Chapter One
They kept talking about her in the third person, like she wasn’t even there.
Beneath the long, oak table blemished with burn marks, scratches and stains, Sera Manning curled her fingers into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms, and sucked in a long, slow breath.
“She’s barely out of the academy.”
“I graduated four years ago,” she said. The men sitting at the board table in the L.A. office of the ATF didn’t even spare her a glance.
“We can’t send a rookie into an operation this big. It’s too dangerous.”
“Hello?” Sera sat up straighter. “I’m right here. I’m telling you, I can do this.”
She met the gaze of ATF Special Agent in Charge, Darren Forsythe. Paunchy, heavy-jowled with thinning hair, he studied her with narrowed eyes. “How long have you been working on the Quintano Cartel case?”
“Just over two years.”
“You’re the one who made the link between the Death Angels and Quintano?”
She nodded. “Yes. I—”
“She’s one of our best and brightest new agents.”
Sera shifted her gaze to her supervisor, seated beside her, both of them across the table from the ATF agents. Ward had been defending her, but she knew he had his own reservations about this whole idea.
The ATF had approached the DEA to propose an interagency agreement. The two federal agencies were working separate cases, each involving the OMG—the outlaw motorcycle gang—the Death Angels. The ATF had started Operation Black Abyss three months ago, and while they’d made good progress, they’d just lost one member of the team and another was on tenuous territory. They wanted to add another agent to the team—a female.
The hard edge of the table dug into Sera’s forearms as she leaned forward. “Let me try,” she offered. “Give me one night. I’ll go in with your informant. He can introduce me to the gang, and I’ll see if I can convince them I want to be a biker chick.”
Four sets of male eyes studied her at length, from the top of her hair, roving over her face, shoulders, and yes, breasts. She didn’t squirm. It wasn’t personal or sexual. They were appraising her in a completely businesslike way. As if they were buying a used car. About to kick the tires.
“I can’t see it,” Darren said, one eyebrow lifted. “She’s too…classy.”
“Too feminine.”
She rolled her eyes. They were doing it again, talking about her like she wasn’t there.
“I don’t think this is going to work.” Darren stood and hitched his trousers that had sagged below his belly.
Urgency gripped Sera like hands squeezing her. No! No, no, no! They couldn’t walk away now!
“The DAs aren’t like some other outlaw motorcycle gangs,” she spoke up, striving to keep her tone even and controlled. “Most of them have legitimate jobs. They’re not all long-haired, bearded, big-bellied, Harley-riding…uh…men.” She licked her lips. “Mike Stavros, the president of the Escondido chapter, is a stockbroker. His girlfriend is a secretary. Very pretty, I understand. Vince Danez in Clover City is a used car sales manager. And besides…I can look a lot different than this. I can act a lot different.”
She sat taller and lifted her chin, dragging damp palms over her thighs. She’d wanted this forever. She’d been working behind the scenes since she’d started her career at the Drug Enforcement Agency, and she was getting closer, but to get what she really wanted she needed to get inside the Death Angels.
She needed this undercover job.
She knew it was dangerous, but she also knew she could pull this off. If only she could convince these suits of that. Working on the Quintano Cartel case had become her mission, but nobody else knew why it was so important to her. That was very private.
Her body felt like a buzzing ball of anticipation. She shifted her gaze from Darren, still standing, to his superior beside him, to case agent Josh Witter who was running Operation Black Abyss, holding each man’s gaze steadily.
“Give…me…a shot,” she said quietly, seriously.
The only sound in the room was the faint wush of the air-conditioning fan as the men all looked at each other. Sera’s heart bumped in her chest.
Darren sat down. Laid his palms flat on the table. Tapped his fingers. He looked at Ward. Ward looked at Sera. She nodded. And waited.
Darren turned to Josh. “What do you think, Witter? You’ll be running the surveillance.”
Sera was afraid to breathe as she fixed her gaze on Josh Witter, her chest tight.
“It’s risky.”
“Yep.”
“She can’t wear a wire.”
“Can you keep her safe?”
Sera resisted the impulse to roll her eyes at their talking about her instead of to her, yet again.
“No guarantees.”
She didn’t care. She’d keep herself safe.
Darren grimaced. “Okay. One night. See how it goes.”
A sweet rush of elation shot through her like a Harley at full throttle, almost propelling her out of her chair, making her want to pump her fist in the air. But she pressed her lips together and sat back, hands clasped in her lap. It was hard, but she had to show them what she was made of. “Thank you,” she said in a carefully neutral voice.
“Tomorrow night,” Josh said. “We go to Clover City. Here’s the plan.”
It was like driving into a tunnel with no headlights. Blindfolded. She knew there could be other undercover agents in there, but didn’t know who. She had to think they were all gang members, had to treat them as if they were, had to convince them she could be one of them.
Despite her protests to the agents in charge, snuggling up with outlaw motorcycle gang members wasn’t all that appealing to her. But she could do it. She could do whatever she had to, to make this work.
They’d given her an alias, gotten her some basic pieces of ID, and if things worked out, they’d do the full backstop, create a whole new history for Sara Lambert.
She followed Beck into The Patch, the Death Angels’ favorite hangout in Clover City, about a hundred miles north of L.A. Beck was a snitch—otherwise known as a confidential informant for the ATF—a full patch member of the DA’s Clover City chapter, who was cooperating with Operation Black Abyss to avoid being prosecuted for extortion charges against him. He was willing to take her to The Patch, introduce her around.
The bar wasn’t exactly classy, but she’d been in worse. Far worse, in fact. AC/DC blasted them in the face with Highway to Hell as they walked in the door, along with the stale odor of beer and cigarettes. Despite the smoking ban in effect in the state of California, the air inside still carried the lingering stench of tobacco smoke embedded into old wood. Sera’s eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
The heels of her boots thunked as she walked across hardwood flooring scuffed smooth and pale with age. People filled every booth along the wall and occupied every small table. At the end of the room, a man and woman played pool on an ancient pool table, the clack of pool balls barely audible over the driving music and cacophony of voices yelling and laughing. Customers lined the bar, leaning against it, drinks in hand. Mostly men. A few women.
She followed Beck to the bar, and he lifted a hand in greeting when his name was called out.
“Hey, Beck!”
“Beck, buddy, where ya been?”
She leaned casually on the bar as Beck shouted to the bartenders, “Two Buds!” then accepted the cold, wet bottle. No glass was offered and that was fine with her. She lifted the bottle to her lips.
Beck introduced her to the men they stood next to. “This here’s Chomp and Zocco.”
“Hi, guys.” She hit them with her highest-wattage smile. “Nice to meetcha.” They tipped their bottle at her and smile
d back. She couldn’t mistake the male interest in their leers.
Beck and the men began talking about an upcoming rally in El Mirage in Nevada. She pretended an interest but her eyes scanned the bar, head nodding in time to the whining guitar and guttural lyrics of Metallica’s Death Magnet. Most of the patrons of the bar wore their colors, making no secret of the fact that this was a Death Angels hangout. Men with long hair, beards and arms sleeved with tattoos mingled with cleaner-cut guys, some with neatly trimmed goatees and short hair. Most of them were big—was that a requirement?— although in some cases size had more to do with fat than muscle.
She cocked a hip, took a big swallow of the cold beer, bubbles biting at her nose and throat, and took in her surroundings, moving her gaze to the others seated at the bar. From where she stood at the end, no stools left to sit on, she could see the face of every man seated there. Every man except one, who’d swiveled on his stool to watch the pool game. His leather jacket obscured his shape other than wide, wide shoulders, giving an impression of massive strength. A piece of red cord held his dark hair tied at his nape.
Then he turned around and she saw his face. Hoo. Now that was a good-looking biker. A well-shaped mouth, a square chin and high cheekbones could have been pretty boy, but thick, straight brows drawn down into a near-scowl above deep-set eyes gave him a badass, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude.
He turned his head and his eyes met hers. She blinked in surprise at the physical reaction she felt to his gaze, a clenching low down inside her, a flare of heat. Interest sparked in his eyes. A corner of his mouth kicked up and one brow lifted.
Well, why not? If she was going to get in with these guys, might as well do it with the best-looking one. Those suits in L.A. had accused her of being too feminine. Didn’t they know the advantage that gave her? So she flashed him her smile and gave him a slow wink.
He smiled back, and along with the badass attitude, he became even more…appealing. She held his gaze long enough to let her own interest show before turning back to Beck, lifting her bottle to her mouth.
“Gotta talk to A.J.,” Zocco said. “Come on, Beck.” Zocco rose off his stool to tower over her. God, he must be six-foot-five. She was five-seven, but he was a monster.
“Yeah. A.J. Come on, Sara.” Beck gestured and with a shrug, she followed him down the bar, toward the man she’d eye-locked with a few minutes ago. Beck and Zocco stopped and addressed the guy next to him.
“A.J. Man, you got those parts I asked you about the other day?”
A.J. shook his head. “Talk to Tommy, here. You want Harley parts—he’s the man.”
Tommy. His name was Tommy.
Zocco, A.J. and Tommy began an in-depth conversation about drag bars and pipes and forks. She felt the weight of Tommy’s gaze, even though he was talking to the others. When he’d assured Zocco he’d get the parts the biker was looking for, he turned to her. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
He looked her up and down. So, painted on black jeans, black boots and a low-cut red T-shirt weren’t her usual attire, but she knew she looked good.
“I’m Tommy.”
“Sara.”
“Friend of Beck’s?”
She hitched a shoulder. “Sort of. He knows my cousin. I’m in town visiting her.”
“Oh yeah? Where you from?”
“L.A.”
“What’re you doing here?”
She deepened one corner of her mouth into a wry smile. “Just lost my job, so thought I’d come for a visit.”
They studied each other and warmth slipped over her, starting at her chest and working its way up to her face. Good god, was she blushing? She never blushed! His size, his blatant masculinity and radiating sexuality caused every nerve ending in her body to prickle. His shameless male appraisal should have pissed her off, made her feel objectified, but instead her nipples tingled and tightened beneath her thin T-shirt, and her pussy clenched.
This close she could see his clean-shaven face was actually shadowed with dark stubble, adding to the dangerous appeal. An earring glinted in one ear, gold like his eyes.
A.J. again included Tommy in the conversation with the other men, talking about their motorcycles. “What kind of Harley do you have?” she asked Tommy.
“Road King.”
“Nice.”
“It’s old, but it rides sweet.”
“I like the Road King. Kinda retro looking.” He lifted a brow and she held his gaze, fingers lightly holding the beer bottle by the narrow neck, even though she quivered inside. “My brothers all have Harleys.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up and the interest deepened. And the warmth inside her intensified in equal measure, heat spreading from her core to her fingertips and even her earlobes.
They talked about his bike, then he introduced her to a few more people around them including a couple of women. Jessie was Chomp’s girlfriend, and Carly was married to Vince Danez, the club president. Jessie had a vacant look, like she was all kinds of out of it, but Carly seemed reasonably coherent.
“I like your necklace,” Sera told Carly. “Where did you get it?”
“I made it?” she replied, fingers fluttering over the stones at her neck. Her voice rose as if she was asking a question.
“No! How’d you do that?”
“It’s really nothing,” Carly mumbled, but Sera persisted gently, genuinely impressed by the pretty jewelry, and they edged away from the crowd of men.
“Do you sell your pieces?”
“Uh…not really. Some of my friends have offered to buy things but I just…” She shrugged. “It’s not good enough to sell?”
“I think it is.”
She and Carly moved over to an empty table and sat down. Jessie joined them and then two more women did as well, and Carly introduced her.
Then Vince and Tommy sat down with them too, Vince sliding his arm possessively around Carly. She leaned into him. “Get me another beer, babe,” he ordered her. Without a word, she stood and went to the bar for him.
Sera had to bite her lip. She studied Vince. His leather jacket stretched across broad shoulders and a tank-like chest, and he held his nearly empty beer bottle with large, very hairy hands. He kept his beard neatly trimmed, and was actually a good-looking guy, his long hair pulled back similar to Tommy’s, but the way he ordered Carly to serve him gave an impression of control…dominance…and cruelty.
In an effort not to show how she felt about that, Sera looked at Tommy and smiled. He leaned back in his chair, big and broad, muscled thighs spread, beer clasped between two hands.
“Tommy, you coming to El Mirage next weekend?” Vince asked.
Again, the big rally being held at El Mirage. This was an annual event for the DAs.
“I dunno.” Tommy tilted his head, and it was such a sexy move that liquid heat settled low and hot inside her, so intense she shifted in her chair.
“You can ride out with us.”
“Hey. Thanks, man. Sounds good.”
“Where’s Manny? He can come too.”
“Great. He’s over there.” Tommy jerked his head. “Playing pool.” Tommy turned his gaze back to Sera. “How about you, angel? You going to El Mirage?”
She shook her head. “No.”
She waited for an invitation that didn’t come. But that was okay. Couldn’t get too far ahead of herself. If she was going to do this, she’d have to take her time, get to know them slowly. Patience.
“What the hell’s taking her so long?” Vince growled, rising to his feet. He stomped toward the bar where Carly stood. Sera flashed a glance her way, hoping Carly wasn’t in trouble, then turned her gaze back to Tommy. They sat alone at the small table now.
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and she noticed the beer he held was almost empty. “Do you want another beer?” she asked.
He lifted a brow. “You gonna get it for me?”
“If you want. Sure.” She resisted the urge to grind her back molars together.
“Nah, that’s okay.”
“Hey, Tommy.” Another man approached the table, also big, his head shaved totally bald, earrings glinting in both ears. It was a look that worked for him, his face handsome enough and his head well-shaped enough to carry it off. Wow. “I want some food. Let’s blow this joint.”
“Let’s stay here a while,” Tommy said, without looking up at the man, still holding her gaze, and her smile deepened. “Nice scenery here.”
She pursed her lips, but still smiled, then turned her gaze to the man standing beside the table. He frowned at her.
“This is my buddy, Manny.” Tommy waved a hand. “Manny, Sara.”
“I wanna go get a burger or something,” Manny said.
“Eat here.”
Manny heaved a long sigh then turned away.
She and Tommy looked at each other, alone again. Heat shimmered between them, and her body clenched and trembled inside. She wasn’t used to having reactions like this. She almost thought it was fear…or nerves…except she knew it wasn’t. It was lust. Excitement. She wanted to close her eyes, turn away, give herself a smack to refocus herself, but of course she couldn’t.
Instead she held his gaze, letting her head move to the beat of the music as she waited for his next response. Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell picked up the tempo, nearing the end of the song, drums pulsing, guitar yowling, and her body moved almost involuntarily to the rhythm, a subtle shift of hips and shoulders.
He took all that in. She felt his eyes on her, knew exactly when he looked at her hard nipples, tingling mercilessly beneath her bra and shirt. They tightened even more, and she clenched her inner muscles between her legs. She couldn’t back down.
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s an original line.”
A slow smile tugged his lips. “Yeah. Okay, it’s not a line. I really want to know…what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
Hot Ride Page 1
