“I want to come,” I say, as I press my hand over his tattoo so my palm covers his pseudo-wound. There were predators that thought that they were stronger than him because they drew blood. Those predators didn’t know Tobey. He would fight until he was dead or the battle was won.
***
Tobey’s cabin would be better defined as a small log house. It’s almost the size of my home and it has a porch that circles around the front and the sides. When I walk inside, I’m overtaken by the smell of spruce trees and the sense of open space. I step into the living room and sit down on a sofa covered with a quilt. Tobey sits next to me.
“My grandma made this quilt,” he says, picking up a corner of it. “It’s made from my grandfather’s old t-shirts.”
“Really?” I ask, as I glance over the quilt and admire the different colors and patterns.
Tobey leans toward me. His breath tickles against my ear as he speaks, “I’ve imagined you in this cabin since I built it.”
“You built this?” I ask and he nods.
“It took me about five months. It would have been less time, if the Beasts didn’t need help doing every single fucking thing.”
“You should have built houses for a living,” I say, but he smirks at the idea.
“No,” he says. “The crime life works for me. I work when I want and for whoever I want. I also get to give the big fuck you to any person, organization, or ideal that says that I have to act a certain way.”
I lean back on the sofa’s armrest and set my feet on his lap. He slides off my shoes and caresses the sides of my feet. I laugh and pretend to kick him, then he grabs my ankle and kisses the top of my foot. In response, I shake my head at him.
“The rules are there for a reason, Tobey,” I say. “For example, so you don’t get framed for murder because you were threatening the life of a gun shop owner.”
He laughs. “I could have been a law-abiding citizen and the cop would have framed me anyway.”
He slides one of his hands up my leg to my knee.
“But you’re not a law-abiding citizen,” I say, as he grabs my arms and pulls me onto his lap. I swing one of my legs over his thighs, so I’m straddling him. He moves his hands back to my legs, his fingers gripping the back of my thighs.
“It’s like we never left high school. Do you remember in junior year you had that fake ID and your name was Jesse Jameson?”
“I thought it was clever,” he says. “And I keenly remember that you refused to take the ID I had gotten for you. You were always the good girl.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” I ask.
“Maybe you’re not as much as a good girl as I thought,” he murmurs, as I feel his fingers wrap around the string of my thong
“Is that such a bad thing?” I repeat. He smirks, shaking his head. I rub my pussy against his groin and his hardness is immediately apparent, pushing up against his jeans.
“Fuck, Grace,” he says, unbuckling his jeans, “if you do shit like that, I’ll only be able to last as long as I did in high school.”
“Hmm,” I say, smiling. I get off his lap, as he kicks off his shoes and pulls off his pants. “Maybe I should make you wait then.”
“Now you’re just downright cruel,” he says.
He only has his boxer briefs on now and they’re tented by his erection. He grabs my arms, pulls me tight against him, and then, he kisses me. As his mouth opens my lips, I can taste his need. He grips my waist and drops me onto the sofa, draping himself over me and pinning my wrists against the sofa cushions. His mouth covers mine and I find deliverance in his tyranny.
When he lifts his head, I can see lust overtaking his eyes, but something else plays at the edges, too. “I love you,” he says. “I never loved anybody before or after you in the same way as I love you.”
Common sense tells me that nothing has changed since high school. I know that I should heed my mother’s advice and move on with my life. I also know that I shouldn’t give my heart to a criminal.
I’m sick of common sense.
“I love you too,” I say. He moves my right wrist up so that he can hold down both of my wrists with one hand. He pulls down his underwear and then my thong with the other hand. He returns to using both his hands to hold me down and I feel his cock hot against my entrance. His cock seems to have gotten thicker and longer since high school. If I wasn’t so wet already, his girth would scare me.
He thrusts into me, hard and fast. I was unprepared for him, my pussy tight from years of celibacy and smaller cocks. The friction hits against my clit in the most provocative, shameless way and I arch my back to meet his thrusts. I can’t stop my moans, as Tobey blasphemes every god in the universe.
I feel like I can’t get close enough to him and the feeling builds up to an unbearable precipice. Every nerve feels like it’s overcharged and ready to explode; I want them to. I want the electricity to surge out of my body like a lightning storm.
He pounds into me without remorse. He bows his head to kiss my mouth, then moves his lips to the side of my neck. He bites into my flesh and the pain is the spark that triggers the explosion. My body trembles as my pussy grips onto his cock. Pleasure shocks me, rushing through my body with incredible speed. I feel Tobey’s cum flood inside me and he collapses onto my chest.
“I love you,” he repeats, still trying to catch his breath. I run my fingers through his hair and his sweat clings to my skin.
“I love you,” I say back to him. I meant to add the word too again, but I don’t think our love is the same thing. His love for me is a lightning storm, striking down with enough power to obliterate. My love for him is the calm after the storm. I don’t know if I can exist in his dangerous world and I know he can’t live in a world determined by rules; but, somehow we combine, forming something unfathomable.
***
I stretch as I wake up and my hand hits against a piece of paper. I grab it off the pillow that Tobey must have put under my head.
Grace,
First, you need to know that I love you. I love you more than you could ever understand. Because I love you, I cannot stay with you. I am wanted by the police, the dutiful kind and the asshole kind, and you should not have to live like a fugitive. I know the dirty cop has already seen your face, but I will take care of him and then disappear. Don’t try to find me. I am taking the hard path for the first time in my life. I hope that this choice will make you think better of me than the shitty person I’ve been in the past.
All of my love,
Tobey
He says he’s going to take care of the dirty cop. Does that mean he’s going to kill him? I can’t let him do that. I remember the faces of the three accused murderers that I defended. They all had an emptiness in their eyes that reminded me of the expression in the faces of the corpses in the morgue. You don’t return from murder as the same person you were. It destroys you the moment your victim’s heart stops beating.
I pull on my clothes and run out the door. Tobey left his Jeep in the driveway. I jump into the driver’s seat and shift the car into drive. I have to get to the cop before Tobey does. I have to remind Tobey of who he is.
***
It’s rare for a public defender to have a friend in the police force, since it’s our job to reverse the arrests that they made; but, Officer Sauers and I bonded over a case where a defendant shot her abusive ex-husband. Sauers had no problem giving me the dirty cop’s address after I told him I accidentally took his cellphone when I bumped into him at a coffee shop.
The dirty cop’s name is Robert Wright. He lives on Oak Street on the second floor of an apartment building. It takes me ten minutes to drive there. The front door is locked and it has an intercom system. I press the button that says “Ettinger.” There’s no answer. I press the next button, labeled “Perry.”
“Hello?” a woman’s voice asks.
“Hey, I locked myself out. Could you let me in?”
The lock clicks. I fling open the door and run ins
ide. I race up the flight of stairs and find apartment 202.
The door is slightly ajar. I hear Wright’s voice, as he says, “…thrive in prison. You can threaten and beat the shit out of people until you reach the top. It won’t be that bad for you.”
My stomach drops as Tobey’s voice responds, “If I’m going to prison, I’m going to go there for the crime I committed.”
“Killing a cop is different than killing a civilian,” Wright says. “They will bring back the death penalty just for you.”
“At least you’ll be off the streets and the people I care about will be safe,” Tobey responds.
There’s the sound of a gun cocking. I shove open the door and rush inside. Both Tobey and Wright have a handgun pointed at each other. They glance at me, but their gaze quickly returns to each other.
“Grace,” Tobey says through his teeth. “What in fuck’s name are you doing here?”
“Trying to prevent you from committing murder,” I hiss. Wright shifts his Glock 22’s aim at me. Tobey’s nostrils flare and his finger seems to tighten on the trigger of his Smith & Wesson pistol.
“Well, it’s kind of a bad time,” Tobey growls. “Can you come back after I give this guy a third eye?”
“No,” I say. “You can’t kill him, Tobey. I can’t let you do that.”
“It’s not up to you, Grace.”
“You said you wanted me to think differently of you,” I say. “If you kill him, I will think of you differently. I will think of you as a murderer.”
“He wants to kill both of us. I need to end his life to prevent that,” Tobey says.
“No, you don’t. Tobey, please. Don’t do this.”
“Fuck,” he snarls. He lowers the gun as if he’s about to drop it and a gunshot goes off. I flinch, closing my eyes, as the sound rattles through my bones. When I open my eyes, I glance over Tobey’s body, but I don’t see any bullet wounds and his face is calm. I turn to face Wright. He drops his gun and bends over. Tobey kicks the gun away from him and I see his groin area has a spot of blood that is quickly spreading out toward his thighs. He collapses onto his floor, clutching between his legs.
Tobey walks around him and grabs the surveillance tape that’s next to a TV. He finds a phone on Wright’s kitchen counter and dials three numbers.
“A man has been shot,” he says into the phone, as he glances at me. “Yes, bring an ambulance.”
After he tells the 911 operator the address, he hangs up. He sets the tape next to Wright’s writhing body. He grabs my arms and leads me out of the apartment. He keeps his hand around my arm until we’re outside. He’s silent as we walk north.
“You don’t think Wright will tell them that you shot him?” I ask.
“No,” Tobey says. “If he told them, he would have to confess that he purposely tried to frame me. He’ll be fighting against a difficult enough case without adding the fact that he tried to frame an innocent man.”
I grab his wrist and force him to stop walking. He faces me and I say, “I thought…when the gunshot went off…that he had shot you.” He cups my face in his hands and kisses my lips. His hands are trembling.
“You weren’t afraid when you were planning to kill a man and he had a gun pointed at you,” I say, taking his shaky hands into my own.
“I still wouldn’t be afraid to kill him or be afraid to die. I’m afraid of what you think of me now, though. I never wanted you to see the inhumane side of me.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and press my lips against his frantic heart. “I think you’re a good man that had his back against the wall. I think that you love me.”
“You should know that I love you,” he says and I smile.
“I do.”
***
“In the matter of The State of New York versus Robert Wright, on the count of murder in the first degree, how do you find?” the judge asks.
The foreman stares down at the paper he has in front of him. A century seems to pass before he answers with a single word, “Guilty.”
I bounce to my feet and embrace Tobey. He wraps his arms around me, bows his head and our lips touch. We turn to see Wright as he is dragged to a door in the back of the court.
“The law is pretty cool when this happens,” he tells me and I grin.
“But that doesn’t mean that you’re going to start obeying the law, does it?” I ask.
“No,” he says.
“Good,” I say. “I don’t know if I’d like you if you changed too much.”
The crowd in the courtroom begins to disperse and we follow them out. Tobey takes my hand and leads me out to his Harley-Davidson, as it gleams bright red under the sunlight.
“Can I take you home?” he asks, holding out a small, black helmet.
I take the helmet and say, “You can take me back to your cabin. I never got to see your bedroom.”
He laughs, grabs me around the waist, and squeezes my body against his. At the same time, his lips crush mine. His kisses soften after a few seconds, as his fingers slide into my hair. Electricity runs through my veins every time he touches me. The lightning storm is over, but the power and light of our love still strikes through the sky.
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***
They stopped looking for Shane Perry fifteen years ago.
They did all they could do; filed reports, dragged the lake, and finally presumed him dead. The high school football field lit up with candlelight at his memorial, and mourners gathered to gaze at his glossy image: youthful and tall with a heart melting grin.
Bikes and bikers are all Maggie Rice has ever known.
She was riding before she could walk and switching out clutch plates by junior high. She was a quirky, fiery haired tomboy and it was her dream to ride with the 417s. Formerly her father’s crew, they all had a hand in raising her after his passing. Now that she ran her own garage, it seemed her chance had arrived at last.
When the ghost of Shane Perry rides into town, he threatens to spoil it all.
The day of her initiation into the 417s, Shane waltzed back into town as if he’d only been gone the weekend, and his first order of business was to crush her chance at happiness. No woman was going to ride in Shane Perry’s gang, not ever, and certainly not his closest childhood friend.
Maggie doesn’t believe for one second his arrival is coincidental.
Was it possible to hate and love a man at the same time? Where had Shane been all those years and why was he back? And when the Hell did he get so damned gorgeous?
***
Allison Russell has a special knack for getting into trouble.
An intoxicating mix of beauty and bravado, she made her living unearthing things certain people would rather remain buried: stolen goods, dirty secrets, and more than a little trouble. She lived for the thrill of the hunt, and a fat stack of cash after a job well done sure didn’t hurt.
Jake Brighton has two talents, riding and thieving.
He loved them in just that order, too. There was no better feeling than making a clean getaway with his partners in crime and fellow bikers, the Dixon Crew. He’d been riding with the Dixons since before he was shaving. They were his friends and his brothers and he’d proudly take a bullet for any one of them.
And that’s why he ain’t buying what Allison Russell is selling.
A case of mistaken identity on the job leads Allison to a startling discovery, but before she can inform her client she must escape the Dixon Crew with her life. She must persuade the handsome but distrustful Jake Brighton to come to her aid, but his loyalty to his friends may just be the only thing more powerful than the aching tension growing between them.
Jake believes in his crew, but Allison intoxicates him.
If what she says is true, he’s been living a lie. But trusting a beautiful woman is never easy, particularly one who stirs a lust in him he’s never known. Is Al
lison the real deal, or is she using him to satisfy her client?
***
Casey Stone has always known her family was a little different.
She doesn’t know the details, but she’s heard enough whispers through cracked doors to know they’re criminals of some variety, and she’s happy not to know which.
Brian was just playing around when he sidled up to the Stone boys’ sister and offered her a drink.
He isn’t a cruel man, but the boys were watching and their sister is objectively beautiful - long legs, modest curves, and a face that begs to be kissed. He just couldn’t resist riling them up a bit. Then she spoke and he was lost.
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