Her eyes roamed his face before she pressed in, smiled, kissed his jaw then pulled away to get him his slice.
He turned to watch her.
Then he got up, moved stools, taking the last one against the wall.
“You moved,” she said, behind the bar now, sliding a bottle of beer his way.
“Better people watching.”
And that was the truth.
She grinned. “I won’t be long. Join you in the slice after I clock out.”
“Okay, babe,” he muttered, reaching for the brew.
She bounced away.
He watched her ass while she did it.
Then he turned his attention back to the restaurant, the windows and beyond.
The itch was gone.
But he was being watched.
He fucking knew it.
Beck
Beck moved out of the bar sliding his shades over his eyes.
He’d had to take off from work early to hit it before maybe Digger hit it, since Digger had a day job and could only go out and tie one on then do whatever depraved shit that perv did to fill his time after quitting time.
He moved to his bike, swung a leg over, powered it up, took off, but only rode four blocks before he turned into the parking lot of a strip mall, cut the ignition but stayed on his bike and pulled out his phone.
He made the call.
“Beck,” Lucas answered.
“Lucas, you got a minute?” he asked.
“You got something, I got a minute.”
“Right, just left Smitty’s. A dive in Commerce City.”
“Heard of it. Don’t know it. And?”
“Talked to a man called Pickle. And it won’t tax your brain to figure out why he’s called that.”
“Not familiar with the lushes in Commerce City, Beck,” Lucas told him.
Beck went on like Lucas didn’t talk.
“Few conversations, had to be cool about it, took time, but eventually got the history that Pickle, Digger, a brother in my club and Chew all used to run together, and they were tight.”
“Now I’m interested,” Lucas said low.
Yeah.
Beck knew he would be.
“So, just havin’ a chat with Pickle, who was clobbered before I even showed an hour ago, found out, back in the day they all hung with Chaos, hopin’ to be taken on, become prospects.”
“The link,” Lucas muttered.
“Yeah,” Beck confirmed. “Chew got in, Digger and Pickle were a pass. And just to say, this was not popular with Digger and Pickle. Digger, my guess, got over it. Pickle still sees Digger, but he thinks Chew is a fucktard. His call, said that straight, and full of bitter, though we both know he’s not wrong. Pickle was all about not bein’ surprised Chew pulled out of Chaos. Said he knew firsthand the man knows shit about brotherly love.”
“Gotta tell you, got a call from Tack today and Chaos has put this together,” Lucas informed him.
“Gotta tell you, personally don’t give a fuck how Bounty, or whatever the fuck we are right now, got tangled in that mess. I went after this for another reason.”
“What’s that?”
Beck drew in breath and watched the cars go by.
“Beck?” Lucas prompted.
“All right, listen, yeah? ’Cause I got dick on this, except a feeling in my gut.”
“Lay it on me, Beck,” Lucas said quietly.
“The man ain’t right,” Beck told him. “Digger. He’s a skeeve. Never liked him. Never hang with him. He just ain’t right.”
“Keep going,” Lucas urged.
“Recently, he really ain’t right. Somethin’s up with him and it’s not the shit his club got into.”
“But you don’t know what it is,” Lucas surmised.
“No, I don’t. But I can tell you it doesn’t make me feel good at all that he’s starting to relax. He was wound up. Took a long mental hike. There at meetings. When the brothers were hanging out. But his mind was somewhere else. Now, he’s comin’ back to the fold. And now he’s even more not right. Like . . . relieved or proud of himself or something. And that guy feelin’ good about anything gives me the shivers.”
Lucas was silent.
“Okay, you may not know this guy, but my take is, it’d take somethin’ seriously sick to make a guy like him freaked. Now he’s not freaked. And I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
Lucas was silent again but before Beck could break it, Lucas spoke up.
“A woman named Diane Ragowski was murdered nine months ago. She’d gotten into drugs, turned to porn to earn her fix, but the investigation turned up two suspects, both she was carrying on a sexual relationship with outside work. Wayne Benson was one of those suspects.”
Wayne Benson.
Digger.
“He did her,” Beck stated.
“He has an alibi.”
“He got someone to lie for him,” Beck returned, and he had to think on it a half a second before he said, “Let me guess. Pacino?”
“Considering Karl Sanderson’s street name is Pacino, and Sanderson is the alibi, yes.”
“Fuck,” Beck bit. “That guy’s a weasel, but he’d do anything for a brother. He lied, Lucas.”
“You can prove that?”
“Right now? No. But I will.”
Lucas sounded even more alert when he said, “Beck, you be careful with this. This isn’t your remit. You’re there to inform on the club formerly known as Bounty and their dealings with Benito Valenzuela. Not catch a killer. That is a different case and it has nothing to do with your deal.”
“Does it matter I catch a killer while I do that other shit?”
“When Bounty lost touch with Valenzuela, your deal changed, so I gotta remind you that you’re not exactly goin’ into WITSEC after this all goes down. Deal is, they get tight with Valenzuela again, you went down with them, did your time, they didn’t know, you got out early, court-ordered to steer clear of your former brothers, you move on with your life.”
“Well, now I got something added to my agenda.”
“Beck—”
“You seriously not okay with me handing you a murderer?” Beck asked.
“I’m serious in telling you there’s a difference between a biker informant who is never gonna be known for informing and sticking your nose into a murder investigation. Digger is getting loose because a good amount of time has passed, and he thinks he got away with it. A man will do a lot not to find his shit in Sterling Correctional Facility. He kills a porn star who half the men in that joint probably have convinced themselves they were in love with, he’ll really shy away from that being his future. And you won’t wanna find out all he’ll do to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I got this, Lucas.”
“Beck—”
He changed his wording to give it the honesty.
“I gotta do this, Lucas.”
Lucas was again silent.
“I’ll keep in touch,” Beck promised.
“Beck,” Lucas said. “Didn’t think I’d ever say this, but it says a lot about you, the motivation you have to right a wrong, especially a wrong as mammoth and fucked up as you perpetrated, and the risks you’re takin’ to do that. But you’re doin’ that. Focus on that. I need you for that, man. I can pass this shit you gave me to the detectives on the case and they’ll run with it. But it’s important to point out, you’re on the righteous path. But you can’t enjoy earning salvation if you’re dead.”
“Trust me, a man like Digger won’t best me.”
“A man like Digger with what he’s got to lose can surprise you.”
His phone sounded with a text as he said, “I’m doin’ this.”
“Fuck,” Lucas growled, giving in. “I want more contact.”
“You got it.”
“Anything you find, you feed to me, and I’ll feed to the detectives on that case. You don’t dig further.”
“You got it,” Beck lied.
“I don’t ha
ve a good feeling about this,” Lucas muttered.
What did it matter?
He got Digger, a murder was solved.
He got fucked in the effort, who cared?
Lucas didn’t.
Beck didn’t either.
But at least he’d go out doing something that would have made his brother proud.
It might make Rosalie think he was something more than a total asshole.
And it’d make Janna think she was fucking a man who might be slightly worthy of her.
“I’ll be careful,” Beck said.
“That’s something, but it doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better. Now act surprised. Because Sanderson is gonna be pulled back in to go over his alibi and they’re gonna go at him hard. If you hadn’t heard about this, they’re keepin’ it on the downlow. The way my colleagues are gonna take this, those men are gonna feel the heat, likely bitch about it, but my brothers might spread that love and go through the club formerly known as Bounty. Unless you find yourself in an interrogation room with nothin’ but cops around you, you don’t know dick. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Lucas sighed then asked, “You got anything on the club?”
“Web’s acting really cagey. Give me a few days. I’ll find out why.”
“Right.”
“That’s it.”
“Right.”
“Later, Lucas.”
“Later, Beck.”
He hung up.
Went to his texts.
Saw he got one from Janna.
Want me to start dinner?
He felt warm hit his chest he should not feel.
OMW, he texted back.
Then he fired up his bike and headed to Janna’s.
He’d pulled back since that night she’d had her bad dream. He did this rethinking tangling her up in all this shit.
Her response was to dig in.
With this new shit with Digger, he should set her loose altogether.
Even thinking those thoughts, he walked in her back door instead of riding right by and never going back.
She was at the stove, but she turned instantly to him.
Her tender brown eyes melted and she smiled.
Yeah, that was why he’d walked in the door.
A man paid attention, saw that melt, he’d walk through an inferno to get that look.
“Hey. I made guac to tide you over. Dig in. We’re having enchiladas. They’re not ready to go in yet and they need to bake awhile,” she greeted.
He looked down at the counter and saw a huge-ass bowl of guac next to a huge-ass bag of corn chips.
She took care of him.
Loved feeding him.
Loved him walking through her back door.
“Can I start the night with a kiss?”’
Fuck.
What was wrong with him?
Those pretty eyes in her pretty face melted more, and she moved to him.
That was what was wrong with him.
He pulled her into his arms, bent his head and took her mouth, going gentle and slow.
She pressed against him and coaxed out harder and deeper.
She was losing the shy.
Digging in.
And Beck was weak, so he was letting her.
He lifted his head.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey,” he whispered back.
“Want some guac, honey?”
So fucking weak.
“Yeah, baby.”
She smiled, big and bright, and pretty turned beautiful when it filled with happy.
He gave her that.
He had no idea how.
But he gave it to her.
And he found giving it to her was like an addiction.
Near impossible to kick.
Totally weak.
He bent his head and touched his mouth to hers before he let her go and gave her what she wanted.
He swung off his jacket. Threw it over the back of a chair at her kitchen table. Went to the bag of chips, tore them open.
And dug into her guac.
After they ate, then fucked, he spent the night.
Totally fucking weak.
She had another nightmare.
He didn’t think about being weak about that.
He just didn’t like it.
And he lay with her, stroking her back, murmuring shit he didn’t pay attention to but whatever it was, it relaxed her and made her go back to sleep.
He did this thinking he had a lot on his plate. None of it good. And at the end of it, if he succeeded, he’d be incarcerated for a while.
He should cut her loose.
But now . . .
Now, he thought, not before she told him about her dreams.
He’d help her through that.
At least give her something worth something.
And after he did that he’d set her free.
Superwoman
Rush
Earlier that night . . .
Rush didn’t chance hitting the buttons to bang the gongs at Essence’s house when he pulled up that evening to pick up Rebel.
But he’d only taken a few steps along the stones at the side of the house when he heard the sound of an opening window.
He stopped, looked to the house and saw Essence hanging out, a garland of flowers wrapped around her forehead.
“Peace, brother!” she called.
“Hey, Essence,” he called back. “Here to pick up Rebel.”
“Do not have her home for bedtime!” she yelled, stuck her hand out the window, gave him a peace sign, then ducked back in and shut it.
He didn’t fight his grin or the shake of his head as he moved down the path and through the bush to Rebel’s house.
The greenery brushed his hair again as he knocked on her door.
He not only stopped feeling it, he lost the knowledge it or anything else existed when she opened the door.
Hair down and stylishly messy. Makeup heavy. Body barely covered in a tiny black silk dress edged with lace at the top, but also slashes of it under her tits hinting at skin, the dress hanging on her but the brevity of it, including the high hem, meant it didn’t need to be skintight.
At her neck, a tangle of delicate chains with equally delicate pendants. She had so much hair, he couldn’t see if she even wore earrings. But on her feet were square-toed, black, girl motorcycle boots with high, chunky heels, their kickassedness playing off the sexy, ultra-feminine flimsiness of the barely-there slip dress.
Fuck, he was not going to be able to control his hard-on and she hadn’t even said hello to him.
“It didn’t occur to me you might have the bike.”
She was speaking and it took him a second considering he was concentrating on controlling his cock to process her words.
“I can put leggings on or something,” she continued.
He’d make a deal with the devil just to make sure that didn’t happen.
Fortunately, he’d thought ahead and didn’t have to.
“I brought my truck.”
She took in his face, nodded, didn’t invite him in, but turned away from the door and disappeared in the shadows.
He walked in anyway.
She had a very small foyer painted a dark and rustic yellow, which had a tall, freestanding coatrack that was covered in hats, and a short, heavily-carved dark wood bench that now had a chunky gray cardigan on it, a little black purse, and small black leather tote.
Rebel grabbed the cardigan and tugged it on.
It was long, went down to her knees, which he was not a big fan of considering her skirt just covered her pubis and he was a biker. He seriously got off on her show of skin.
Especially the way she showed it.
There was lots of it.
But it was all class.
The sweater immediately dipped off her shoulder, opening up to expose the dress anyway, so he had nothing to complain about.
“This your shit?” he asked
, going to the tote and grabbing the handles while she dropped the long, slim strap of her purse on her shoulder.
“Yup,” she muttered.
“You ready, baby?”
Her eyes came to him. He processed the red lipstick he hadn’t quite noticed due to the dress, also how much he liked it, and she nodded before ducking her head and digging in her miniscule purse.
She came out with a key.
He preceded her out of the house.
She followed, shut the door, locked it, bent to scratch a fat ginger cat that was rubbing around her ankles before she straightened, and her gaze came back to him.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He reached out for her hand and no words were spoken as he guided her through the hippie-fairy jungle land to the front of the house.
They were in his truck and on their way when she noted, “If you go down the alley, there are two openings in the gate behind Essence’s property. One leads to Essence’s crib. The other to a space behind my house. It isn’t large, your truck won’t fit with my car, but if you’re on your bike, that’ll fit. You can avoid the trek by pulling in back there. And I don’t think Essence would mind if you parked behind her place if you have your truck. Her space is larger and the path between houses is shorter, and you don’t have to have Jane Goodall’s mad skills to make it through.”
He would have laughed at her last comment or felt the goodness she was making note he’d be back to her place in the future if all that hadn’t been recited to him like she was reading it from a pamphlet.
“Thanks, babe,” he replied.
“No problem,” she muttered.
It was that said in the same tone that made him turn his head to look at her.
When he did, he saw her head was turned to stare out the side window.
He looked back at the road. “Today go okay?”
“Sure,” she said, he knew, to the window.
Time to start a conversation. Draw her out.
“I talked to my dad. While I cook, we’ll chat about his thoughts about getting you out of the porn business.”
“Right.”
He drove.
And in the ensuing silence, he felt the mood in the car.
It was so damp and low an alligator could glide by and he wouldn’t be surprised.
“Everything cool?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said again.
He glanced at her.
Still looking out the side window.
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