by KB Winters
“I do more showing than talking,” he said with a laugh, the blunt tip of his cock resting right at my opening, making me clench with desire. I spread my legs wider and Jag began to fill me magnificently. Beautifully. Spectacularly.
“Jeremiah, please.” My back arched into him and his hands gripped my waist hard and pounded into me, fucking me to within an inch of my life. He thrust deep until I cried, until I moaned and called out his name like he was the only one who could save me. Who could keep me from flying off into the stratosphere as my orgasm crashed over me in thick, heavy waves that made me feel drugged. Like I was having an out of body experience. “Fuck me, Jag. That was…”
“Intense?”
“As fuck,” I agreed as we both laughed in the sexually charged moment. I groaned when Jag’s ringing cell phone began skipping across the nightstand beside him. “You’re popular.”
“It’s an unknown number.” He frowned at the screen and I could see the hesitation on his face.
“Answer it.” I snatched the phone from his hand and pressed the talk button. And then the speakerphone.
“Yeah,” he barked into the phone.
“You’ve gone too fucking far, nerd boy. I’ll make sure you and your whole fucking club pays for this, asshole!” It was Vigo Rizzoli. I’d played the recording of his voice at least a hundred times before, so I was certain of that.
“I’m gonna need more details than that, Macaroni.”
He growled into the phone. “My fucking money. You fucking stole all of my money and I know it was you. Give it back and this won’t get ugly.”
Jag held up a hand to stop the smartass remark poised to leap off my lips. “Money? Why on earth would I want a few thousand dollars when we have several profitable businesses?” He was doing his best to sound like some suburban poindexter, which only pissed Rizzoli off more.
“Don’t fuck around with me Jag! I will end you and that bitch of yours. But first I’ll let all my boys have a ride on that sweet pussy and then I’ll put a bullet between her motherfuckin’ eyes.”
Jag clenched his jaws and fists as he listened to the vitriol coming from the phone and I knew he was angry. More than angry. “The same way your boys tried—and failed—to take out me and my crew? Glad to see you rodents are keeping your standards as low as ever.”
“Put the money back, Jag.” His voice was low and infused with steel to show he meant business. Jag only grinned at the phone.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Vigo but I wish I had stolen your chump change just so I’d be the one responsible for causing you this pain, but it wasn’t me. Your sparkling personality must have pissed someone else off.”
“Fucking liar! Get ready for war you piece of shit.”
Jag reached for the phone, but I took three steps away from him. “If anything happens to Jag or any of his friends or any of their family, you will never see that money again. Test me and I’ll take even more.” I ended the call. “Talking to that greaseball makes me feel dirty. I feel like I need a shower now.”
He grinned and licked his full lips while I let my gaze slide down to the tent in the sheet over his lap. “Yeah, Vivi. Really fucking hot when you go all evil genius.”
Normally I’d hate a nickname like that but coming from Jag it sounded kind of all right. “Yeah? You all hot and bothered, Jag?” Hands on my hips, I stood tall and took a step toward him. He nodded and beckoned me closer.
“Hell yeah, I am.” He stroked his naked cock, already thick and hard and ready. And all for me. “But…you stole Vigo Rizzoli’s money?”
“Not really. Right now it’s just in a kind of limbo where it exists but doesn’t. If I’m dead the money will stay where it is. Forever.”
“Why?”
“I told you. I didn’t like thinking about you getting hurt.”
“So you wiped him out?”
“Not exactly. I left one account available to him and I really hope he decides to use it.” Because it would be the beginning of the end for him and that day couldn’t come soon enough for me. As soon as I could stop worrying about Vigo Rizzoli, I could put my focus back where it belonged.
On Governor Blaise.
***
After spending the morning digging deep into any journalists and paparazzi who’d ever reported on Blaise, I’d learned a lot about Roger Stanhope Blaise in the past six hours. He was a hometown Florida boy who ignored his small town, working class background and married up to a Connecticut blue blood who loved the Florida sun. Unfortunately, the rumors of Roger’s affinity for younger girls had plagued him since the early days of his political career. Well, unfortunate for him because I found it quite fortuitous.
The one good thing about the paparazzi was that you could count on them to be as mercenary as possible. Cash was king and fortunately for both of us, I had plenty of it. And there was one guy, a real greaseball with a mullet and a penchant for acid wash jeans. Terry Murphy. He somehow got all the goods, which meant he was the man I needed to see.
That and he was totally old school. Kept his photos offline. All the way the fuck offline.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this, Vivi.” Jag sat in the driver’s seat because, heaven forbid, a man actually ever placed his butt in the passenger seat. Even though it was my car, I relented. Driving wasn’t all that fun and driving in Los Angeles was the worst fucking thing ever.
“Because you know I’m right. This Terry dude is cautious. Too cautious for someone who takes the same damn photos of twenty-five other guys every time he snaps an image.” It didn’t make sense unless he had more. “The few non-celeb images to his credit were of Blaise. It’s a lead, Jag. The only one I’ve got.”
He sighed and smacked the steering wheel. “Dammit, Vivi this guy could be crazy!”
“And you’re coming with me. We’re both armed and possess above average intelligence, I think we’ll be all right.”
Jag nodded and rested a hand on my thigh. “I have no doubt about that Vivi, but that doesn’t mean we need to go in there guns blazing. And by we, I mean you.”
“I don’t even have a gun, just my blade. I’m just going to ask him a few questions and offer him some money for his research.”
“Money for research? Another fake identity. Are you sure you’re not the spy, Vivi?” His mouth was set in a grim line but there was a spark of humor in his deep brown eyes.
“Believe me, I’m sure about that. But there was a time in my life when I had a stalker, only he had skills to rival my own.” I hated talking about it because it was the only other time in my adult life that I felt helpless. Not in control. “You know those big hackathons where the government and private corporations go in search of the best hackers in the world and throw money at them?”
“I’m familiar,” he said with a chuckle that made me smile.
“Well he was there too, apparently. I barely even remember him because I just wanted to get in, get some contacts and get gone. But he saw me and wanted me and from there it went pretty fucking crazy. Calls at all hours, deliveries of flowers and jewelry and even lingerie. Then the asshole hacked into my webcam. Thank God he didn’t see anything. I’m not that stupid.”
“What happened? Did you kill him?”
I flashed a proud smile and rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately I didn’t, but I did have several seasoned IDs at my disposal and that helped keep me a step or two ahead.”
“And what was this asshole’s name?” His big hands wrapped around the steering wheel tight enough to break it.
“Charles or Chaz or something. I don’t even think we were formally introduced, just some weirdo who was fixated on me.”
“And what happened to him?”
“Let’s just say that you shouldn’t stalk people when you’re embezzling from your clients.” After all the drama it ended with a whimper and not a bang. Thank fuck. “But the IDs took a lot of time and I refuse to let them go to waste.”
“Makes sense
. Let me guess, you don’t leave home without them?”
“No, home is usually where most bad shit goes down. Anyway it’s behind me. Now tell me why you’re still dangerously single Jag.”
“Dangerously?”
“Considering how many women you’re surrounded by, you’d have to actively try not to get involved. That equals dangerously single, okay maybe compulsively single. How’s that?” I knew most guys weren’t too eager to couple up and sleep with just one woman, but Jag seemed like the kind of guy made for a one-woman relationship.
“I guess I kind of am. Coupled up,” he clarified without looking at me. The jerk. He knew exactly how his words sounded but refused to clarify until we’d gone about ten miles. “You’re living with me and sleeping with me, plus we’re on a road trip, which is basically a vacation. That’s more serious than I’ve ever gotten with any woman.”
His words shouldn’t have made me feel such a sense of relief, but they did. “Me too,” I admitted quietly, feeling uncertain at my own brief display of vulnerability. Since I was thirteen, I learned to keep my own counsel. If I didn’t divulge my secrets and weaknesses to the world, they couldn’t be used against me.
Ever.
We finally made it into Los Angeles and to the quiet West Hollywood neighborhood where Terry lived. “I should go up first. Alone.”
Jag frowned and rejected the idea outright, just as I knew he would. “You really are fucking crazy if you think I’ll let that happen.”
I rolled my eyes. “You can’t stop me, Jag. And you know he’s more likely to open up to a woman.” Men were simple creatures that way.
“Or he’s going to grab you and pull you into his house, maybe keep you in his basement before burying you under the tomatoes.”
I stared at him for a long moment and then burst out laughing. “That’s an active imagination you have, Jag. The guy’s a photographer, not a serial killer.”
“They’re not mutually exclusive Vivi. I’m coming with you,” he said and then stepped from the car, leaving me ensconced in the dark while he walked around and opened the door for me. “Come on. I’ll follow your lead.” Jag pulled me out of the car and pressed me between him and the cool metal of the door, his lips closed in on mine. The kiss was slow and simmering. Just enough to make me want more. “Just keep your knife against that fine ass. Please.”
“Fine.” The walk up to Terry’s little bungalow was nearly overgrown with a beautiful English garden that needed serious tending. “That’s unexpected,” I said as I rang the bell and waited. It was late afternoon so I took a chance he’d be home during the day. If not, I had a few leads.
The knob turned and someone disengaged several locks before the door opened. Slowly revealing a man with a longish red mullet and dark green eyes, freckles galore under his wife beater and acid wash jeans.
Acid. Wash. Jeans.
“Yeah, whadda ya want?” He was gruff and on the wrong side of grumpy, but this was too important.
“Hi Mr. Murphy, I’m Victoria Vivischenko and was hoping you could answer a few questions for me about some of your photos.”
His eyes went wide in recognition. “Hell no. All my pics are clean and legal so fuck off!”
I held up my hands and kept up a polite smile. Men always felt at ease when you approached them with sugary sweetness. “I’m not a lawyer and I don’t represent any celebrities. I was hoping you could tell me everything you know about Roger Blaise. Everything.”
For a second I thought I had him, but Terry’s sneer returned and he took a step forward. Jag had taken a step to match him but I waved my sweet protector off. Right now, getting info was far more important. “What’s a sweet girl like you want to know about a scumbag like that for?” He leaned forward and flicked my hair from my shoulder.
I didn’t like to be touched without permission and instinct kicked in. “Don’t ever put your hands on me, asshole. Now, can you help me with this guy or not?”
Even with my blade pressed against the base of his throat, Terry didn’t flinch and he didn’t beg. What the crazy bastard did, was smile. “I like ’em crazy girl, come on in.”
I looked back at Jag who only shrugged and motioned for me to follow Terry. “What the fuck,” I mouthed.
“He likes ’em crazy,” he whispered in my ear and stayed close as we entered.
“So what’s got you interested in ol’ Blaise? Got a young sister in the family way and naming him as the father?”
It was a curious statement but right in line with what I’d been able to dig up on my own. “Not exactly, but you’re in the right area.”
He nodded and went to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a few beers. “Well, Blaise has had an underage girlfriend since his first term as state senator, at least. They were always around, too. Babysitters until his kids outgrew them and then they were all types of things, young entrepreneurs with a cleaning or car wash service, apprentice chefs and once even a cheerleading coach. He’s crafty about it, but not crafty enough.”
He popped the top off of a beer and handed it to me. Then he handed one to Jag. I took the beer and nodded thanks as we sat on the dingy sofa. “Not to be rude but, how does a pap know all of this?”
He grinned and for a moment I could see beyond the mullet and jeans. “I wasn’t always chasing celebs. I used to be an actual journalist at The Herald but my Blaise stories were squashed one too many times by the editor and we parted ways.” Terry took a long pull from his beer and sighed. “This job pays better and more people give a shit about it.”
It was a sad state of affairs, but it was absolutely fucking true. Politicians cheated on everyone from their kids and wives to their constituents, but no one cared as much when there were important stories out there, like which starlet stole which pop princess’s boyfriend.
No fucking thanks.
“Do you have anything else? I’m willing to pay you for your information, Terry.”
He shook his head. “You seem to already know what kind of guy he is.”
“Let’s just say I found out some things I shouldn’t have and he’s not too pleased about it.”
“Well I have some stuff,” he said. He got up and rooted around in his desk before coming back to his seat. He gave me a long look as if confirming something about me in his mind and then slid a flash drive to me. “Think about this; he’s governor with no good excuse to have underage girls surrounding him. How is he getting his fix?”
I had a feeling Terry had the answer. I took a pull from my beer while Jag sat silently beside me and got comfortable. Whatever Terry was willing to share, I needed to hear.
And we had all the time in the world to listen to him.
Chapter Nineteen
Jag
“You wanna tell me why the fuck a bunch of our prospects were attacked at Shandy’s?” I opened the door to find three pissed off bikers, Cross, Gunnar and Savior, darkening my doorstep.
“How in the fuck should I know?” I stepped back to let the guys enter now that I knew what in the hell they were doing on my doorstep at eleven at night. Without a fucking call.
“How about because that asshole Rizzoli is claiming you stole from him,” Cross spat at me. “Tell me you didn’t.”
His words sent a white-hot rage pulsing through me. “If you have to ask then it doesn’t matter what the fuck I have to say, does it?” I led them into the kitchen and took up the spot against my fridge. Waiting. Angry and waiting.
“Come on, man just tell us. You and Blue Hair planning on taking the Roadkill cash and blowing out of town?” Gunnar leaned back and put his big fucking boots on my table.
“Get your fucking feet off my table.” I wasn’t in the mood for bullshit, particularly Gunnar’s brand of bullshit. “Is there anything else you need to accuse me of or are you ready to get the fuck out?”
“We had to ask, Jag.” Savior, attempting to be the voice of reason, was laughable.
“You really didn’t but I guess it’s
good to know where I stand.” I would never fucking tell the guys but hearing them say that shit, hurt. I never once, not since I became a Reckless Bastard, felt like an outcast or an outsider. No one gave a damn that I was black or that I was the only black member. But right now, I felt like an outsider and it had nothing at all to do with the color of my skin. “We done?”
“You gonna act like a pussy now?” Gunnar stood.
“Pussy? Fuck you, Gunnar. You vanish for more than a year and come back with a chip on your shoulder acting like an asshole and the rest of us put up with it because you have a kid to deal with. Well so fucking what and fuck you too!”
“And the money?” Cross’s voice was deadly quiet.
“I told you I didn’t fucking take it but I guess Vigo’s words carry more weight than mine. Fine, believe what the fuck you want. Just get the fuck out. Now.”
“Jag be reasonable,” Savior tried again.
“Reasonable? Is it reasonable to come to my motherfuckin’ house and accuse me based on the word of a man who wants us dead? Burned our fucking plants just to get the feds off his back?” I glared at Savior. “Yeah, I didn’t fucking think so.”
“So who took the fucking money?”
“I did.” Vivi stood in the doorway of the kitchen wearing a hell of a lot more clothes than she had on when I left the bedroom.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m not part of your little biker club and I don’t answer to any of you. I do what I need to do for me.” She smacked her chest with the palm of her hand to drive the point home and damn, that chick really did have a piece of me. She was tough as hell, took no shit from anyone and didn’t back down from a fight she could win.
“No matter who it hurts?” Gunnar stared at her, his eyes angry and full of fire and accusation.
“You deal with your shit and I’ll deal with mine.”
“Your shit seems to be causing problems with our shit,” Cross reminded her.
Vivi laughed. “Bullshit. When I pulled up you were knee-deep in shit. Cops, guns, helicopters and ambulances. Seems like you had problems with them before I showed up. As a matter of fact if it wasn’t for me and my shit you wouldn’t know that it was your little friend who burned your fucking plants, would you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Exactly, so maybe you should take a fucking chill pill. I took his money and I’m not giving it back until I’m good and fucking ready. When I know I’m safe and don’t need to control that piece of shit, I might give it back.” She leaned against the wall and glared at each man, including me. “Or maybe I’ll just take the cash and blow out of town.”