by Cat Mason
Knowing that I can’t stay in here all day, I shut off the water, then dry my hands and face. Making my way toward the door, I spot a pile of Jensen’s clothes on the floor beside an empty white plastic hamper. “Seriously?” I mutter, shaking my head. “He can hit a fucking car tire from fifty yards away, but misses the hamper?”
Scooping them up, I groan. “What the— Why the hell are they wet?” Dumping them inside the bin, my head begins to spin as I look down at my blood covered hands. “Oh God,” I groan, my stomach rolling as I wipe my hands on the front of my shirt. Dropping to my knees, I lift the toilet lid and drag air into my lungs, silently praying that I don’t throw up what little is in my stomach.
The door flies open, Jensen’s bare feet and legs coming into view out of the corner of my eye. “Ro?” he asks, his tone filled with concern. He steps closer. “You’re sick.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, waving him off as I clutch the toilet with my other hand.
Cursing under his breath, he moves behind me. The faucet turns on, then my hair is gathered and swept over my shoulder. His rough fingers brushing so gently over my nape make me shiver. Pressing a cool cloth to the back of my neck, Jensen helps me to my feet. When I wobble, his arm wraps around my waist and pull me against him, steadying me. My hands fly up to his biceps, gripping them firmly. I swallow hard. My breath is caught in my chest as the heat from his body radiates through my t-shirt. Sliding his hand into my hair, he presses his lips to my forehead. The kiss so sweet and tender, it has my eyes fluttering closed. I choke on a sob, tears filling my eyes again.
Pulling me into his chest, Jensen sighs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair.
I don’t know what he is apologizing for, exactly, but the words aren’t important. I don’t reply, I don’t ask questions that I know will only lead to tension and an inevitable argument. Instead, I relax into his arms and accept the unexpected comfort found in his embrace.
After several minutes, there is a knock on the bedroom door. Jensen’s body tenses. “I need to get that,” he says, releasing his hold on me. Cupping my cheeks with both hands, he tilts my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You good?”
“Go,” I reply, letting go of his arms. “I’m tougher than I look.”
“Yeah.” Running his thumb along my cheek, he searches my eyes. “I know.” A tremble runs through my entire body. The way his eyes heat, I know Jensen feels it too. His lips part and he inhales sharply, his tongue peeking out just enough to skim the corner of his bottom lip. My heart thumps wildly in my chest as he leans in closer. I lick my lips.
A growl rumbles up from his chest, the sound primal and gritty. Yanking me against him, he crushes his mouth to mine. Nothing about this kiss is sweet or tender. Everything from his tight grip on my body, to the aggressive hunger in his kiss, is painfully possessive. I have never felt anything so intense. Gripping his upper arms, I sigh against his lips, my entire body arching into him, aching for more.
“Yo!” a male voice shouts, followed by much louder knocking. “Wake the fuck up!”
Breaking the kiss, Jensen releases me. Something flashes in Jensen’s eyes when he looks down at me. Blowing out a breath, he shakes his head. “Yeah?” Turning his back to me, I get a quick view of the large club emblem tattoo covering nearly his entire back before he closes the door behind him.
Stepping forward, I grab the sink to steady myself. My breath rushes out of me, leaving me feeling like a deflated balloon. Holy shit. Looking in the mirror, I sigh. What would have happen had we not been interrupted? How far would that kiss have gone?
“Christ, what the hell am I thinking? The man behind those eyes isn’t the same person you grew up with,” I scold my reflection in the mirror. Unable to look myself in the face, my eyes drop to the sink and my blood smudged fingers. “The boy you grew up with is gone, Ro. That Jensen abandoned you, leaving behind a serial killer with a sexy smile and a Harley.” Yanking the washcloth from my neck, I switch on the faucet, grab the soap and begin scrubbing my hands vigorously.
“Ro!” Jensen shouts from the other side of the closed door, making me jump. “Need you out here.”
Shutting off the water, I dry my hands and quickly run my fingers through my hair to comb out the tangles from sleep before I open the door. Jensen has pulled on a white t-shirt and a pair of black jeans that sit low on his hips. Stepping out of the bathroom, I spot one of the men I remember seeing last night when we pulled up standing on the other side of the room next to Chief McKelvy. “Roanne Frazier, this is Colt. You already know the chief.”
“Hi,” I say to Colt, who jerks his chin in greeting.
Colt has much more of a beard than Jensen. The dark blonde mess of shaggy coarse looking hair covers more of his face than it shows. His eyes, however, are possibly the most vibrant blue I have ever seen.
Once I take a seat on the bed, Jensen hands me a brown paper bag from the dresser and a to-go coffee cup from the bakery in town. Knowingly, I arch a brow at Chief McKelvy. “Breakfast delivery one of your many duties?” I ask, dropping the bag next to me and removing the lid from the cup to blow away the steam.
“I’m a man of many talents,” he replies, taking a seat in the chair Jensen had been sleeping in only moments ago. “I’m actually here on official police business. Thought I’d, at least, make it a bit more pleasant.”
“The coffee is much appreciated,” I reply, flashing him a grateful smile. McKelvy blushes.
“Tell her,” Jensen interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest.
Replacing the lid, I lean over and sit my coffee on the wooden bedside table. The smile fades from McKelvy’s face, all traces of humor gone. “Tell me what?” I ask, dread settling in my chest. “What’s going on?”
Nodding his head, he leans up in the chair. “The man lying in the morgue right now isn’t your father.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. “What do you mean it isn’t my father? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“No.” Sitting down beside me, Jensen covers my hand with his, giving it a squeeze. His eyes soften, the tenderness and warmth in his voice is soothing, putting a stop to my barrage of questions immediately. “Let him finish.”
Swallowing hard, I nod, my eyes moving back to McKelvy. “Please.”
“Compared his dental records to the body,” McKelvy continues. “Dentist happens to be my wife’s cousin so I was able to get that order rushed through pretty quick.” Tugging at his shirt collar, he clears his throat. “Anyway, records don’t match up. Whoever was driving that car wasn’t your old man.”
“You’re sure?” Colt asks. Stepping forward, he swipes the bag from beside me. “Could be some sort of mix up.” Digging through the bag, he retrieves a glazed donut before extending the opened bag to me. “Want the other?”
“Thanks, but no,” I reply, having suddenly lost my appetite. Pushing to my feet, I yank my hands through my hair as I pace beside the bed.
“No mix up,” the chief confirms. “Alfred has been seeing Jimmy Whalen since he started the practice in a modified double-wide trailer, twenty years ago. No way those records are wrong. ID is officially negative.” His eyes meet mine. “Your dad was not the man driving that car.”
“What does this mean?” I ask, looking around the room. My eyes stop on Jensen’s and I feel tears threatening again. “Where is my dad? If they took him, wouldn’t they want ransom?”
“We aren’t sure,” McKelvy sighs, sounding frustrated. “I’m sorry. At this point, I’m afraid there isn’t much to go on.”
“If these bastards went to all the trouble to try and fake ‘Fredo’s death,” Colt says through a mouthful of donut. “They’re not after some quick cash drop.”
“Exactly,” Jensen agrees. “The explosion could possibly be nothing more than a distraction to throw us all off the scent long enough for bigger shit to go down.”
“This is a game to them?” I ask, throwing up my hands
in exasperation.
“Yes.” Reaching out, Jensen grabs my hand to stop me from pacing. My stomach flips. Standing to his feet, he steps closer and grabs my upper arms. “Think of it as a giant game of chess. Now,” he says, his eyes heating, a sinister smile spreading across his face that causes my stomach to flip again. “We play to win.”
“You want to draw them out,” McKelvy blurts before I can say anything. He scratches his chin thoughtfully. “How the hell do you plan to do that?”
“We plan a distraction of our own,” Jensen replies, his eyes not leaving mine. “A funeral.”
Chapter Six
Stone
Yanking on my cut and boots, I walk Chief McKelvy out of the clubhouse with Colt, leaving Roanne to get changed. Kissing her was a huge mistake, even if I don’t regret it. Now all I can think about is getting rid of McKelvy and Colt so I can go back down there and wrap my lips around one of the nipples I can see through the t-shirt she has on. I want her naked and begging beneath me so that I can hear her scream my name while I fuck her.
Space and some fresh air is the only thing that can ease the aching need to drive my cock into her.
“You’re gonna have to tell me what your plan is here, Son,” McKelvy says, interrupting my thoughts. “You expect me to believe that your genius idea is to shoot up the neighborhood streets and have Roanne mourn over an empty coffin?”
“You know me better than that,” I reply, leaning back against the bumper of his squad car. “Those fuckers were casin’ the house, searchin’ for shit and waitin’ on her to come back. Not my fault your men missed that shit. Us handlin’ it saved you headache and paperwork. You’re welcome,” I add, crossing my arms over my chest and flashing him a grin. “As for my plan, I’ve got Jinks workin’ on it. But I need the focus of these bastards to be on Ro. And for you to put that unidentified stiff on ice while she plays the part of the grieving daughter.”
“You’re asking me to manipulate an investigation?” When I nod, his eyes widen in disbelief. Blowing out a breath, he shakes his head. “Hell, you’re not askin’. Even if I could pull that shit off with Ashmead and my boys, I can’t hide anything from the goddamn Feds. What happens when they strip my badge and lock me up? Who’s gonna do your dirty work then?”
“If I were you, I’d make sure that doesn’t happen.” Pushing off the car, I chuckle as I step toward him. “The only reason I haven’t slit your throat is because your current usefulness outweighs your past betrayal. The second that changes,” I add with a shrug. “You’re as good as dead.”
Tugging at his collar, McKelvy swallows hard, his eyes damn near bugging out of his head. “I’ll do what I can,” he replies, climbing into his car and hauling ass out of the lot.
It should be no surprise to him that his breaths are numbered. Looks like he forgot that our arrangement is a means to an end. “Torch back from the Georgia ‘shine run?” I ask, looking to Colt.
“Got back last night,” he replies with a nod.
“Good. I want him rotatin’ shifts with D.A., tailin’ the chief.” Shoving my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I look over at Colt. “McKelvy may need a reminder that he needs us much more than we need him.”
Leaving Colt to handle getting D.A. and Torch up to speed on shit, I head back inside and spot Huck and Doc talking at the bar. “You two are up early,” I say, leaning against the edge of the bar. “No rest for the wicked, huh?
“Haven’t been to bed yet,” Doc replies. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he yawns. “Had to get the last of that ‘shine boxed up and ready to go. Meetin’ Wes for the handoff later today.”
“Plus,” Huck chimes in, taking a drag from his cigarette. “He needed somethin’ special this go ‘round.” Exhaling, he meets my eyes. “Think we found just the thing.”
“Assholes!”
Looking up, I spot Doc’s daughter, Cheyenne, striding out of the kitchen with a jar in her hand, her eyes locked on Huck and her father. “I know two old men who are each about to get a size eight boot up their stubborn, thievin’ asses.” Blowing out a frustrated breath, she shoves her long brown hair over her shoulder. Sliding a quart sized jar on the bar, she narrows her eyes at the two old men. “Did you seriously fill jars of moonshine with the peaches I bought to make cobbler after I said not to?”
Cheyenne has been a fixture at the clubhouse since she was born. With her mother, Lolly, bailing on them shortly after giving birth to Shy, Doc raised her and Jinks, himself, with help from the club. Now that they are grown, Jinks has earned his place at the table beside his father, while Shy keeps this place going behind the scenes.
“Mhm. Added some cinnamon and brown sugar too.” Grabbing the jar, Huck holds it up to the light. Shaking it, he tilts it as he studies the contents. “It’ll taste just like cobbler. Don’t cha worry.” Removing the lid, he gives it a sniff before taking a sip. “Whew!” He hisses through his teeth and smacks his lips. “That’s smooth as a baby’s ass,” he laughs, offering her the jar.
“Thanks, Uncle Huck, but it’s a little early for me,” Cheyenne replies, shaking her head. “I prefer to wash my breakfast down with something that won’t singe off my stomach lining or earn me time in the county drunk tank when I head to the store to replace those peaches.”
“Your Pop didn’t raise no lightweight, girl.” Huck takes another sip, laughing when he passes the jar to Doc. “Won’t see your brother turnin’ down good liquor.”
“Can’t compare my kids, shithead. Shy’s awake before the roosters. And well,” Doc replies, winking at his daughter. “The only reason Jinks sees a sunrise is because he’s not gotten drunk enough to pass out yet.” Laughing, he takes a sip from the jar. “Dumbass lugged him off the pool table this mornin’. Kid was dead to the world, jeans to his ankles, face down in a pair of tits.”
“Jesus, Pop,” Cheyenne gags, throwing up her hands. “That’s my brother. I don’t wanna hear about that shit. And,” she grounds out, narrowing her eyes. “My husband’s name is Troy. Could you please quit calling him Dumbass?”
“It’s meant with love,” I say, clapping Doc on the back.
“Yeah,” Doc replies, blowing out a breath. “As much love as a man can have for the dumbass who married his baby girl,” he mutters, his lips twitching up in a smile. “Fucker’s lucky I don’t kill him in his sleep and change his name to Deadass.”
Truthfully, D.A. is not stupid at all. He singlehandedly runs most of the car parts business for the club. Troy West started hanging around here when he was sixteen. His time was spent in the shop, working his ass off as Doc’s grunt. The guy worked like a dog twelve hours a day, every day, during the hottest summer on record, and smiled the entire time like he had hit the lottery. Summer ended, but Troy never left. When he decided to stay on at the shop and quit school, Doc told him he was either the craziest son of a bitch on earth, or a complete dumbass.
Dumbass stuck.
“Could be worse,” I shrug. “Shy could’ve married Huck’s ugly ass.”
Shy and Doc both laugh, while Huck braces his elbow on the bar and glares at the three of us. “It’s okay, Huckleberry,” Schrader says, taking the stool beside him. “Not everyone can be as pretty as me.”
Huck laughs. “I’ve been to prison, boy. Pretty safe bet I’m goin’ back someday.” Swiping the jar of moonshine back from Doc, he digs out a piece of peach with this fingers and tosses it into his mouth. “The last thing I wanna be is pretty.”
“Speakin’ of pretty,” Doc says, nudging me with his elbow, his eyes locked on the doorway, as Ro steps into the room. Her eyes find me almost immediately. Squaring her shoulders, she moves toward us, swaying her hips with purpose. I am relieved when I see that she has jeans on today with a pair of black knee-high leather boots, instead of the barely there dress and fuck me heels she was wearing when I first brought her here. However, my relief fades the moment my eyes move up her body. The tight pink t-shirt she has on stretches tight across her tits, the low neckline showing o
ff her great fucking rack.
“Keep your tongue in your mouth, asshole,” I growl, nudging him back. “Ro’s not club pussy. She’s like a sister to me.”
Throwing his head back, Doc laughs. Pushing from the stool, he slaps me hard on the back. “Nothin’ ‘bout the look in your eyes is brotherly.”
“I was coming back down,” I bite out through gritted teeth, knowing that there was no way in hell she would have left my room in that shirt had I been down there.
I’d have locked the door and ripped it from her goddamn body with my teeth.
“Hi, Schrader,” Ro says, batting her lashes and ignoring me completely. This woman is pushing every fucking button, especially the one that makes my dick hard.
“Hey, Ro,” Schrader replies with a shit eating grin as his eyes rake over her body, his eyes locking on her tits. “Have you met Shy and Doc?”
Roanne’s eyes move to Shy as she smiles and says hello. Mine stay locked on Schrader, his smile damn near splitting his face. “Let’s go,” I interrupt, grabbing her arm and steering her toward the stairs. “Now.” Her eyes snap to mine, then drop to where my fingers are wrapped around her. When she looks up at me again, her green eyes are filled with fire, those soft, plump lips that I tasted earlier are now pressed into a hard line. She obviously isn’t used to being told what to do, but that is something she is going to have to get used to.
If anything, the rage sparking beneath the surface has me wanting her even more. Doc is right. Not a goddamn thing I feel, when I look at Roanne, is brotherly.
Although, if I am being honest, it never has been.