front stating that colors weren’t allowed. So I had no idea he was part of a biker gang until, like I told you, I saw his tattoos, but even then, he said he’d parted ways with them.”

  “Normally, I’d correct that misconception, but the Shadow Warriors were no better than a fucking g
ang. They were the type of club that did nothing positive.”

  “Were?”

  “Yeah, the club is defunct now.” But was it really? If Taz was still wearing his SWMC cut on his back, then the club was still living and breathing. And it could rise again with just one bad seed.

  They needed to make sure that seed didn’t take root anywhere and flourish.

  “I might go to hell for this, but it’ll be worth it. I’ll do whatever you need me to do so you can do whatever you need to do. This way Taz is no longer a threat to me or my son. I never want that man to touch Leo with his darkness. My son has a light inside him that I will do anything in my power to keep burning brightly.”

  Hunter stared at the woman next to him. Her knuckles had turned white from how hard she was gripping the plastic container. Her eyes held a determination, her face a fierce expression.

  She was a fighter.

  She probably fought that motherfucker when he was trying to beat her down, extinguish her own light, the one she passed on to her son. And Taz almost won that fight. But the war wasn’t over yet.

  Hunter was now leading the next charge. He had good men at his back and more reason than ever to find the man who went underground to avoid the total annihilation of his club.

  Slade’s brother or not, Hunter’s sights were now more sharply focused on one Brandon Bussard.

  Frankie and her son would never be completely safe with Taz walking the Earth. That meant Hunter had to make sure that stopped happening.

  But he had to find him first.

  He needed to head to Lancaster, snoop around, hang out at The Boneyard and strike up some conversations with the employees and regulars there. Someone who might know something about the man who chased a woman and once he got her, he broke her.

  Men like that didn’t see women as human beings, they were objects. Disposable things which, when they were done with them, they threw away.

  Or down a flight of steps.

  Taz learned that behavior from Buzz. From watching his father beat the shit out of his mother. Something that became a normal occurrence.

  Hunter’s own father was a drunk.

  And there had been plenty of times Danny Delgado, Sr., had struck his mother. Too many times than Hunter could count. Alcohol could be an evil mistress because whenever his father was sober, he thought the sun rose and set in Hunter’s mother, Lena.

  But it was the times when Senior hit the bottle that things got dark and ugly. And Hunter was too young and weak to do anything about it. Instead, his mother would just tell him to hide.

  Hunter was no longer too young. Or too weak. Nor would he ever hide again from an abusive man. If Danny Sr. hadn’t hung himself in that fucking cell, Hunter would’ve probably broken his neck for him. He also wouldn’t have shed one fucking tear after doing it.

  Not fucking one.

  And he certainly wouldn’t shed a fucking tear when he got his hands on Taz.

  Chapter Seven

  Frankie rolled over and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She glanced at the time and cursed. Her mom had convinced her to let Leo spend the night at her place after they ate pizza and played Legos. He had actually fallen asleep and she didn’t want to disturb him.

  Frankie didn’t argue. She actually looked forward to sleeping in. Have a rare morning where her little monkey didn’t climb into bed with her and wake her up, demanding his breakfast. Oftentimes at five in the morning.

  Occasionally she could convince Leo to curl up with her so she could sleep just a little bit longer. But only occasionally. Most times, she got up and made him breakfast. She probably spoiled him way too much, but she wouldn’t have it any other way for her miracle kid.

  However, this time it wasn’t Leo interrupting her plans to sleep in this morning. No. Someone was banging on what sounded like the front door at seven a.m.

  Seven. Fucking. A. M.

  She tossed the covers back and with another curse, she tucked her breasts back into the tank top she wore to bed, since at least one always managed to escape during the night. She hiked up her pajama shorts and headed downstairs.

  Each step down the stairs, as well as each pound on the door, got her blood boiling even faster. She was going to kill whoever it was.

  There was no way it was her mom delivering Leo back to her this morning. In fact, she said she’d drop Leo off at daycare, so Frankie didn’t have to do it before work.

  And she wasn’t due at work until ten forty-five for the eleven to seven shift. So, whoever was at her front door was already fucking up her day.

  With a growl, she twisted the deadbolt and yanked open the door.

  Then stopped breathing.

  Light brown eyes narrowed on her with irritation. “You didn’t even fucking ask who it was or check your peephole before you opened the door, did you?” Then the man on her stoop made the shape of a “gun” using his hand, pointed it at her and said, “Boom. You’re fucking dead.”

  Air rushed back into her lungs as she sucked in a sharp breath and slammed the door shut in his face.

  The nerve of that fucker!

  As she stared at the front door, she realized she’d better lock it. As she reached to do just that, the front door swung open and his big body bumped hers, knocking her off balance. Before she could catch herself, he had the door slammed shut, locked, and her pinned against the wall by her neck.

  Shit. The man could move fast.

  His eyes hit hers. “And now, the person who just broke into your house because you had a hissy fit about being woken up is going to rape you and leave you for dead.”

  Her eyes widened at his words. What?

  The fingers he had wrapped around her throat loosened and he dropped his hand, stepping back, shaking his head. “Stupid, Frankie, completely fucking stupid. You had no idea who was out there and flung open the door ready to give me a piece of your mind. You once again acted irrationally before you thought rationally. You not only risked your life, but your son’s.”

  Shit. He was right.

  The blood drained from her face before rushing back into her cheeks as she became aware of the man standing before her.

  Like... completely aware.

  Very aware.

  Super aware.

  Holy shit.

  She swallowed the saliva that had pooled in her mouth in an attempt not to choke.

  She thought he was freaking hot yesterday in his motel room when he only wore boxers.

  His naturally darker skin, his gold-flecked brown eyes, his... muscles... The large black tribal tattoo that covered his left arm, left side, and crawled up over his shoulder. His dog tags. She didn’t think the man had an ounce of fat on him, unlike her, who had plenty to spare.

  But his boxers had been loose enough to hide things. What he wore now did not.

  The silky black fabric of the shorts he wore—and she hadn’t seen shorts that short on a man in maybe... never—clung to things that might be considered obscene out in public. Furthermore, those shorts appeared damp and even more clingy than normal. So, they hid... nothing.

  Almost nothing was left to her imagination.

  He didn’t wear a shirt this morning, either. Maybe he had something against shirts. Or pants. Or...

  Hell, she wasn’t complaining.

  His caramel-colored skin shone with what she could only assume was sweat because some beads were gathered on his forehead, his hair was damp at the sides, and he smelled... hot and metallic, like he’d been exerting himself.

  Besides those little shorts, he only wore a pair of short athletic socks and sneakers.

  “Did you run here?” she managed to squeak out.

  His forehead crinkled and he shook his head again. “We’re not done having a discussion about how you opened the door.”

  “Got it. Opening the door without knowing who is on the other side equals bad. Okay, that conversation is over. Did you run here?”

  Of course, he did. Was it wrong that she wanted to lick the
drop of sweat now sliding down his temple? Or taste the salt on his damp skin around his small, dark tightly-beaded nipples?

  Yes, Frankie, that’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

  Maybe he wouldn’t mind, though?

  She could ask.

  She closed her eyes and tried to rein in her wildly spinning thoughts.

  “You okay?”

  She opened one eye. Yep, he was really in her house, wearing just... whatever he was wearing, and she wouldn’t mind having him for breakfast.

  She sucked in a long breath through her nose.

  She wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Sleeping with some “bad boy.” That was a hard-learned lesson, Frankie. Don’t make that mistake again.

  “You need to sit down?” he asked, concern coloring his tone.

  She popped open her other eye. She probably should sit down since she was feeling a bit light-headed. “Why are you here?” She winced when that question came out way too breathless.

  “Been thinking about how you can pay me back. I’ll take a few meals as partial payment.”

  “You’re here for breakfast?” she squeaked in surprise.

  “If you make breakfast like you did stuffed peppers, then yeah.”

  “Now?”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s the morning, so yeah.”

  “You woke me up.”

  He glanced at his black—of course—watch. “It’s seven.”

  “Barely.”

  “Kid’s probably up already.”

  “Leo’s not here.”

  His head lifted, his eyes slid to the side, landed back on her and then he pursed his lips as he looked at her.

  He didn’t just look at her, he looked at her.

  Like suddenly his breakfast plans had changed.

  She glanced down to make sure one of her wayward breasts hadn’t escaped again. It hadn’t.

  Though, for some reason, they began to ache.

  For his fingers, tongues and lips.

  Down, Frankie, down.

  But the way he was staring at her wasn’t helping. And it wasn’t because he was hungry for pancakes.

  However, he wasn’t getting anything other than pancakes. Or eggs and toast. She opened her mouth to ask, “What are you hungry for?”