I said nothing. I just sat there, boot-in-hand, and watched the terrifyingly earnest expression on her beautiful face.
“I was so mad when you said you were still driving us down here,” she explained, eyes narrow. “I just wanted to run – to get as far away from what happened as possible.”
Christi took a deep breath.
“And then I thought about it,” she admitted. “How I’d run away in the first place – run right into the Knuckleheads. It was just like you told me. If I kept running, I’d never stop. Not for the rest of my life.”
Eyes burning, Christi hissed: “I’m done running.”
She stood up, and tossed her blonde hair from her eyes.
“You bringing me back down here? It was a sign. It was a sign I needed to stop running. That I needed to find some kind of closure – to end this.”
And that’s when ice chilled her voice.
“And I’m going to end this by killing those two cops.”
“Christi…” I breathed – but she ignored me.
“What else am I supposed to do?” She stared at me expectantly. “I’m the daughter of a drug dealer. A legal one, sure – but still just the daughter of a pot-growing old man, who the cops shot because he pulled a gun on them.”
Christi crossed the room to where I was sitting, and stood looming over me.
“You’ve seen the news. Cops get away with shooting people all the time. They shoot kids. Mentally disabled people. Then they go on a week’s paid leave, before some tribune clears them of wrongdoing.”
She snorted bitterly.
“I’d never get justice. Not through the courts. Not through the police.” She reached down, and laid her slender hand on my shoulder. “Killing them is the only justice I’ll ever get.”
Her hazel eyes met mine, and they burned with an icy intensity.
“Will you help me?”
A few moments earlier, I’d been breathless because of Christi’s beauty. Now she’d sucked the air from my lungs for another reason. A murderous reason.
“You’re a Knucklehead,” she hissed. “A one-percenter. You guys rob, and steal, and beat and kill.” Digging her fingers into my shoulder, Christi demanded: “What is it to you if those two bastards die?”
I reached up and took Christi’s hand in my own. I squeezed it tightly, as I stared into her eyes.
We’d reached a point of no return. She’d told me everything about herself – right down to the desperate action she was determined to take to avenge her father.
It was time I returned the favor.
“There’s another way, Christi,” I promised. “The right way.”
She looked down at me, unconvinced.
Fuck.
Still squeezing her hand, I turned my face away. I couldn’t look her in the eye as I told her this. It was a betrayal of everything I’d sworn myself to.
“Christi,” I breathed. “We all have a reason for riding with the Knuckleheads. Some of us are broken. Some of us are looking for a place to belong.”
Finally, I had the courage to turn back, and meet Christi’s steady gaze.
“Some of us are trying to hide,” I breathed, and I saw her eyes widen as she recognized her own plight in that statement.
“But me?”
I let go of her hand, and stood up in my bare feet.
Towering over the beautiful blonde, I confessed:
“I joined the Knuckleheads for another reason, Christi.”
With a troubled sigh, I reached into my back pocket, and pulled out my battered leather wallet.
As Christi watched, I peeled it open, and pulled out the contents.
Then there was a riiip! as I tore the stitching.
From inside, where I’d safely hidden it, all those months ago, I pulled a gleaming golden badge.
HOMELAND SECURITY INVESTIGATIONS
SPECIAL AGENT
Christi gasped when she saw it.
“Y-you’re… You’re a cop?”
“I’m a federal agent,” I corrected her. “And I’ve been investigating the Knuckleheads for months. It’s all been boiling down to this – to the one, big score that will let us put Coyle and his gang away for good.”
I reached over, and squeezed Christi’s arm.
“And when that happens? I swear to God, Christi, I’m going to make sure those two cops who murdered your father get exactly what they deserve.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Christi
I stared at the gleaming gold badge, with its dark blue trim.
I felt my knees weaken.
With a gasp, I sunk down onto the edge of the nearest bed, stomach swirling.
Could this be true? Could Mason really be… be a cop?
Sorry, a federal agent, as he’d snippily clarified.
Looking at the handsome biker, I breathed:
“Y-you’re not bullshitting me?”
Mason was towering over me, all broad-shouldered and manly. I could smell his musk – hot and powerful, after hours spent in a leather jacket, under the baking California sun. It made me feel… squirmy.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Mason growled, looking down at me. “I’m meant to be undercover, goddamit.” He shook his head. “But I just… When you told me about your father… I…”
I reached up and took one of his big, calloused hands.
Squeezing it, I murmured: “It’s okay. I appreciate it.”
And he had no idea how much.
“It’s all I wanted, Mason,” I looked up at him, as he loomed over me. “It’s more than I could have dreamed of. I thought those cops were going to get away with murder – literally.”
I felt tears welling in my eyes.
“What could I do about it? After all, what am I?”
I remembered Bertha’s words to me, and the way Coyle and his gang had treated me.
“I’m just a girl on the run,” I sighed. “A nice, tight piece of ass for them to enjoy – until they get bored of me.”
“You’re more than that,” Mason knelt down, until his eyes were level with mine. “You’re so much more than that, Christi – and I swear, we’ll get justice for your father.”
I looked into his handsome face, and those steely blue eyes.
For a moment, I almost believed him.
But you don’t spend months trading your body for protection without developing a cynical streak.
“I guess that’s why you treated me the way you did,” I told him, pulling my hand from his.
“What do you mean?” Mason demanded.
“The way you kept me at arm’s length,” I explained. “That look you gave me, when I offered you a blowjob in that roadside layby.”
A look of disgust – or, at least, that’s how I’d interpreted it yesterday.
But Mason just laughed when he heard that.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded.
He reached over, and reclaimed the hand I’d pulled from his.
Squeezing it, he told me: “That’s just the problem, Christi. You’re not at arm’s length. You’re here, right now, with me – in a goddamn motel room!”
He laughed, and shook his head.
“I should be keeping you at arm’s length. You’re going to be a material witness, if I can bring Coyle down.” Mason sighed. “The department has very clear rules about what is and isn’t appropriate between an investigator and a witness…”
“So, I noticed,” I replied, my response a little frostier than I’d intended it to sound. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?”
I turned my face away from his, unable to look Mason in the eye.
“Fuck, I offered you everything, Mason… I’d have fucked you that first night I spoke to you, if you’d have asked. And yet, you’d barely even give me a peck on the lips.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Well, at least I admire your professionalism…”
Now it was Mason
’s turn to laugh.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
My eyes widened when I heard that.
Turning back to face him, I found the courage to look Mason in the eyes – and saw his sincerity as he told me:
“Do you know how fucking hard it’s been, Christi?”
I laughed, unable to resist cracking a joke.
“I didn’t think I made it hard at all.”
Now it was his turn to blush.
“That’s very far from the fucking truth.”
I gulped dryly, and stared intently into Mason’s eyes.
He squeezed my hands, and admitted:
“Ever since I first saw you, when you rolled up that night with Coyle… There was something about you.”
I felt butterflies in my stomach as I listened to him.
“I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he admitted, sounding more like a bashful teenager than a hard-headed, undercover investigator. “You drove me nuts, Christi.”
And then he squeezed my hands even tighter, and confessed:
“And that night I saw you with Rooker and Bowser? You want to talk about hard?”
God, his cheeks were burning now.
“I was disgusted with myself. I felt so angry, so jealous…” And then he gulped: “But I’d never been harder in my life. I was so hard it hurt.”
I laughed.
There wasn’t really any other way to respond.
Here was this gorgeous, handsome man – a former U.S. Ranger, and an undercover cop – and he was telling me how turned on I’d made him.
Me… Just some scrappy pot-dealer’s daughter, who Mason had literally seen the worst of. He’d seen me laid out on my back, in a dirty roadside bar, getting fucked like a two-dollar whore… except without the payout at the end of it.
And yet he was squeezing my hand, and staring into my eyes, and telling me: “Christi? It’s taken me every goddamn scrap of willpower I have to keep you even this far from me…”
And as we gazed into each other’s eyes, he added:
“…and I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up.”
For a moment, I just sat there, staring into his eyes. I could see the turmoil going through his head – this disciplined combat vet, trying desperately to do the right thing…
…and yet compelled by a desire he couldn’t quite come to terms with.
A desire for me…
The butterflies that had been churning in my stomach started to sink a little lower.
I bit my lip guiltily.
Reaching my other hand up, I took Mason’s right hand in mine, and squeezed it…
…and then I lifted myself up from the edge of the bed, leaned forward, and pressed my lips against his.
Mason’s eyes shot open as he felt my warm, wet lips on his…
…but he didn’t resist.
In fact, with a snarl, he kissed me back.
His hands left mine, and reached forward to curl around my waist. He yanked me forward, into his arms, and pressed his mouth even harder against mine.
I sighed, melting in his arms.
I knew I shouldn’t have kissed him… He was trying to behave…
But God, I wanted him so much at that moment…
…and when Mason snarled hotly into my mouth, and pushed me back onto the bed, I knew instantly that he wanted me just as much.
I flopped back, and surrendered willingly to this hot, hard biker…
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mason
Six months.
That’s how long it had been since I’d last been with a woman. That included all four months I’d been riding with the Knuckleheads, and a two-month dry-spell leading up to that.
Not so much as a kiss. Not since I’d walked in on my girl and her personal trainer, when I’d come back from training two days early.
And now here I was, pinning Christi down onto the hotel bed with a hunger for the taste of her unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.
Although, in my defense, she was devouring me back just as eagerly.
With my big hands, I pinned her tiny wrists above her head, and pressed my lips hard against hers. Christi moaned hotly into my mouth, as our lips and tongues writhed against each other hotly.
Fuck, I was already painfully hard inside my jeans – and that pressure just grew as I felt Christi wrap her long, lean legs around my waist and clamp them down.
“Fuck,” I snarled, pulling my mouth away, and pulling one hand down to yank down the front of her tank-top.
Her small breasts popped free, silver barbells glinting in the light overhead.
I dropped my head, and wrapped my lips around one of her perfect, pink nipples.
Christi groaned, and arched her back. She reached down to slide her fingers through my hair – pressing my head against her breast, encouraging me to suck on her nipple, and flick her piercing with my tongue.
I released her other wrist, and reached down to tighten my fist around her hair. Like that, I gently pulled – arching her back, and exposing her long, slender throat.
I kissed it wetly, sinking my teeth into her soft, perfect skin.
“Oh, God,” Christi groaned, as I left angry red kiss-marks down her throat. “Oh, Mason…”
She was pulling at my shirt with her free hand. I reluctantly pulled my mouth away from her skin and straightened up, to help her pull it over my head.
A moment later, I felt the cool air-conditioning on my bare skin – and I returned the favor, by pulling Christi’s tank-top fully down around her waist, and yanking open her jeans.
Hooking my fingers into the waistband of her Levis, I yanked them – and her panties with them – down half-way across her thighs.
Christi giggled, kicking her long legs as I pulled her jeans down the rest of her legs, and finally wrenched them free of her flailing ankles.
Finally she was naked – or as close as...
Kneeling above her, I peered down at the beautiful blonde for a moment and just drank her in – those long, lithe limbs and beautiful tattoos.
I’d pulled down her tank-top until she was wearing it like a belt, around her narrow waist, and the white material contrasted with her deliciously tan skin.
Every inch of it made my mouth water.
But what truly made me thirsty was lower – the perfectly waxed little cleft of her pussy, nestling between her perfect thighs.
I grabbed one of her knees in each hand, and pulled apart her legs. At the same time, I sunk to the bed, and buried my face between her thighs.
“Oh, fuuuuck,” Christi arched her back, crying out as she felt my mouth engulf her. Her fingers slipped into my hair, tightening their grip, as if she was unsure whether to pull my head out from between her legs…
…or hold it more firmly in place there.
Not that she could have stopped me.
As I pulled Christi’s thighs apart, I exposed her perfect little pussy – and opened my mouth to feast on her.
Christi cried out, as she felt my wet, rasping tongue slither between the lips of her pussy; opening her up like a blossoming flower.
Then she felt my lips sucking on her clitoris… My tongue swirling relentlessly around her swollen nub.
She’d spent hours straddling the back of a throbbing Harley, and I could taste what that had done to her. Christi’s pussy was tart, and eager, and as I explored her with my lips and tongue, she writhed beneath me in delicious anguish.
God, Christi tasted so good. I was so hard inside my jeans.
Letting go of one of her ankles, I ran my fingertips up her inner thigh, feeling Christi quiver at my touch.
Then I pressed two fingertips against the wetness of her pussy… and they sunk inside her effortlessly.
“Oh, fuuuuck,” Christi was tossing her head from side to side, as she felt herself stretched and filled by my calloused fingers.
As I swirled my tongue around her clitoris, I curled my fingers upwards inside of her – coax
ing her g-spot in the same heady rhythm as my lips and tongue.
“Fuck, Mason,” Christi tightened her grip on my hair. “Oh, fuuck… It’s too much…”
And the moment she said that… Well, I knew I couldn’t stop.
I sucked, and slurped, and licked and flicked – and my fingers writhed relentlessly inside of her…
“Oh, God, Mason,” Christi arched her back. “Oh, fuck, I’m going to… going to…”
And then she cried out, as my relentless teasing tipped her over the edge, and she exploded wetly on my tongue.
I kept licking, and sucking, and fingering her as Christi shuddered in wave after wave of orgasm – not letting up even as the first climax subsided… and another came rolling up over her.
“Fuuuuuck!”
I had to pin Christi to the bed with my free hand, as she flopped and flailed on the covers. As I did so, I kept on feasting on her – devouring her like ripe fruit, until a third orgasm followed in the wake of her second, and she eventually cried out: “N-no more! Too much!”
Tightening her little hands into fists, she tried to yank my face out from between her thighs. “S-seriously, Mason! I s-surrender!”
And only then did I pull my face away, grinning wolfishly as I watched Christi flop, gasping, onto the blankets.
“Y-you pig,” she laughed, her breasts heaving as she gasped for air. “You made me cum so hard I couldn’t breathe for a moment, there.”
I laughed, and clambered up onto my knees.
Looming over Christi on the bed, I reached down to unbuckle my belt – and she reached up her slender fingers to help.
There was the rattle of my belt… the ziiiip of my fly… Then the rustle of my pants, as Christi yanked down the front of my jeans.
Out sprang my hard-on, red and angry after being cooped up in my tight jeans for so long.
Christi’s eyes widened as she saw it, and she bit her bottom lip flirtatiously.
“Come here, lover,” she purred, reaching for me with her slender hands. “Come and make me feel whole again…”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christi
Mason knelt on the bed, looming over me. God, he looked so good – all those rippling muscles and tattoos; and that huge cock, rearing from his open jeans like a torpedo.
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