by Warren, Rie
“Haven’t you ever heard of Frankie Burelli?”
A faint look of horror sketched across Walker’s face before being replaced by a smooth facade. Frankie Burelli used to be known as Frankie the Butcher. Same implements, vastly different outcome when used on flesh instead of fabric. It was said he could make a grown man scream for momma. As a UC, I’d been privy to one or two instances. I’d much rather wake up next to a horse head than see Frankie sitting beside my bed in the dead of night, sharpened tools at hand.
After he’d come out as gay, The Family had disowned him. He moved south, returned to his first trade, but still kept in touch with the underground.
Frankie was my most valuable resource.
He motioned Walker and me to stand on a raised plinth and kneeled in front of us.
Always the opportunist, he laid a palm directly on Walker’s crotch as if measuring his inseam. “Is that a peace pipe I’m handling or are you just happy to see me?”
“Cut the shit, Frankie.” Taking my life into my own hands, I knocked the Italian informant on the side of the head.
“That’s my third leg.” The sound of a bullet being chambered echoed through the small room. “Next time you touch my nuts I’ll blow you to smithereens.” Walker smirked with all the deadliness of a barely leashed animal.
“Promises, promises.” Undaunted, Frankie rose to his feet. “I like to keep my weapon sheathed unless I’m gonna use it too, know what I mean?” He pulled a glinting blade from inside the whorled dark wood of his cane. With a metallic hiss, the razor sharp sword sliced across the air. “Did I mention I specialize in piecework?”
When I turned my head, I saw the privacy curtain between the two rooms sheared in two from his light slice and dice move.
“Official business this time, Frankie.” I gestured for both men to stand down.
With the ease of one long used to the motions, he reassembled his cane and leaned against the handle.
“Always at your service, but next time you gotta bring me someone up to bat. Motherfuggin’ straight guys. Fuggin’ tight asses you’re to scared to get rogered.”
I’d never seen the clenched-tight look on Walker’s lean face before. I bet his ass clenched closed, too.
I swallowed my amusement. “You got any eyes or ears on a Vicente Valderas? Former Tampa Bay Outlaws Motorcycle Club president. Supposedly on the run. Heard he has a hard-on for me.”
Tucking a cigar into one side of his mouth, the big Mafioso peered at me with olive-pit eyes. “Who doesn’t got a hard-on for you. M’I right?”
“I sure as hell don’t,” Walker interjected.
“Fuggin’ straight guys, like I said. Loosen up a little, walk across that line. No harm, no foul, just a nice long ass fuckin’.”
“Frankie?” I waited for him to raise his eyes from the back-and-forth ping-pong between my and Walker’s crotches. “Focus.”
“Yeah, yeah. Eyes and ears not cocks and asses. I got it. Vicente Valderas. Cuban born. Did the rafter thing and floated across the Florida Straits when he was fifteen. Set himself up as a pussy monger by the time he was eighteen. Worked his way up to head honcho in Miami before moving north. Took over the Tampa Bay streets with the Outlaws MC. Had Florida nailed more than Jeb Bush ever did. Feds wanted to bring him down, locals would like to see him elected to office. He gave to charities, cleaned up after himself, and kept the kills quiet. RICO charges—thank you, Hunter—took out the Outlaws. Busted. Worked a deal. Walked. And recently ghosted.” Frankie’s sharp slit gaze slid from me to Walker.
“Impressive.” Walker allowed for a small nod.
“Wanna see impressive? Lemme drop trow.”
“Not now,” I said. “Continue, Frankie.”
Frankie knocked the end of his cane against the toe of his spit-shined shoe. “Returned to his roots. Miami Muerte MC. Pistolas, illegal dockers, and hookers with huge knockers. The usual trifecta.”
“Yeah, I know about the guns, slaves, sex. But where is he now?” Walker scowled at the informant.
Frankie remained silent as he lit his cigar with an old, silver-chased lighter. His smoke rings made the room even more speakeasy-gloomy.
“Stiffies aside, we need to know the news on the street.” I waved away the sweet-scented smoke rising in front of my face.
“Guess I’ll put my nose to the ground and find out what’s what for you. If only because you’re in good with Nicky Love.” Frankie mentioned his favorite romance writer, one of the lowcountry’s downhome celebs who’d become a friend of mine through the Chrome and Steele connection since he was married to Brodie and Boomer’s sister Catarina.
“If there’s any movement, I need to know, Frankie.” I stepped off the pedestal and clapped him on the shoulder.
“What’s my payment?” He stuck the burning cigar into a corner of his mouth, speaking around it.
“Respect, man.” I clasped his hand in mine. “Nothing short of my respect.”
“Madon. You got it. But only because of your big cojones.”
“That was really Frankie Burelli?” Walker asked as we strode outside.
“In the flesh. Keep walking and don’t look back.”
I heard the bell jingle as Frankie stuck his head out the door behind us. “Respect ain’t keeping me warm at night, fellas!”
Walker’s face paled, and he kept his eyes on the pavement. “So, he could kill us—trained mercs.”
“Pretty much.”
“Nice friends you got.”
“You should know.”
Eight
I LET WALKER MOVE his crap—C-4 and all—into the house. I wouldn’t let him near Jack’s bedroom but showed him to the spare.
“This place is already wired, locked down, airtight. The WiFi is encrypted, dedicated, not your mom’s maiden name password protected. I don’t get cable. The only phones are my cells. There’s no safe room, but my armory is in the basement.” I watched as Walker hefted his big black bag onto the bed. “Feel safe?” I spoke through clenched teeth, anxiety for Jack, Mel, and Jessica’s welfare putting paid to any deceptive calm cool edge.
“As houses,” Walker remarked, unpacking his firearms.
I wanted to break doors off the hinges, hit plaster with my knuckles. If I’d put my people in danger because of Vicente fucking Valderas, I’d make sure he’d die a long, lonesome, cruel death.
Instead of going hari-kari on my house, I made four sandwiches, wielding the knife like a stabbing blade, mutilating the head of lettuce and pretty much committing murder on the tomatoes.
Walker hung back at the door of the kitchen. “Master chef, you are not.”
“Eat this and shut it.” I slid a plate across the table.
In ten large bites, his sandwiches disappeared. Mine didn’t last much longer.
“I need to get the lay of the land.” He swallowed down half his beer and wiped his lips.
“Go for it, desperado.”
“I’m talking about Retribution MC.”
“I’m not fucking piggybacking you there on my bike.”
He grinned, placidly rebraiding his hair and adding a few new trinkets to the ends. “Lied about the Scout. Parked it a few miles back.”
We thundered into Retribution compound half an hour later. Inside, pool, dancing, and darts were in action.
“Nice set up,” Walker sat next to the bar. “The nanny cams still live?”
“Twenty-four-seven.”
“Trust issues, as always.”
Cole appeared at my elbow with questions filling his acute eyes, but he knew better than to talk out of turn when confronted with a newcomer and me, glaring all around. He set two neat whiskeys in front of us. With a clink of glasses, we downed the blazing, throat-burning alcohol, setting up for another round.
My thoughts churned to a stop when Jessica entered the clubhouse. The chestnut curls framed her sweetly freckled face. But then there were the sinister black leather thigh-high boots that didn’t reach the bottom of her mini
skirt. And when she took off her jacket, my tongue dragged on the floor.
Was that a corset she was wearing?
“She’s yours.” Walker pointed her out in two seconds flat. “JB. Miss Barnes?”
“Touch her, talk to her, and die,” I growled. There was no way I wanted her to know about my dirty past with the Silent Walker.
“Achilles heel. Gonna bite you in the ass.”
“Not before I have her ass.” And that ass, holy hell.
I snaked through the crowded room, intent on making it to JB before any other bozo got similar ideas. She leaned over the pool table and—maybe care of her cleavage jutting out, maybe because of her prowess at knocking balls into pockets—wagers were already being placed.
Brodie snagged me to him, his huge silver rings cold against my neck. “Who’s the noob and what’s he doing here? Don’t like newcomers.”
I massaged my neck, remembering when Brodie had tried to choke the life out of me. “Seem to recall something like that.”
“You got an answer for Mr. Navajo?”
“He’s a shadow, like me.” I shook Brodie’s hand free. He might not like interlopers, but I hated being handled just as much.
“Why’s he here?”
“A threat, but the club is not involved.”
“Better not be. Boomer is ready to take him down.” Brodie placed his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes. “So, we’re trusting you because of the solid you did for Ashe.”
Boomer leaned casually next to Walker, stropping his bowie knife in slow actions on a whetstone that always sat ominously on the corner of the bar, testing Walker, trying him out. Walker glanced at the weapon then went back to his drink, smirk in place. The MC brothers were bad, but he was a killer to the core.
“He’s the real deal. Honest Injun,” I said to Brodie. “You can trust me on this.”
“Good thing I did that before and you didn’t prove me wrong.”
The Retribution MC landmines—otherwise known as the Brothers Steele—defused, I slid up next to Jessica.
“In the middle of a game, Hunter.” She tied her hair back and chalked her pool stick.
I slipped the cue from her fingers and set it against the table. “I know you are, sweetheart. I won’t interrupt for long.” Just long enough to stake my claim and make it clear she was mine, especially after last night at her house, in her bed, and between her legs.
Kissing her softly, I held her by the hips. “What are you wearing, by the way? Because I’m pretty sure that isn’t teacher gear you’ve got going on.”
“Do you like it?” She spun around.
“You could say that.” My gaze wandered along the tight turquoise seams of the black corset covered in embroidered butterflies. It hugged her body like a second skin, lifting the lightly freckled contours of her tits, as if she needed any help in that department.
“Maybe you’d like to help me out of it later.” She trailed a single finger from my neck down the center of my chest.
I captured her wrist before her hand wandered too far south. My cock was in no need of further encouragement. I held her hand against the steady pounding of my heart.
“Fuck. I want to, but . . .”
“Why, Hunter Sexton, are you getting shy on me?” She started swaying against me, winding her arms around my neck.
Her movements guided by the rock love ballad coming from the speakers, she gyrated against me and a teasing smile formed on her petal pink lips.
I watched her through half-lidded eyes. It felt like she was making love to me with all our clothes on, and it was enough to make my control snap.
As she slowly dipped down into a sexy crouch before undulating back up, I looked out across the bar to find Walker staring straight at us.
He raised his trigger finger at me.
I spun Jessica around so her back was against my chest. “You see that guy over there?”
“The hottie Native American?”
Jesus Christ.
“Yeah, him. Name’s Walker. I want you to stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”
“Mmm. I think I just figured out I like dangerous.” With a low laugh, she swiveled around.
“You want me to fuck you right here?”
“If you feel you need to prove a point. But I was referring to you . . . and danger. Not that guy over there.”
“What if I want to spank your ass for disobedience?”
“I’d prefer it if you spanked my pussy.” She slid one long thigh between my legs, grinding against my cock.
“That can be arranged.” I held her close for a moment before setting her away from me and scrubbing a hand down my face. “Just not for a few days. Can’t see you for a few days.” Not until I made sure Vicente was well and truly out of the picture, incarcerated, or put six feet under.
“Okay then.” She immediately turned back to the pool game in action and graciously thanked her opponent for waiting for her.
She was aggravatingly unconcerned about me.
I set my hip against the table and folded my arms across my chest. “Walker is my houseguest.” My very unwelcome asshole houseguest. I hoped he didn’t think I was changing sheets or putting out fresh towels for him.
“No prob,” she said, still annoyingly blasé.
“Hang on a sec.” I pulled her around by her waist. “Are you seeing other people?”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Me either. I don’t sleep around just like I said before, if that’s what’s got you all hot and bothered.”
“Yeah, that’s got me hot and bothered. I don’t sleep around either.” Anymore.
“But c’mon, we were only together twice.” She twirled the pool stick and tapped me on the chest with it.
“Excuse me? We were together a lot more than that.”
Her cheeks flushed and her onyx gaze danced from my eyes to my mouth. “We were together two nights, and we fucked a lot both times. But that doesn’t mean we’ve exchanged promise rings or anything.”
“Right.” The muscle in my jaw leaped. Taking the pool cue from her grip, I marched her outside, her elbow in my hand.
When I got her into the vacated parking lot, I crowded her back against the concrete wall of the building. I braced my hands on either side of her head and bent my knees until I was face level with her. She shivered, and I didn’t know if it was from the cold or the situation but I took off my leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
“We might not have exchanged promise rings or whatever—and maybe it was only two nights—but I’m not fucking around with you—”
“Well, technically you are . . . fucking around with me.” Her head tilted to the side, she watched me with wary amusement.
“Jessica,” I growled her name. “Getting attached is a very bad idea.”
Her lips popped open, but I placed my fingers against her mouth. “I really like you. Not as a fling. And on the one hand I want to keep you safe, on the other I want to keep you in my bed permanently.”
“Well, that would make it difficult for me to go to work,” she mumbled around my fingers, her eyes twinkling like night stars.
With a groan, I scooped her to me. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told. But I work with five-year-olds all week long. I’ve gotta get it out somehow.” She pressed up and her warm lips skimmed from my jaw to my ear. She caught my earlobe between her lips, nibbling lightly. “I really like you too.”
I reared back. “You do?”
With a smile, she said, “Let’s review the evidence, shall we? I just let you interrupt my pool game, twice. I didn’t kick you out of my bed last night. I gave you a stellar blowjob, and I don’t just pull out those mad skills for everyone, Hunter.”
The promise of her words sent a flash of excruciating heat to my groin, and inside my jeans my cock surged and ached. Her face cupped in my hands, I bent low to kiss the soft heat of her mouth. Her lips moved in sync with mine, a
nd when I trapped her tongue in my mouth, she moaned.
The door to Retribution opening and slamming shut beside us dragged us apart. Walker glanced over, flipping his long braid out of his army-issued canvas jacket.
“I’ve seen enough, Kemosabe.”
“Get lost already.” I hid Jessica’s face against my shoulder.
“You don’t want to introduce us?”
“Fuck. Off.”
He ambled away, whistling a low tune.
“So”—Jessica turned my face to hers—“get everything out of your system with me?”
“Not everything.” With a press of my hips, I brought her pelvis in contact with my hard erection.
“What about everything else?” she whispered, her arms looped behind my neck where she toyed with my hair. “Because you’re kind of possessive.”
“Sorry.” I grinned sheepishly.
“I don’t think you are at all.”
“You got me. I’m not usually like this, though, with chicks.” Her slim eyebrows arched while I made a hash of things. “But yeah, I kind of want to mark my territory all over you.” My voice rumbled out of my chest.
“I see.” She bit her lip, her mouth curving in a coy smile.
“That a bad thing?”
“I like it.” Her hands moved down my back, and she squeezed my ass. “I’m feeling a little possessive too.”
“I feel that.” Clearing my throat, I said, “So maybe if I can get my shit together, we could go on a date or . . .” I took one of her exploring hands in mine, and held it against my lips. “Try to make a thing out of this. You and me.”
“Not big on using your words, are you?”
“Jessica.” Hauling her up against me, I nipped at her juicy lips. “I’m more of a man of action.”
“I feel that,” she gasped.
“I have to go, sweetheart. Walker is waiting.” With my arm around her waist, I wrestled my phone free of my pocket. “Add your digits.”
She did as asked then gave me her cell phone in return so I could plug in my numbers.
Tilting up her chin with a brush of my knuckles, I said, “I want you to be safe, okay? So if anything strange happens, or if anything just feels wrong, you call me right away.”