Tarnished Lies and Dead Ends

by MariaLisa deMora

  For an impromptu scene, I got everything I’d hoped for and then some. She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts threatening to creep back in. Less focus, more quiet, please. The bruises on her hips and breasts, along her ribs, all pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Delicate threads of pain twinged with each movement, and her body refused to be still, seeking that affirmation again and again.

  Damn good.

  She woke when he returned to the room, a glass of juice and a bowl of orange slices in his hands. He set them on the nightstand, crawled into bed, and then proceeded to haul her up against his torso until she nestled in the crook of his arm. The edge of the glass pressed against her lips, and Justine instinctively took a drink, giving him a quiet sigh of satisfaction when it was cold and tart, exactly what she’d wanted without knowing it.

  “Here, baby. Eat this.” A slice of orange appeared in front of her face, and she bit into the flesh, sucking the escaping juice from his fingers until he groaned and shifted his hips. “Bad baby. This is your time, honey. No teasing.”

  Justine curled tighter against him, burying her head against his shoulder, the tender chastisement enough to make her stop pushing for a reaction. Oh yeah, he’s good.

  “More juice.” When she didn’t lift her head at his verbal urging, the hand curled around her hip tightened, fingers pressing against one of the bruises in a stinging hold. “Drink the juice.” Her body reacted to the growled order, chin rising as her mouth opened for another drink. “Good girl.”

  Oh, man, am I in trouble.

  Chapter Nine

  Wildman

  A pounding on the door startled him from sleep only minutes before his alarm would have gone off, and Wildman called out a gruff acknowledgment. That kind of abrupt and demanding wake-up call likely meant they had news about the missing cartel members and was good, because the sooner he could wipe those assholes off the earth, the happier he’d be.

  The brunette was a heavy weight sprawled across his chest, and he stared at her, only vaguely shocked that after everything that had happened, she was sleeping so peacefully. She’d fallen so easily into the submissive role last night, clearly needing the peace an intentional and consensual release of power gave her. He could tell it had comforted her to pull on that persona. Bonus points to him for pushing her just enough to ride the edge, without shoving her into free fall. Never ignored base protocol before, though. Shame on me. They hadn’t discussed boundaries or safe words, and he suffered a sting of annoyance at himself for the breach of faith. All turned out well in the end. His cock gave a twitch. He ignored it. Gave her what she needed.

  The blanket gaped as he shifted, trying to see into her face, and he used one finger to slowly shove it down, pushing it to her waist. He stared, breathlessly fascinated by the marks on her skin. Layers of them, covering bruising left by her captors, as if he’d reclaimed every inch of her back from their touch. As he traced a line of teeth marks, his cock gave more than a twitch at the proof of their time together.

  Mine.

  Wildman froze at the thought pushing to the forefront of his mind, then slowly shook his head.

  Oh yeah, she’s mine.

  He snorted a quiet laugh at the ridiculousness of the repeating and futile thought.

  And I’m an idiot. That’ll hafta fall into the if-only bracket.

  Just as carefully as he’d moved the covers down, he tugged them back up to blanket her, holding in the heat.

  He swung his legs off the mattress and stood, eyes still on the nameless woman stretched out in his bed.

  The unknown sub who seemingly fit every desire he had discovered, nurtured, and cultivated. Made for me.

  With narrowed eyes, he considered the idea of her as a plant somehow, set in his path intentionally.

  Nope. No way. There’s just no way.

  It was simple chance that had him noticing the trailer initially, and random need dictating he’d been first inside. Then came the million-to-one odds of them saying enough words to the other to recognize the resonance between their souls.

  Nope, this is God’s joke on me.

  Wildman had been in a romantic relationship twice. His first hadn’t stuck for long; eventually, she’d been turned off by what he needed. She’d said all the right things in the beginning, begged sweetly for his attention, and he’d been blinded to how she really felt, too excited at the idea of sharing the dark desires roiling through his imagination to truly question his luck. She’d grown up poor, raised her brothers and sisters almost singlehandedly, and had been looking for security via a relationship, thinking herself willing to do anything for it.

  She’d been wrong.

  The more he’d explored, the more she’d withdrawn until it was clear they weren’t compatible. In the end, neither of them had gotten what they’d wanted.

  The second had been taken from him, death and destruction something he was uncomfortably familiar with. Killed for another man’s ambition, even though Shelly had been carrying his child. Then any chance at vengeance had been stripped from him by circumstance.

  Since then, he’d cultivated a variety of submissives within the safe space of clubs devoted to those activities. Spent time learning their desires as he trained them in his preferences. While there’d been affection with each, the anchors on his soul wouldn’t permit more than that. When they’d moved on in their own time, Wildman had understood, knowing himself stunted in the romance department. He surely hadn't believed they were meant to be his.

  Still, each event counted in the tally that had put him on the path to come to Louisiana, and eventually here, with the IMC.

  Found my brothers in the end.

  He couldn’t say it had been worth it, not given the cost. But if he’d had to pay in blood, at least the reward didn’t suck.

  This woman? Someone who’d been abducted and held in terrifying conditions, clearly paying with flesh for whatever sins her captors felt she’d been guilty of? And yet in his bed, she’d still met him thrust for thrust, begging for his mouth, his teeth, her voice rising and falling with cries of pleasure she hadn’t tried to stifle.

  Real, all of it. Nothing forced or faked in what we did last night.

  Definitely not a plant. Not a spy set to trip him or the club up.

  Serendipity and the universe having their fun with me.

  She could be perfect for him. Was perfect for him. Everything I could want rolled up in her gorgeous body and challenging attitude. He grinned, remembering her poise yesterday dealing with the other women as she took the bits of information he and his brothers had given and wove it into something that helped them feel secure. Smart, to boot. Perfection.

  Nope. Not mine.

  After dressing quietly, he closed the door on the sleeping woman and made his way to the kitchen downstairs, surprised to find the room full, both IMC and CoBos well represented. Someone had made an urn of coffee, and he snagged a mug from the counter then flipped the lever to fill his cup before he looked for Twisted or Wrench. It would have taken their orders to call in this many brothers, and he wanted to know what kind of intel they had on the escaped cartel members they were tracking.

  The office door behind the bar stood open, and Wildman threaded through the groups of men as he headed in that direction. Inside, he found Twisted and Po’Boy in what looked like a stare-off. Well, shit, someone’s gotta break the deadlock.

  “We goin’ soon?” He kept his voice loud and strident as he pushed between them to get to the far wall. Leaning his shoulders against the flat surface, he turned back to find them still firmly engaged in whatever had them crossways. “What the fuck’s up, brothers?”

  Twisted sighed, not breaking the stare. “We find ourselves in dire disagreement on that exact topic.”

  “We go now.” Po’Boy paused, his scowl deepening. “We roll heavy.” He leaned forwards an inch, boots firmly planted shoulder-width. “We do that shit? Guarantee you we’ll be back home in an hour, brother.” Po’Boy clamped his li
ps tightly, ire in every line on his face.

  “You know where they are?” The implications surprised Wildman. Chin tilting up, he considered the two men, heart beating faster at the thought of closing the door on this event. Fuck yeah. “Then why the hell are we still sittin’ here? We wanted to make a clean sweep, didn’t we? Weren’t many, but we had some stragglers who slipped the noose last night. If we know where they’re hiding, we roll. Now. Fucking now, man. Let’s go. Go get ’em. Do this thing.”

  “Bitch in your bed, do you know who she is? Have that first idea who you slept next to?” Twisted transferred his stare to Wildman. Two careful breaths in and out, and he shook his head back and forth. Twisted’s mouth pulled to one side as he demanded, “You sure about that shit, brother?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t know her from Eve. Fuck, man, I don’t even know her goddamned name.” Wildman rolled his shoulders and reared back, bringing one fist in front of his crotch. Hips rolling in an unmistakable imitation, he curled his fingers and pretended to jack off vigorously. “She brought her own ass to my bed. Middle of the night, her crawling under my blanket wasn’t something I asked for or expected. Still, you and every other brother know I wasn’t about to turn the good shit down, brother. Wet and willing beats Rosie Palm every time.”

  “True that,” Po’boy said through laughter. “But you might wanna ask the lady her name before you dip your wick again.”

  Low chuckles filled the air in the room. Wildman swung his head and let his gaze glance across each man, coming to rest back on Twisted. Fucking hell. Knew it was too good to be true. She had to be a plant if her coming to him provoked his leadership to have this reaction.

  “Clearly you know who the hell she is, and since that shit is obviously tied up with the business we need to finish and have done with, just get the info out there and tell me. Fuckin’ tell me, man.” The heat of blood rising in his neck and cheeks told him their efforts at provoking him were having a visible effect. Plant or not, if she wasn’t an outright danger to the club, his gut was rolling with the selfish desire to keep what had happened between him and the brunette private. I won’t betray my club. But if there was no overriding reason to share, he already knew he wouldn’t, no matter how they rode him about it.

  “That, my good man, is Justine LaPorte.”

  Wildman shrugged. Justine. Weighty and yet poetic, the name fit her well. Jussie. Yeah, he could imagine more moments of humor when the nickname would suit, too. Wildwoman. And there were even more times where a road name such as that would be a far better description of his woman. Cold as ice, blood pumped sluggishly through his veins at the thought. Not my woman.

  “She happens to be tied to any number of interesting or interested parties.” Twisted glared at him from the corner of his eye as he bent sideways and picked up a piece of paper from the table near him. “Uncle Sam bein’ one of them.”

  Fuck.

  This was worse than the worst nightmare come true.

  Internally reeling, Wildman didn’t hesitate to ask his questions, needing to know the facts. His truth would be IMC first and always, but the brunette? She was special. Focus, idiot. Stay true to the club. “She’s a Fed?”

  Twisted gave a slow nod.

  Double fuck.

  Wildman’s gut cramped, chest tight enough it hurt to pull in a breath. “How do you know? Where’d this info come from, exactly? Who’d you squeeze to get the intel?”

  “Well”—Wrench drawled, turning his chair to face Wildman—“we know because her brother recognized her picture last night when we floated it past a bunch of folks, plucking her out of the rest of the women. He reached out, personal like, to identify her and ask his own hard questions.” He laughed, the sound hard and humorless. “Seems she’s been missing for a few days, so he already had people lookin’ for her. Just hadn’t found her yet.”

  “Who’s her brother?” Wildman pulled in a breath and blew it out noisily. “Fuck, man. Don’t tell me. Way y’all trickle out information at a slow drip has done pushed me off into I-don’t-care land. Don’t matter anyhow. Let’s get the discussion back to business. We got more important things to tend to right now.”

  “Well, seein’ as she’s in the middle of the business at hand, that woman is kinda the business, so to speak. And brother—” Twisted flicked his wrist and sailed the paper Wildman’s direction “—you definitely do need to know this bit of intel. Look at it.”

  Wildman snagged the paper out of the air, the document crumpling in his grip. He scanned the room one more time, then angled his gaze down. The blood that had been cold in his veins froze solid, a heavy chill racing up his backbone, hard breaths rasping in and out of his nose. He scowled at the paper for a long time, the words detailing Justine’s pedigree slowly but surely burning into his brain.

  She might have seemed perfect, but she wasn’t for him. Couldn’t be, not like this. The association explained so much about her behavior, including the sacrifices she’d been willing to make to protect innocents. Every branch of her family was a powerhouse on their own. She would have marinated in understanding, witness to any number of examples she’d have internalized through the years. A girl growing up around strong men, learning from them the rightness of going to any lengths to keep safe those under their protection, not discounting how the evil ones would have served as a counter-lesson. Even her composure during the short vehicle ride made sense. The rest of the women might have been weeping and fearful, but she would have already known where they were headed, having personal knowledge about the safety looming at the end of the trip.

  She ain’t never gonna be mine.

  He took in a steady breath, pushed it out slowly, and pulled in another. He chewed on the inside of his lip until he tasted copper, the pain centering him more. Once his heartbeat settled, pounding out a regular pace no doctor would find remarkable, he folded the paper once, dragging a thumbnail along the crease, marking it deeply. Another fold, followed by the same scoring process, and he yanked his wallet out, flipping the chain out of the way easily. Two seconds was all the time it took to secure the proof the universe was still a raggedy bitch, out to take everything from him, and he snapped the flap closed, cutting off sight of that innocuous, poisonous paper.

  Lifting his chin, he glared at Twisted, shifting to pull Wrench into view to receive the same treatment. He felt Po’Boy at his back and trusted him to be there in support. Top lip flat against his teeth, Wildman dragged words out from deep in his chest, pushing them onto the air. “Don’t matter. Let’s go. You got wind of a place, got a possible direction, or got a solid line on anything, then let’s go.”

  “Brother, we cannot keep a federal agent under lockdown at our goddamned clubhouse. That shit is inviting all kinds of trouble we do not need to wade through, and we all know it.” Twisted lifted an arm, one rigid finger aimed directly at Wildman. He felt the gesture like a spike in his heart, because censure from his president pained him. Twisted’s tone softened slightly, but he finished his thought with, “You did this, with your fucked-up plan.”

  “Naw, brother.” Po’Boy thudded a fist against Wildman’s shoulder as he walked around the table to reclaim his chair, then reclined far back, legs spread wide in front of him. Wildman held his peace, wanting to hear what Po’Boy’s advice would be to the man who’d been his best friend since before high school. “It was a recommendation which held merit and was discussed at the highest level between two dominant clubs in the area. I may not have a great memory, but we all stood in that circle and said the same. Wasn’t no circle jerk, and not a single man needed to build up a bank with Wildman that would cause them to agree without believing it was the right course.” Po’Boy rolled his shoulders, holding his arms wide. “Brother, you know we all took it on, and it’s club, man. Don’t matter what patch I wear, the way of things is the same. It’s always club, not any one member who decides the direction of anything. Don’t lay this shit at his feet just because you’re jacked up and on a rampa
ge about what we’re sheltering right now.”

  “Where are the cartel members?” Wildman interjected, trying to derail the brewing argument between the two men. Time to get back on track. “Give me a location and I’ll go take care of it myself. Then there’s nothing for the club to lay claim to.”

  “They’re holed up in a place in Goodwoods, back over in Red Stick.”

  Wildman lowered his chin once, mentally running over what he knew. Goodwoods was a ramshackle neighborhood in Baton Rouge he’d become well acquainted with during his time in the Common Enemy MC. He noted the address as Po’Boy rattled it off.

  “All right, I’ll be back.” He turned to walk out without any expectations but was pleased when he heard Twisted’s groan behind him.

  “Get your goddamned ass back in here. You aren’t goin’ off half-cocked and nomad. Fuck that shit.” Wildman hesitated a moment to school his expression before looking over his shoulder, not wanting Twisted to see what it meant to him. “Oh, fuck you. Get back in here and shut the fucking door.”

  “Hard to run up on anyone quiet-like there. Damn few places to stage from, so anyone riding needs to have their assignments before we roll off the lot.” Shoulders back as he closed the door, Wildman sent another glance towards Twisted to take his temperature. The scowl said he was still pissed, but his fists were perched on his hips, and Wildman breathed a little easier not to be on the receiving end of that accusatory finger any longer.

  “I want a show of force. We roll from here in fives and tens, but when we get close, we’ll close ranks, let our roar blister the paint from the fuckin’ walls,” Twisted said, beginning to lay out the strategy. Within another ten minutes, they had a plan, and Wildman sat astride his bike in the lot, waiting for his group’s turn to head out the gate. A shrill whistle gained his attention, and he looked up to see Po’Boy waving him up to a different line of bikes, including his and Twisted’s. As they moved through the gate three wide, he positioned himself to the back of the officers, protecting them with his actions. With my life if need be.