“Tell me right now, what the fuck is going on?” I demand and spin on my heels as I head for the bedroom since I don’t see her in the living room.
I glance around the bedroom and see a file on the bed. Opening it, I quickly glance over all the documents and pictures while Archer says, “She was going through the files on my desk when I came into my office earlier. I’m thinking she’s up to something and is trying to prove some shit. Hell if I know what’s up, but I don’t have to tell you what Ma’s like.”
“Why didn’t you handle it, Pres?” I sneer. “Because I’m staring at a damn file that should be in your office instead of on my damn bed.”
A low growl rumbles over the phone. “Not my job to handle your old lady. And you know damn well there’s only one person alive who can handle her.”
“Dammit, Archer. The file is about an escaped convict. A damn murderer who goes after prostitutes. Motherfucker. She’s gonna draw him out, isn’t she?” I slam the file closed and hiss out my words, “I am going to redden her ass when I drag her back here, so she knows not to fuck with me.”
“And that’s my cue to hung up. Let me know when you guys get back safe. And I need a damn report on this. You have more than one working finger, you can fucking type. No excuses.”
I’m about to reply but he already hung up on me. No need to mention where my son’s fire comes from. Both me and his mother. His mother. My old lady went rogue and now I have to go after her to handle it.
“Dammit,” I roar and throw my phone on the bed as I chuck my shorts and head into the bathroom for a quick shower.
I’m pretty sure the pair of them ganged up on me by the way everything went down a minute ago. But right now, I can’t think straight. Lips. That’s short for “Hotlips,” the name I gave my old lady because of the damn mouth on her. She’s always been more than a handful.
I shake my head and rub a hand over my face to clear the water from my face. Come to think of it…she’s been caring and understanding for a long time. None of the rebel and spitfire she used to be. I swallow hard and suddenly understand the reason for their actions, and it has nothing to do with my fucked-up hand.
I turn the water off and grab a towel as I head back into the bedroom and get dressed. I give one more glance at all the papers to know what I’m going to be dealing with. Yet this fucker is a minor issue and will be handled accordingly. But first I have to find my woman because my hand is itching. Itching to leave a damn handprint on that wicked ass of hers.
Chapter Three
— Lynn —
I glance down and adjust the dress that’s showing off my boobs, gotta give these babies some more air for the job I need to do. I’m wearing a short red dress along with black, over the knee boots. I left my long blonde hair down to somewhat hide the large red patch inked on my neck.
Normally I would proudly show it off because it means a lot to me. But tonight, I’m going for the picture-perfect hooker in search of some john to get some quick cash from. Well, not some john…I’ve set my eyes on an escaped convict by the name of Albie Shumberg.
He killed six prostitutes and he’s been on the run for over two months now. Archer obtained an anonymous tip that Albie has been staying in a trailer park nearby and has been seen visiting the local bar. Reason enough for me to put on some hooker clothes and see if I can catch the fucker.
I can handle myself, no worries. Both my old man, and my friend, Blue, taught me how to fight and I hit the gym several times a week. Plus, I’m not a total idiot. I have a tiny gun stashed in my boot and there are two knives strapped on me. One of those is the size and shape of a credit card and can be turned into a deadly weapon in the blink of an eye.
This is most certainly not my first rodeo, but for some reason I’m nervous. I shouldn’t be because Broke, my brother-in-law, is sitting in a corner. He’s wearing a baseball cap and dirty clothes and no one would give him a second glance, but I’d recognize him anywhere.
This was all Archer and I should have known he wouldn’t let me do this without some form of backup. Though, I thought Broke was going to stay in the car. And it aggravates me because if I recognize him…Deeds would too. And I want Deeds to focus on me, and at the task at hand.
I mentally snort. Task at hand. Isn’t this what it’s all about? I grab my tits again and give them one last shake before I let my hips sway overdramatically as I make my way toward the bar.
Leaning on my elbows, I make sure to put my cleavage on display while I let my eyes travel over the guys sitting at the bar. There are four in total but the one to the far right is where my attention is locked on. Albie Shumberg. The one with the anonymous tip was right, it is him.
I see his eyes fill with a hint of disgust, the twitch of his upper lip adds to it but everything fades and turns into pure interest. Well, mainly my boobs are holding the convict’s attention but that’s why I’ve put them on display. All the bodies of his female victims had their breasts mutilated. It’s safe to say that’s his signature, though I seriously don’t want to know his twisted reasons.
The guy next to me scoots closer and tries for a sexy voice, but it comes out as a cracked slur. As if he needs some cough medicine for the sore throat he’s suffering from, but he already drank the whole bottle. “Hey, sugar, can I get you a drink?”
I don’t have time to reply because I’m suddenly facing someone’s back. “Out of your paygrade, Wes.”
There’s a rumble of laughter before I hear the guy who offered me a drink slur, “You get that one then. I’d rather spend my money on beer anyway.”
I make sure to check my boobs once more, letting my finger trail my cleavage, when I feel fingers wrap around my wrist as my hand is guided away.
“Hands off those tits, pretty lady. They don’t need a female’s touch,” Albie croaks and licks his lips.
It takes everything in me to swallow down the bile rising in my throat. Not to mention the fact I’m itching to kick him in the balls and let my knee redecorate his nose.
But instead I croon, “And what kind of touch do they need?”
Pretty sure his mental answer is “My knife,” because that’s what the fucker does with women before he kills them.
“Why don’t we get a drink first? Then I’ll gladly show you,” Albie says.
I take a step back and turn my attention to the bartender and dismiss Albie. Over the bartender’s shoulder my eyes suddenly hit familiar ones, making my heart skip a beat. My plan worked. He’s here. Deeds. My husband. My old man. The very pissed-off man who I love with every inch of my being.
The corner of my mouth twitches and I guess I’m not cut out for this undercover shit that requires sweet talk and trying to get into another man’s pants as if my next meal depends on it. Because I don’t think twice and tell Albie, “I don’t know about the ‘we’ part. I might just get a bottle of tequila, spread some salt on my nipples and lick it off before throwing the liquid down my throat.”
Albie growls low beside me and waves his hand to grab the bartender’s attention. “I need a bottle of tequila and some salt.”
Apparently, it was the right thing to say to a twisted convict who would like to slice up my tits and kill me afterwards. Shit. I need to stick to the whole prostitute appearance. I can’t just follow him without negotiating a price, right? Why don’t I know any hooker 101?
“Now, now, a whole bottle.” I smirk and tilt my head in his direction. “Are you sure you’re not spending everything before you can…you know…spend everything?”
“Chickie, these days you pay for everything,” Albie states in a condescending tone. “And I have what you want and need, so don’t you worry about a thing.”
The fucker makes me snort. He’s the one who needs to worry, because for sure he’s gonna pay for everything. Not with cash, though.
Chapter Four
— Deeds —
My hands clench into fists and even if one lacks the same amount of strength as the other, I’m pretty
sure I’m drawing blood by the way my short nails dig into my palm. There’s nothing worse than seeing your woman go in undercover, wearing fucking hooker clothes while another man—a damn killer—is salivating at the mere thought of having her body.
I’m going to kick the ever-loving-shit out of this fucker before the night is through. Even if he wasn’t a damn killer, he would be dead for lusting after my damn wife and putting his hand on her wrist. Fuck. I have to get a handle on myself. It’s been awhile since I’ve been on a job because I thought I was over and done with.
I mean, you can hardly go into the field if you’re not sure the gun you’re holding will work correctly, right? Because in my opinion my hand can somewhat be compared with a gun. You expect it to work when needed but there’s always a risk it can jam, and that uncertainty has cut into my brain like a festering wound that I can’t seem to close.
And that’s even worse than the fact my hand only holds about seventy-five percent of the strength it used to have. I know, I should be thankful I can still use it. But not being able to go on long rides with my woman warming my back sucks some serious ass.
I glance down at my hand and slowly unclench, shaking it a few times because I can feel my fingers starting to cramp. Like I said, un-re-fucking-liable. A sigh rips from me and I roll my shoulders. I’m not at home. I need my head in the game; a killer is talking to my woman and we need to take him out.
Glancing up, my heart starts to thump in high speed when I come up empty. They’re not where they were standing a moment ago and I quickly scan the bar, seeing a glimpse of Albie going down the hall in the back.
I push away from the bar and head for the back where the toilets are. My breathing picks up when I don’t see either of them and I also check both bathrooms, but there’s nobody back here. I rush further down the hall and notice a door leading out. Nothing. Good thing I’m still holding onto the door or it would have fallen shut behind me.
Now I’m able to retrace my steps and notice another door to my left where it states “Office – Personnel Only.” I hear glass shatter and I just know my woman is in trouble. Dammit, why did she have to interfere with club business?
Yeah, I know, because of me. I’m the reason she’s here risking her life to drag a killer off the streets but deep down she wants to shake my old ass into awareness. And let me tell you something, she has.
But if she’s going to pay for it with her life, I’ll bring her back from the dead and smack her ass till she can’t walk her way back to heaven ever again. Because I can’t lose her. She’s my everything; the damn oxygen my body thrives on.
I try the door and it opens instantly. What an asshole, he didn’t even lock it. But there’s no time to think since said asshole has my old lady pinned against the wall and a broken bottle is heading for her tits. What. The. Fuck?
Within two steps I have my arm wrapped around his neck and my fingers curled around his wrist. I’m trying to pull the broken bottle away from Lips but I’m struggling to hold him in my grip as it is.
“That’s it, you’re doing such a good job,” Lips compliments as if I’m polishing my fucking shoes or something, and not holding a killer by the damn throat who wants to cut her with broken glass.
Albie grunts and spits, “Your fucking pimp? Listen up, asshole, she wanted it, okay? It’s all play, I swear. I said I’d pay extra and this is what I get?”
“Shut your piehole, you lying piece of shit. You kill women and mutilate their bodies,” Lips growls.
Albie shoots forward and I can’t manage to hold my grip and it slightly slips, causing Albie to nick Lips’ chest with the broken bottle. Utter rage fills me and I twist and turn, taking this asshole with me as I knee him in the back. The broken bottle falls to the floor and so does the convict. He scrambles up and runs out of the room.
I should go after him but instead I spin around and cup my woman’s face. “Are you okay?” I ask, now noticing she’s holding a little knife in her hand.
I should have known. This woman rarely doesn’t have any options left and could have shoved the knife in Albie’s gut herself, but she left me to deal with the fucker. Glancing down I see the little cut where the glass nicked her. Not deep, though the little drop of crimson trickling out is enough to enrage me all over again.
I spin around and head out of the room to chase after Albie while I hear my woman yell, “Go get ’em, babe!”
Yeah, I’m gonna get him all right, but then I’m coming back for you. And your ass is going to be very sorry.
Chapter Five
— Lynn —
Adrenaline is pumping through my body and my heart is beating on overtime. If I wasn’t completely filled with love for this man, my body would be instantly struck with the biggest crush in history. Damn, my man is hot. And it’s probably weird of me to be joyous of the fact he’s pissed off at me. Because I know he is and that always leads to hot sex.
Shit. I cannot think about sex right now. Not while Deeds just rushed out of here to catch that scumbag. I rush after him and swing my head in the direction they could have gone. I’m guessing the easy way out of here, since the door to head out back is standing slightly ajar.
I hear grunts and then I see both men on the ground. Albie is punching Deeds in the gut, but my man is so freaking skilled the convict doesn’t stand a chance. Deeds used to be an MMA fighter and even if he carries a gun, his fists are more lethal. It doesn’t matter if one hand functions less than the other. If only he would realize that little fact himself. Then we wouldn’t even be here.
“Motherfucker,” Deeds grunts and wraps his arm around Albie’s neck.
He tightens his hold with his other hand and I’m holding my breath because his grip is slightly slipping. I glance up and into the shadows where I see Broke watching the whole situation unfold. I know he can see me wondering why he isn’t helping his brother, but he gives a little shake of his head. When I glance back at my old man, he’s already getting to his feet.
Deeds swings his leg back and kicks Albie in the gut. “End of the fucking line for you, asshole.”
He takes out some zip ties and binds Albie’s hands and feet. Deeds grabs his phone, jabs his finger on it a few times and holds it against his ear. “I’m going to text you an address. And you’re fucking welcome.”
The smile tugging his lips as he shoots off a message and then shoves his phone back into his jeans warms my heart. The sweet rush of adrenaline, the high after the catch and the satisfaction roaring through his whole being is undeniable, and he’s breathing it all in. It clearly shows it’s something he missed and needed.
I step closer but freeze when his gaze hits me. He points a finger at me. “You. Get that ass on the back of my bike because I’m fairly sure you got a ride here or some shit. You planned all of this, right? Thought you needed to take action to shake me up, didn’t you? Well, you got my fucking attention, woman, and I swear you’re going to have it for a long time.”
I probably shouldn’t tell him he totally made the place between my legs tingle with that threat. Or the fact Broke gave me a ride and is still standing in the shadows, listening in. I don’t care about this little detail because excitement is filling me.
It’s been awhile since I was on the back of Deeds’ bike. He places his hand on my lower back and guides me to the front of the bar where he’s parked. He straddles the bike and fires it up.
His eyes slowly travel up my body and a smirk spreads across his face. “That dress gonna be a problem for ya?”
I roll my eyes and get on behind him. “My pussy is plastered against my man’s back, keeping it warm until he’s ready to take it.”
A low growl is my only reply and I wrap my hands around his waist, holding him tight as he heads home. It takes over half an hour to drive back and when he parks out front and waits for me to get off, my nerves start to flare up. He didn’t say one word on the ride over. Not one squeeze on my leg, nothing.
I swallow hard. Maybe this wasn’t s
uch a good idea after all. Maybe the high of the catch faded and he sees all the obstacles and limitations again that are holding him back. Dammit.
“Get your ass inside,” he grunts, anger lacing his words.
He doesn’t look back as he takes off and opens the front door, unlocking it and swinging it open as he crosses his arms in front of his chest, waiting for me to go inside. I take a deep breath and hold my heart as I step over the threshold.
Chapter Six
— Deeds —
I did not expect the turn of events tonight, but I have to give my old lady some credit…best excitement I’ve had in a long time. Though the level of excitement is about to skyrocket. My dick is straining against my jeans but it has to wait.
Once we’re inside I lock the door behind us and point at the couch. “Sit.”
There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing the fierce woman I love struggle with an inner decision to either stand up to me or follow my demand. And I do have to say, I fucking love it when that smart mouth of hers comes out to play, and I can’t wait to feel it wrapped around my dick. But first she needs to hear what I have to say.
I raise my eyebrow and she mutters something underneath her breath that sounds like, “Don’t you dare get your dick in a knot over what I did.”
“What was that?” I snap.
Her ass is off the couch and in my face the next moment—yes, she did listen to me when I demanded for her ass to be on the couch.
“I did it for you. I know it was wrong and I might have handled it poorly, but you need to understand that you’re limiting yourself so freaking much. I see you. I know you. You’re a brilliant, strong man who’s done so much and you just stepped away and it seems as if you’re waiting for the world to change back or something. Well, let me tell you, that’s not going to happen. And your hand is fine. Maybe not perfect, but it’s just fine. It’s working on its own capacity and from what I’ve seen you do, I think there’s nothing you can’t handle and you needed to see and feel it yourself. And I don’t regret doing it.”
Give Me Strength: Broken Deeds MC #7.5 Page 3
