Tracking Luxe (Renegade Souls MC Romance Saga Book 3)

by V. Theia

  Movement upstairs forewarned Grinder to his overnight guest the following morning. His two-bed complex condo near main street wasn’t much to write home about but it was his.

  A few minutes later there she was framed in the door, anxiously glaring at him. “Good morning.”

  Her drowsy lilt made him think of sheets messed up from vigorous fucking, her legs dangling over the end of his bed while stopped her talking by giving it to her so good she forgot to breathe from the power of his thrusts deep inside her that took him right to the very back of what he knew would be the best damn pussy to ever clasp around him.

  Fuck. Drink your coffee, dickhead, stop thinking of her pussy and how he wanted to destroy it.

  He couldn’t.

  He wanted it. It wasn’t convenient to be thinking it right then while she hovered in his doorway looking better than most chicks did when they had been primping for six days. He didn’t expect her to look so beautiful his belly muscles hurt.

  Drinking his coffee to keep his trap shut, it burned down his throat and didn’t he just deserve the pain. Perving fucker.

  Wincing, he was up off the bar stool to pour her one, offering it silently as she blinked confused.

  “Looks like you could do with this. I made it strong.”

  “Sí. Por favor. Gracias.” She sipped long. Turned chocolate eyes on him. “I stayed here last night?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t know where you were staying.” Lie. He just had no fucking intention of taking her to Steele. “Do you want to grab a seat? I have eggs and toast on the go.”

  Fuck him. The irony was strong.

  It wasn’t that long ago he took the piss out of Preacher for romancing his old lady with the promise of eggs and here he was whisking those puppies like he was Martha fucking Stewart. Note to self, he thought, don’t tell Preach.

  “This is weird.” She noted finally.

  Hovering like she couldn’t decide whether to flee or stay. Grinder moved around his L-shaped kitchen and piled eggs on a white plate.

  “Did we have sex?”

  His whole body swerved, tempted to tease her, but she looked so fucking disgusted with the idea his gut dropped to his feet, face blanking out. “I don’t fuck unconscious women. You fell asleep in your car, I carried you in, took off your boots and poured you into my bed.” He didn’t tell her how cuddly she’d been before he’d detangled her arms from around his neck. Or how tempted he’d been to climb into his bed and hold her all night.

  “Where did you sleep?”

  He hadn’t slept much at all, he kept thinking she might puke in her sleep and choke to death so he’d checked on her often. Grinder placed her plate on the breakfast nook, patted the stool, and pointed his chin through to the living room. “On the couch.”

  It took her about a week to cross the kitchen and sit down. Wearing last night’s clothes, with her wave of dark hair caught back in a long tail she looked edible.

  “You remember last night?”

  Coffee paused midway to her mouth, her eyes flared and Grinder grinned. Yeah, she remembered. Was she going to deny rocking out on him like a stripper?

  “I’ll review your lap on Yelp later. Three out of ten. A bit bony, your dick could have been less prominent.”

  He snorted amused.

  “That’s not what you said last night, Luxe. In fact, you said-----”

  “If you’re trying to embarrass me it won’t work. I don’t feel shame, I’m basically a cat who licks itself when there’s company over. I give no fucks, Nathan. I enjoyed teasing and working you up on purpose.”

  Grinder’s eyes closed for a second, feeling like he could crack the mug he was holding in two with his tight grip. And when his eyes pinged open the cheeky thing was sitting scooping up eggs and ripping the toast into bits before tossing it into her mouth.

  She wanted to provoke him with her gorgeous sass and it was working.

  More than anything Grinder was astounded … pleased she was even talking to him, she could have said just about anything and he’d take it. It wasn’t as though he was versed in detaining a woman in a locked motel room for two days as to how you then go about getting into her panties.

  He wanted her. Feisty, violent, frosty and wet.

  Whatever personality trait she was wearing, he wanted it.

  “I wouldn’t shame you for something we both wanted to happen, love. Tell me to sit my ass down so you can writhe on top of me again and I will. I meant what I said.” He had to gulp his coffee or his worked-up body was going to keel over and the way she was glaring at him with the fork poised at her mouth she was likely to stab him.

  Fuck. Why was he so attracted to that? He’d watched her take that bar chick down a peg last night and his dick nearly hit the underside of the table with arousal. To see her standing her own was a turn on.

  “You can use me.”

  “Gracias. But no.”

  A thief and a liar. Grinder twitched a smile and refilled her empty cup, making sure to lean over her so he could say by her ear. “Your eyes are practically begging me but that maddening pretty little mouth won’t ask me for it.”

  “Keep dreaming, kidnapper.” The woman he saw put another chick in her place last night was back in charge, her face closed off, eyes flat. And still he wanted to eat her alive.

  He didn’t like the note of frost in her voice and he had ways to overcome that in time.

  “It’ll happen.”

  “I think the altitude has messed with your brain too long, kidnapper.”

  “Grinder.”

  “Nathan.”

  He sighed hard enough to blew down an entire forest, before he shifted his head looking at her directly, she licked the corner of her lip and he felt it right there, right there. “Are you being difficult on purpose to drive me insane?”

  “Sí,” she grinned. “And it’s working.”

  They still had business to talk about, having been too busy being used like a bull last night, he still wanted to know the what’s and why’s about last night, so he let it drop for now. “Tell me about the Russian you were hiding from in my mouth.”

  Grinder released a pent-up breath, before putting space between them, thankful he was wearing gray sweatpants instead of jeans, his dick was thick and heavy, and he didn’t see it changing anytime soon, not with Luxe in his apartment eating his food and looking the way she did. He wanted to get on his knees in front of her, peels off her jeans and show her how sorry he was for everything by using his tongue to make her babygirl-whimper.

  Focus, dickhead.

  He leaned on the opposite side of the breakfast bar. There was nothing good about being mixed up with the Russians and all his instincts were flaring to the forefront to get her out of trouble if she was------

  “Oh, them,” her white teeth nibbled on a piece of toast, giving him her full attention, he couldn’t wait to hear this. “They have something I want. And since you’re desperate to make amends, I need you to help me steal it back.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I hope I’m the Bond villain in this covert mission.” - Grinder

  Switching off the engine, Grinder swung his leg over the bike, leaving his helmet on the handlebars, he yanked his beanie hat from his pocket, shoving it down to his ears and strode to the main entryway inside the clubhouse. Over the last few weeks he’d been absent more often than not, he felt a twinge of guilt about it.

  He wasn’t that unreliable guy.

  He was the guy his patched in brothers could count on no matter what and this business with Luxe had taken his focus in spectacular easy form, but hey, sometimes kidnapping got in the way of daily life, he just had to roll with those punches and carry on.

  There was no dumbfuck to blame but the guy in the mirror.

  Shaking his head, the familiar sounds and scents hit him stepping inside, he hung a right and entered the main room. A giant rectangular space with a wall of six-foot high windows all along one side looking out into the compound forecourt.
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  The couches were just as old as ever, the coffee tables scuffed to hell from all the boots that got rested on them, the rugs had seen better days and there was always a litter of food debris and drinks on most every surface if the prospects hadn’t gotten around to clearing things away, but he always felt at home.

  On the big TV screen mounted on the far wall Sports Center was the only channel he and his brothers acknowledged existed, no CNN bullshit for the outlaws, why would they wanna watch the news when they made their own most days and anyway, he reckoned his Pop watched enough news for everyone, it was his father’s jam.

  Only on occasion did the boys and he flip channels to that foodie show Tiny used to love, in remembrance of their fallen brother. Damn, some days Grinder missed that big idiot more than most. Tiny had been built like a brick shithouse and was the gentlest giant who once had ambitions to open his open grub place one day.

  Just recently Rider had added Tiny’s name plaque to the wall of fallen brothers in the hallway. He was only the second brother Grinder had lost since patching into the Souls. He hoped to God it was the last.

  Death was a bitch.

  And one that came out of left field like Tiny, more of a shock than most, the club was still reeling from the loss. He’d left a gaping giant-sized hole that couldn’t be replaced. Not to mention the guy had made the best food, it was a wonder they all didn’t starve now.

  Was he walking into his own death trap if he helped Luxe steal from the Russians? Chances were high. But the risks would be worth taking if it advanced the Souls in getting the bratva out of town finally.

  All good solid questions he didn’t have answers to, and it troubled him, he liked to fix, not chance and hope for the best. Now it felt as though he was going to have to take risks he had no way of knowing the outcome, because what was the alternative, let Luxe do this alone? Not atone for his mistakes to her? Both were unacceptable to him. With so much secrecy already under his beanie of late, he’d told her he wouldn’t keep her request from his club. Anything to do with Grigori would have the potential blowback for the club, and he wouldn’t be the one who put his boys in danger they didn’t see coming.

  Not even for Luxe Reyes that maddening, beautiful woman and the trouble she was involved in. Though his every instinct was roaring in the background to scoop her up and do whatever he had to. As it was, her morning scent was still playing in his nose, strong and sweet, lickable, making his body ache.

  The woman went right to his head.

  And that was fucking nuts.

  Where Luxe was concerned he was fast accepting his thoughts and actions or lack thereof for logic drastically sprinted off in the wrong direction, every single fucking time.

  He’d kidnapped … Jesus, he hated that damn word---detained---a woman for days, trailed her for longer than that, watched her patterns, mentally documenting every man she talked or smiled at and when his control had snapped he’d done the unthinkable. It was as though his mind was acting out all on its own and his poor idiot body got took along for the ride.

  Crazy shit and he hated himself.

  Now he was willing to put his own neck on the block to atone somehow, if this was what it would take, he’d do it, to apologize in the only way she’d accept, by helping her steal something that belonged to the most dangerous men he’d come across in a long while.

  No big deal.

  More dangerous because the Souls knew so little about the Bratva and their true reasons for being in Colorado, making them unpredictable. So far Rider and the boys had managed to stay out of their way, for good reason, pacifying their existence all the while giving Grigori no inch to take that Russian mile.

  Damn the thief. Of all things, she could have asked him for, he would have gladly provided, this was giving him pause, catching him between the club and a woman.

  He’d asked her why she couldn’t walk away from this job. Would you walk away from one hundred grand, kidnapper? Money was a great motivator, and still, he’d told her she didn’t have the first clue who she was getting herself tangled up in.

  Grinder found Rider dishing out orders to the overly eager prospects. He hung back a bit and listened to Slider volunteer to go into town and pick up some supplies.

  That one was his boy. One of his Pop’s friends had asked Grinder to give the boy a chance with the Souls before he got himself thrown into jail. Grinder would never sponsor just anyone for a probationary membership into the MC, so he’d watched the younger guy for a few weeks. It usually took only one sponsor to bring in a prospect, luckily for Slider when Grinder had put him forward to the table, talked the younger guy up, his brothers had agreed he was good Souls material.

  So far so good. If Slider kept up the good work Grinder knew he’d be patched in soon.

  “Yo, Grinder Sir.” Slider grinned and walked over to slap his hand to Grinder’s outstretched palm, he ruffled the shaggy hair swept back with his black and white bandana.

  “Being a kiss-ass to the boss again?”

  Slider grinned and dipped his head, scratching the fluff he called a beard, no longer the kid who would boost cars two and three a night. “Ah, you know, just doing as I’m told, getting shit done.”

  “Good, keep doing that.” He sent him off to do the shit that needed doing.

  He had his own to see to. “Got a minute, Ri?” he asked his prez, boss and friend. “Can we go talk in church?”

  Rider’s brow lifted into his hairline. “Sounds ominous. If this ends with you needin’ help diggin’ a shallow grave, Zara is gonna be pissed if I’m late home to dinner.”

  Once behind the sacred door, Grinder shrugged out of his jacket, he took a minute to roll up his sleeves, not exactly practicing what he’d say to his prez, but he knew how to carefully choose his words. Deciding to stand when Rider took his seat at the head of the table, he didn’t beat around the bush.

  “There’s this chick…”

  “Doesn’t all things start with ‘there’s this chick?’ again I say I ain’t diggin’ no fuckin’ grave, my brother.” Joked Rider, though his face was straight, his dark brow rose in that arrogant way only a club president could have.

  This was a man Grinder respected the hell out of. He’d been at Rider’s side almost from the beginning of his reign and watched him drag the club from the dirt into the light and make something out of it that no predecessors ever could. The Renegade Souls MC were a feared and revered club throughout the country now and Grinder for one was proud to be an outlaw associated to them.

  It was all because of Rider Marinos. A fair but powerful boss. Tenacious and brutal. A president who didn’t think twice to do what was right for the club.

  Club first.

  Club first.

  It was what every man who patched in said and meant it. There could be no wavering on loyalty, you were either in or you weren’t, it was that simple.

  Only now some of the members, the prez included, had old ladies and naturally the order of priorities for those men had changed. Forever loyal to the club but it was more than obvious who was their number one.

  It stood to reason, Grinder mused.

  There’s this chick.

  Luxe had been that chick for him for more than a year.

  Baby, I'm preying on you tonight, hunt you down eat you alive.

  Even in the background, he’d think of her sometimes, how she’d played him and he’d get angry. But more than that, he was aroused and intrigued by the kind of woman she was, longing for a missed opportunity, if he was honest with himself. It wasn’t just about sex.

  She was under his skin, tormenting him from the inside with thoughts of tossing her around and tangling up his bed sheets.

  Was this the only way to get her out of his system?

  To do this favor for her, to give her payback?

  I bet she’d be pleased if it got me killed.

  Crossing his arms against his chest, lassoing any errant thoughts of bed sheets and tossing Luxe there, he went on, leavin
g out the most important detail of all. He wasn’t proud of his behavior these past weeks.

  Not at all.

  “Luxe Reyes. She’s associated with the Apollo Kingsmen.” Jealousy tickled his insides. “She’s a thief who’s been hired to steal from the Russians, only it’s proving more difficult for her than she initially figured.”

  This detail got Rider’s attention, Grinder watched the blue of those presidential eyes flare.

  “I owe her a favor, Rider, one I can’t----don’t want to get out of, and she’s asked me to give her a hand, bait and distract, breaking and entering. A bunch of old shit paintings, who the fuck wants them I don’t know, but they’re worth a chunk of change for her commission to grab ‘em. I caught her last night casing their building, she nearly got caught by one of Grigori’s men. She can’t get close enough to get into the lock box, that’s where I come in.”

  Aware of Rider’s silence and his watchful stare that could mean a helluva lot, none of it good, Grinder perched on the end of the table. The same table they’d waged wars around, the very table only last year Rider and the rest of them had formed a plan to attack the Raging Rebels, ultimately taking that club out one by lousy one. Other times, lighter times they’d bantered back and forth, throwing out slurs to each other, never meaning it, just a few month ago Rider had told the boys he was going to be a father around this very oak. This table had seen a lot over the years, worse still when Rex Marinos oversaw the gavel and presidents chair.

  What a joke he’d been. Grinder side-tracked and wondered if the old prez would even dare show up for the anniversary this year. After being ousted and then trying to rally a coup against Rider in his first year, would Rex even dare? Grinder would lay money on that sly cunt traipsing his corrupt ass through the doors like his shit don’t stink.

  “I’m guessin’ there’s more to ‘there’s this chick’ G. She the reason you’ve been absent more than not lately and havin’ Preacher fret like his bestie stopped braiding his hair?”

  Grinder’s eyes fell flat. What could he say? “I’ve been getting my work done.”