HWY 550 (Rock Point Book 3)

by Freya Barker

  The kid was outside waiting when Ouray and I got back from my place. He seemed almost surprised when I pulled the promised boxing gloves from my tote. I got the sense he’s been let down a lot in his short life. After a quick change into my gym clothes, I went to look for him in the garage where he was already pounding the snot out of one of the suspended bags. I was going to show him a few basic defensive moves, but changed my mind when I saw him swing his fists. Instead, I showed him the proper stance, straightened his gloves, taught him a few techniques and training routines, so he can practice on his own. What he lacks in size and strength, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m sweaty from exertion, looking around the garage to find half a dozen guys watching me. Normally that wouldn’t faze me—I can probably take every one of them—but it’s the way they look at me that makes me very uncomfortable. Ouray isn’t too pleased with the attention either, he throws his arm over my shoulder and marches me to the clubhouse and through to his quarters.

  “No more fucking tights and titty-shirts next time,” he grumbles, almost shoving me into the bedroom, and immediately my hackles go up.

  “It’s perfectly normal athletic wear. There’s nothing wrong with it,” I protest.

  “Maybe not in a goddamn yoga studio, but here you might as well parade around fucking naked.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I sputter, but he grabs me by the shoulders, leaning down into my face.

  “Not in my world it ain’t. Now get yourself in the shower, we’re riding out in twenty.” He turns me around and shoves me in the direction of the bathroom, swatting my ass when I start walking. When I swing back to give him a piece of my mind, he’s already leaving the bedroom.

  Asshole.

  “I CAN’T ACCEPT THIS.”

  I shove the butter-soft leather jacket back at the vendor, who seems amused by our back-and-forth. Ouray—bulldozer that he is—simply hands over a wad of cash and grabs the jacket from the guy. With one of his large paws on the back of my neck, he marches me around the side of the building and pushes my back against the brick. From a distance it looks like we’re having a quiet moment, but up close I can feel the tension come off him in waves.

  “Want this to work? Then stop drawing attention by fucking arguing with me every step of the way. Jesus, you’re exasperating. I’m getting you a fucking jacket because you need one on the back of my bike.”

  “But I can pay for—”

  His flat hand slaps against the brick beside my head and he rolls his eyes heavenward. “Christ, give me patience,” he mumbles, before he continues with threatening calm. “In my world, I pay. Away from my world you can do whatever the fuck you want, but when you’re on the back of my bike, I get you what you need.

  “That’s just dumb.”

  “It’s what’s gonna keep your ass safe as my woman. Some of these guys even get wind you might be a plant, we both might be in a world of hurt.”

  It’s then I clamp my mouth shut. He’s right. I keep forgetting we’re acting out a part, it sometimes feels all too real.

  “We’ve got eyes on us,” he mumbles, his head dropping low so his lips are almost brushing mine. “Time to kiss and make up—try not to knee me in the gonads.”

  His lips are bruising as he leans his entire body into me, pressing me back against the wall. My arms snake around his neck as he slips a hand under my shirt, pulls up my knee with the other, and grinds his hips between my legs. I gasp into his mouth at the rush of heat pooling low in my belly, and I shiver when his fingers brush the skin under my breast.

  “Get a fucking room!”

  The taunt is like a cold shower and instantly my body seizes up.

  “Goddammit, Sprite. You make me lose my head.”

  I’m still gasping like a fish out of water, and don’t get a chance to react before he wraps his arm around me and starts walking.

  The crowds are thick, especially around the Hot Bike Chopper Show where Ouray introduces me to a few more bikers who were part of their ride along HWY 550. It’s tough to get a good bead on these guys. They all seem to wield that danger vibe, although I’m starting to suspect that’s more show than substance for some. It’s an aggressive bunch, even in the way they interact. Always with something of an edge. Ouray is the same way, although I find him to be a contradiction. I’ve seen him with Nosh and Momma—the way he is with Cody or me—and there is a gentle side to him that only seems reserved for some. He comes across as rough, hardened, when dealing with the rest of the world. I’m guessing it’s that way for a lot of these men. They protect their soft spots with a thick layer of bristles, much like I try to do myself. I’m not that different.

  Perhaps that’s why I’m more suspicious of the few who stand out as more socially apt and charming. Who knows, they may use their charm to hide their dark side.

  Regardless, I make mental notes for every individual I encounter, hoping to hell I can retain it all until I can write it down.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  I swing my head around at the familiar voice and smile wide when I spot Keith Blackfoot with a surprised look on his face. Keith is Durango PD, but more importantly, he’s a good friend. I slip out from under Ouray’s arm and give Keith a hug.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I’m thinking I should be asking you that question,” he fires back, looking over my shoulder with a dark expression on his face. I turn my head to find Ouray staring back with an equally menacing look.

  Oops.

  “She’s here with me,” Ouray almost growls, as he curls an arm around my stomach and pulls me back against him.

  Keith’s incredulous look shifts to me, and I shrug, smiling sheepishly. “I am. With him, I mean.”

  “Seriously, Luna? Of all people you pick a guy like him? Do you know how they treat their women?”

  Ouray’s hold tightens around me to the point of discomfort, and I put a soothing hand on his arm, while keeping my eyes on Keith. “Stop,” I caution him, my voice low so it doesn’t carry. “First of all, you’re generalizing. He’s good to me. Secondly, I understand you feel protective of me—and believe me, I appreciate it—but I know what I’m doing.”

  Without telling him straight out I’m working a case, I’m trying to convey it with my eyes. Not sure how successful I am, since he is still throwing daggers at the man behind me. Who knows, I may even be sending off mixed messages, since I seem to have a hard time remembering this is a job myself. It’s hard to think like a professional when just the strength of his arm holding me to the heat of his body is enough to scramble my brain.

  “We’re drawing an audience,” Ouray mutters over my shoulder.

  Sure enough, a number of bikers are watching the exchange with intent curiosity, and I quickly turn to Keith, mumbling, “Call Damian. He’ll explain.”

  Finally, a flash of understanding hits his eyes and breathing in deeply, he nods his head. “Will do, but I’m holding you responsible for her safety,” he adds for Ouray’s benefit.

  “Jesus,” I hear him grumble behind me. Next thing I know, I’m being marched to the beer tent with only “I need a fucking drink” as explanation.

  OURAY

  “Wanna explain to me why that cop feels the need to protect you?”

  Goddamn. I’ve been stewing on that question all damn day for more than one reason, but mostly because in voicing it I admit—even to myself—I care a fuck of a lot about the answer.

  My guard down after a good meal, a couple of beers, and a day of her scent in my nostrils, it slips out.

  We’re back at the clubhouse, sitting outside at one of the picnic tables, taking a break from the loud music inside. She glances at me, her eyebrows drawn, before turning her gaze down to where her fingers are picking at the label on the beer bottle she’s holding. She keeps me waiting a long time before she finally answers.

  “He’s a good man,” she starts, and I’m afraid I’m not gonna like what’s
coming. “We met at a party in college. He was a senior, me a sophomore. I...uhh...got into a situation, and he helped out. Just met him the one time, but I guess it left an impression. When I moved to Durango, I was surprised he still remembered me. Still sees me as that college kid, though. Still feels the need to throw himself in the role of protector.”

  “He have any claim on you?”

  Fuck. I’m doing a shit job of holding back.

  A little smile tugs at her lips. “I’m thinking you haven’t met Autumn yet? She’s a force to be reckoned with. I’m pretty sure he sees no one but her. Head over teakettle.” I carefully let out the breath I’ve been holding. “Things could never have been like that between us.”

  There’s something in the way she words it that has a new knot form in my gut. Something that’s nagged at me from the first time she flinched at my touch. She doesn’t seem to do that anymore, though. I sling an arm around her shoulders and let my fingers draw circles on her skin. Instead of pulling away, she seems to snuggle in even closer.

  “I really want to kiss you right now,” I mumble, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.

  “Since when do you ask?” she whispers.

  “Since we’re alone out here. No one to convince. No one but you and me.”

  Her nostrils flare and she slowly lifts her face to mine, both interest and uncertainty in her eyes, but her lips form, “Okay.”

  The kiss starts sweet—a brush of lips, a tentative lick along the seam of her mouth—a soft introduction, as if it was our first. A slow and languid exploration of taste and texture, but when I feel the slight scrape of her blunt fingernails at the nape of my neck, my instincts take over. Sliding my hands under her arms, I haul her over to straddle my lap, her hot core burning the erection straining against my fly.

  Soft sounds slip from her throat as I knead the firm globes of her ass in my hands, and I can barely sit still as she almost involuntarily rocks her hips on the hard ridge of my cock. I move a hand between us and up to palm a perfect handful of tit through fabric, plucking her hard little nipple between thumb and finger. Half prepared to feel her pull away, I’m surprised when she presses herself deeper into my hand. Encouraged, I pull down the neck of her shirt, the cup of her bra, exposing the pale flesh and pink tip to the outside air.

  Her head drops back, eyes closed, and mouth slack, as I run my lips down her neck and chest, sucking her nipple into my mouth. She groans deep with every tug of my lips, and I can’t hold my hips still, dry fucking up into her warm heat.

  “Inside,” I mumble, tugging her shirt up and sliding an arm under her ass. “Hold on.”

  She drops her head to my shoulder as I walk her inside, through the crowd to the back, her limbs wrapped around me, and her heart beating hard against my chest with every step.

  I kick the bedroom door closed behind me and approach the bed, twisting as I let myself fall, so she ends up on top. Instantly her mouth latches back onto mine, and I can taste the fire on her little tongue. Fuck yeah. A hellcat. I have both hands free to explore bare skin, one sliding up her back, while the other slips into the back of her jeans feeling the smooth skin of her ass against my palm. I run my fingers along her crease until I encounter the hot silk of her arousal coating her pussy.

  “On my face,” I growl against her mouth, pulling my hand free and working her zipper, pushing jeans and underwear down, using my foot to pull them off all the way. All I can hear is her shallow breaths and when I glance up in her flushed face, she looks back at me, her eyes glinting under heavy lids. “Grab onto the headboard, Luna.”

  She does as I ask, as I settle her over me, the rich scent of her invading my senses. Primed and ready, her pussy is deep shade of pink, plump and glistening. I moan at the first taste of her and her body shudders in response.

  “Please...”

  I find her clit with my thumb, rolling it under the pad, as I tease her folds with my tongue. It’s not until I wrap my lips around the little bundle of nerves and rim her entrance with a finger, that I feel her startle above me. I immediately move both hands to her ass, pull her down on my mouth and work her with deep tugs and firm flicks, not letting go until she cries out her release.

  Her body is still shaking when she suddenly climbs off me, and I watch her tight little ass disappear into bathroom. For once I’m not sure what to do. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s fucking obvious now she has some issues.

  The decision is made when I hear a crash coming from the bathroom and I swing out of bed. “Luna,” I call her name, knocking on the damn door which she locked. “Open the fuckin’ door.” I’m about to kick it down when I hear the click of the latch and shove my way inside.

  She’s sitting on the edge of the tub, wrapped in a towel, with blood oozing from a couple of nasty cuts on the knuckles of her right hand. I take a step inside and feel crunching under my feet.

  “What the fuck?” There are shards of glass from the mirror in the sink and on the floor. “Jesus, sweetheart—what did you do?” The eyes that look up at me are veiled. I can’t get a bead on her state of mind, but it can’t be good if she puts a fist through my fucking mirror. “Let me see.” I take her hand and examine the cuts. “You may need some stitches. Let’s get you dressed and I’ll take you over to Mercy.”

  “No.” As fragile as she looks, her voice is firm. “Superglue will do,” she says, flexing her hand as she looks at it herself.

  “Shit, Sprite. You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbles.

  “Don’t freak, I’m gonna pick you up before you get glass in your feet too.” She nods and I bend down to slip my arms under her, carrying her, towel and all, back to the bed. “Sit here, I’ll be right back.”

  She’s still in the same spot when I return with a first aid kit that luckily includes some superglue. She hisses when I quietly rinse out the cuts, dabbing the biggest ones dry before applying a bead of superglue and pressing the edges together. Her middle finger has a cut right across the knuckle so I wrap and splint that one, otherwise she’ll just keep opening the wound. She doesn’t say a peep while I tend to her, but when I try pulling the dirty towel from her grip, she struggles to hold on.

  I lean down, dropping my forehead against hers. “Not gonna maul you, darlin’. I’m just gonna clean you up so we can get some sleep.”

  She stares in my eyes for a minute before nodding. “Just don’t get any ideas,” she quips, trying to cover her unease, I’m sure. “My hands are lethal weapons.”

  I snort in response. “They sure as fuck are.”

  Ten minutes later, the bathroom is cleaned up. I’ve taken another cold shower, and Luna is tucked in bed when I enter the room—but not sleeping. Her eyes follow me as I bypass the recliner and climb under the covers beside her.

  When she pulls the sheet up to her chin, I have to laugh. “Fifteen minutes ago you were riding my face. A little late for you to get shy.” I notice the deep blush on her cheeks, but I’m crass on purpose. She was on fire right before whatever is fucking with her mind had her pull back behind her defenses. “Come here.” I roll on my side, hook an arm around her midsection, and pull her back against the curve of my body. “Any chance you want to discuss why you jump when I want to slide my finger in that hot pussy of yours?”

  “Crass,” she mumbles, her back stiff.

  “Factual,” I counter, tugging her a little closer and shoving my face in her hair, where I mumble, “Guess you’re not ready to talk to me. I can wait.”

  I haven’t even addressed why she decided to plant her fist in my mirror. Or her reflection.

  CHAPTER 9

  LUNA

  “Glad you finally called in. I was about to send out a rescue team.”

  I hear the admonishment in Damian’s voice, even though he wraps it up nice. This isn’t like me, and he knows it. I’m usually on the ball and by the book—the ultimate professional—but there is nothing professional about the way I’m handling this assignment.
I don’t even recognize the person I’m becoming around Ouray. It freaks me out.

  “I don’t think this is working out.”

  The heavy silence on the other end of the line has me squirming on the edge of the bed.

  I woke up with a throbbing hand and a heavy load of guilt. The bed was empty, Ouray already gone, and the quick shower I took did nothing to stop the churning in my head.

  “Want to explain that to me?” he finally asks.

  “I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job. Things are getting complicated.”

  “Ouray?” Sometimes Damian’s acute insight scares me. Especially when he sees right through the cover I try to maintain. “Luna?” The prompt comes when I stay silent, not knowing how to answer. “There’s a reason you’re perfect for this job, you know?” he offers. “It’s clear as day you hold the man’s interest, and you haven’t been as good as you think at hiding your own. The only way this will work is if you two are believable as a couple, and after the heated discussion I had with Blackfoot last night, I’d say you are successful. Even after explaining the assignment to him, he still doesn’t buy that’s all it is.”

  “You don’t understand,” I sputter. “I’m afraid I’m losing focus.”

  “Bullshit. You’re the most focused person I know.” I’m not sure he’d be saying that if he’d seen me last night. I feel the heat of a blush remembering the scene in this very bed. “The most successful lies are the ones that hold a grain of truth,” he reminds me. “And let me ask you this—do you think I’m any less of an agent now than I was before I met Kerri? Or Jasper, for that matter, after he hooked up with my sister?”

  “Of course not,” I protest immediately. “But that’s different.”

  “Not that different at all. Fuck knows I had my reservations starting something in the middle of an investigation, and I know Jasper did as well.”

  “I don’t do relationships.”