HIS PROPERTY: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Iron Bandits MC)

by Zoey Parker

  Crack.

  “...you...”

  Crack.

  “...go!”

  The last smack was the cruelest and Billie did cry out this time—not because of the pain, not because no one had ever done this to her before, but because a door of understanding suddenly sprung open in her mind and she finally saw how Carter truly felt about her.

  His surly behavior hadn't come from his anger at her for messing up at the gas station. It came from his rage and confusion at his own actions leading up to this, his real reasons for keeping her with him.

  He'd made plans on top of plans, and she'd sat next to him and watched him throw them away one by one, all because of her. Because he wanted her.

  In that moment, she fell in love with him.

  Carter stopped, breathing heavily. Billie rolled her body over to face him and put her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her. She kissed him deeply for several seconds, their tongues reaching for each other like long-lost lovers embracing.

  Then he wrapped his arms around her thighs and lifted her onto the motel desk, making hard and dirty love to her as the coyote howled and howled outside.

  Chapter 31

  Panzer

  The clock on the wall ticked past 6:00 PM as Panzer watched Harbaugh pace back and forth across the blue-carpeted floor of the Cactus Hollow Sheriff's Office.

  Specifically, he kept an eye on Harbaugh's left shoe.

  It was the one that had accidentally stepped in horse shit at Old Man Tiller's horse farm the evening before, and even though Harbaugh had scraped it off and tried to clean it—unleashing a steady stream of obscenities while he did so—Panzer could still see a few dried, crusty bits clinging to the edges, and the smell was still awful. He did his best to breathe through his mouth and tried not to consider the unpleasant task of shampooing the carpet once Harbaugh was gone.

  Harbaugh had been up all night, and his eyes were bloodshot and baggy. Once he'd confirmed that two horses had been stolen from Tiller, he rode over the desert in a helicopter, expecting to find Billie and the biker dead in the sand with their animals next to them.

  When he didn't see them, he went to Caddo Corners and questioned Samantha for almost three hours about whether Billie had been there. Panzer tried to tell him that it wouldn't make any sense for a hostage to lead her captor to her loved ones, but Harbaugh sneered, calling Panzer more names and telling him to “go find a plate of grits to eat while the adults are talking.”

  That just left the wooded area nearby to search. But when he ordered agents to do it, Harbaugh came up against the Texas office of the Bureau of Indian Affairs, which claimed that the woods were disputed Taysha territory and refused to permit access. They briefly liaised with the reservation's leaders, who insisted that no outsiders had been seen there in several days.

  Needless to say, Harbaugh wasn't happy.

  “Injuns,” Harbaugh muttered, shaking his head angrily. “Unbelievable. I chase these bank-robbing cocksuckers across five states, interview dozens of witnesses, spend hours reviewing forensic evidence and get within a few fucking miles of the bastards...only to have all my hard work flushed down the crapper by a bunch of goddamn backwards-ass Injuns.”

  “Actually, I'm pretty sure you ain't s'posed to call 'em 'Injuns' no more?” Broyles commented, picking his teeth with a corner of an envelope from the day's mail. “The proper term was, uh, Native American for a while? 'Cept now I think the more politically-correct word is 'indigenous,' though some tribes are still fine with Native Indian? Always seemed weird to me, though, now that we know they was never really from India to start with...”

  “Shut your corn-muncher, you useless nimrod,” Harbaugh roared. “I can't even hear myself think.”

  Broyles shrugged. “You just stressed, is all. Bad for yer blood pressure an' the like. You oughtta take a minute or two out of the day to relax, maybe watch somethin' that'll make you laugh. Hey, like that video that's been makin' the rounds online, with them two stupid people who tried to rob the gas station earlier today? Had me laughin' fit to spit.”

  “Broyles, maybe we should just leave Agent Harbaugh alone,” Panzer suggested. He enjoyed watching Broyles piss off Harbaugh, but he'd already heard enough of the man's insults for the day.

  “Naw, he'll get a kick out of it fer sure,” Broyles said, switching on the TV in the office. “It's a real hoot. They said they was gonna have more of it on the news.”

  Panzer sighed. If Broyles was so eager to get cussed out again, he reckoned there was nothing he could do about it.

  Broyles flipped to the local news as a reporter addressed the audience. “Shortly after two o'clock this afternoon, two people—a man and a woman—entered the Gas-4-U filling station near Odessa and attempted to rob it. But even though they came in wearing masks, the identity of the male robber didn't remain secret for long.”

  Panzer watched the screen as a young boy snuck up behind the man in the bandana, yanking it off his face. When Panzer saw the thief's comically surprised expression, he chuckled.

  Suddenly, Harbaugh's bony hand clamped down on Panzer's shoulder.

  “The woman in the ski mask,” Harbaugh said. “Her height, weight, clothes...they all match our description for Ms. Rosewood.”

  Panzer looked at the television again, frowning. “I guess so. Still, could be anybody. Lots of gals are that size, and lots of 'em have that same outfit.”

  “Look at the man, though, numbnuts,” Harbaugh insisted. “Study his face carefully, and turn whatever crank it takes to get your brain working. Could that be the biker you saw at the bar, with the long brown hair?”

  Panzer looked at the screen more closely and sighed. “Yeah. I reckon it could.”

  “She isn't looking much like a hostage these days, is she?” Harbaugh sneered. “Not with the way she's shooting off that gun.”

  “That still don't mean she's an accomplice,” Panzer countered. “She could be under duress, or we could be dealin' with brainwashing, some kinda Stockholm Syndrome like that Patty Hearst lady...”

  “Save it,” Harbaugh spat, turning to give orders to his other agents. “Get on the phone to the Lubbock PD and the state police barracks. Find out if they have an ID on that man, and get me everything we can dig up on him, especially his known associates. Meanwhile, start circulating his photo in that area along with the woman's, and include variations with different haircuts and styles—if they know they made the news, they've probably already tried to change their appearance.”

  He glared up at the TV, which showed a freeze-frame of the unmasked robber.

  “I'll have you yet, you slippery son of a bitch,” Harbaugh said.

  Chapter 32

  Carter

  Carter flicked his lighter, gently touching the flame to the crumbled bits of marijuana that rested precariously in the dent of an empty soda can. He inhaled the smoke and held it in, passing the can and the lighter to Billie. She took a puff and coughed hard, almost dropping the can.

  “This is decent shit,” Billie managed between gasps.

  Carter shrugged, exhaling the smoke smoothly. “Better than Mexican ditch weed. Not as good as what you can get in California.”

  After their mind-blowing sex in the motel room, Carter realized that the tension between them had broken. On some level, he had known that a lot of his anger at her wasn't because of her mistake at the gas station. That was boneheaded, sure, but it was her first robbery, and he'd seen other people slip up like that in similar situations.

  His desire for her had made the rage build up inside of him—he'd been angry at himself for changing his own plans just so he could keep her with him.

  But now that things had come to a head, he knew he couldn't keep up some stupid internal struggle. It was time to make the leap.

  He was with her now. Period.

  Instead of wasting time and energy fighting it, now he could decide on a firm course of action based on that.

  They spent an hour taking turn
s with the sunburn lotion, rubbing the cool gel on their red faces and arms until there was almost none left. Then they had opened the brick of weed and gotten a can of cola from the motel's vending machine, draining it and punching a hole in the side like Carter had learned back in high school.

  Now they were sitting on the bed together with Carter's arm around Billie's shoulders, watching the clouds of smoke lazily drift across the room. The TV was on and they were flipping channels, trying to find a late news show with more footage from their failed robbery.

  “Are you sure we should be smoking in the room?” Billie asked.

  “Trust me, no one's calling the cops in a shithole like this,” Carter assured her. “Worst-case scenario, they keep the deposit when they smell the smoke. After the fucking day we've had, they're welcome to it.”

  “Hey, go back!” Billie said, grabbing the television remote and switching the channel. “I think I saw us again.”

  The screen showed more of the security camera footage as they held the clerk at gunpoint.

  “A Green Beret,” she snorted. “Can you believe that shit? Guy looked like a stiff breeze would knock him down.”

  “See? There's the kid,” Carter said, pointing to the screen. “Look, he's walking right up to me! He wasn't even trying to hide or anything. Jesus, what the hell were you looking at?”

  “Hey, I can't help it if you were so sexy I couldn't take my eyes off you,” she said. “Besides, that look on your face when he took your bandana was the funniest thing I've ever seen.” She broke into a fresh fit of giggles, and after a moment, Carter joined her.

  “I really am sorry about that,” she finally said, composing herself. “I can't believe I was so stupid. I know I almost got us caught or killed.”

  Carter took another drag from the can, blowing a smoke ring. “Don't worry about it. My first robbery, I was third gun on a bank job. They had me collect the money from the tellers and put it in a bag. But instead of watching what I was doing, I was too busy staring out the windows for cops, even though we already had a lookout guy for that. So one of the tellers tossed a blue dye pack in with the cash. As soon as we got to the car, boom. I had that blue shit all over my face and arms for almost two weeks.”

  Billie laughed. “Really? That's fun to picture.”

  He nodded, smiling. “Yup. Couldn't leave the clubhouse all that time, since after the robbery, everyone in the state was looking for dudes with blue faces. That was pretty fucking embarrassing.”

  “I'm surprised they didn't give you some awful nickname from that,” Billie pointed out. “You know, like your guys Hazmat and Oiler. You could have been Blueberry, maybe. Or Smurf!”

  Carter chuckled. “Yeah, lots of guys have tried to give me nicknames over the years, but none of them ever stuck. I guess when you come down to it, no one could think of anything dumber-sounding than Carter.”

  “So now what?” Billie took another puff and managed not to choke on it this time.

  “Now we try to get some sleep,” he said. “I know that's probably easier said than done after all the adrenaline from today, but hopefully the weed should help with that.”

  “No, I mean after that. Are we going to meet up with the other guys at that truck stop?”

  Carter raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you remember that little detail, huh? At the time, I figured you were probably too scared. We've got a stop to make first, but yeah, we'll meet up with them after that. And they'll kick a little when they see you're still with me, and they'll kick a little more when I tell them you'll be crossing the border with us. But don't worry, I'll set them straight. I'm still their president…I mean, if following us to Mexico is really what you want.”

  “Absolutely,” she said without hesitation. “Have you ever been there before?”

  “Nah, but I've known guys who went down there to cool off for a while when things went bad. I've got some names and numbers...people to reach out to who will help us get set up.”

  “What's it like there? Based on what you've heard.”

  Carter snickered, taking another puff from the soda can. “Well, it's hotter than hell, but I guess you probably know that already. Cheap food, cheap booze. Do you speak any Spanish?”

  “Not much.”

  “It's easy to pick up some of the basics. Most of the cops and judges down there can be bought with half a can of beans, so there's no need to worry about being recognized and extradited. Things have gotten dangerous over the past couple decades since the cartels have basically taken over the whole country, but as long as we hook up with the right one when we get there—pay a little tribute, maybe do a job or two for them as a good-faith gesture—then the other ones should leave us alone.” He looked at her again quizzically. “You're sure that sounds like a life you want?”

  “As long as I'm with you and as many miles from Cactus Hollow as possible, then yeah, it sounds kind of perfect,” Billie said. “Besides, we've made a pretty damn good team over the past couple days. I think we can handle whatever comes our way.”

  “Fair enough,” Carter said, passing the soda can to her. He didn't know it was possible to find her even sexier, but she'd just proved him wrong. He'd never met anyone so hungry for adventure, and it turned him on.

  “So what's this stop we need to make before we rendezvous with Hazmat and Oiler?” she asked, lighting the pot and inhaling.

  “There's a guy I know who lives on a patch of desert south of Fort Stockton. He's an old dude...kind of a survivalist type. He was the one who fed me the inside info about the bank in Cactus Hollow so we'd know when to hit it. I promised him I'd pay him a visit after we did the deed, so I could give him his cut from it. Of course, since Hazmat's got the actual cash from that job, I'll need to front it out of what I've got with me. Should be more than enough, though.” Carter finished off the last hit in the can, shaking the ashes out onto the floor.

  “I guess we're going to have to steal another car to get down there, huh?” Billie suggested playfully.

  “You got it.”

  “Can I please choose this time?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

  “Sure,” he agreed, smiling. “But now that I don't have to hold a gun on you all the time, I'll keep on doing the driving. Now seriously, we need to get some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow.”

  “I'm not tired yet, though,” Billie pouted.

  “I might have an idea or two about how we can tucker each other out,” Carter said, reaching over to switch off the light.

  Chapter 33

  Panzer

  Harbaugh sat at Panzer's desk, staring at printouts and photos from three criminal records. The first one had been provided by the Odessa Police Department, based on the footage from the gas station's security cameras. The second and third were the result of Harbaugh grilling Panzer on pictures of the biker's known associates until the sheriff identified two men who might have been his companions in the bar two nights ago.

  Jesus, Panzer thought. Only two nights ago. Feels like about a month since all this shit started.

  “Winslow, Carter,” Harbaugh mused, flipping through the pages for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Thornvale, Jack, also known as 'Hazmat.' Scudder, Lane, also known as 'Oiler.' Formerly members of the Hobgoblins motorcycle club, now on their own.”

  “Are you fixin' to do anything other than sit there, fartin' into my desk chair and mumblin' the same shit over and over?” Panzer asked testily. “Seems to me like the longer you sit there, the farther away that Carter asshole's gettin' with Billie.”

  Harbaugh gave Panzer a wolfish smile. “What do you expect me to do, genius? Run around half of Texas in the middle of the night with a flashlight, going door to door and asking if anyone's seen them? No, I've done plenty. I've alerted local law enforcement in every town and county along their route. I called a few people and put a price on their heads. Ten thousand dollars to the man who brings them in or brings them down, I don't care which.”

  Panzer's jaw dropped. “Ha
ve you lost your goddamn mind?” he yelled. “You'll have every skip tracer, bushwhacker, and bounty hunter from here to the Rio Grande out gunning for them!”

  “That's the idea,” Harbaugh said coldly.

  “But those crazy shitheads ain't gonna care about Billie's safety like peace officers would,” Panzer insisted. “They're psychos, they're sloppy, and half of 'em are either drunk or on meth. They're liable to shoot holes in her just to take these bikers down!”

  “And why should I give a fuck?” Harbaugh asked. “Because you used to pick dandelions and go to the state fair together, or some such baloney? Sheriff, let me tell you a story. I grew up on the south side of Boston. Most of the boys I played with as a kid grew up to be felons. They're all behind bars now, though, and guess who put them there? So stop covering for lawbreakers, or else take off that damn star and give it to someone who can do the job. But either way, I'm going to see these punks dead or in cuffs within the next twenty-four hours, so you'd better stay the hell out of my way.”