by Warren, Rie
“Fucked you once. Fucked you twice. And can’t wait for a third shot.” I grinned, hooking my thumbs in my belt loops.
In reply, she revved up, making her rear tire spin out.
“Drive carefully, sweetheart,” I shouted above the roar.
“Always.”
Chapter Four
JB HAD LEFT WITH no promises issued from her and none forthcoming from me. That was usually how I liked my women—compartmentalized into neat little interludes never to be repeated, names never to be remembered.
JB wasn’t fitting into any box, and her sexy body, her sassy mouth, her dirty talk were engraved on my brain. Too bad her phone number wasn’t engraved there, too. I’d neglected to get her digits Sunday night, but I could remedy that easily enough through back channels or by calling in a favor. I figured I’d give her enough time to miss me first. Keeping her at arm’s length unless we were in bed seemed like the best strategy to avoid a messy entanglement.
Who was I kidding? I’d never follow through with that. She was on my mind first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
I’d give it ’til the weekend. Then I’d search her out if she didn’t show at Retribution Friday night. Monday and Tuesday passed quickly enough. I helped Brodie in the garage at Chrome and Steele. I talked to Jack Monday night and picked him up after school for a few hours Tuesday. I was still on probation with the police department—Chief Tilden wanted to make an example of me.
I could’ve made a few calls of my own and taken on other work, but I was going shiny-side up. I’d vowed to make a clean break from dark undercover. I wasn’t going back in, not even for Walker. He hadn’t contacted me again, but I listened for the burn phone to ring like a fucking junkie, wanting that hit yet hating what it made me do. Convincing myself I didn’t need the high to make life worthwhile.
Wednesday morning I drove over to Jack’s school, Cooper Hall Elementary. I didn’t wear a suit because I only did that when I had to meet top brass for a debriefing, aka ball-kicking. Neither did I wear my Retribution cut, leather pants, or mirrored aviators. Meet the teacher meant clean jeans, scuff-free boots, and fingers scrubbed of grease stains, as best I could.
On my way in, I inspected the school’s security system. It was updated, pretty advanced. I approved. Outside, cameras sat on every corner and every few feet down the length of the building. The playground was fenced off and locked down. At the front doors, I waited to be buzzed into the office. Inside, the reception was surrounded by bullet-proof plexi, and I underwent the whole identity check rigmarole. I nearly handed over my official unofficial credentials from MPPD but thought better of it. The name on my ID was Hunter Sexton, and that was not the last name on Jack’s birth certificate. I fished out my real license and slid it into the drop box.
At least they could scan that one without immediately alerting my former employers or any hit men who might have a price on my head.
I approved of the exacting protocol. Although this shit was scary considering when I was a kid, they barely performed background checks on teachers. Whatever, I was no worse for wear. But to keep Jack safe? I said do what you gotta do.
School-issued ID in place, I trekked the corridors until I found the right pod for Jack’s classroom. The door was open, colorful turkey nametags for all the kids tacked to it. I had to laugh at Jack’s. He’d put the feathers on the turkey’s head instead of on the rump. It looked like a Native American headdress.
I rapped my knuckles on door. “Hey. I’m here about Jack Angelo.”
“Mr. Angelo. Please come in and find Jack’s desk.”
Forget about searching for the tot-sized desk. My cock perked to awareness in my pants as I looked at Jack’s teacher. Jesus Christ. What was wrong with me? First with the instant attraction to JB and now for Hot Teach? Twice in as many fucking weeks?
It wasn’t my fault. I called foul play. With her back turned and her hair pinned up, she bent over her desk. The tight secretary skirt she wore accentuated a droolworthy ass, and the skirt’s small slit in the back showed amazing legs that ended in high heels.
Damn, back in the day my teachers had looked like old crones.
“So glad you could come in. I like to meet all the parents during the first half of the year.”
I looked for Jack’s desk and was halfway there when Miss Barnes turned around.
“Oh!” she gasped.
“Fuck.” I sank onto the nearest desk, nearly overturning it.
Miss Barnes—my kid’s kindergarten teacher—was none other than JB.
Not on a bike. Not in leathers. But in a thigh-skimming skirt, soft blue blouse, and with glasses perched on her freckled nose.
How is she even hotter like this?
“You’re Hunter. Jack’s dad, Hunter?” She paced back and forth, those sweet heels punctuating her rising irritation. She flicked off her glasses and sent them skidding across her desk. “You said you were Hunter Sexton. Jack’s records say Hunter Angelo.”
I was still in shock over seeing JB in an entirely ordinary setting, while she still managed to look nothing less than extraordinary.
“Well?” She stomped toward me.
I rose to my feet as she halted in front of me. “Uhhh.” I pulled my fingers along my jaw. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m not asking for your Facebook status.”
My eyebrows lifted. “I’m not on Facebook.”
She huffed in annoyance and marched back to the front of the room. “Answer the question.” She used a stern teacher voice on me. I dug it.
“I’m exactly who you think I am. The man you met, the one you slept with—”
Dropping her voice, she hissed, “The man I fucked, you mean. Hunter Sexton, Hunter Angelo . . . which one is it?”
“Officially on the job at Mt. Pleasant PD, Hunter Sexton. As Jack’s dad, Hunter Angelo.”
“Urg! You’re infuriating.” Her breasts swelled in the blue blouse with her ragged breaths.
Now probably was not the time mention I thought her Miss Barnes look was ridiculously sexy.
“Angelo. That’s my real last name, the one on the birth certificate, the one that keeps my other aliases, and potential enemies, worlds away from my family. I can’t say much more than that. And you should never mention it either—the lives of people I love would be endangered if you did.” I walked down the narrow aisle between the desks toward her. I felt like a frigging giant in this brightly colored classroom, towering above the miniature desks and chairs.
JB slid back to sit on the edge of her desk. “Oh really. That’s not just a line to get women off your back?”
“JB, Miss Barnes . . . whatever—”
“It’s Jessica.”
“Jessica.” Her name rolled off my tongue like a kiss. Jessica Barnes.
My gaze traveled from her high heels up her stockinged legs to the hem of the skirt that had shifted higher when she sat down. Up her slim waist and over her breasts to her lips. I stopped there for a moment. I still hadn’t gotten my blowjob.
When I met her distinct and dark eyes, uncontrollable instant attraction snapped between us.
Breaking eye contact, I raked my hands through my hair. “Right. Here’s the thing. I’ve had a lot of different identities because of my job. Know this: I am Retribution. I am a dad. I’ve been working for Mt. Pleasant PD. I have a long history in law enforcement. Most of it ain’t pretty. And no one wants to dig deeper.”
“So I’m to take you at face value,” she stated.
“Yeah.”
“And trust you?”
“Yes.”
“Angelo,” she hummed my last name. “Italian. That explains your looks.” She slipped to her feet and walked around me in a slow ring.
I thought she’d touch me. My skin tingled as if she did. Her fingers didn’t connect with my body, just her eyes, watching me hungrily.
“The black hair, your golden brown eyes, bronzed skin,” she murmured.
The hot flash of
our attraction flared brighter. JB faced me, her cheeks tinged pink, highlighting the tiny freckles on the bridge of her nose. It was my turn to circle her. I strolled around her, admiring this new view of a career woman. My fingers skimmed down the center of her back, rasping against the silk of her shirt along the line where her butterfly tats marked her skin.
Standing behind her, I unpinned her hair. The wavy tresses fell into my hands. “What about you, JB? Harley Momma. Tank Girl.” I nipped her earlobe. “Kindergarten Teacher.”
“Riding is my escape. My time away from million-hour work weeks.” She spun in my arms. “I love the kids, love what I do, but I need time to be me too.”
“Mm.” I agreed.
Her eyes were hooded. Her ripe lips parted. The thin blouse did nothing to hide her pronounced nipples. Her desk looked sturdy enough for a fuck. I cupped her breasts in my palms, angling my head for a kiss when she pushed me away.
Adjusting her hair, her shirt, her skirt, she hissed, “This is a professional meeting, Mr. Angelo.”
Her harsh rebuff splashed across me cold as water. She was absolutely right, and I had no rights coming onto her in this setting or probably any other one.
“Hands off the teach. I got it.” I backed away until I found Jack’s diminutive desk.
Folding my body near in half, I sat down in his bright yellow chair. My knees knocked together. My thighs spilled over the seat. It was like sitting in a dollhouse.
Front and center on Jack’s desk was a card addressed To my Daddy. On the cover was a blobby coloring of me—the giant of course—and him sporting the same wild black hair with a big red clown smile.
I picked up the card and opened it:
Besd things bout my famlee.
I read the paragraph inside, Jack’s misspelled words scrawled in huge looping letters, through a blur of sudden tears I blinked away. He named his favorite stuffed animals first. Then he wrote about how he liked making pancakes with Momma. The final sentence was about me, how I kept him safe, checking under the bed and in the closet at night before I tucked him in.
“He’s a good kid.” I cleared my throat and put the card in my pocket.
“Yes, he is.” JB smiled. “He’s wonderful to have in class. Helpful, bright, he does get distracted and socializes a bit too much sometimes, but they all do.”
I laughed. “Socializes? That a polite way to say he’s a motor mouth?”
Her sparkly laughter joined mine.
Jesus. I could see why Jack loved her. Funny and sweet and smart. And damn, she was so beautiful.
Feeling the need to explain the situation, I said, “We’re not together, his mom and me. Not married. We were never like that. I mean we love each other, more like friends now. Weren’t ever in love . . .”
“You don’t have to tell me anything, Hunter.”
“Considering what we got up to the other night, I think I do.” I scowled.
“And I think we should focus on Jack.”
Sighing, I sprawled in my chair, as much as I could anyway. “He loves your class. Can’t stop talking about you.” I knew the feeling. “He’s fitting in okay, isn’t he?”
“He’s fantastic. You and his mom must be doing a good job with him. He’s right on track with the learning curve. He follows rules well. He’s smart. Loquacious.” JB slid onto her desk again, giving me an incredible view of her stocking-clad legs, again.
“Lo-qua . . . huh?” I stuttered.
“Do you need a lesson, Mr. Angelo?”
I dragged my gaze from her legs to her face where a wicked smile gleamed.
“You can’t blame me for not concentrating when you’re sitting there looking like a sexy naughty teacher fantasy.”
“Oh.” Her red lips ovaled.
I still want my blowjob.
“Do you have one of those?” she asked.
“Huh?” Jesus Christ. I sounded like I needed to go back to school.
She swung her coltish legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Do you have a naughty teacher fantasy?”
“I do now.” My voice dropped to a deeper timbre.
She moved behind her desk and sat in the chair, hiding her legs from view. “Is this better?”
“No.” Because I could be under that desk right now, my face between her thighs, no one the wiser.
She drew her hair up and pinned it back in place with a shaky laugh. All I thought about doing was taking it down again and burying my face in the silky strands.
“Let’s get back to Jack, shall we?” she asked.
Probably a better idea than whipping out my cock and jacking off in front of her. I nodded.
For the remaining fifteen minutes, we played concerned dad and dedicated teacher.
Hot, hot teacher.
“Any questions?” JB asked at the end of our meeting.
I had a few. None of them were suitable for an elementary school classroom.
At the threshold of her room, I braced an arm against the door, looming over her. “I don’t think we should do that again.”
“The conference thing?”
I looked around to make sure we were alone before I said, “The fucking thing.”
“I see.”
I cupped her chin in my hand. “No, you don’t. I’m no good but I’m doing my best, which is hard enough on any given day. You’re my son’s teacher. He likes you a lot. Hell, I like you a lot.” I released her and shook my head at the floor. “I got way too much baggage, and you look like you’re fresh out of college.”
“You didn’t have an age issue Sunday night, and you can’t be that much older than me anyway.”
“Maybe not in years, but experience.”
JB drew herself taller. In the high heels the top of her head reached my nose. I inhaled the perfume clinging to her skin, holding my groan inside.
“Experience, my ass. You’re a damn coward.” She shoved me out the door.
I swung my arm up to catch it before she could slam it in my face. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The muscle in my jaw flexed with tension.
“I know this: I could ride rings around you with my bike, and I could fuck you until you didn’t even remember any of your fake names. But I guess you’ll never find out.”
She kicked my shin then triumphantly banged the door shut with a click of the lock while I hopped on one foot with a wince of pain. Then I started laughing. The rumble came from deep inside. I’d just been outgunned by a goddamn sexy-as-sin kindergarten teacher. And I liked it.
If she was a bad decision before, she was definitely a no-go now.
I hobbled out of the school with a completely incongruous grin on my face.
****
At the end of a very long day, I entered Retribution clubhouse. I figured Cole was still on Probie status even though he’d made full member because the interior fucking sparkled. It was no dirty biker club, although what happened in the backrooms and bunkrooms was anyone’s guess. I hadn’t partaken of any of the pussy thrown my way, opting instead for the highest quality woman—JB. Seemed my instincts were still working because I’d chosen not only one hot biker babe but a classy career woman.
Yay me.
Round tables huddled together between the shiny steel-topped bar on one side of the room and the red baize, dark wood pool tables at the opposite end. There was room for dancing, a quality sound system pumping out rockabilly tunes, and even a small stage I’d never seen in action. The usual Miller High Life and Budweiser neon signs hung around the joint, but over the years they’d been “custom detailed” with slick graffiti. For example, the flashing Miller High Life sign showed the profile of a goateed dude toking a spliff, his hair spiked in a cannabis leaf formation. That right there was good art.
I scanned the room from under lowered brows. No sign of JB. I exhaled, only partly in relief. I was such a fuck up.
Seconds after I sat my ass on a barstool, I felt someone breathing down my neck. Spinning slowly around, I came face to face wi
th JB’s fake girlfriend, a very furious Rayce.
She hauled back and slapped my cheek with a stinging blow. “That’s for Jessica, you dick-hole. She told me what happened.”
I grabbed Rayce’s wrist before her second slap connected with my face. “Exactly what did she say?”
“That you’re a liar and a loser, Hunter Sexton.”
I released her when she mentioned my UC name—the one I used here. JB would only get herself in trouble—and not by me—if she went around talking about Hunter Angelo or anything else I’d said in confidence.
“Yeah, she’s probably got that right. So no worries, girlfriend. I won’t be darkening Jessica’s door again.” Reaching back for my third whiskey shot, I dismissed Rayce.
“Better not.” She sneered at me.
She stalked off. Electric blue streaks in her short black hair, smoky eyes, smoking body. I knew Boomer Steele had his eye on this mechanic/termagant. I wished him all the luck taming that shrew.
After she left me alone, I downed shot after shot at the bar of Retribution, looking for a little absolution.
What I got an hour later was Brodie sitting next to me. “Bad day?”
“I fucked my kid’s kindergarten teacher.” I was just loose-lipped enough to spill the barest amount of what was eating me up inside.
“No shit? At the school? Man, you got some serious cojones.” His arctic blue eyes twinkled.
“Not at the school. It’s JB. Jailbait. She’s Miss Jessica Barnes, motherfucking kindergarten teacher.”
“Oh fuck,” he said.
“No shit.”
“Cole, he’ll take another double.” Brodie rapped his big silver rings on the bar.
The whiskey burned my throat, but it wasn’t strong enough to incinerate my past.
Chapter Five
THE WHISKEY HAD DONE the trick. Cab home. Roll into bed. Lights out.
Whiskey didn’t keep the night terrors at bay, though. I woke to the sound of gunfire crackling in my ears, a rictus grimace on my mouth. Bile rose in my throat and I stumbled to the bathroom, half-blinded by brutal memories. Bent over the toilet, I dry heaved. Cold sweat covered my body. I shivered, heaving again. Nothing would come out. The past was hidden so deep inside it only rose up—wraithlike—in my sleep.