Come on, motherfucker. Come and get me.
“Janelle?”
She couldn’t see his face, backlit by the starry night.
“Janelle? It’s me.”
It was Ace. His voice was calm and steady, as if he hadn’t just shot a man. She left the bottles in the dark and stepped forward. “Ace?”
“I’m here.”
Tears filled her eyes at the words. He was here. This wasn’t a drift-conjured dream or a figment of her imagination. He’d come for her. He’d killed for her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said, smothering a sob. “Just scared.”
He hadn’t brought any rope with him, so he used his flannel shirt, extending it to her like a lifeline. She held on tight while he pulled her up. When she reached the opening, he readjusted his grip and helped her climb through. The surface of an old water tank wasn’t a safe place for a tearful reunion, so she restrained herself. Once they reached the ground, she threw her arms around him, weeping openly.
He allowed the embrace, but only for a few seconds. “We have to go.”
She wiped her cheeks and nodded, skirting around the dead body. He climbed behind the wheel of the pickup while she took the passenger side. Then they were driving away from Dos Cabezas like a bat out of hell. The demon eyes on the water tank seemed to follow them. She curled up into a little ball on the passenger side of the truck.
And everything faded.
She didn’t rouse until he grasped her shoulder, nudging her into a more alert state. “We have to get out now.”
He’d parked in some bushes behind a tattered billboard. Dawn painted the edge of the sky in a rosy hue, signaling the end of the longest night in her life. She exited the vehicle and took his hand. They strode toward the deserted highway, sharing his last cigarette.
“Did anyone touch you?” he asked.
She shook her head.
After about a mile, a trucker picked them up. They traveled along the 111, which flanked the west side of the Salton Sea. The trucker dropped them off in Bombay Beach, at Ace’s request. They walked another mile to a run-down hotel. He paid for a room with cash, writing down a fake name in the guestbook.
As soon as they were inside the room, Janelle used the phone to call Jamie. He was getting ready for school.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m with Ace.”
He made a long-suffering sound, as if Janelle stayed out all night often.
“Come straight home this afternoon, okay?”
“Okay,” he replied, and hung up.
She was glad to hear his voice, despite his cranky attitude. He was safe, and that was the only thing that mattered.
“Is there any chance they’ll go after him?” she asked Ace.
“I don’t think so. Jester’s never mentioned him, and MCs don’t target kids. It’s against the rules.”
Janelle wasn’t reassured by his answer. Jester didn’t play by the rules. He was a dangerous psychopath with no conscience. She planned to get home before school let out and watch Jamie like a hawk until this ordeal was over.
But when would it be over?
Ace stretched out on the bed and tucked his hands behind his head. His jaw was tense, mouth drawn. This would never be over for him. He’d killed at least one member of White Lightning. They would never let him walk away.
Janelle had no idea where he could go from here, but she knew they were done. His enemies had used her as a pawn. She wouldn’t risk her life, or her son’s life, to have a fling with a dangerous criminal. It didn’t matter how hot he was, or how good he made her feel. It didn’t even matter that she was falling for him.
She thought she’d loved Shane, and maybe she had. But they’d both been crazy teenagers, moody and volatile. Their relationship had been toxic. They’d brought out the worst in each other.
Ace wasn’t good for her, either. Janelle had to be honest with herself about his appeal. There was more between them than amazing chemistry and compatible dysfunctions. Being with him was exciting, but it also soothed her soul and helped knit some of the broken pieces inside her. She didn’t know why her heart had picked him, of all people. It wasn’t fair for something so wrong to feel so right.
“What were you going to say on the phone last night?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “That I’d miss you.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
She figured that he’d brought her here to say goodbye. This was it. Their last chance to be together before he disappeared.
“How did they get you?”
“I went to my trailer to pick up some things.”
“What things?”
“The cuffs.”
His eyes darkened with understanding. The cuffs were just a cheap novelty item, but they reminded her of him, and of their explosive sexual encounters.
She looked away, studying the hotel room. The décor was outdated, with sun-faded orange curtains and threadbare carpet. At least everything appeared clean, if not new. There was a mirror directly across from the large bed.
He followed her gaze, arching a brow.
“I need a shower,” she said.
“So do I.”
His hands were stained with blood. There were dried droplets in a spray across his tattooed knuckles. S-L-A-B on the right. C-I-T-Y on the left. She assumed the blood wasn’t gunshot spatter. He’d been busy.
“How did you find me?”
He told her about his visit with Pigpen.
“I have to call Tiffany,” she said, horrified by the tale.
“I already did.”
“When?”
“When I was driving. She’s home and she’s fine.”
Janelle relaxed at this news. She must have really been out of it. She’d missed the entire conversation.
“Have you two ever...”
“No,” she said, reading his mind.
“Why not?”
“Have you ever screwed one of your friends?”
“I don’t have any friends.”
“Your biker buddies, then?”
“No, I haven’t. But I like the idea of you with Tiffany after I’m gone.”
The suggestion that he wasn’t coming back brought tears to her eyes. His possessive male-fantasy scenario was sad, and a little sexist, but honest as always. “I don’t want Tiffany, so you’ll just have to stay.”
“I wish I could.”
She rose from the bed, hugging her arms around herself. She couldn’t bear to talk about him leaving. She’d been through enough in the past twenty-four hours. If he wasn’t going to stick around and be her man, he’d better fuck her like the world was ending. Because that’s how she felt. Like her world was ending.
She removed her clothes and turned on the shower. He joined her in the stall. At first his touch was caring, rather than sexual. He washed her hair and inspected her for bruises. She returned the favor, lathering his armpits, exploring his soap-slick chest. His penis thickened at her touch. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking.
He removed her hand and turned her around, facing away from him. Then he lifted both of her arms over her head, holding them trapped against the tile. She didn’t think he’d enter her without a condom, and he didn’t. He just rubbed his cock against her ass, sliding between her buttocks, nudging her there as if he wanted in. She wouldn’t let him—he was way too big for that—but the stimulation turned her on. She went up on tiptoe and tilted her hips, practically begging for his cock. He cupped her slippery breasts, toying with her pert nipples. Then he moved his hand down her belly and stroked her clit with soapy fingers. She groaned, widening her stance. He continued to drive her crazy with his
cock and fingertips, teasing her ass and clit at the same time.
“If I had some lube, I’d fuck your ass,” he said.
She might have been tempted to try it. Even with lube, she imagined the act would be painful. They stayed in the shower until the water turned lukewarm and she started trembling. Not from cold, but from desire.
She wanted to get fucked. Hard.
They toweled off and headed to the bed. His cock bobbed up to his flat belly, stiff and ruddy. She moistened her lips at the sight, eager to suck him. Her nipples were pebbled, her pussy hot and wet.
“Do you need me to tie you up?” he asked.
“Yes.” God yes. That was exactly what she needed. For him to restrain her, to use her roughly, to consume her.
“I only have my belt.”
She put her arms in front of her body, wrists together. He wrapped the leather belt around them four times, fastening it tight. She couldn’t get out of this herself. Allowing him so much control required a huge leap of faith.
“Okay?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, nodding.
“Lay down. I have another idea.”
She sat on the edge of the mattress and then stretched out on her back with her arms over her head. The belt was snug, but it felt good against her skin. Her pulse pounded against the leather, strong and sure. He picked up her bra, which was made of stretchy black lace, and came forward. Grasping her ankle, he urged her left knee toward her chest. Then he looped one of the bra straps around her foot, hitching it up her thigh. He slid the fabric behind her neck and looped the other bra strap around her right leg.
Janelle couldn’t believe how simple, yet effective, the makeshift bondage was. She could squeeze her legs together but not straighten them. Her knees were bent, her pussy exposed for his pleasure.
She felt vulnerable and uneasy and aroused beyond belief. But she didn’t say cowboy. She just looked at him. He was staring at her pussy as if it was his pretty plaything, his prized possession. His gaze moved to her suspended legs and bound wrists before settling on her face. He trailed his fingertips down her cheek and she shivered with anticipation.
“Fuck me.”
He smiled, because he wouldn’t. Not yet. He was going to draw this out, to toy with her pussy and make her come. Enjoying her predicament, he leaned over her and kissed her lips. His tongue delved into her hungry mouth. Her pulse fluttered in her neck, her wrists. Every heartbeat pounded with the same need.
Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.
His fingers dipped into her pussy, sliding in and out. She was very wet, and his eyes blazed with approval. He licked her moisture from his fingertips and buried them deep again. Then he fed her his fingers. It wasn’t his cock, but she sucked just as greedily.
This game went on the same way the shower teasing had. He kissed her, admired her, finger-fucked her, pinched her stiff nipples. Her clit was a tight bead, throbbing for attention. Finally he lowered himself to the task, closing his mouth over her. A few hot licks would have finished her, so he focused his attention everywhere but her clit. His tongue dipped into her pussy and flicked over her ass.
She wept for release, reduced to begging.
He rose once again and positioned himself between her legs, with his hands on her bent knees. Holding her in place, he slid his cock back and forth over her slick pussy. She quivered and moaned, so close to coming, but so far away. His slippery cockhead wasn’t going to send her over the edge.
“I want to feel that hot pussy, squeezing my bare cock,” he panted. “I want to get my cock wet with you.”
She hadn’t engaged in unprotected sex since her teen pregnancy. It wasn’t a good idea, but she was at the end of her cycle, so the risk was minimal. She’d do anything to end this sweet torment. If he didn’t fuck her, she’d die.
“Yes,” she said, arching her spine. “Do it.”
He yanked the bra straps off her legs, his movements impatient. She was glad for his loss of control, and more than ready for him to fill her up. Instead of plunging into her, he moved the action to the edge of the bed. Sitting directly in front of the mirror, he brought her into his lap, reverse cowgirl style. Her legs were splayed wide, her knees draped over his. He raised her arms, hooking them around his head so she could cling to his neck. Then he lowered her onto his cock, inch by inch.
They both groaned at the sensation. She could practically hear the sizzle between them. His cock filled her swollen sheath, all the way to the hilt. She gripped him like a sucking mouth, her pussy stretched taut.
He slid her up and down, slowly. She studied their reflection, her gaze half-lidded. They made an extremely pornographic picture. Her pussy lips flared around the base of his cock. When he paused to pinch her nipples, she moaned, her inner muscles clenching around the thick base of his shaft.
He kissed the nape of her neck and patted her clit with his fingertips. “Look at your sweet little cunt, taking me so deep.”
“Please,” she said, her teeth clenched. “Make me come.”
He rubbed her clit in firm circles, meeting her eyes in the mirror. His breath fanned her ear and he whispered dirty things about how tight and wet her pussy was, how pretty and bare and slippery-hot.
She exploded in a brilliant rush, bucking and shuddering on his gorgeous cock. The orgasm struck like lightning, shattering her into a thousand pieces. Her vision blurred and her skin felt electric, showered with hot sparks. She screamed like a banshee. Moisture drizzled from her pussy, all over his cock and down his balls.
When she was finished, he shoved her facedown on the bed and hammered his cock into her, over and over again. She couldn’t hold herself up with her wrists bound, so she didn’t try. She just lay flat on her belly and let him use her. He gripped her hair and pounded her pussy, skewering her on his rigid length. He drove deep and hard, almost as if he wanted to break her. To ruin her for anyone else.
He pulled out to come, in his typical fashion. He spread her ass cheeks wide and pressed his cock against her, spurting all over her with a strangled groan. She felt the hot jets painting her buttocks, dripping into her ass.
Then he collapsed on her, sweaty and spent. His cock softened but he didn’t pull away from her. She looked over her shoulder at him, arching her spine. He played with her come-drenched ass languidly, sliding his penis between her buttocks.
She was too satisfied to move, too blissed-out to think. She wanted to promise him her ass if he came back someday, but she didn’t. Begging him to fuck her was one thing. Begging him for a return visit was pathetic.
“Untie me,” she mumbled.
He removed the belt from her wrists and frowned at the red marks. “I didn’t know this was hurting you.”
“I didn’t mind.”
He massaged her skin until the creases faded. Then he rose from the bed and came back with a warm, wet towel. He wiped her buttocks and the crease of her ass, sliding the nubby towel over her sensitive skin. Then he rolled her over and gave her pussy the same special treatment. She felt deliciously swollen and well-fucked. He bent his head to her and licked her pussy, kissing and caressing her tender flesh. Soothing her.
She didn’t think she could come again, but she did. She came without drifting, without panic, without restraints. She came with her pussy mashed against his mouth, her legs spread wide and her hands buried in his hair.
He gentled her with his tongue. Savoring her.
She thought he might leave her then, but he didn’t. He turned off the lights and curled up behind her, enveloping her in his strength and warmth. He held her as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go until the very last minute.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Although he’d been up all night, Ace couldn’t sleep.
He wanted to stay awake with her and memorize every detail. She drifted of
f for an hour or two, cozy in the cradle of his arms. He buried his nose in her hair, detecting the scent of starchy hotel sheets and cheap shampoo. It usually smelled like cigarettes and Aqua Net, but he loved it either way. He loved her in her trashy makeup, flashing her tits onstage. He loved her in her cowboy boots and worn denim, her face beautiful and bare.
He loved her. Period.
His heart stalled in his chest at this realization. He didn’t do love. He’d been with a lot of women, especially in his early twenties, and none of them had inspired tender feelings. He’d never even loved the mother of his child. His emotions were broken.
Or they had been, before Janelle.
He didn’t know how he’d fallen in love with her. They had no basis for a relationship. Driving by her trailer and stalking her didn’t count as quality bonding. Neither did holding her hostage. But he’d felt a stirring of interest the first time he’d seen her, and that stirring had grown into full-blown fascination after he’d taken her captive. His body turned electric when they touched, his senses on high alert. He’d recognized that there was something inside her, like a puzzle piece that fit something inside him.
He wasn’t sure what to do with these feelings, now that he’d identified them. Love didn’t change this situation. It wouldn’t erase any of the wrongs he’d done or fix his problems. He couldn’t tell Janelle that he loved her, either. What good would that do? He didn’t want to see her cry. She didn’t deserve more pain and suffering because of him.
She roused beside him, as if sensing his tension. “What’s wrong?”
He rolled onto his back and tucked his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. He was afraid she’d be able to look into his eyes and guess his thoughts. It was disconcerting. Usually he had complete confidence in his poker face. When there were no feelings to hide, appearing unaffected was easy.
She curled up by his side, resting her head on his biceps. “Did you really mean what you said about having no friends?”
He always meant what he said. “Yes.”
“The MC guys aren’t your friends?”
Shooting Dirty Page 22