by Jayna Vixen
Dax wasn’t expecting her to launch herself into his arms. He caught her, surprised as she muttered, “I’m not going another second without this.”
The look in her eyes was sinful and determined as her gaze fixated on his mouth. Then, her warm lips pressed lightly against his, instantly setting his blood on fire. Dax felt a primal growl of need rumble in his chest and he turned the tables on her. You don’t know who you’re playing with, little girl. He yanked up Rhee’s skirt and threw one of her legs around his waist. He pressed her against the open door, fitting himself neatly between her thighs. Dax sent his tongue stroking inside her mouth. He nearly lost himself then, and if it weren’t for the repeated buzzing of his phone he would have ripped off the girl’s panties and seated himself inside of her right there, with the door wide open.
They broke apart, breathless and heaving. Rhee’s eyes were glassy as she stared at him, her mouth curved into a sensual smile. He ran his thumb down the side of her jaw then adjusted himself with a pained groan. No way in hell he was going to be able to ride this way. He pulled Rhiannon back into his embrace and allowed himself one more sweet taste of her mouth. Then he let his heated gaze slide over her taut nipples to the juncture of her thighs, where the material of her dress clung. She made no effort to pull it down, as though she was daring him to take her all the way to heaven and back. His damn phone buzzed again. Dax pushed his hand through his hair and took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” He uttered the words to her, but he was asking himself the same question.
The sultry look in her eyes turned serious as her eyes flitted from Dax to his phone, and back. Then, Rhee straightened her dress and smoothed her hair. It looked like she had made a decision. “I’m fine. The club comes first, Dax. I understand that.”
Dax should have been relieved to hear her say those words. Spoken like a true old lady. But, Rhee’s eyes were shuttered and her posture was tense once more.
“I’ll be back.”
“I know.” Rhee lifted one delicate shoulder in a half-shrug. “I’ll see you when you’re done with your business.”
She made it so easy for him to leave. There was no nagging, cajoling, no blatant attempt to coerce him with her body, as other women used to do. So, it should have simple to separate himself, and handle club business, as he had always done. Why, then, did walking out that door feel so inherently wrong?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Vidal was beside himself with glee as he watched the playback of the evidence his two new guys had brought back. Jamison had a real Achilles heel…well actually, he had two of them—a kid and a woman he obviously wanted. It was almost too perfect. Plus, the girl was hot. Vidal could tell that she was a little firecracker, from the way she wrapped herself around her biker boyfriend.
Kestler, the shorter of his two goons, chuckled as Vidal watched the playback. “Man, I thought he was gonna fuck her right there on the porch.”
“Damn shame he didn’t. I woulda liked to see what his bitch has under her skirt. Nice piece of ass…”
As his hired help discussed Dax’s woman and her assets, a plan began to form in Vidal’s mind. He had been awake for two days and he was thinking clearer than he ever had. He could use the chick and maybe even the kid to gain some serious leverage against Jamison. Force him to reveal his supplier. Then, he would take the asshole out, and his pretty little woman too. Vidal licked his lips, picturing all of that reddish brown hair swirling around them as he fucked her. He’d make her moan all right. More than Jamison did. Vidal glanced at the two ex-cons he had hired. It might be fun to watch them fuck her too.
A slow grin erupted on Vidal’s face. The solution to all of his problems was crystal clear all of a sudden. He wanted a direct connection to the Russian supplier, and he knew just how to do it. He could pay off the debt he owed and still come out way ahead. Plus, an alliance with the Russians could only help him with the little problem that had developed with the Italians. Vidal rubbed his sweaty palms on his legs. He didn’t want to lose them. Or his hands.
“Boyle!”
“Boss?”
He loved having two surly criminals calling him boss. “Go get Jamison.”
“Boss?”
“Get the girl, too. Bring them both to the cannery.”
Yeah, the tuna cannery. It was perfect. No one would hear shit. Vidal was reminded of the time he was sent to the principal’s office in grade school for dissecting Ms. Wilson’s prized goldfish. It had squirmed and then frozen when he had pinned it down and stabbed his pocketknife into its gut and twisted. Just like Jamison would. Vidal shivered with arousal. He reached for his hard cock and began to stroke. He would gut Jamison like a little fish, while his woman watched. And then, just as Jamison entered his death throes, he would fuck the girl senseless. Then, he would choke the life out of her.
***
All Wince wanted was a cold beer and nap when he and Slade finally arrived back at the hotel. The last thing he expected to find was a damsel in distress in the hall. The girl looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her.
“I’m locked out, can I use your phone to call the concierge?” the girl purred. “I’m, um, a little undressed for the lobby.”
“Uh—” Damn, this chick was pretty foxy. Nice and round in all the right places. Wince’s eyes settled on her chest, which was generously displayed in a hot pink bikini top.
Nice. Real nice.
“Pretty please?” she pouted, but the mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes was sexy and suggestive.
Wince swiped his key card and grandly gestured to his suite. “Absolutely, sweetheart. Let me charge it up for you first, I’m a little low on juice.”
She waltzed right in as if she owned the place, pausing at the well-stocked bar. “Got anything to drink, sugar?”
“Sure. Brandy and coke? Wine?”
“Got any vodka?”
“Have a seat.” Wince busied himself pouring some premium liquor over ice. His phone buzzed and he glanced at it. Dax. Asking about a chick. Wince looked sharply at the girl settled on the couch. She returned his gaze with a dazzling smile. Wince added another glass to the bar and doubled the amount of liquor in the shaker. Looked like he was going to need a drink as well. He took a long sip before turning and sauntering over to the couch. He waited until she was swallowing a mouthful of liquid before he spoke.
“So…what are you doing here, baby? Looking to bag yourself a Phantom? ‘Cause there were plenty of guys back home in Darling.”
The girl spluttered, mortified. “I’m not a groupie!”
“Aren’t you?” Wince had a keen eye for stalkers, and the small tattoo peeking out where her sarong dipped low in the back confirmed his notion. Phantom stalker, all the way.
“No! I mean, okay, look. I’m not really locked out. And I did come here to talk to Dax, but it’s not what you think.”
She looked far too guilty for Wince to believe her. “He won’t be happy to see you. We’ve got business here and you’re interfering with it.”
“That’s just it, Wince.”
He felt his eyebrows go up. Clearly, she knew them all pretty well. Wince feigned patience and took a sip of his drink, waiting for the mysterious dark-haired hottie to give him a reason not to kick her back out into the hall.
“I’ve got some information that impacts your crew—in a big way. And I’m not telling anyone about it but Dax.”
Wince knew that most of the groupies considered him to be Mr. Nice Guy, and for the most part, he was. But, he didn’t take kindly to being threatened or manipulated. Deliberately, he strode to the door and clicked the double lock into place. The sound bounced around the room. The woman had the decency to flush, her confident mask slipping briefly to give Wince a glimpse of worry.
“I think you might want to reconsider.” Wince drained the rest of his cocktail in one long gulp. “Because if you think for one second that Dax will appreciate some stalker wasting his time, or mine, you’ve
got another thing coming, sweetheart.”
Two little spots of red danced on the stranger’s cheeks and her eyes flashed, communicating her fury. She rose indignantly, and crossed her arms over that nice rack.
“Finding out which one of your trusted inner circle is about to turn on his own club is hardly a waste of time.”
“That’s bullshit.” Wince advanced on the girl. That was a serious allegation—one that wouldn’t be taken lightly. He was about nose to nose with her now and he sized her up, noting that she stood her ground. This chick was either really fucking stupid, or just the opposite. While her looks and clothing gave her a definite groupie appearance, the calculated gleam in her eye told Wince that a clever mind lay beneath the attractive packaging.
“Nope. And I can prove it.”
“You can prove it to me first.”
With a demure smile and a slow shake of her head, she refused. Wince offered a grim smile as he pulled out his phone to contact Dax. He wasn’t about to play this chick’s games.
“Have a seat, then, baby.”
“It’s Alanna.”
“Sit, Alanna.” Wince barked. He was mildly surprised when she obeyed.
Dax didn’t reply to his text but Wince knew he had gone over to Rhiannon’s cottage after his meeting with Turtle. Dax had a candle the size of the statue of liberty burning for that girl. It was high time he admitted it. Plagued by the somewhat painful idea of the two of them together, Wince headed back to the minibar. Time for another round.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Horny and pissed off did not a happy Dax Jamison make. Whoever that little groupie was back at the hotel was going to be in some serious hot water for interrupting his time with his family.
Family.
The thought vibrated in his head. He had been shuffled through so many different homes as a child, but he had never really had a family. The club was his family. But, the crew was a surrogate for the real thing. Now, the real thing was within reach, and Dax realized that he didn’t want to give that up. He had no idea how to fit the pieces of his life together in a way that made sense, but he would figure it out. He would resolve the issues with Vidal, maybe even find a different carrier to transport the Russian guns, and settle down here for a while. Yeah, that made sense. He wouldn’t uproot Sirena, and Rhee would resist that for sure anyway. His mind was racing. Dax wasn’t paying attention as he tore down the street. His distraction proved to be a near-fatal mistake.
The stalled car came out of nowhere. It was a miracle that he avoided wrecking his bike. He managed to maintain his upright position even as he skidded off the road. His heart pounded madly at the thought of what he had nearly lost. His life—his opportunity to be part of a family. Rage at the thought mobilized Dax to stalk angrily to the driver’s window. A small, dark-haired woman sat inside.
As he peered inside, Dax had the sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong. He recognized the girl in the car. It was the same girl he had rescued from Vidal. She looked terrified. Dax reached into the window and unlocked the door from the inside.
“Are you okay? What are you doing here?” he asked, confused.
“I’m so sorry. He made me do it. They found me—threatened my mother,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.
“Made you do what?” Dax asked, holding out his hand to the frightened young girl. She pulled back, as though he was about to burn her with a cigarette.
“I’m so sorry!” she yelped, covering her face with her hands.
“What—-”
Blinding pain exploded just behind Dax’s ear. Then, everything went black.
***
“I thought you said that Dax was on his way.”
Alanna’s voice was becoming irritating. Wince thought about kicking her out, but he was curious to see if she could deliver any information. Now, concern was setting in. Where the fuck was Dax? Wince had sent a 9-1-1 level alarm over an hour ago. Dax had responded 10-4. That had been their only communication. Wince had called and texted four times since, with no response.
Sure, maybe Dax was still, er, dealing with Rhiannon.
Wince sighed. Dax wasn’t the only man who had fallen hard for Rhee back in the day. Some people were just meant to be in a guy’s life, he mused. Like Rhiannon.
The moment he had discovered the girl in the back of the van that night so long ago, Wince experienced an immediate, deep connection that defied any rational explanation. Over time, he realized that he had misconstrued his attraction to the stowaway. At first, Wince thought it was sexual attraction that drew him to her. Rhiannon was sexy, but she didn’t flaunt herself like the other groupies did. She was innocent, smart and funny on top of her naiveté. After the embarrassment from his attempted kiss debacle, Wince began to re-classify his feelings for Rhiannon as more akin to brotherly love. In an odd way, Wince also felt the same familial bond with Dax.
Perhaps it was that bond that was causing the warning bells to sound in Wince’s head. Dax was acting pretty off-kilter these days, but it wasn’t like the man to say one thing and then fail to follow through. At the very least, he would have communicated that his plans were detoured. Slade and Smalls were probably sleeping off the night before. Wince considered calling Hawk, but what could the man do? Other than contact their affiliates…and Wince could do that himself. As he scrolled to Turtle’s contact information, he regarded the groupie. It was either take her or leave her. Wince knew that if anyone could handle her, Turtle could. With any luck, Alanna would set her sights on some beefy islander guy and back off of Dax.
“Maybe Dax is with that other brunette, visiting his kid. Do you know where she lives?”
Wince froze. “What did you say?”
Alanna smiled, like a cat that had just taken a lion’s share of the cream. “Oh, you didn’t know?” she purred. “Makes sense. Dax probably doesn’t even know, himself.”
“Kid?” Wince echoed, stunned.
“She’s really cute. Spitting image of Dax. It’s fine, really. I don’t mind having a kid around. Mostly.” Alanna smoothed her hair.
Wince grabbed her arm, more roughly than he intended.
“Ouch!”
Plans could change so quickly. He sent a follow-up text to Turtle. The man responded that he would meet them at Rhee’s place, with a couple of guys for back-up, just in case. It was a good idea. Things were starting to go sideways. Wince remembered where Rhiannon’s little beach cottage was. It was time to track the stowaway down and get some answers. With any luck, Dax was there too.
He turned to the girl, who shot him a dirty look and rubbed her arm. “Whatever evidence you think you have, I hope you have it on you, sweetheart. Dax will be pissed as hell if you’re lying.”
Wince fully assumed that she was. Lying that is. Alanna was obviously a hang-around who had developed a thing for Dax. It had happened before. However, her assertion that someone had turned—that wasn’t something that could be ignored. If Alanna couldn’t back up her story with hard evidence, she would be cast out, and branded a club traitor. The last groupie who brought false evidence against a club member bore a permanent reminder of her transgressions: her left tit was inked with a glaring testament to her shame. The rat tattoo would effectively ban the girl from hooking up with any other crews as well.
From her reaction, Alanna wasn’t totally aware of these customs. She paled, but squared her shoulders.
“I’m not a liar. You’ve got a rat at your table, and it sure as hell isn’t me. Dax will thank me. You’ll see.”
Wince was usually a good judge of character. Either she told the truth, or she believed her own lies. Whatever the case, Alanna was going to get what she wanted: a private audience with Dax Jamison. And Wince was going to get the same with Rhiannon Blake.
***
Everything had been set in motion. It had been so easy. The whole thing came together like it was meant to be when the girl he had sent with Jamison came crawling back, begging for her parents’ pa
thetic lives. It seemed the car he took from her family to pay of some debtors was the mother’s only way to get to her doctor’s appointments. Vidal was shocked to see the bitch, and enraged when he realized that Jamison duped him yet again. The girl was a perfect pawn. He had Kestler set her up in the road, while his other guy tailed Jamison. It all went off without a hitch.
I’m a fucking genius.
One more bump and Vidal was feeling like a God. A one-man crime wave. He swallowed, feeling the acrid burn of the chemicals in the back of his throat as he cued up the video sent to his phone. Vidal wanted to jump up and down. Jamison was down for the count—he was bound, blindfolded, and gagged, and locked up in the office of the cannery. Even if the man got free, which he wouldn’t, he’d have to figure out a way to smash through three layers of heavy-paned glass and squeeze himself out of a very small window. He was right where Vidal wanted him. Now, to bring in the man’s weaknesses and use them against him.
Vidal glanced around for Marino, and then congratulated himself on his good luck. The man was nowhere to be found. Maybe he had taken the fucking hint and disappeared. Marino had a noble streak—one that would only fuck up the plan. Get Jamison and threaten the kid. Or the woman. Or both. Jamison would cave and give Vidal everything he wanted and more. Simple. He’d get the supplier and some pussy too. Plus, he’d have the pleasure of getting rid of Jamison.
He hated the man with a passion. Jamison thought his shit didn’t stink, the way he swaggered around, making demands. Just like my fucking father! Well, it was time to show Jamison who was boss. Guess what, pretty boy, you’ll go down just like my old man did. No one fucks with me.