by Jodi Linton
She wants revenge…
The Dirty Sinners Motorcycle Club is Em Connors’s only family, but she’s ready to risk everything—both her club and her life—for vengeance. Ten months ago, she was brutally attacked and her lover gunned down by a rival gang member. Now, she’s using her position as the Dirty Sinners president to track down the truth and exact her revenge.
He’ll risk it all…
With his partner murdered by a local motorcycle gang, Houston police officer Cade Jackson jumps at the chance to go back undercover and bring down the woman the department calls the Motorcycle Princess. But the sexy-as-hell leader awakens a hunger in Cade. Dark desires run deep—and he intends on teaching Em exactly how dirty he can be. But when his cover is blown, Cade must choose to uphold the law or protect the woman he’s grown to love…by going rogue.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Don’t miss the next book in the Dirty Sinners Motorcycle Club... Rebel Heat
Pretty Reckless
Whatcha Gonna Do With a Cowboy
Pretty Shameless
Talk Dirty to Me Cowboy
Pretty Lawless
Discover more mystery and suspense titles from Entangled Ignite… Wilde at Heart
Bad to the Bone
All In
Hard to Forget
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Jodi Linton. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Ignite is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Karen Grove
Cover design by Louisa Maggio
Cover art from iStock
ISBN 978-1-63375-487-4
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition January 2016
To Ella Marie Shupe,
this biker stud is for you.
reb-el
noun
’re-bəl
1. A person who rises in opposition or armed resistance against an established government or ruler
Chapter One
Mixing business with pleasure was a bullshit move.
Tucked into a booth at Dixie’s Diner, Cade Jackson lit his cigarette and focused on the pretty little brunette in the photo Houston Police Chief Roland had shown him, thinking about what secrets those wild blue eyes were hiding. Stale coffee wafted through the fifties-style diner. Pots and pans clanked against stovetops and loud voices echoed as cooks yelled, “Order up,” signaling the waitresses. Across the way, two teenagers held hands, making low smooching noises, unaware of the Houston PD’s plans for a criminal shakedown taking place right before their eyes. The daily grind of being an undercover cop had slowly taken its toll on Cade.
He took another drag of his cigarette and felt displeasure burn in his gut. It seemed his usual fix couldn’t mask the nervous ache in his stomach when he saw the case placed in front of him. Why had the chief slapped down a photo of his old partner next to some smoking-hot chick in leather? Under better circumstances such thoughts wouldn’t have thrown him for a loop.
But ever since the death of his partner, Wes Scott, he had been grappling with the idea of confessing to Roland about how Scott called him that fateful night, and Cade had chosen a stripper blow job instead of responding to the out-of-the-blue message. With Roland requesting his presence this morning, Cade thought he could use their meeting as his chance to fess up and maybe shuck the rebel shadow that followed him around on a daily basis.
“Are you going to keep me in suspense all morning, Chief…or did you just want an excuse to take me out for coffee? If it’s the latter, I’m going to find myself a Starbucks since this diner-house coffee tastes like shit.”
Roland clenched his teeth. “If I wanted to have a goddamn peaceful coffee date, you’d be the last person I’d have invited along.”
“So let me get this straight. This wasn’t a friendly call.”
Roland picked at the corner of his mustache. “Not even close. Ever heard of the Dirty Sinners?”
Cade blew a smoke ring into the air. “The only motorcycle club with a female president. Yeah, I’ve heard of them. I mean, hell, most of the cops in Houston have heard of the man-eater biker babe. Not many criminals are sexy and deadly…” He shrugged. “Word gets around, you know?”
“She’s our missing link to Scott’s death.”
Cade gave his boss a skeptical look, the dread resurfacing thickly in his windpipe. “If you’re shitting me, you’ll need to do better than buying me a round of cheap coffee.”
Roland blew a lazy breath toward the ceiling. “Inside reports place this chick at the scene of the crime. I need more than a few rookie-cop write-ups.”
“But Scott’s body was found alone.” He snuffed out his smoke and flicked the dried-up butt onto a stack of pancakes. “Nothing you’re telling me is matching the report I read.”
In the past ten months since he was informed about his partner’s death, Cade couldn’t seem to shake the uneasiness when it came to their last case together. They’d butted heads over whether the HPD botched their cocaine bust, and instead of Wes backing his suspicions, his old partner had taken them to the chief. Still, bad blood aside, Cade felt responsible for his death.
Trying to avoid the painful thoughts of Wes found in a ditch with a bullet in the back of his head, Cade reached for his go-to pain reliever and plucked another cigarette from the pack of Marlboros lying next to his coffee cup. Lately, squashing bad habits seemed unimportant in what was his shitty life.
Roland thumped his finger at his forehead. “See, I knew you had some smarts in that damn head of yours, Jackson.”
Anger rippled through him. “How did you come by this information?”
“Classified.” He paused. “Scott was in deep with them, working on a case for yours truly when he died.” The chief lifted both arms above his head and relaxed back in the booth. “And since you’re one of my best undercover cops, I’m sending you in to question their president.”
Gaze posed on the chief, Cade drew in a drag. “You’re telling me this woman”—he thumbed at the photo—“the one who looks like she could be on a magazine cover, knows something about my old partner’s murder?”
Chief Roland snorted. “Bingo. Almost want to tap that sweet piece of ass instead of slapping cuffs on it, huh?”
Something vile rooted around Cade’s stomach. He picked up the coffee, stale fumes rising in the air, plucked the cig out of his mouth, and took a long, unsatisfying drink. After ten months tracking down every lead, knocking out teeth, and slumming it with the lowlife bikers and their whores—getting drun
k to a point of not even remembering his name the next morning—staring him in the face was intel that pointed to one person who might have inside knowledge on the case…a woman who could pass as a Victoria’s Secret model instead of an MC president.
He shrugged off the black leather jacket. “Show me the file.”
The chief tossed a folder next to his now-cold scrambled eggs. “I knew you’d be the man for the job. She’s pretty well known with the local druggies. Just last week this picture was taken.” He pushed a photo into view of a woman straddling the curb in a pair of ass-hugging leather pants making a drug exchange.
From the beginning, when he accepted the undercover gang task-force position, Cade understood the local biker crowd and their part in the city’s drug dealings. The only club not running drugs as a means of employment was run by a female president. So what the heck was Victoria’s Secret model doing handing money over to a known drug dealer? He decided to keep such questions close to the vest for now.
“So she likes drugs. Got anything useful?” Cade tossed the photo back at Roland.
“Houston PD has spotted this particular exchange ten times over the past month. And every time she leaves with a white envelope.”
“Just bring her in for questioning on account of drug possession.”
“Ain’t that simple, Jackson.” Chief Roland pinched his nose, narrowed his brows, and with his voice slightly on edge added, “We need to find out what’s in the envelopes. Scott was investigating this case when he died.”
“What do you need me to do?” Cade set down the coffee, knowing damn well the answer to that question.
“What you’re fucking good at, Jackson,” the chief said, slapping a twenty on the table. “Luring pretty women into your bed and infuriating motorcycle gangs. This undercover gig should be a piece of cake. All you have to do is get close enough to the woman.” The police chief snorted on a laugh. “You know, become the biker chick’s old man, then get her to confide in you once trust has been established.”
He knew what the men on the force saw in him so he shouldn’t have given a fuck about that jab, yet he did. Consumed by the job. Some bastard that only looked out for yours truly. Yeah, he was no Prince Charming, but he’d made a commitment to protect and serve the good people of Houston.
And nowhere in his job description did it outline all the dirty shit that came along with the title.
No love lost on the wicked.
Cade raised a brow. “I’m a cop not a gigolo.”
“Look, I’m not asking you to fuck the broad.” Roland scooted out of the booth. “But if that’s the angle you want to take, Jackson, I’d pat you on the back if it gets the job done.”
He dragged a hand over his mouth. “Never been one to mix business with pleasure.”
The chief began walking toward the door but stopped midstride to glance back at him. “Besides, this one shouldn’t be that hard. Come on, man. Look at that mouth.”
He’d been looking at that lush mouth, and the image of those red lips wet and parted would be burned in his mind for eternity. He blinked, unnerved by his own reactions. First rule of business: get his damn head in the game. Temptation or not, she’d off him if his true identity was ever uncovered.
“Better not be sending me in there blind, Roland.” Cade stood as he shrugged the leather cut on, then grabbed his bike helmet off the bench and headed in the direction of the chief. He pushed through the glass door. “We both know how that went down last time.”
Roland spun around and narrowed his gaze. “This ain’t the time to rehash the past, Cade. We’re moving forward. Righting old wrongs”—a firm hand cupped him on the shoulder—“seeking our own goddamn justice.”
Justice had so many different faces that even the simple idea of it caused the fury to boil over inside him. That was exactly why Roland had come to him over another guy on the force, because he wasn’t opposed to getting a little dirt under his fingernails if it meant solving the case.
Cade snorted as he closed in on the chief. They both glared at each other until he dispassionately flicked Roland’s hand away. “Only a putz would hold on to regrets.”
Roland’s mouth curved at the corners. “I’ll make sure that rap sheet you’ve acquired on the job vanishes once you get the girl to talk.”
He barked a laugh. “Bribing me now, huh?”
“Just remember you’re a cop,” Roland warned. “Not some damn rebel biker.”
Everyone had heard about the last takedown of an MC biker club. It was supposed to be Cade’s last undercover mission, but nothing came out clean. Local PD had botched the operation, and in return all club members had walked away free men and able to rain terror on the streets of Houston once more. Cade—well, like the fake thug he’d been portraying—had been awarded a lengthy rap sheet. Arrests spanning from cocaine possession to illegal gun carrying were slapped to his name, keeping his less than stellar biker image intact.
Maybe this time would be different. He could win the chick over, make her betray the club, and then dismantle them all while discovering what happened to Wes.
He straddled the leather seat on his Harley and kicked the clutch up, the rev of the purring engine putting him more at ease than a blow job. Strapping the helmet on his head, he throttled the exhaust again. “Are you going to tell me the mark’s name?”
Chief Roland lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the midmorning sun. “The chick goes by Em Connors,” he said as he slapped at a fly. “Just a heads-up, she’s Axle’s daughter.”
“Thought the last name sounded familiar.” He revved the engine, loudly, drowning out whatever the hell the chief was attempting to sputter. “Our frequent meet-ups are always a pleasure, Roland.” Cade let the cigarette bob on his wind-chapped lips. “The stale coffee was just an added perk. I’ll be in touch.”
As rubber and dust burned beneath the Harley tires, Cade sped out into oncoming traffic, finally feeling the tension in his shoulders ease as he soaked in the open road ahead. Em Connors was just another criminal. He’d crossed paths with all kinds of thugs—the bully, the rat, and daddy’s golden boy—and yet he’d never come across a female running the criminal enterprise. This mark had the looks of a princess, but she was hiding something, and Cade would enjoy making Em Connors bare all her dirty little secrets.
Chapter Two
I should be studying art at NYU right now, not babysitting a bunch of bikers.
Gun cocked and barrel firmly pressed into flesh, Em Connors stared down the men in leather waiting for the blood splatter, barely repressing the urge to hand such a vile task off to someone else. With two cups of coffee pumping through her veins, the caffeine had made her movements slightly jittery, but knowing the streets would be down a bastard, she snapped back with one goal in mind—to take out Price. This was her life: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Just another day of being the hardened criminal her old man proudly brought up. Tomorrow maybe things could change.
She rocked onto the toes of her boots and soaked in Price’s terror-stricken face.
For the last two years she’d been running the show after inheriting the Dirty Sinners from her father, Axle Connors, their founding president, when he’d lost his battle to cancer. The day her father’s lawyer read his will announcing their new reigning president, mouths had dropped and, yeah, fists had been thrown, yet she knew how to handle a few big boys on bikes. After all, she’d been raised by the man who groomed each of them into the perfect criminal. And once Logan Black, the VP of the club, vouched for her claim on the president patch, all the bad boys in leather fell in line, welcoming her to the head of the Sinners’ table. Well, most of the men approved.
Some were still a pain in her ass. Like the bastard about to piss his pants.
Em let her mouth curve into a sweet-as-sin smile and gave Price her best damn show to date. “Price, you have ten seconds to start talking before our prospect is mopping your brains up off this garage floor.”
Price, the rat
bastard, had traded club secrets to the Vipers two nights ago—deals her father had made with rival gangs in other provinces so the Sinners could continue club business as usual. He shook violently, the barrel of the gun rattling against his forehead. “Em, I’d never rat you or the Sinners out. You’ve gotta believe me, princess. This is my only family.”
Princess. Em loathed the nickname. Nothing like provoking a woman when she was holding a gun. Weeks ago she’d received inside information that a Sinner was talking with the Vipers MC in exchange for a one-way ticket to Mexico. Some of the men still considered her spot at the head of the table just a last-minute gift from Axle to his precious little girl, trying to satisfy his piss-poor daddy skills. True. Em didn’t necessarily want the power that came with the president patch. She had dreamed about a life void of bad boys and guns, the type that would have allowed her passion for art to flourish. Sadly, such silly little-girl ambitions died the day someone saw fit to hurt someone she loved. If the Dirty Sinners only understood how scared they should be.
Now she had a new ambition, and it didn’t end in wedded bliss. Daddy’s princess, gun in hand and revenge pumping through her veins, was determined to off any man who’d played a part in ruining her life. Who stole her happily ever after. Because her hurt burned like gasoline, and it was ready to explode.
She dug the gun deeper into Price’s forehead, beads of sweat slid beneath the metal. “Logan told me you had a meeting with Cyrus Benedict last night, looking for safe passage to Mexico. Why would you willingly break bread with a known enemy?”
Somehow this morning Price had landed in her lap, free of charge. The stupid jerk came in, ranting and raving about how he’d screwed up and wanted to make amends. Little did he know she’d been a step ahead and had already heard about his meeting with the Vipers. He’d made her plan of lining up all the deceitful players so much easier, and Price would be the first to go. Served the snitch right. This was what she told herself, anyhow, to make what she had to do easier. For some time, Em had been under the impression Price was cozy with the Vipers and provided them information on Wes Scott, the man she’d agreed to marry. Bastard helped pull the trigger that caused the death of her fiancé. Price shouldn’t have ever shit-talked all over Throttle, a local biker bar, that Wes was an undercover cop. She had a plan, and she’d see it through. Her dead fiancé was owed justice.