Dedication
To Sharon, Rana, Adele and Tarick.
For listening to my stories and believing in me, no matter what path I choose to follow.
Chapter One
In a dimly lit back alley, a hulking man stalked through the shadows. The chains looped over his thick leather boots clanked with the thud of his feet on the cobblestones. The six glowing eyes of Cerberus, the three-headed guardian hound of Hades, glared into the darkness from the center of the patch on the back of his worn leather jacket.
As far as bikers went, he was pretty scary.
Lana Parker wondered what he would do if he caught her following him. The last private investigator his wife, Angel, had hired was still in the hospital. And after seeing the biker’s picture, Lana had almost refused the case. It had taken her four years to escape her ex, bad-boy biker Levi Sullivan. The last thing she wanted was to get anywhere near another biker gang.
But Angel had changed Lana’s mind. Determined to escape from the biker world, Angel had convinced Lana to take a case she ordinarily wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole. Having once been in the same position as Angel, Lana couldn’t refuse.
She picked up her pace, trying to match the biker’s long strides. The alley smelled of diesel, the crisp, sharp scent of the ocean and a faint whiff of piss and stale beer. For an instant, the smells triggered a memory. Another case. Another alley. Or was it this one? Two and a half years ago, she had been new to Vancouver and all the Gastown alleys had looked the same.
Her foot slid on the cobblestones. Loose gravel bounced off a nearby dumpster and clattered across the alley, the sound ringing in the quiet space. The biker stopped midstep. Lana froze.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then his head jerked to the side, his long, blond ponytail brushing over the three noses of Cerberus. Not one of them sneezed. No doubt he was packing a couple of weapons inside that heavy leather jacket—weapons he could pull out and fire in a heartbeat at a young, financially strapped private investigator. The breadth of his body could not be solely attributable to the fast food and gourmet cookie addiction she had noted over the last week of surveillance.
His head swiveled, owl-like, over his shoulder. Even in profile, his face made her shudder. Long, sharp beak of a nose, thick lips, unforgiving chin. But it was the multitude of knife scars crisscrossing his broad face that bore testament to his violent life. Even Angel—who had promised Lana a 15 percent bonus for a picture of her husband in flagrante delicto—admitted her man was dangerous with a capital D.
Not just a man. Rex Morgan. Leader of Hades, British Columbia’s most infamous motorcycle club. Murderer. Arsonist. Drug dealer. Thief. Litterbug.
Suspected adulterer.
And soon to be single…if Lana got the pictures Angel needed to secure custody of her daughter.
Lana plastered her body against the rough brick wall and breathed in soft, shallow pants. Kind of like sex. Not that she remembered much about sex, at least good sex. It had been two years since she’d been dumped by James Hunter, ruggedly handsome homicide cop, sex god and heartless bastard. The few guys she’d slept with since then had left her cold.
She shook her head to clear her mind. Why the hell was she thinking about sex now? And why did she have Heartless Bastard on the brain? Her subconscious seemed to have its own agenda tonight, and one that could get her killed if she didn’t rein it in.
After one last sweep of his ponytail, Rex resumed his march down the alley, his long legs eating up the cobblestones until he reached a black metal door inset in the brick wall. He pulled a card from his pocket and ran it through the card reader. The door buzzed open and he disappeared inside.
Damn.
Lana bolted down the alley and grabbed the handle just before the door snapped shut. Her eyes swept over the entrance and she caught a flash of gold. She leaned in to examine the small, discreet plaque affixed to the wall.
Carpe Noctem.
Her heart sank. No wonder she had Heartless Bastard on the brain. They had met in this club during her first-ever investigation. Moonlighting as Carpe Noctem’s head of security, the mouthwateringly sexy cop had caught her with her finger on the shutter release. He’d liked her sass. She’d liked his over-the-top, crusty-cop style. After the case was solved and the bad guys were in jail, they’d had a few drinks and night after night of hot, kinky, mind-blowing sex. Then—poof!—he was gone. Never to be seen or heard from again.
Heartless Bastard.
What if he was here tonight?
She hesitated for only a second before she stepped through the door. She couldn’t let Angel down. And with a good disguise, no one would recognize her.
Twenty minutes later, Lana stepped out of the changing room and through the interior entrance of Vancouver’s most exclusive sex club, unrecognizable, even to herself. Although there was little she could do with the riot of red curls running rampant down her back, a heavy coat of foundation and a light dusting of bronzer had banished her freckles and darkened her naturally pale skin. Fake eyelashes and miracle eyeliner had turned her big green eyes into smoky emerald pools, and a slash of red lipstick had given her a trout pout to die for.
Someone had left a pair of handcuffs in the changing room, and she clipped them on to the belt of the risqué police officer costume she had tucked into her backpack for just this sort of emergency. Even if Angel hadn’t warned her about Rex’s penchant for sex clubs, Lana would have been tempted by the skintight, cleavage-baring, dirty-cop outfit she’d found in the costume shop. She was in law enforcement, after all. Sort of.
“Whit woo!” A short, skinny dude made a lewd gesture with his hips and motioned Lana over to his table. She tipped back her police hat and peered down at him through mirrored aviator sunglasses. Leather, chains and an overabundance of pink, spiked hair decorated his scrawny five-foot-and-a-few-inches frame.
“Really?” She rolled her eyes and sighed. She needed a real man. Big. Strong. Protective. Easy on the eyes. Dominant in the bedroom. Docile in the kitchen. Handy with a mop.
Heartless Bastard with a domestic side.
She searched the room, taking in the curtained alcoves hugging the curve of the wall, the tan leather couches and the new sparkly, red-tiled floor. No sign of Heartless Bastard. Her anxiety dropped a notch and she looked around for Rex.
Laughter and the clink of glassware drowned out the pathetically tame hip hop music buzzing through the speakers. Latex-, leather- and Lycra-clad bodies jostled for space on a dance floor near a roped-off area at the back of the club.
Taking a deep breath, Lana wove her way through the crowd, her fake handcuffs jangled on the hooks at the front of her barely there, strip-of-Lycra skirt. She wasn’t as worried about flashing a cheek as she was about cracking a smile. Still, it was way more fun than being nude in the morgue. Her last case, investigating an undertaker’s alleged infidelity, had given her a chill.
“Ooooh, Officer, I’ve been a bad, bad boy.” A portly, balding man in a cheap brown suit snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap. The tiny skirt rolled to the top of her thighs, exposing her sparkle-studded G-string and the problem with eating too many donuts.
“Go tell your mama.” Lana stomped a stiletto heel into his shoe and the tiny handcuff straps on her knee-high boots rattled in what she hoped was a menacing way.
Apparently not. He grabbed at her thighs and succeeded in snapping one of the garters attached to her black mesh stockings. “Whaddya gonna do, sunshine? I’m resisting arrest.”
Stilling herself, Lana positioned her elbow to inflict the maximum amount of pain in his place of least resistance, and then remembered she was sup
posed to be flying under the radar.
“Resist this,” she hissed. She angled her elbow down and shoved it between his legs only half as hard as she’d originally planned. The man exhaled a breath and doubled over. Lana slid off his lap and made a run for the bar, pressing a hand to the built-in bra cups on her corset as her almost-Ds threatened to escape.
“Hey, stop her.”
Lana took a quick look back and ran smack into a solid wall of muscle. Rough hands gripped her shoulders, holding her tight. Her gaze locked on to a mini glowering Cerberus affixed to the front of a worn leather jacket.
Oh God. Rex.
“Where are you running so fast, pet?”
Lana jerked back, the deep growl from above hitting her like a powerful blow. Her breath whooshed out of her, and she instinctively looked down, hiding her face.
Surveillance Rule #1: Never be seen.
“Sorry. Just going to the bar for a drink.” She glanced back over her shoulder at the man in the brown suit. He had stopped about ten feet behind her. One glance at Rex and he walked away. Exactly what she should be doing. But she couldn’t give up. Not without a picture of Rex engaged in some morally or legally reprehensible behavior. A week of surveillance and the worst thing he had done so far was toss a gum wrapper on the street. He just had to be planning something bad tonight. The press hadn’t nicknamed him Rex the Hex for nothing.
Intending to head back to the changing room and slip on a new disguise, she tried to sidestep around Rex, but he thrust a meaty finger under her chin and tilted her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze. She inhaled sharply as he loomed over her. Bulky and barrel-chested, he had to be well over six feet in height and he had the coldest eyes she had ever seen. There was nothing behind those eyes. Not a flicker of emotion. Only darkness.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Not again. She knew that darkness. It lived in her nightmares, flitted through the shadows, crawled through her skin even on bright sunny days. Instinct told her to run, but her feet remained frozen to the floor.
“I’ll buy you that drink.” A statement, not a question. His cold, domineering tone reminded her of her father.
A shiver coursed up Lana’s spine, and she shook her head to loosen her tongue. “I’m meeting someone.”
His rough, gravelly voice deepened. “Right now, you’re meeting me.” His gaze crawled over her, unleashing a wave of cockroaches under her skin. By the time his eyes returned to her face, a cold, sticky sweat covered her body.
With all the faux bravado she could muster, she gave him a tight smile and took a step back. “And…the meeting is over. Nice to meet you. Goodbye.”
His arm shot out, grabbing her shoulder, holding her in place. “Usually when I see a cop, I get an itch in my trigger finger. I look at you and I get an itch somewhere else. Ditch the boyfriend. One night with me and you’ll forget he exists.”
An itch? She suspected it might have to do more with his extramarital affairs and visits to the Seymour Street brothels than a desire to hump and pump with a curvy redhead in a dirty cop costume. Talk about putting a girl off.
Rex smiled, all nicotine-stained teeth and ashtray breath. “Yeah. I can see it in your eyes. You know what I’m talking about.”
What did he see exactly? Fear? Disgust? Or her desperate need to find the number for the local STD clinic?
Lana gave him a vacant smile as she considered her options. Option #1: Find a boyfriend. Heart thumping, she looked around the bar for a pseudoboyfriend—someone big, strong and sufficiently threatening. No one measured up except…maybe…Master Tony? She raked her eyes over the tall, broad frame of the club’s owner, but when he turned to greet someone at the door, she gave a little sigh. He had been less than pleased the last time she’d sneaked into the club. She doubted he would help her once he discovered she’d sneaked in again.
Option #2: Run. Excellent option. Lana wrenched herself from Rex’s grasp and took a step toward the door.
Damn.
Three bikers, two wearing the Hades patch, and one so young he had to be a prospect, were making their way through the crowd toward Rex. Blocking her path.
Lana’s pulse pounded in her ears. Rex was bad enough. But four bikers? It was almost like being back in the Wolverines’ clubhouse with Levi all over again.
The tallest of the three had swept back his long, dark hair and tied it at nape of his neck in a ponytail. Dark eyes, olive skin and a broad, hard body to match the strong planes of his striking face. Yum…even though he was a biker.
“Ryder.” Rex shook the hand of Mr. Deep, Dark and Delicious.
Ryder’s gaze flicked to Lana. He tilted his head to the side, giving her first a considered look, and then a sympathetic smile. He turned back to Rex. “I thought we were here for a meeting, not to pick up fender fluff.”
Lana grimaced at the backhanded compliment. She knew the slang. He thought she was pretty. Anything less and she would have been a “fender bunny” or even worse, a “mattress cover”.
Lucky her. Well, at least he hadn’t made fun of her hair. Usually men made some reference to the inferno on her head—Carrots, Ginger Snap, Big Red, Fire Bush, Rusty, Copper Top, Flame Brain, Matchstick Head or her current favorite, Red Zilla.
“You know what they say, ‘red in the head, fire in the bed’.” The second biker, a bruiser with crazy dreadlocks gave her a lascivious wink and an oh-so-enticing crotch grab.
“Good one, Bones.” Rex thumped the thick-necked thug on the back. “I was thinking that myself.”
Lana rolled her eyes. Oh ha-ha-ha. So funny. As if she hadn’t heard that one before. Some day she’d meet a man who could insult her hair with some originality.
“Leave the girl alone. We’ve got a meeting to get underway.” Ryder gave her a wink and stepped to the side, clearing her path to the door.
Rex gripped Lana’s arm just as she took her first step to freedom. “You jealous, Ryder? Been a long time since you had a back warmer.”
“Maybe he’s fucking bent.” The prospect, a blond Adonis who looked like he should be playing high school football instead of pledging to join a biker gang, gave Rex an obsequious smile and was rewarded with a slap to the head.
“You’re an idiot, Kickstand,” Rex growled. “You don’t disrespect a full-patch brother when you don’t even have the right to breathe without his permission.”
Kickstand stumbled into Lana from the force of the blow, knocking her off balance and out of Rex’s grasp. With incredible dexterity, Kickstand caught her before she fell.
“Sorry,” Kickstand murmured as he helped her balance. “I don’t usually make a habit of knocking down pretty girls just to get their attention. Every time I’m around these guys I do something wrong.”
She gave him a soft, reassuring smile, but her heart went out to him. He was trying so hard to fit in. She’d seen dozens of prospects like him during her time with Levi—young and desperate to be part of what they perceived to be the glamorous world of bikerdom. Very few were accepted and fewer still earned their patch. Kickstand would never make the cut. Too good-looking, too kind-hearted and too eager to please. What the hell was he doing with Hades?
While Rex, Bones and Ryder lamented the lack of good prospects in the biker world, Lana edged her way toward the door, only to be cut off again, this time by a late arrival.
Almost as tall as Rex and Ryder, the new biker was lean, lithe and powerful, with a narrow waist and long, hard thighs. His thick, dark hair just brushed his collar. His eyes were an unusual steel blue.
A familiar steel blue. Her heart stuttered in her chest.
James?
No, it couldn’t be. She blinked her eyes. Once. Twice. Was it him? Two years had passed since she’d last seen Heartless Bastard. The man in front of her had the same physique, strong nose and chiseled jaw. But the James she knew had kept his hair military short and would have been appalled to sport a five o’clock shadow, much less three days’ worth of stubble over his unyielding chin. James was a
cop through and through. No way would he ever join Hades.
As if sensing her perusal, he frowned. “Take off the glasses.” The velvet rasp of his deep baritone voice sent tiny quivers of need straight to her core.
Heart pounding, she took a step back and inadvertently hit Rex’s chest. “Take them off, pet,” Rex snapped. “Ice isn’t a man who asks twice.”
Ice. He had a road name, and from the mini salivating puppies on the front of his jacket, he was no prospect, like Kickstand, currying favor in the hopes of being allowed to join the club. He was a fully initiated member of Hades.
Swallowing hard, Lana removed her glasses and stared down at the fishnet stockings peeking out of her boots like a hundred crisscrossing lines of black gunpowder. One of the garters was still loose, leaving her even more exposed—as if that was possible—to the explosive heat of his gaze.
“Look at me,” Ice demanded. His rich, husky voice rolled through her, stirring longings she had hidden away in the darkest recesses of her memory. Heat settled at the juncture of her thighs, her nipples tightened and her mouth went dry.
Disconcerted by her body’s responses and unable to meet his gaze, she looked away.
Ice cupped her jaw and firmly turned her face toward him, pulling her away from Rex. Her gaze locked with eyes now as deep blue as the ocean. Commanding, captivating eyes. Framed by thick lashes. But it wasn’t his eyes that finally sparked her recognition; it was the aura of pure power that hit her like the painful thud of her heart when she had realized he was never coming back.
He stroked his thumb over the apple of her cheek, the gesture at once comforting and familiar. A tangled web of emotions swept through her body like a firestorm. The world fell away.
James.
Heartless Bastard.
Lana swallowed hard and fought the warring urges to kiss him and slap him across the face.
For a split second, his breathing hitched and his eyes widened. He glanced over at Rex and back to her. His expression shifted from curious to considering, and she caught a gleam in his eyes. Calculating. Determined.
Barely Undercover: Legal Heat, Book 2 Page 1