Make It Hurt (Texas Bounty)

by Jackie Ashenden

But he didn’t, crowding her backward until her spine hit something hard. The wall.

  Only then did he stop, lifting powerful arms and slamming his palms onto the faded paint on either side of her head.

  He was so goddamn close, all heat and hard muscle and that complex, masculine scent that made every sense she had go haywire. That intense, burning black gaze that seemed to swallow her whole.

  Hell. She should not be feeling this. She should not be so physically conscious of him still, not after all these years. Not when she’d put him behind her and moved way, way, on.

  Dammit.

  “You’ve just made a very big mistake, sweetheart,” he said in that same softly menacing drawl.

  Tell her something she didn’t know. He’d always been a take-charge guy, but he’d never been this aggressive or this…cold, almost. He’d been kind. Easygoing. A do-the-right-thing type of dude.

  Not the man standing in front of her now, in other words.

  “Okay.” God, she was breathless. She never got breathless over a dude. “You’re still pissed about what happened in Houston, and I get it. Really. Just…stop being a tool and let me go. Then I’ll grab Brook and get out of here, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

  Smith adjusted his stance, moving closer, resting on his forearms and leaning in, their faces only inches apart. “You’re not listening. This isn’t just about what happened in Houston. And the answer is no, you’re not grabbing my brother. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Another woman might have been scared. Another woman might have been intimidated.

  Nora was neither. Over the past eight years she’d been steadily stripping away the remains of the shy, timid little rich girl she’d once been. The spineless sap who’d once thought her father loved her. Only to realize she was just another business asset to him, like everything else in his life.

  She was so much stronger now, so much tougher. And she was never going to let herself be intimidated by anyone ever again. Especially not some dick-bag biker she happened to have some ancient history with.

  She shoved hard against his chest, staring into his furious, inky gaze. “Get. The fuck. Away. From me.”

  He ignored her, not moving one inch. “You’re not getting Dust. And you’re not going to the police. You’re gonna turn around and walk out of here and you’re gonna pretend the Ministry doesn’t even exist.”

  Nora bared her teeth at him. “Awww. And here I was thinking we were actually going to have a little ‘chat.’ I wonder what the cops are going to say when I tell them how some tool in a vest stopped me from going about my lawful business, before threatening, then assaulting me.”

  “You’re not going to the cops.” His voice was so soft, that drawl pulling over her skin, sending prickles of unwanted heat through her. “You’re not gonna say a word.”

  Pushing at him clearly wasn’t going to work. But that didn’t mean she was going to put up with this bullshit. “Oh, really?” She stared at him, keeping one hand on his chest while she moved the other surreptitiously toward her Colt. “Why the hell would I do that?”

  Damn, he felt good under her palm, so hot and hard she wanted to rub herself all over him. He smelled good too, reminding her of those lazy, hot summer nights in the pool house, the first time ever a man had touched her like that, his callused palms gliding over her skin…

  Pity he’s such a dick now.

  Her throat closed unexpectedly, the weight of an old regret settling on her chest.

  Smith leaned in even further, his breath warm, his gaze so dark and endless it was like falling upward into a midnight sky. “Why? Because your mouth is gonna be busy with other things.”

  A burst of shock went through her. Surely he couldn’t be expecting to pick up where they left off? Just like that? And then, hard on the heels of the shock, came the anger, because there was no misinterpreting the look in his eyes; that’s exactly what he was expecting.

  Goddamn arrogant son of a bitch No. Hell no. She wasn’t doing that again with him, no freaking way.

  Her fingers brushed the grip of her Colt, then settled around it. If he wasn’t going to let her go, then she’d give him some incentive. Of course, if she wanted to draw without him realizing what she was doing, she was going to need to distract him.

  She flexed her fingers on the hard plane of his chest, letting her gaze drop pointedly to his mouth then back up again. “What things, Ace?”

  Intensity burned in his eyes and once again, she was back again, lying in the sun, feeling his gaze on her, knowing he wanted her, feeling her whole body respond to him, basking in his attention…

  Her breathing sped up. She couldn’t look away.

  Would you quit your fucking Daddy issues for just one damn second and grow yourself a spine?

  “I think you can figure that one out all on your own, golden girl.”

  His mouth was so close it almost brushed hers and she couldn’t stop the shiver that went through her. He was bent over her, their height differences exacerbated by the way they were standing, and God help her, but she liked it. Liked feeling overwhelmed and crowded, overpowered…

  Safe…

  Hell’s teeth, what was wrong with her? She’d left those feelings, those desires, behind a long time ago. She wasn’t going back. Not ever.

  Rubbing her thumb over the cotton of his T-shirt, she slowly, carefully drew her Colt. “I think I got at least one figured out,” she murmured, pleased that her voice sounded smoky and sexual. Not pleased that it wasn’t entirely fake.

  “Oh yeah?” His attention had dropped to her mouth, making it feel…sensitive. “What’s that?”

  She smiled. “This.” And jammed the Colt hard under his ribs.

  —

  Smith was intimately acquainted with the feeling of having a gun pushed into his gut. It had happened many, many times before and there was no mistaking it.

  First time it had ever been a woman holding the gun, though.

  First time you didn’t see it coming either.

  He’d been too caught up in the remembered heat of her body and the tantalizing, sweet smell of some kind of flower with the familiar delicate musk of Nora’s skin underneath it. That scent used to drive him crazy.

  Apparently it still did. Crazy enough that he hadn’t even noticed her hand move.

  He almost laughed at the sheer balls of her. Most men would think twice about pulling a gun on him, let alone one little girl. Fucking ironic, too, that she’d be the one to hold him at gunpoint when what had happened all those years ago had been her fault.

  He’d been good, controlling himself and leaving the client’s eighteen-year-old daughter alone no matter how much he’d wanted her. But she’d been insistent, seducing him with her innocence and sweet, timid come-ons. With her shyness, with the way she’d looked at him, and finally with the way she’d begged for him to touch her. And he had, ignoring his scruples and all his good intentions, because this smart, shy, beautiful girl wanted him, no-good, troublemaking Smith Tucker from the trailer park. Christ, no one had ever wanted him, still less someone like her.

  He’d paid for it in the end, though. When her father had accused him of seducing her, he’d expected her to tell the old man that wasn’t how it happened, but she hadn’t. She’d clammed up and hadn’t said a word, incriminating him with her silence. He’d been fired after that, and because her father had put the word round about him, no one else would hire him.

  So really, he was the one who had a fucking right to be pissed, not her.

  The gun pushed insistently into his side. “Come on, Ace. Let a lady go. I’d hate to get blood all over my shoes.”

  No. Oh, no. Threatening him was a mistake, a very, very big mistake.

  He was a motherfucking MC president and he didn’t take shit from anyone, still less a chick who’d already done the dirty on him once before.

  Ignoring the gun, he didn’t move a muscle, keeping his forearms braced on the wall on either side of her head a
nd his body so close to hers he was almost touching. Caging her deliberately. Intimidating her. Not hard when the top of her head only came up to his chin.

  He looked down into her eyes, noting the little gold flecks glittering in the rich brown depths. God, how they’d used to fascinate him. How they made her eyes gleam pure gold when she was aroused.

  Stop thinking about her fucking eyes. You’re not going there.

  “Shooting me would be a stupid move.” He kept his voice low. “Especially with all my men outside. They hear that gun go off, they’re going to come in here and they’re not going to be stopping to ask questions, if you catch my drift.” He paused for emphasis. “You’re not that stupid, are you, Nora?”

  If she found that frightening, she didn’t show it. She didn’t even have the grace to look particularly worried, damn woman. Again, definitely not that shy little girl he’d caught watching him from over the top of her sunglasses while she’d been ostensibly studying.

  She lifted a shoulder. “You’d still be dead.”

  “So would you. We could visit hell together.”

  “Hmmm. On second thought, maybe dead isn’t such a great idea.” The muzzle in his gut shifted, pointing down. “I hope you like your balls hanging where they are….”

  There wasn’t a ripple in her golden brown eyes, not a single flicker. They gazed back at him steady and sure, as if she would have no problems pulling that trigger, no problems at all.

  That electricity and heat shot down his spine, combining with the warmth of her body so close to his and her subtle, musky scent. Cranking his libido all the way up to fucking eleven.

  He’d always liked a gun on a woman. There was something sexy about a chick who knew how to handle herself when things turned to shit. Nora had never been that kind of woman, yet once her innocence and vulnerability had appealed to the protector in him. There was no trace of that vulnerability or innocence now, and in her vest and her denims, fuck-off boots on her feet, and her badge at her hip, playing with her little gun, threatening him…

  She turned him on and how.

  He didn’t want to want her, but he couldn’t deny that he did.

  Again, he ignored the gun, shifting his body, crowding her back against the wall, easing his hips against hers, her heat and that maddening scent making him even harder than he was already. Yeah, fuck, she felt good. How had he forgotten this?

  Fury sparked in her eyes.

  Back at ya, golden girl.

  “Seriously?” She pushed the gun harder against him. “I’ll shoot your fucking dick off if you don’t get away from me in five seconds.”

  Oh, so she wanted to play dirty, did she? This was new, not to mention fucking excellent. Because if there was one thing he loved more than unfinished business, it was a challenge, and he was starting to think that Nora damn Sutcliffe might give him both.

  Their chemistry was clearly still off the charts and then there was the issue of payback to consider. He hadn’t thought about it before, wanting to leave that little episode in the past, but now here she was getting up in his face, pushing him….

  Yeah, opportunity was landing straight in his lap and he wasn’t a man to pass up any kind of opportunity.

  The gorgeous little bitch started counting. “One. Two—”

  “Promise me you won’t go to the cops.”

  “Sure, I’ll promise you that. While you’re physically threatening me. Three. Four—”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “Fi—” Her eyes narrowed. “What?”

  He shifted again, watching her intently. He could guess who she worked for—there weren’t many women in the bail bond business in this neck of the woods—and if he was right he might have a way to handle this situation. Oh, she wouldn’t like it, but then he didn’t much care whether she liked it or not. After all, she hadn’t much cared about him when she’d hung him out to dry all those years ago.

  “You heard me,” he murmured. “Who do you work for?”

  “Why?” she demanded. “You think I’m not going to actually shoot you?”

  “I think you’re not actually that stupid. Shoot my dick off and like I already told you, fifty of my men will be in here, taking it out of your hide.” He bent his head, inhaling that sweet, crazy-making scent of hers. “Now, tell me who you work for.”

  She tried to mask it, but he caught the shiver that went through her. And he didn’t think the shiver was because she was scared. No, judging from the gold dust glittering in her eyes, it wasn’t fear she was feeling at all. Anger definitely. Desire? Yeah, she was feeling it like he was, he’d bet his fucking Harley. In which case, the little plan that was formulating in his head was going to work a treat.

  “Duchess Bail Bonds,” she said at last. “Not that that’s going to make any difference.”

  Smith almost grinned. Because she had no fucking idea how much of a difference that made. Before he’d taken over presidency of the chapter, Sim, the previous president, had let him in on a few old Ministry scores in need of settling. Scores that the club had been biding its time over, waiting for the right moment. Looked like the moment to settle this particular score was here.

  Smith stared down into her pretty golden brown eyes. “How badly do you want Dust?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I’ll go to the cops.” The muzzle jabbed insistently. “I mean it.”

  “You go to the cops and you’ll never get him. Hell, you can only go to the cops if I let you go anyway.”

  Her mouth tightened, her jaw getting stubborn.

  Impasse.

  For her.

  “Fine,” she said, as if she didn’t give a shit. “Then I won’t take him.”

  Sneaky little bitch. Who knew she had such a stubborn streak?

  Slowly, keeping his gaze on hers, he lowered his head even further so his lips were almost but not quite brushing hers. Her eyes widened and she went very, very still. And he caught it then, the slight flicker as she glanced down to his mouth then back up again.

  Looked like his Harley was a safe bet.

  “I can make life very difficult for you,” he murmured. “For example, did you know that your lovely boss and the Ministry are old friends? Such great fucking friends that she and her old man scammed us out of thousands a few years back.”

  Shock flared in Nora’s gaze. Clearly this was news to her. “What?”

  “Her old man was a con artist and took our money. Now, we don’t like it when other people take our money. In fact, we pretty much fucking hate it and tend to track those motherfuckers down and make them wish they’d never been born. But he got away on us, went out of state and got arrested in California. Ministry brothers took him down in prison, but his daughter got away scot-free.” He paused for effect. “At least, she’s scot-free now. But…if a certain person were to open their pretty mouth and start blabbing to the cops, Duchess might not stay scot-free for long.”

  The shock in her eyes grew larger as the implications of what he was saying started to sink in. And then ignited into anger.

  She put her head back, lifting her chin. Her hat—his fucking hat—had slipped off and was crushed against the wall now, the strap lying against the golden skin of her throat. Her pulse was beating hard, fast. He was nearly mesmerized by it.

  “You prick,” she said, furious. “You’d seriously hurt Duchess if I went to the cops?”

  “I don’t want to hurt her, baby. I just want the Ministry money her daddy took from us. But you know, keep your mouth shut and I’m sure we won’t miss that money anytime soon.”

  She scowled at him. “I should just shoot your dick off anyway.”

  “But then you wouldn’t get Dust.”

  “Like you were actually going to give him to me.”

  Well, no. But he had no compunction about making her believe he would, not if it got him what he wanted. Because when it came down to it, he was the prick she’d
accused him of being and he was okay with that. “I might. If you gave me something I wanted.”

  An expression he couldn’t read crossed her face. Shock, surprise, or something else entirely. Then she snorted, cocky and confident once again. “Lemme guess. You want sex.” She didn’t make it a question.

  He didn’t deny it, because she was right. That’s exactly what he wanted. “I’m thinking one night should be enough.”

  Her gaze narrowed, as if she was seriously contemplating it. “So, what are we talking here? One night with me in return for…what? Dust?”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to give him up no way, no how?”

  “For you, I’d make an exception.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” More flickers of golden fury in her eyes.

  Unfortunately for her he hadn’t finished. “You stay away from the police too.”

  “That’s two things I have to give you,” she pointed out, unnecessarily. “That’s hardly fair.”

  “Life’s not fair, sweetheart. Deal with it.”

  “I’m the one with the fucking gun, sweetheart.”

  “And I’m the motherfucking president with an entire MC army waiting outside, ready to kill any idiot stupid enough to shoot me in the balls.” He paused, studying her face, watching and waiting for the fear to appear, for the shy, timid little debutante she’d once been to show her face. “You really want to play this with me? Because you know I’m gonna win.”

  And he would. She wasn’t going to fuck with him the way she’d fucked with him back in Houston. He was harder now, meaner. He’d made himself into the bad guy, just like her father had always said.

  Sure, he was directing the MC on a straight path now with him as president, but when he’d first pledged himself to the club they’d specialized in drugs, guns, and whores, and it wasn’t like he’d kept his hands clean.

  He’d been a soldier for the US military, fighting a war that hadn’t meant much of a damn thing to him. So he’d come back and joined the Graveyard Ministry and kept on fighting in a different war. One for turf and power, and who the fuck cared. He’d done what he’d been told. He’d followed orders, gotten down into the dirt with the rest of his brothers.