by Joanna Wylde
“Been spendin’ a lot of time there,” I said casually.
“Nothin’ quite like pussy,” he replied, pulling up his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face. He’d acquired some new ink inside, of varying quality. “Went a long time without, gotta make up for that.”
I nodded, although it wasn’t entirely the truth. He might not’ve gotten the one he wanted, but he hadn’t gone without, either. Got me thinking.
“How’s the baby?”
Bolt snorted.
“What baby? Startin’ to doubt it was real.”
Damn.
“So Maggs left you over nothin’?”
“No, she left me because I cheated on her. Now that cunt Gwen says she lost the kid—assuming she was actually knocked up in the first place. I don’t know what to believe about that anymore.”
I stilled.
“You think she wasn’t really pregnant?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, taking another drink. “At least I’m rid of the bitch, so I guess that’s something. And tonight I’ll get laid, so life is good.”
I nodded slowly, knowing life was anything but good for my club brother. He missed the hell out of his old lady. We all did. She’d been solid the entire time he was gone, stood by him when he went down in the first place and then worked day and night to bring him home again. Women like that weren’t easy to find.
“You wanna come with me?” Bolt asked. “Get laid. Clear your brain.”
“Yeah.” Bolt was right—The Line was a great place to find no-strings snatch, which was exactly what I needed. If I spent one more night jerking off while imagining London, I’d have to shoot myself. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of those tits, the way she’d melted under my touch.
Did she have pink nipples or brown?
Maybe Evans was sucking on them right now. Fucker wasn’t working this weekend. Already checked, even tried to get Bud to call him in, but the bastard had taken personal leave and not even the sheriff could cancel that. Not without a state of emergency.
Probably spending that time with London. Comforting her.
Maybe even fuckin’ her right at this minute.
I imagined slowly strangling the man, watching his face turn purple and his eyes bulge while his legs kicked and bucked in desperation. Nothin’ fucked up about that, right?
Christ, but I wanted inside that woman.
Knew from the minute I’d seen her six months ago she’d be the end of me. Put her off bounds that same night, although I’d been hell-bent on staying away from her. Women like that were trouble—definitely not club whore material, which meant she’d probably get all pissy about a one-night stand, and not in the market to be an old lady, either. Nope, women like her wanted picket fences and nine-to-five husbands so pussy-whipped they forgot their own names.
Add in the fact that she was the first reliable cleaner we’d found in nearly three years? Recipe for disaster.
Now I’d hit uncharted territory, because I’d tasted her and the taste wasn’t going away—time to face reality. Sooner or later I’d take her, and that fuckwad of a boyfriend wasn’t going to get in my way. Hell, if she knew all the games he was playing, she’d get down on her knees and beg me to step in.
The image of her down on her knees … now that was a thing of beauty.
Maybe I should blow off The Line, track her down. Evans was the biggest problem—so far as she knew, he was still Prince Charming. I’d planted the seed, but now I had to step back, wait for him to fuck things up.
He would, of course.
Man like that could only pretend for so long. London needed to see his shit for herself, otherwise she’d always wonder, which would be damned inconvenient for me.
Fuck me … Why should I give a shit about her regrets?
Losing my damned mind.
“I’ll hit the strip club with you,” I told Bolt. “See if the brothers want to join us. Been a while since we all went out.”
Bolt grunted and we climbed into the truck, big diesel engine roaring to life. I felt the weight of the trailer tug at the rig as I started cautiously down the mountain. By the time we hit the halfway mark my phone came to life, pinging as the messages and texts I’d gotten while we were out of range downloaded.
“Shit, sounds like Grand Central,” Bolt said, raising a brow. “You think we got a problem?”
I slowed the truck to a stop in the center of the narrow logging road, grabbing the phone for a quick look. First up was a text from Horse saying we needed to talk—maybe news from the south? Seemed like we heard new stories about the cartel every day now. They were plowing through the Devil’s Jacks’ territory way too fast, which was very bad news for the Reapers. The Jacks were our buffer zone, the first line of defense against the southern gangs.
But Horse’s message wasn’t what really caught my attention.
Nope.
The fact that London Armstrong had called three times and left two voice mails stopped me dead in my tracks. I hit the button.
“Hello, Mr. Hayes,” she said, voice strained but still full of that strange formality she used to distance herself. Fuckin’ ridiculous—I’d sucked on her lips and dug my fingers into her ass. Time to start using first names. Instead of pissing me off, though, it kind of turned me on. ’Course everything she did turned me on.
“It’s London. I have a favor to ask—do you think you could ask around about Jessica? See if maybe she’s gotten in touch with anyone in your club? She was pretty angry Friday night after you left. In fact, she took off. I thought she’d come back by now, but she hasn’t.”
She hesitated, then spoke again, her voice shaking. “I’m starting to get worried.”
Fucking great. Not enough that the little brat got herself into constant trouble—now she had to go running off, too? I seriously doubted that she’d talked to anyone at the club. They all knew she was hands off, not than anyone gave a shit. Girls like her came and went, and nobody paid much attention. If one disappeared, there was always another to take her place.
London was in a different class and I didn’t like the idea of her worrying. Woman had enough shit to deal with already. I hit play on the second message, which she’d only left about half an hour ago. This time she dropped the pretense of formality.
“Reese, I’m really worried about Jess. Can you call or message me? I know things are … awkward … between us, but I’d like to rule out whether she’s with someone from the club. Nobody has seen her.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, then glanced over at Bolt. “Give me a sec?”
He nodded and I stepped out of the truck, hitting the callback button. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Reese?”
Her voice was tense, but I still liked the sound of my name on her tongue. Of course, it’d sound sweeter if she was screaming it into a pillow while I pounded her from behind. Funny how that worked.
“Got your messages, sweetheart,” I said. “I’ll check with the brothers, but if she’d shown up at the Armory, they would’ve told me. They know she’s not supposed to be out there.”
“You don’t think she could’ve gone to someone’s house?” she asked, her voice tentative. “Maybe one of those men we found her with the other night?”
“No way. Painter and Banks wouldn’t touch her, not after I put her off-limits. Hate to break it to you, but she’s nothing special. Not worth a fight at the club.”
“I see,” she said, although she probably didn’t. Outsiders never did.
“What does Deputy Dick have to say? He helpin’ you out?”
She made a strange, strangled noise, which she tried to cover with a cough.
“Nate told me kids her age take off all the time and not to worry about it. And no, he’s not around. I’ve only talked to him once—he didn’t return my calls yesterday, and he’s working this morning. I guess they’ve got a lot going on this weekend. Mandatory overtime.”
Lying asshole. What kind of game was he playing with her? My inner
caveman decided it didn’t matter. Fuck safety, and fuck picket fences. London Armstrong obviously couldn’t take care of herself, which meant someone needed to step in and fix this shit. If that meant claiming her, so be it. As for Evans, I’d put that fucker in the ground a hundred miles from the nearest town with a clear conscience the next time he decided to play games.
Proud of you, baby, Heather murmured.
I growled, because my dead wife didn’t get a vote. If she really cared about me, she wouldn’t have died. And London? I’d had enough of her shit, too. That bitch was gonna be mine and I didn’t share.
You do realize you’re crazy, right?
At least crazy worked for me. Always had.
“Reese? Are you okay?”
Shit. Poor woman was scared and alone, and now I was growling at her because I’d lost my fucking mind, apparently. I rubbed my chin, thinking quickly. I needed to play things smart, nudge her in the right direction if I wanted to do this right. All Evans really needed was enough rope to hang himself. He’d do the rest for me …
“There’s some truth to what he said,” I said, trying to sound somewhat sane and sympathetic. “Although it’s not exactly a comfort. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ve already talked to all her friends. I can’t imagine where she went.”
“She’s probably holed up with some boy somewhere. Jess is a pretty girl—wouldn’t be hard for her to find someone to take her in.”
“She would’ve told one of her friends, though. None of them have heard from her.”
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose, torn between laughter, frustration, and a hint of crazed exaltation. Christ, but London was naive. No idea how she’d pulled that off at her age, but there was no question the woman was clueless. I wondered if that cluelessness extended to her sexual experience, too. Might be fun to teach her new things. Of course, if she already had some tricks, that’d be nice, too.
“They won’t tell you, honey. They’ll cover for her because that’s what teenage girls do.”
“Maybe most of them, but not Melanie,” London said. “She’s the one Jessica relies on the most, and she’s completely freaked out. Said she got some weird text from her about heading south.”
“What’s down south?”
“Nothing that I can think of,” London said. “I mean, the last time I heard from her mother, she was living near San Diego, but I can’t imagine she’d lift a finger for Jess, let alone invite her to come and stay with her. Amber is a selfish bitch who doesn’t want the men in her life to know she’s old enough to have an adult daughter. Jess doesn’t have the money to get down there anyway.”
“You want me to come over?” I asked her, and in that moment my intentions were almost decent. Didn’t like her being scared, and not even I was such a dick that I’d use her little cousin running away to fuck her. Probably. Maybe.
Who was I kidding? Of course I would.
“Why?”
“So you aren’t alone,” I said. “I have daughters, remember? They’re good kids but sometimes it’s hell—that’s when things are going right. I’ll grab some food and we can hang out for a while, help pass the time. Unless you have other plans?”
“I was planning to pace and look at my phone,” she murmured. “It’s a bad idea, I think.”
“You can pace and look at your phone while we eat. I’ll be over around seven, need to unload my truck and get a shower first. Sound good?”
“I don’t know … I don’t want anything happening between us, Reese. Seriously.”
“I’ll behave,” I told her. Unlikely. “And try calling your cousin, see if she’s heard anything. Never hurts to check.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding defeated.
I hung up and climbed back into the truck, considering the situation. No idea where the kid was, but Nate Evans was sure as hell making things easy for me.
Fuckin’ idiot to leave his woman open and ripe for the taking.
London needed sympathy, someone to take care of her. Dumbass should’ve picked up on that. Of course, Deputy Dick didn’t have a reputation for being the most sensitive of guys. He’d put the pressure on more than one of our dancers during late-night “traffic stops” before we’d come to an understanding about his behavior.
We’d come to an understanding about London, too. Soon.
“All good?” Bolt asked.
“Good enough,” I told him. “Gotta bail on tonight, though. Something came up.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Both. Stopping by to see London Armstrong.”
Bolt grinned. “I knew you were into her.”
“Not exactly a secret I’m lookin’ to fuck her.”
“That what you’ll be doing tonight? Fuckin’ her?”
I laughed, because I honestly had no idea. Last time I’d felt this way, I’d been eighteen years old and crazy over Heather.
“Depends. She’s havin’ a shitty weekend. Not sure what the best strategy is just yet.”
“Usually your strategy involves getting them naked and then pushing them out the door.”
“The situation with London is a little more complicated than that,” I admitted.
“Is this the point where I sing the little song about Pic and London sittin’ in a tree?”
“Only if you want the tree shoved up your ass.”
“Might be worth it,” Bolt said, his voice sly. I flipped him off, suddenly in a very good mood.
No fool like an old one, I guess, but damned if I didn’t feel like I was eighteen all over again.
LONDON
“I’m her mother—she belongs with me,” Amber declared, her voice smug with triumph. I’d called her knowing Reese had to be wrong. Jessica would never go to Amber, even if she was furious with me. She knew better … But apparently she didn’t.
Nothing made sense anymore.
“I thought you didn’t want your boyfriend to know you’re old enough to have a grown daughter?”
“He knows I got pregnant young.”
“You got pregnant at twenty-two, not twelve.”
She sniffed.
“Did she at least take her health insurance card with her? You have to keep a close eye on her—things can go south so fast. I really think you should send her—”
“Shove it up your ass, Loni,” she said, just like we were in middle school again. I could almost see her rolling her eyes. “I’m sick of your lectures and bullshit. Go back to your boring life cleaning up other people’s shit. I have a maid now, you know. My boyfriend hired her for me. Guess you were wrong about how I’d turn out, hmmm?”
“Can I at least talk to her?”
Instead of replying, Amber hung up. I sighed, studying my phone with mixed emotions. Jess was safe. Somehow she’d gotten a flight down to San Diego, something I would’ve said was impossible. The last time we’d spoken, my cousin made it clear she had no interest in seeing her daughter. None.
It didn’t add up.
I decided to call Nate again, because the more I thought about it, the more suspicious I got. I knew he was working, so I figured I’d have to leave a voice mail. When he answered, it took me off guard.
“Hey Loni—what’s up?”
“I found Jessica,” I told him.
“Well, that’s good news,” he said “Where is she?”
“Down in San Diego with her mother. I didn’t actually talk to her myself. She still isn’t answering her phone.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
I sighed, rubbing my temple. Nate just didn’t seem to feel any urgency about the situation, and it frustrated me.
“Not much of a relief,” I told him. “It doesn’t make sense. Amber is living with some rich boyfriend and she doesn’t want him knowing she has a daughter Jessica’s age. I tried to take Jess to visit her last summer and she wouldn’t let us come. I think Amber is up to something.”
“Hon …” he said, and
his voice was patient, loving, and condescending as hell. “You sound crazy.”
“I’m not crazy,” I snapped.
“I know you’re not,” he replied soothingly. “And that’s why this sounds so crazy, because it’s not like you. I know you’ve given everything for Jessica, but kids pull shit like this all the time. She’s with a family member. At least you know she’s safe, so maybe you should just enjoy the fact that she’s finally out of your hair.”
“She’s not a normal eighteen-year-old,” I insisted, walking toward the kitchen. I found the wine I’d picked up at the store earlier and grabbed my corkscrew. “Her brain doesn’t work right, you know that. And she has health issues. She doesn’t even have a doctor down there.”
“Nobody who’s eighteen years old has a brain that works right,” he said. “You know that—we all know that. Kids are wonderful but they do stupid shit. Sooner or later she’ll call you, ready to apologize. Until then fighting with her is pointless.”
I took a deep swig straight from the bottle, because a glass just seemed like extra work at this point.
“Is there anything you can do to check on her?” I asked, frustrated by his lack of sympathy.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, don’t cops have ways of finding people? Like, calling in favors from old friends or something? I don’t know.”
“I think you’ve been watching too much TV,” he said firmly, his voice going from condescending to annoyed. “We could call in a welfare check, but that’s a waste of time and resources because you already know she’s fine. You have to let this go and I have to get back to work. We’ve started something good here, babe, but I’m not interested in drama. Time to get over this shit.”
He was probably right, but he didn’t need to be a jerk about it.
“Okay,” I said, frowning. “I’m sorry I bothered you at work.”
He didn’t answer for a moment.
“It’s all right. But don’t do it again, okay? Not unless it’s a real emergency. It sucks that things aren’t going like you hoped, but this doesn’t qualify and I’ve got shit going on. I’m hanging up now.”
“Do you still want to try to get together sometime this week?” I asked hesitantly.