My hands slid farther down his wet body until I grabbed his dick. Clint groaned. He was hard and ready—just as ready as me.
“I do love you.” He groaned as I stroked him. “But it doesn’t matter. I can’t take care of you.”
“Stop punishing yourself just for a few minutes and let me have this,” I begged. “Let yourself have this.”
He closed his eyes and kissed me. Thrusting his tongue in my mouth, I melted against his wet body. He grabbed under my butt and lifted. “Wrap your legs around me.”
I clamped my thighs around his waist and crossed my ankles behind him. I’d seen shower sex in the movies and books, but those images didn’t portray how strong your partner had to be to hold someone up.
“Relax, babe. Let me do the heavy lifting.” He grinned and held me away from him a little. “I’m gonna need your help getting in.”
Keeping one arm around his neck, I slid my hands down until I found his dick and positioned him between my legs. He brushed against my clit, and I jumped at the contact. Stroking him, I rubbed my clit with the head of his dick and he laughed.
“We can do that if you want.” He leaned over and nibbled on my earlobe.
“I want all of you,” I said, placing him at my opening.
He brought my hips closer, and with each inch, he sank into my body. He felt different with no condom. The texture, the slide, it was all new. I gasped as he filled me, stroke after stroke. This was what I wanted. This closeness, this intimacy. I wanted more.
“I love you, Jo,” Clint growled against my ear. He repositioned so I was braced against the wall. “Tonight, I want to make love to you and come inside of you.”
“Yes,” I moaned.
All I could do was hold on to his shoulders as he controlled my slide down his dick. Then he lifted me up and I took him in again—deeper. I arched my back until my body melted into the wall. Shifting our weight, he pinned me against the warm tiles and thrust again. This time, he hit something inside that made my breath catch and my eyes close.
“That’s it.” He watched my face as he stroked me inside. “Tell me, Jo, tell me again that you love me.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Tell me you love me,” he demanded.
“I love you, Clint. I only want to be with you.” Those words were what he was waiting for. I clutched his shoulders and held on as he drove into me. I was on the verge of falling apart myself, but I wanted to make it really good for him. So, I tried again. “You’re gonna come without a condom, babe. I want to feel you explode inside me.”
“Jo!” he roared. I felt myself tipping over the edge and my entire body began to sing. I held him to me as the orgasm hit hard. I no longer had control over my body and I didn’t care. I trusted Clint to give me what I needed—and he did.
He cried out as he came, flooding me. The heat inside my body was like nothing I’d ever felt. I’d never been this close to another person. He thrust one last time and I gripped his dick with my inner muscles.
“Damn.” Clint leaned his forehead against mine. “Every time you clench it fucking kills me.” He thrust a few more times and then held himself inside me. “Did you mean it?”
“Yes. I love you more than anything, Clint,” I whispered. He caught my lips with his and kissed me.
The phone rang. We both groaned.
“I’m sorry, babe.” He kissed my nose and pulled out. “That’s Rip’s ringtone. I’m late. I gotta go.” He set me on my feet and then grabbed the phone off the bathroom counter. He’d turned the volume up loud to hear it over the shower and I could hear Rip’s side of the conversation too.
“Where the fuck are you?” Rip said. “We’re at the bar and I’m betting you’re getting laid.”
I laughed and Clint kissed my forehead. He knew I could hear every word.
“I’ll be down in a second. I just gotta get dressed,” he said, ignoring Rip’s question. Clint hit End on the phone and threw it into the sink. “I’m sorry our time was so short,” he told me as he slipped the hotel’s robe on my shoulders and tied the belt. Then he picked me up and carried me to the bed.
I turned on my side and watched him get dressed. He flexed as he pulled his belt tight around his waist, and I laughed. “Did you like that?” he asked as he pulled his shirt over his head.
“I think you know I did, Mr. Vain.” I raised an eyebrow.
“Of course I’m vain.” He laughed, and sat on the bed. “I’m hot as hell.” He took my hand and placed it on his chest, and then he leaned over to kiss me. “And I have an amazing woman waiting for me when I get back.”
“A woman who loves you,” I reminded him. I put my hand on his chest to stop his kiss. “Are you still punishing yourself over what happened during the rainstorm?” I paused as he stiffened. “Because you’re just punishing me too. Ruining the plans I had for love and a family and a future. Is it more important to punish us?”
“I didn’t realize I was punishing you too,” he murmured, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I just want what’s best for you.”
I reached into my purse, which was on the nightstand. “I’m gonna give this back to you.” I dropped his gambling medallion into his hand. “It means two things now. It means that you won’t gamble and that if you do make a mistake, you’ll forgive yourself for it as well.”
“I’ll remember that.” He kissed my brow and gripped the medallion. “But right now, I need to go. We’ll talk about this later. We’ll be back in two hours.” Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a plastic clamshell cell phone. “Seriously, babe. If I’m not back in two hours, use this phone to call me. If I don’t respond, call Tate. Immediately.” He put the phone on the little table. “My number and Tate’s number are preprogrammed. Got it?”
“Yeah.” I sat up. “What’s going to happen?”
“I’m not really sure,” he admitted. “But if I don’t call in two hours, at ten o’clock, call Tate and get reinforcements. I don’t want to call him just yet. I want to handle this without his help if I can. Do you understand?”
I nodded. He wanted to succeed and do it on his own. I could understand that. I just wished it wasn’t so dangerous.
“Ten o’clock.” I got up and kissed him goodbye. “I’ll hear from you in two hours.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jo
Those were the longest two hours of my life. I paced the room in the bathrobe. It took me fourteen steps to walk the length of the room. I watched the tourists walk up and down Virginia Street, and the cabbies drop off their fares. At nine-thirty, I stared at the phone. He hadn’t called yet. Ten minutes later, I checked to make sure it was on. It was. At five minutes before he was supposed to call, I turned up the volume on the ringer. I picked up the phone and found Tate’s number, but I didn’t hit Send. I waited.
At exactly ten o’clock, the phone was silent. Clint was late and I was scared. I knew I should call Tate, but Clint had wanted to do this on his own and I didn’t want to ruin it for him. But I also wanted him to be safe.
I called Clint’s phone. It rang and eventually clicked over to voicemail.
I called Tate.
He wasn’t much of a conversationalist. When I told him the situation, he was quiet for a long moment. “Stay in the hotel room and don’t open the door,” he ordered. Then he hung up.
Oh god. I stared at the little cell phone. Was Clint really in trouble? Maybe he and the guys had just lost track of time and were in the hotel bar or something. It couldn’t be that dangerous if I just went to take a look. I knew that if I were in trouble, Clint wouldn’t just scope out the hotel bar. He would go looking for me.
I took a deep breath. I needed to find him.
Clint left a bit of cash in the room and I slipped it into my purse and put on my clothes. After strapping on my knife, I put my throwers in a leather sl
eeve and shoved them in my back pocket. There was no hesitation. Clint would do it for me. I grabbed my cell phone and the clamshell Clint had given me and went to find him.
Taking the elevator to the main casino, I headed for the bar. The best-case scenario was that the guys had forgotten about the time. If that was the case, I might get lucky and find them having a drink. Worst-case scenario, they went looking for the Silver Souls. I had no idea where the club’s headquarters could be and I needed directions. A friendly bartender might be able to give me directions.
The hotel had a couple of bars. I checked out the smaller ones and asked around, but had no luck. Once I found the main bar, I did a quick scan. Three gigantic guys wearing leather vests weren’t hard to spot. They weren’t at the main bar either.
“Hey,” I said to a cocktail waitress. She was waiting at the drink station while the bartender mixed up a couple of margaritas. “I’m looking for a bunch of guys who wear leather vests.”
The bartender let out a low whistle and topped off the drinks. He glared at me and then disappeared into the back.
“I ain’t seen any all night. Sorry, sweetie.” The waitress shrugged and dumped some lime wedges into the drinks.
“What about locals?” I asked, dropping the volume of my voice. “The Silver Souls.”
“The Silver Souls, huh? They run the Lucky Winner.” She gave me an assessing look. “But I don’t think that’s your kinda place.”
“Am I not dressed fancy enough?” I looked down at my clothes. I had on jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. Did they have some sort of dress code for their casino?
“That’s not quite it.” She raised an eyebrow as she dropped some cherries into the drinks. “I’m gonna be blunt, honey. They don’t like outsiders there. Especially people with skin that ain’t quite white. Steer clear.”
Shit. That had to be the place. I put a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.
“Which direction should I avoid?” I asked.
“When you go out the main doors, you’ll be on Virginia Street. Turn left. Go two blocks past the train tracks.” She pocketed the cash. “I’m serious, sweetie, you don’t want nothing to do with them. Reno is real good for tourists, but that’s a locals-only kinda joint.” She hefted the tray of drinks onto her shoulder. “You be careful.”
“Thank you,” I called after her as she started on her rounds. At least I knew what I was walking into. I had dealt with racist assholes in bars before. I could handle it—especially if it meant finding Clint.
Following the waitress’s directions, I left the casino and started to walk down Virginia Street. Souvenir shops and larger hotels lined the blocks. The businesses thinned out until it was mostly pawnshops and small casinos. These places weren’t like the big hotel where Clint had rented our room. They were nothing more than big rooms, some no bigger than a two-car garage. Their doors were wide open and I could see a few customers inside—mostly people who lived on the street.
Crossing the train tracks, I finally found it, the Lucky Winner. It was two stories, and the inside just appeared to be one long room with rows of slot machines. I took a deep breath and walked in. Clint had to be here.
One woman sat at a penny slot and mindlessly hit the spin button. She had all her gear with her, two army surplus backpacks propped against the bank of machines. When you live on the street, that’s the lowest you can go. Dragging all of your stuff with you meant you couldn’t even afford a locker at the bus station. Her clothes were decent, though. She must have had access to a church or free thrift store at least.
I sat near her. Putting a dollar into the machine, I bet a penny and looked around while the reels spun. The glittering gold-covered plastic wall adornments had seen better days. They were burnished and had a bit of a green tinge.
“Hey,” I said to the woman, trying to make eye contact. Maybe she was a regular.
Her eyes flickered over to me for a moment, but then she went back to the slot machine, hitting the button over and over again. I gave up trying to talk to her.
A security guard noticed me looking around and made eye contact. Damn. He walked the aisle behind me as I bent back to my slot and pretended to focus on whirling cherries and bars. There was a carpeted staircase in the back, disappearing into the low ceiling. Probably their break room and casino offices.
As I played, I realized there was a tiny lunch counter to the back. Maybe I could strike up a conversation with someone there. Once the security sat down on his stool in the corner, I got up and walked slowly toward the back.
The restaurant was tiny. It was like something you’d find on a train. A couple of bar stools and one guy working. Three other people were packed in, waiting for their orders. I’d never heard of a biker cafe, but I’d heard of plenty of biker bars.
“Burger?” the fry cook asked me. There were three other patties on the grill. Must be their specialty.
“Yeah, burger.” The clerk nodded and turned back to the frying beef. While I waited for my order, I smiled at the older guy sitting on the bar stool. “Are you from Reno?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding slowly. “Bet you’re just here for a little fun, right? You’re from San Francisco or Sacramento?”
“San Fran.” I smiled. This brought back memories from when Dad and Angel and I used to run cons. Time to start spinning my story. “Actually, I’m looking for a friend. He asked me to meet him around here. Said there was a bar in back, but all I see is this lunch counter.”
The man sobered up. I’d hit a nerve. “You’d best be on your way back to the tourist casinos. This ain’t no place for you,” he said, turning to grab the foam box that contained his burger.
“Kinda tired of hearing that,” I said, laughing. I took a deep breath—time to drop the bomb. “My friend wears a leather vest. Seen him lately?”
Metal crashed against metal. The fry cook was staring at me, his metal spatula dropped on the grill top. He looked at the old man and then turned back to his work.
“I can show you where your friend might be.” The old man scowled. “After you pay for my burger.”
“Where?” I asked, putting a twenty-dollar bill on the counter.
“Out the back, turn left. Up the stairs behind the Dumpster.” He slipped the twenty into his pocket. “Ain’t your kinda place, though. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
Chapter Thirty
Clint
Tate’s directions had been crystal clear. The Silver Souls had a private bar on the second floor of a shitty casino in the slums of Reno. The door was unlocked, so they’d been expecting us. I peered through the cigar smoke to assess the situation. Much smaller than our clubhouse; I got the feeling they had cash-flow problems. The vinyl on the booths was torn and most of their pool cues were snapped in half. Classy.
There was a group of guys sitting at a booth. They all looked up from their beers, but only one of them stood up. He had wiry gray hair and a scowl.
“Clint, Demon Horde,” I said, offering up my hand for a shake. “That’s Rip and Roach.”
“I’m Buffalo Bill.” He smiled and we shook hands. The patch on his cut said he was the president. I was surprised. Tate had given us a rundown on the Souls before we left. Apparently Buffalo Bill and Tate had a falling out years ago over a woman, so I’d assumed they were about the same age. But Bill was ten or fifteen years older than Tate—he had to be in his sixties.
Bill pointed at the four other guys in the room. “Snake, VP. Traveler, sergeant at arms. Charley, treasurer.”
They were younger than Bill, but not as young as some of the guys in our club. Definitely an aging MC, with an older leader. That was a dangerous dynamic. Leaders over the age of sixty meant weakness and were seen as easy pickings by other clubs. That was probably why the Riot Riders had set up shop in Carson City. They were just waiting for this club to implode and then they would sw
oop in and pick up the territory.
Even with the Souls’ obvious age, we were still in a bad spot with them. We’d tried to reach out, but as soon as Bill heard Tate’s voice, he’d hung up. So we were running cars on their turf uninvited. It wasn’t how the Demon Horde did things. My plan of attack was going to be to offer them a cut. Start treating them with respect from this point forward and make them a partner. It would be a little late, but at least we would try.
“Should we do business here?” I asked, looking around. Rip and Roach were standing behind me, but this was my operation. I wanted it to go well, but frankly I wanted to get the hell out of here and go back to Jo. I knew Rip and Roach had plans of their own. We all wanted to get this show on the road.
“Why don’t y’all sit and chat?” Buffalo Bill pointed to three bar stools. “Let’s get to know each other a bit.”
The three of us sat on the stools and faced the open room. Rip gave me an annoyed look and crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to get the hell out of here and I didn’t blame him. But I also didn’t want Buffalo Bill to feel disrespected and get pissed.
“If you don’t mind,” I said, reaching into the pocket of my cut. I pulled out a thousand dollars and handed it to him. “We’ve been on the road a while, and we’d like to get some shut-eye.”
“Fine, then.” Buffalo Bill grabbed the cash and proceeded to count it right in front of us. I ground my teeth. He was being rude as hell and doing his tally while we watched. So much for us all respecting each other.
“You don’t trust us then?” I asked as Buffalo Bill lined up the bills in neat stacks on the bar. I took a deep breath. He was trying to piss us off and let us know we were second in his territory. Fine by me. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.
“I don’t trust no one going through my turf.” He shrugged and kept counting. “Y’all could have called me about this deal. I don’t like that kind of bullshit.” He looked up from his money and scowled. “There’s only a grand here. Where’s the rest?”
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