For a dizzy minute she thought he was talking about sex. She had had some restless nights recently, thinking about Big Mike and sex.
“We’re taking out the bridge,” he said.
She pushed herself upright, her hand against his chest, needing to look at his face. “I get my life back?” Her agent wanted to meet with her to talk about salvaging something from the wreck of her career. She kept imploring Minnie to stop posting real photographs of her life for her social media followers, but Minnie took savage delight in posting the reality of her trashed life. She had already sent out a picture of her kale shake labeling it a bacon-ass antidote.
“You don’t get the same life back,” he said.
“I know I don’t. I’m jobless. The Delilah’s Intrigue fashion show is tomorrow night and I’m not in it,” Minnie said.
“Not that. I meant that I’m in your life.”
At least one man in this apartment still cared about her ass. And he was so deliciously not-tepid. “Minnie gets to decide,” she reminded him, but she tilted her head up for a kiss.
He obliged.
Chapter Forty
Twenty-four hours had sped by.
The road stretched ahead of Minnie, lit only by the moon. It was quiet. Even the animals were silent. Minnie walked with long, hip-swinging paces. She wasn’t wearing much. Tiny denim shorts, a red silk handkerchief top that left her stomach and back bare, and her Valentino biker boots. She was loaded for bear. Or rather dressed to lure horny TDR guards out of the woods.
Minnie knew Big Mike and two cohorts were watching her from the dark depths of the woods that hemmed in the road. Dudley was about a mile back, guarding their getaway all-terrain vehicles. She put an extra swing in her hips for Big Mike. This wasn’t much different to walking the ramp at the Delilah’s Intrigue show.
She rounded a corner and there it was. The railway bridge leading to TDR’s mid-river headquarters. It was old, nothing more than thick spars high above a river. The water was a boiling mass far below. She slowed as she reached it. What now? Their theory was that any guards hidden in the woods would come out to speak to her. Should she start walking across the bridge?
“You lookin’ for someone, Baby?” a masculine voice accompanied a rustle in the foliage beside her.
A tall man steeped out of a thicket. He was young and wearing a TDR jacket. He smiled at her, his teeth white in the gloom. His hair was dark and his bone structure good. She bet lots of women found him hot. “I hear this is a good place to party,” she said, smiling. She flicked her hair back so the thick, blonde weight of it fell around her shoulders.
His eyes drank her in.
Gotcha.
“How’d you get here?” he said, looking back along the road.
So he wasn’t completely beguiled by her. She must be getting rusty, surrounded by all of those respectful Black-Ops types. “I was with a girlfriend but she got cold feet — bikers make her nervous. She dropped me off and I walked the rest of the way.” She shrugged, knowing it drew attention to her generous cleavage. The cold evening air made her nipples pucker and push against the thin silk of her top. She pulled her shoulders back. His eyes rested on her breasts. “Is the party that way?” she said, pointing her breasts across the bridge.
“You could stay out here with me,” he moved close, his fingers sliding around her hips. She planted a hand on his chest stopping him from pulling her too close. His hands squeezed.
She resisted the urge to knee him in the crotch. “Just the two of us? I was hoping for a little more… attention,” she said delicately.
He grinned. He whistled. Another TDR member appeared. Did they produce them in a factory? He looked just like the one whose hands were assaulting her bottom. They were just like the men she had grown up with, except her family’s vigilance meant they never put their hands on her butt. She was starting to appreciate her protective father and brother a little more.
“Only two of you?” she pursed her mouth in mock-disappointment. “You don’t have another one hidden behind a tree in there?”
“No. Two of us can more than get the job done, Baby,” the biker holding her said.
“She’s not taking applicants for the job,” Big Mike said from behind them. As they turned, two huge arms reached out and crashed their heads together. They crumpled to the ground in an untidy heap.
He loomed over her, dressed in Black-Ops black, his face streaked with black paint, and Minnie waited for the inevitable cosseting and fussing her family would have subjected her to. “Good job,” he said. “Was it fun?”
“Oh yes,” she said, nodding her head vigorously.
“That’s my girl.” He leaned down and lifted one of the bikers up and shook him out of his jacket. “Put this on,” he said, holding out the denim and leather TDR club jacket.
“I can’t wear a rival club’s jacket,” she said.
“Put this on so you don’t get cold and so I can concentrate.”
Since he put it like that… she thrust her arms into the jacket. It was huge on her and hung to her thighs.
The shrubs near them parted and Gage appeared. He was also dressed in black, his face smeared with dark streaks. “There aren’t any bikes parked nearby. I think their rides are inside the compound,” he reported to Big Mike.
The shrubs rustled and Kane appeared. He handed Big Mike a backpack. Minnie had watched them stash the C-4 and detonator caps in the pack, on the kitchen table, earlier.
Kane and Garth picked up a limp TDR biker apiece and started across the bridge. Big Mike took the backpack.
“I’ll be under the bridge,” he said. “Minnie, hide in the woods, a few feet in.”
Minnie did as instructed and backed into the shrubs until she was concealed from the road. Big Mike dropped from sight over the edge of the railway bridge.
From her vantage point, she could see the railway bridge and the road. Kane and Gage had dropped their burdens on the other side of the bridge. They were on the bridge, on the return trip when she heard the growl of approaching bikes. Kane and Gage froze and then turned and sprinted back to the island.
Chapter Forty-One
They were all concealed from sight. The approaching bikers would head over the bridge and then Big Mike, Kane and Gage would reappear and continue their plan to blow up the bridge. Except for the guards. The bikers would expect two guards. The two guards who were now lying unconscious on the island.
A mess of bikes slowed as they neared the bridge. They drew to a halt as the leader held up a hand. He had long grey hair, silvered by the moonlight. He looked around and Minnie was close enough to see the expression on his face. He was frowning. They were moments away from disaster.
Minnie fluffed her hair and stepped out of the woods. “Halt, who goes there?” she said and giggled.
The man at the head of the bikers studied her. She recognized him from photographs that Big Mike had shown her during the planning phase. It was Jerry Groom, the scumbag leader of The Devils Ride. He was supposed to be in his clubhouse on the island. Someone had screwed up.
“Where are John and Gregg?” he said, his voice quiet and creepy.
So she had their names. John and Gregg. And of course she was wearing one of their jackets. “They went to get beer.” She stumbled a little as if she were very drunk. “For a party.”
“You with them?” he asked.
She glanced down at the bridge. Big Mike was under the spars. She knew he could be up over the top of the bridge in moments. And then there would be a bloodbath. She knew just what to say. If she was with both of them, she’d be fair game but if she were owned by one, she’d be safe. But whose jacket was she wearing?
“I’m John’s old lady,” she said. She patted the jacket she wore, praying she had picked the right biker name. A biker’s name was often on the front of his jacket and she hadn’t read it before she donned it.
There was a long moment which seemed to stretch out. The night air was cool against her bare legs. “He needs to get
you a smaller jacket,” one of the men from the back called.
She simpered and giggled like a drunken fool.
Jerry Groom held up his hand and the bikers drove single file across the railroad bridge.
Minnie waved them through.
Chapter Forty-Two
Minnie watched the bikers drive across the bridge. They couldn’t ride more than three abreast so it took a while for them to cross. It creaked under the weight of their bikes. She was conscious of Big Mike, a dark shadow pressed under the supporting spars. The bikers made appreciative comments as they passed her. A few had crude suggestions. Charming. What girl could resist an offer like that? But she smiled until her face ached. Finally the last one made it to land. He looked back. She bunched her fingers at him in a girly wave. He blew her a kiss. She made a show of trapping it in her hand.
The clutch of bikes started to disappear into the woods on the other side, dust billowing up from the dirt road. Big Mike hauled himself up over the top of the bridge. He ran towards her, the sound of his feet on the wooden spars cloaked by the roar of the bikes. Behind him, on the island, the two Black Ops men rose up out of the shrubs and started to run towards her.
They were going to make it. All of them. No blood. No violence. All safe. Big Mike was feet from her when it happened. One of the Black Ops men on the bridge tripped and fell, rolling to the edge of the bridge and over the side. Her face must have signaled her horror because Big Mike stopped and turned. He was close enough so she could hear him curse. He tossed her a small box. “It’s the detonator,” he yelled. “Hit it if the TDR bikers turn back. We’ll drop into the water. We’ll make it.” The roiling water below, mocked his words.
She caught the small box and held it gingerly. There was no way she was going to blow the bridge up with Big Mike and the others still on it. She knew that Big Mike had laid the charges on the side closest to the island, so she wouldn’t be blowing them up, but if the bridge crumbled under their feet they would fall into the water below. They would be swept away in the torrent.
She prayed as he ran back to help his companions. She watched Big Mike and the other dark clad operative reach over the side and haul their man up over the edge. They were crouched on the bridge when she heard the roar of a returning bike. She watched, helpless, as a couple of bikes reappeared from the island road. She had no idea why they had turned back. Maybe because they decided it was open season on her? She knew the instant they spotted Big Mike and his men because they stopped their bikes and yelled over their shoulders to the others in the gang. She could hear other bikes turning in the shelter of the woods, on the island.
“Run,” she yelled at Big Mike. “Run.”
In a roar of sound, the bikers accelerated towards the bridge. Big Mike and his friend were half-carrying the other man between them. He was limping. Minnie held her finger over the button on the detonator.
“Blow it,” Big Mike yelled at her. She saw the strain on his face. “Blow it, Minnie.”
Her finger hovered on the button. Not yet. Not yet. The front wheel of the first bike rolled onto the bridge but Big Mike and his men were still feet away.
“Jump!” she yelled. “Now!” She pressed the button. Nothing happened for a long second and then there was an avalanche of sound. The bridge spars lifted as if a giant hand had reached under them and pushed upward. The first bike fell with the bridge, tumbling into the torrent below. The rider was grabbed and hauled to safety by others behind him. Big Mike and his men landed in the dirt beside her.
“Woohoo,” she yelled. They were safe. Split from the bikers by a river that flowed so fast that nobody would be able to cross it, even if they could get down into the gorge below. She danced in the dirt, waving her fists at the men on the other side of the chasm. “I’d rather fellate a mangy camel than any of you,” she yelled. She raised her top, flashing her bare breasts. Next thing, she was bundled up into a pair of strong arms. She heard the crack of gunfire. Ooops. Big Mike ran with her, for the cover of the woods.
Deep in the dark shelter of the trees, he set her down.
“I forgot they had guns,” she said, abashed.
Big Mike’s men had made it to safety too. They passed, as silent as shadows even though one of them was limping.
“Good job, Minnie,” one of them whispered.
“Yeah. Good job, Minnie,” the other echoed.
Big Mike hauled her into his arms and held her close. “A camel?” Big Mike said, from above her.
“They made lewd suggestions as they drove past me,” she said.
He pressed kisses onto the top of her head. She liked it. She wrapped her arms around his waist and turned her face up for a proper kiss. He obliged. When he released her, she was happily breathless. “Minnie, as per our deal, this was the last crazy thing you’re going to do for the next ten years,” he said.
Minnie felt for and patted his cheek in the dark. “We’ll discuss it. I’m surprised at how good I am at this warrior stuff.” It was so dark that he wasn’t much more than a darker shape above her, but she smiled up at him. He fit her. She was never going to yawn through another dull stockbroker date again. “Enough talk. Home. Naked. Bed,” she said.
She sensed his smile and put her fingers up to trace his mouth. There it was, the Big Mike version of a grin. It was fractionally more than the usual uptilt of the corners of his mouth.
Chapter Forty-Three
Big Mike woke to the sound of his cellphone ringing. He lay there, feeling good. Bone-deep good. The reason for that feeling had already gotten out of bed. He could hear her puttering in the kitchen. Bacon. Mmmm. He sniffed appreciatively. She was noisy. Clattering pans. Singing along to some sparkly pop song. Probably something vapid from Fable.
His phone kept ringing. He answered it. “Yeah.” He yawned and stretched, his foot hitting the end of the bed. Minnie’s bed was too small for him. He’d buy her another. And he needed to find a place to live outside the city. Not too far from Minnie.
“The FBI has released a statement about a major coup for the Organized Crime Program. TDR isn’t going to be a problem anymore.”
“Rocco?” Big Mike said.
“You can spend the rest of the week with your girl. See you at work next Monday. You should check Minnie’s social media feed. Congratulations.” Laughter was followed by a click.
Big Mike sat up in bed, scratching the familiar ridges of his abdominals. What the hell was Rocco talking about? He accessed Minnie’s social media feed from his phone, scrolling through the photographs she had posted since the night at The Oasis. Pictures of her eating bacon. Drinking beer. Self-portraits of her without make-up and with untidy hair. He smiled inside at the one of her pinching a fold of skin on her waist as if showcasing a muffin-top. Followed by a picture of her grimacing over a green, kale shake. She needed to eat a lot more bacon and less kale, to attain a muffin-top.
There it was. The last picture. From this morning.
It was a close-up shot of his naked buttocks in rumpled white sheets.
Minnie had attached three hashtags. As he understood it, on social media networks, hashtags functioned like categories.
#JackHammer
#HappyGirl
#BigMikeandMinnie
He stared at his phone in disbelief. She had thirty million followers.
“Minnie, damnit,” he yelled.
Thirty million people had seen his bare ass.
Minnie appeared in the doorway, her face questioning. “G’morning Handsome.” She was barefoot and naked under his black t-shirt. It came to mid-thigh. She clambered onto the bed behind him and looked at his phone over his shoulder. “That’ll stop Graham Fother and his snide Beauty and the Beast headlines,” she said with satisfaction. “I think that picture has gone viral.”
He didn’t care what Graham Fother said about him, but Minnie did. She wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed it. He tilted his head to give her better access. On the downside, thirty million people,
his new boss and new colleagues had just received a rating of his performance in the sack. On the upside, it was a very flattering rating.
“My agent just called,” Minnie said, planting a trail of noisy, sucking kisses under his jaw. “Apparently, I’m a social media sensation. She says Delilah’s Intrigue wants to develop a new line of lingerie inspired by me. They want to call it Bad Girl. A morals clause is apparently only a problem if people stop spending because of your poor morals. They’re jerks but I’m relieved - I thought I was going to be posing on agricultural equipment in a bikini and sash.”
“Does this mean I get to come to Fashion Week?” he said. He tossed his phone aside and held her arms in place around his neck, soaking up the affection.
“You still don’t know what that is, do you?”
“Nope, but it’s important to you,” he said.
“You’re perfect,” she said.
He grabbed her hooked arms and flipped her over his shoulder so she landed, giggling, on the bed in front of him. He pinned her down and nuzzled her neck. She was ticklish and squirmed under him. He lifted his head. “Hashtag happy girl?” he said.
“Oh yes,” she said, smiling up at him. Her thick, golden hair fanned out around her delicate face. Her blue eyes were filled with laughter. She was the prettiest creature he had ever seen. “How about you? Hashtag happy boy?” she said.
Minnie and noise. Minnie and chaos. Minnie and bacon. Minnie. Minnie. Minnie.
She was a heartbeat deep inside him. He smiled, on the outside, and bent to kiss his woman.
He was keeping her. Whether she liked it or not…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Amanda Kelly loves making up stuff in her head. She drives her husband to distraction by suddenly stopping, mid-conversation, and staring off into space. She once spent five hours at sea, on a boat, muttering: "Where would he hide the body?" She hopes the video footage of that trip has been scrubbed. She finally decided to put the characters that inhabit her head, onto paper. It was like opening the door on a lunatic asylum... glorious bedlam.
On the Run (Big Mike and Minnie Book 1) Page 13