Riding Dirty

by Jill Sorenson

  “My uncle wants to meet you.”

  Her stomach dropped. “Why?”

  “He thinks you’re a Fed. He thinks everyone is.”

  She couldn’t hide her unease. So she just stood there, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird inside her chest.

  “Come on,” he said, getting on his bike. “Let’s go.”

  Mia hesitated. If he suspected her of being a federal agent, there was no telling what he might do. But she still had to bug him and pass him the note. If she didn’t, Damon would take him back to prison. So she inhaled a deep breath and climbed aboard, hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake. As they sped down the circuitous path leading out of the parking garage, she removed the stamp-sized bug from her bodice. Pulse pounding, she tore off the strip that protected the adhesive with her teeth and stuck it to the back of his vest.

  “Hang on with both hands,” he said over his shoulder.

  She followed his instructions, clinging to him with a white-knuckled grip. He’d felt it. He had to have felt it, and wondered what the hell she was doing. As soon as they stopped, she’d pass him the note with a desperate kiss. She touched her tongue to the tiny wad in her cheek. Then they went over a bump, and it lodged in her throat.

  Oh shit.

  She coughed on instinct, expelling the obstruction. She couldn’t grab it; her arms were locked around his waist. The gum went flying into the air, destined to stick to someone’s shoe or melt on the street.

  Mia’s life flashed before her eyes. She’d bugged him and lost the note! She was doomed. She held on tight as they sped away from the casino, her mind dark with panic.

  * * *

  COLE DIDN’T WANT to believe that Mia was capable of betraying him.

  He’d been used by his uncle and his aunt, two people he loved. He should have been able to trust them. Mia had suggested that his impulsive nature and quick temper made him easier to manipulate. She was probably right. Now that she’d opened his eyes to the extent of the problem, he wasn’t so gullible.

  Cole had taken the day off, and he’d spent it deep in thought. He couldn’t accept the casino job and stay under his uncle’s thumb. He hated being an informant and answering to Vargas. Both options sucked—but so did this limbo. Cole got the feeling that Vargas was setting him up, maybe even trying to get him killed. Cole refused to choose between cooperating with a dirty cop and diving back into a life of crime. So he had to carve out a third option. With Mia or without her.

  He hadn’t wanted to involve her in his criminal activities, to drag her down the way his father had dragged his mother down. He’d meant to enjoy his last evening with her by exhausting himself in her beautiful body. Instead he’d driven to King’s Castle and started a maudlin conversation. Her reaction to his uncle’s suspicions had been telling. Maybe she was a federal agent, playing him for a fool.

  But his options were limited. His uncle knew where she lived, and Cole’s protective instincts were still strong. He had to take her somewhere private and warn her. He also had to interrogate her.

  He’d noticed her squirming on the bike behind him, touching his back. Whatever she was up to, it wasn’t good. He felt it in his bones, infecting his blood and churning in his gut. The monster inside him demanded answers.

  And revenge, if necessary.

  Cole formed a basic plan of action. He needed help executing it, so he went to Jigsaw’s motorcycle repair shop. Jason “Jigsaw” Jones was one of Cole’s good friends. He’d been a member of Dirty Eleven as long as Cole had. Now he was married with a kid, and he owned a thriving business.

  Jigsaw’s shop was on the outskirts of Indio, next door to the house where he lived with his old lady. Although it was after regular business hours, Jigsaw was inside the garage, working late on a Monday night. Cole drove straight in and parked his bike. Jigsaw looked up from the custom ride he was tinkering with.

  “Shank,” he said, rising to his feet. While they dismounted, Jigsaw wiped his hands with a shop rag. He was tall and lanky, with short dark hair and a full beard. “What’s up?”

  Cole greeted him with a handshake and introduced Mia. The glint in Jigsaw’s eyes said he remembered seeing Mia at the rally, and he liked what he’d seen. Cole couldn’t take offense to his friend’s appreciation, but Cole didn’t want anyone mistaking her for a whore. Even if she was one.

  “I need to talk to you about that thing we discussed,” Cole said.

  Jigsaw had no idea what he meant.

  “In private,” Cole added, glancing at Mia. “Sorry, babe. It’ll only take a minute.”

  She took off his helmet and smoothed her hair. Although she wore a cool expression, he could tell she was nervous.

  Jigsaw led the way to his back office, which was next to the bathroom. Cole said he had to use the toilet and ducked inside. It was a no-frills space with a buzzing fluorescent light. As soon as he shut the door, he shrugged out of his cut and examined the surface. When he found nothing out of the ordinary, relief coursed through him. He was getting as paranoid as his uncle.

  Then his fingertips brushed over a foreign object, and he froze.

  What. The. Fuck.

  There was a tiny black square between his patch and the bottom rocker. Cole peeled off the square, his jaw clenched tight. It resembled a computer chip or camera card. He knew exactly what it was—a listening device.

  Mia had fucking bugged him.

  Cole dropped the offending object into the toilet and flushed, holding his rage at bay. He’d unleash it soon. Very soon.

  When he came out, Jigsaw was standing there.

  “I need a trade-in,” Cole said. “Do you have anything fast?”

  Jigsaw crossed his arms over his chest. “Is yours hot?”

  Cole reached for his money clip and took out five hundred dollars. “The bike is clean, but the police will be looking for me. Just give me any piece of shit in here and let me borrow your bolt cutters.”

  “Bolt cutters? Are you high?”

  Cole waited, holding the money up.

  Jigsaw accepted the cash, with reluctance, and the deal was done. They walked back toward the work space. “You can have this old girl,” he said, patting a beat-up Harley. “She’s not pretty, but she runs.”

  Cole retrieved his backpack from the seat compartment and gave it to Mia. She looked pale and scared, just as she should. As soon as he used the bolt cutters to break free of the ankle monitor, all bets were off. He would be a fugitive from justice. It wasn’t the best spot to be in, but he had few alternatives. Vargas was out of control. Cole wouldn’t be surprised if the cop had been planning to leak evidence of Cole’s informant status and let his uncle kill him. Then Vargas could arrest Bill for murder. Motherfucker.

  Cole couldn’t allow Vargas to use Mia against him, either. If Cole was going to die, he was going to die on his own terms. He’d be a thorn in Vargas’s side, lighting a match to his shitty investigation.

  Jigsaw found his bolt cutters and handed them to Cole. “How much time do you have?”

  “After I use these? I don’t know. Minutes, maybe seconds.”

  “I guess I’ll go for a spin on your bike,” Jigsaw said, stroking his beard. “You can leave out the back.”

  “I appreciate it,” Cole said.

  Jigsaw shrugged. “If I’m going to get shaken down, I’d rather be on the street. My old lady will kick my ass if the cops come here and wake up the baby.”

  Mia moistened her lips, glancing back and forth between them.

  “What about her?” Jigsaw asked.

  “She’s coming with me.”

  Jigsaw spoke directly to Mia. “Are you sure about that, honey?”

  Cole couldn’t fault his friend for giving her the choice. Jigsaw was following the Dirty Eleven code of conduct, and this was his garage. Cole wasn’t going to fight Jigsaw for the right to take Mia by force.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  Jigsaw grabbed a half helmet and put it on. “Well, hell. I think yo
u’re both crazy, but I’m a little jealous of this outlaw adventure.”

  “Don’t be,” Cole said. “You’ve got a good thing going here.”

  Jigsaw looked around at his shop. Maybe Cole’s life seemed exciting to a married man with a baby. But Cole would trade places with Jigsaw in a heartbeat. He’d trade a hot threesome for a stable relationship, and a wild escape for a safe haven.

  “If they spot me and put the lights on, I’m pulling over,” Jigsaw warned. “I might not be able to buy you much time.”

  “I understand,” Cole said. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Nah, I want to. Fuck the police.”

  Jigsaw went inside the house to get his cut. He was about the same height as Cole, and they were wearing similar clothing. Although the beard set them apart, it was dark outside, and Jigsaw had a helmet on. If Cole was lucky, the cops would follow Jigsaw.

  Cole rolled up his pant leg and the neoprene muffler. Then he mounted the Harley with Mia and started the engine. When Jigsaw handed him the bolt cutters, Cole took a deep breath and sliced through the metal band around his ankle.

  Freedom.

  The device clattered to the concrete. It didn’t emit an alarm, but a red light flashed in warning.

  “Good luck,” Jigsaw said. “Hang on tight, honey.”

  As Mia wrapped her arms around him, Cole tapped his fist against his Dirty Forever patch in salute. Jigsaw did the same. Then he climbed on the other bike and took off. Cole toed up the kickstand and went through the back door, flooring it the opposite direction. He didn’t turn on his headlamp. Staying on the side streets, he headed toward the bridge on Dillon Road. It led to a long straightaway where he could pick up speed and get the hell out of town. He’d almost reached the bridge when he spotted a black-and-white in the distance.

  They were already after him.

  “Fuck,” he said, executing a sharp maneuver that made Mia scream. He braked and drove down the gravel embankment, stopping under the bridge. His heart hammered as Mia’s fingertips skimmed the back of his cut. She was searching for the bug. When he squinted over his shoulder at her, she flinched.

  She was an outlaw now, just like him. He’d chosen this path, and he’d brought Mia along for the ride. If she hadn’t betrayed him, he’d feel bad about risking her safety this way. As it stood, he felt nothing but cold fury and dark anticipation. He was going to fuck her twice as hard as she’d fucked him.

  Knowing her, she’d enjoy it.

  The police car roared over the bridge and kept going. Taking a deep breath, Cole shrugged out of his cut. He should have taken it off at Jigsaw’s, but he hadn’t thought about it. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “In my purse.”

  “Give it to me.”

  She twisted at the waist to give him access to the backpack. He found her purse and fished out her phone, tossing it into the gravel at his feet.

  “Anything else I should know about?”

  “Like what?”

  “Other devices. What the fuck do you think?”

  Her lips thinned with displeasure. “There’s nothing.”

  He shoved her purse into his backpack, along with his cut, and secured the zipper. Then they were ready to rock ‘n’ roll. He charged up the embankment and hung a left on Dillon Road. He went fast, and not just because he had to. He did it to scare her. He wanted her to be terrified, and he embraced that twisted desire. She locked her arms around him, trembling.

  They left Indio and sped toward Desert Hot Springs, entering a remote area that resembled a ghost town. There were abandoned buildings on both sides of the road, including a coin-op Laundromat that had been closed for ten years.

  Cole pulled up to the Laundromat and drove through the open door. He’d come here a few times to do deals. It resembled a barn or an aircraft hangar, made from aluminum. The interior had been gutted of useful items, but there were some old washing machines inside. A few metal carts and empty sink basins. He parked by a laundry table, cutting the engine.

  The building didn’t have a door, so he moved an aluminum panel in front of the space. Then he blocked it with a washing machine. Moonlight filtered in through a few torn places in the roof, but there were no windows.

  No way out.

  Mia watched him barricade the exit. She stood frozen in place, glancing around warily. “Now what, we hide?”

  He shook his head as he walked toward her. “Now you talk.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MIA WASN’T AFRAID of Cole.

  Not really.

  She didn’t think he’d hurt a woman, any woman, but she’d never seen him like this. He’d disregarded her personal safety on the ride over. Maybe he’d disregard his moral code and the Dirty Eleven rules, as well.

  He must have gotten rid of the listening device in the shop and not said anything to his friend about it. Jigsaw might not have let Cole take her away if he’d known about the bug. Whatever Cole had planned for her, it wasn’t good. They weren’t here to play outlaws for a sexual thrill.

  This was real.

  And she’d come along willingly. She’d read his anger loud and clear. She was aware of the risks. Accompanying him on this renegade trip wasn’t just foolhardy, it was dangerous. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed. Probably because she was crazy, and getting crazier every minute. She couldn’t bear the thought of their affair ending with her betrayal.

  He came toward her, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he unbuckled his belt. He slid it from the denim loops and placed it on the surface of a washing machine. Like a snake waiting to strike. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  She took a step back and bumped into a folding table. There was nowhere to go. “What’s the hard way?”

  He smiled without humor. “Take off your clothes.”

  Mia didn’t want to tell him that she’d planned to seduce him and manipulate him, or that she’d been blackmailed by Damon. Cole would be crushed by the extent of her deception. He’d also want to kill Damon. If she started talking, he’d keep asking questions, and everything would spill out, including the fact that she was in love with him. But he wouldn’t believe it. He’d think she’d been lying to him all along. It was better to stay silent.

  And submit.

  She’d fantasized about this. Him using her roughly. Holding her down or tying her up. She craved his dark punishment, and she wanted to see how far he would take it. How hard he’d push. Holding his gaze, she removed her boots and jeans. Then she unbuttoned her vest and let it fall, revealing the leather corset.

  His eyes glinted with hunger. After a moment of deliberation, he reached into his backpack for a shop rag and a bottle of water. Dampening the rag, he wiped down the dusty folding table behind her. He inspected the structure and must have deemed it acceptable for his purposes, because he patted the clean surface. She boosted herself up on the edge, which was about the same height as a washing machine or kitchen countertop.

  He knelt to peel off her trouser socks, which were thin and black. When he tied one around each wrist, forming a pair of silky cuffs, Mia moistened her lips, uneasy. He was going to do wicked things to her to make her talk. She didn’t know if she could withstand the erotic torture. She might enjoy it, like the hard spanking he’d delivered the other night. Or she might squirm and cry and beg him to stop.

  Her blood pounded in her veins and a beat pulsed between her legs, heavy and hot. Her nipples pebbled against the leather cups of her corset.

  Cole glanced around the shadowy interior, removing a knife from his boot. Instead of slicing off her panties, he cut the electrical cords from two different machines and came forward, studying the table legs.

  She inhaled a sharp breath as he threaded the cord through the cuff at her left wrist. Then he looped it around her knee and tied it to the table leg. He repeated the motion on the right side, spreading her thighs wide. In two efficient minutes, she was completely unable to move. Her hands were tied to her knees, which were
tied to the table.

  He didn’t ask if she was comfortable. She wasn’t. The electrical cord bit into her tender skin on the inside of her thighs, but that was a minor discomfort. With her legs pulled open and bound tight, she felt intensely vulnerable. Exposed, even with her panties on. The skimpy lace strip barely covered the lips of her sex, and she was wet. Her body apparently hadn’t gotten the message that she was scared and uncertain.

  Once she was secure, he set up the scene. He turned on the headlamp, flooding her with light. Then he took her purse out of his backpack and rifled through it, studying each item. Stoking her tension.

  “Mia Russo,” he said, reading her driver’s license.

  “You knew Richards wasn’t my real name.”

  He held the card between his fingertips. “Neither is Russo.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  He left the cards on the surface of the washing machine and looked in the change purse, where she’d tucked a few bobby pins. He found something else: a single-use packet of lube.

  “What’s this for?”

  She’d bought the lube weeks ago and forgotten all about it. She’d planned to use it to mimic arousal, which clearly hadn’t been necessary. “I’m sure you know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s for...anal.”

  “You’d let me fuck you in the ass?”

  She squirmed against the bindings, reluctant to say yes. She had limited experience with that particular act, and she couldn’t say she wanted him to initiate her further. He was big and it would hurt.

  He smirked, as if reading her mind. “I’m not in the mood for slow and gentle, so I hope you like it rough there, too.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Have you been using this to get your pussy wet?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re a fucking liar,” he growled, stepping forward. He clamped his hand across her throat, his thumb pressing against her vein. “If I still had the bug you attached to my cut, I’d shove that up your ass.”