I'm dressed in a tiny, tight black dress, form fitting in the way that body paint hugs flesh and leaves nothing to the imagination. I'm pretty sure the faster I walk, the more the hem of the dress rides up, exposing just a sneak peek of my ass... Wolf assured me this is a good thing, so I don't worry about it aside from how cold it feels down there. We'll be inside soon enough. A wedge of the dress has been tastelessly (to my mind) cut out around my midsection by the designer, exposing the underside of my cleavage as much as the neckline exposes the topside. This, too, was met with Wolf's stamp of approval. I honestly can't tell in the darkness what a man like Dash thinks of all this.
"Thanks for coming along," I mention as I glance up toward the porch.
"No problem."
"We might have a problem. We might have a lot of problems," I remind him. "We're infiltrating a bar that your friend Lesher tells us is a front for the Devil’s Bastards' sex trafficking ring. We need to get in and get out again with at least one bag of their synthetic dope. Even dime-sized will do," I say. "So you still think you're up for this?"
"Would you rather Wolf were here?"
I sigh. "Lesher said they would I.D. him in a second. Something about an assassination attempt that turned into a fistfight that turned into Wolf riding into the DBMC warehouse with his tailpipe blazing—somehow, I got the impression that it was all that guy Lesher's fault."
"It will be an interesting day when the two of you meet," Dash muses as we walk around the side of the stairs and mount them together. I can't help but scoff at this, although I try to keep my disbelief to myself; I don't want to draw attention from the leather-clad creeps who are already eyeing us.
"I don't know how many more of you guys I intend to meet," I say finally. I realize belatedly that I'm not sure what else I should say. It never occurred to me how I might feel now that I've been taken into the fold. The Robber Baron Motorcycle Club is flying below the radar and the broader awareness of the law, operating like some vigilante Justice League without regard for even the simplest human constructs, like borders. Lord even knows if they're still paying taxes. And although I appreciated his help, hearing what I've heard about this guy Lesher Vance, I find him and his actions bordering on extremely distasteful already. I'm operating with one hundred percent certainty that Wolf glossed over a lot in his character profile of the biker living in self-exile in South America.
"Probably a smart idea," Dash comments.
"Thank you."
Dash at least has proven himself to be steadfast so far. We make it to the door of the bar; the bouncer crosses his arms, muscles bulging beneath tattoos that clearly mark him as someone involved with the cartel as well as the Bastards. Dash drops his arm around my shoulder and makes a remark to the bouncer in Spanish. I can scarcely believe it when the bouncer's face breaks into a wide smile, but I master my surprise. I reach up to pull Dash's dangling wrist down, just inches above my breast, and smile obliviously. The bouncer ushers us in.
"I told him I was delivering a product," Dash stoops to whisper an apology as we breeze on past the door. The interior of the bar is sparsely lit and packed to the rafters; everything smells of sour sweat and spilled alcohol. I'm also certain that sickly-sweet, synthetic smoke hangs in the air. I try not to breathe in too much of it as we make our way to the bar, but I'm not sure it can be helped. A contact high that I know nothing about is the last thing I want for either of us, but so long as I avoid drinking as much as I can, I'm trained and ready to keep my wits about me.
"Great," I state as we find an empty space to post up in. I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice—I'm actually grateful to my biker escort for knowing exactly how to talk to these misogynistic specimens from both sides of the border. Maybe I would never admit it out loud, but Wolf is right about me: I'm not the best at going undercover. There’s only one way to get better at it, but it's seriously unfortunate that every opportunity that presents itself also comes with the highest stakes possible. "I really need to brush up on my Spanish," I mutter mutinously.
"Just sit there and look beautiful and let me take care of getting us where we need to go." Dash turns his back on the room to order a drink as I assess the clientele around me.
"I would love it if, just once, reality aligned with equality. Why can't you be my sex worker?" I grouse.
"I'm flattered." I watch as his lips, broad and generous for a man, pull into a wan amused smile. "I assume that was a compliment."
"More than Wolf's ever gotten."
"The two of you make a strange pair. Though, you're kind of perfect for each other," Dash amends as the bartender slides him two shots of tequila. I put my hand up when he offers me one, half to decline, and half in protest of what he's just said.
"We're…" I begin. The word complicated comes to mind, but the first half of my sentence has barely left my lips before my eyes cut to a motion across the room. There is a man toward the back, leaning up against the curtained entry to what I can only assume is a hidden hallway. He's staring directly at us—at me, more specifically, although I don't think he's beyond noticing Dash either. I elbow my partner-in-justifiable-crime, and to his continuing credit he immediately understands my intent. We depart from the bar and stroll through the teaming bodies toward the back. Thanks to Dash's height, he is easily able to hold his drink aloft and out of harm's way.
"This number with you?" the man at the hidden door asks without segue. His eyes drag all along me, but his question is obviously aimed toward Dash. I'd be surprised, judging by his tone, if he'd even stoop to talk to me. I avoid bridling and edge a little closer to my escort.
Come on, Dash, I pray silently. I suddenly wish we'd had more time to plot this out at the bar. If that's what they want to think, just go with it. I promise I won't be offended. Just get us in there. Curtains are meant to conceal, to hide; I want to take a peek behind it and see what Oz is really all about.
To my intense surprise, a feel a pair of strong fingers hook themselves beneath my left ass cheek and pull me sideways. I narrowly avoid crashing clumsily into Dash's side as he cements me against him possessively. "My lady friend was begging me for a round on the way over…and I don't mean drinks." He offers the shot he carries to the guard. "You got a backroom we can use?"
He's good at this…maybe too good. Ridiculously, I can feel a flush threaten to overtake my face; I battle it back as the Bastard assesses me approvingly. "I can see why it might be…urgent," the biker says. "Go all the way down and to the left if you want company." He accepts the offered shot, his lascivious gaze still crawling all over me. I offer a saccharine smile for him to chase his drink with.
The man throws his head back, taking the shot, and obviously inviting us to pass. Dash leads me into the hallway with the hand he still has clamped to my ass, and now I really do find myself blushing once we're past the curtain and safe in the dark, smoky corridor. "You can ease up a little," I murmur. The pressure of his fingers reminds me a little too much of just what Wolf's hands are capable of when they're finding their way around me.
"Sorry." His hand moves up to the curve of my back, and some of the tension bleeds out of me. I'm not stupid enough to think we don't need to keep appearances up now that we're past the guard. I'm also not crazy enough to not slightly enjoy having a man like Dash touching me, but my thoughts can't help but travel to Wolf every time he does. It would be all the more thrilling to have the Baron I've taken for a lover here by my side.
"I think this is the door he meant," I whisper as we near the end of the long hallway. A sliver of light bleeds past the crack in the wall. "Although I wonder what he meant by…?"
Dash pushes the door open, and I have my answer. The room is completely bare save for a clean white cot elevated on a metal frame. A slender young girl stands up from it. She can't be more than twenty, maybe even younger. Her hair is long and straight and raven-black, and it flows like silk past her naked shoulders. She's barefoot, wearing a thin shift and scarcely anything else. Big brown eyes bl
ink at us, startled.
"They let you past?" She speaks in a lovely Spanish accent, so thin it's scarcely traceable in her words save for an unconsciously seductive current. She appears confused, maybe even a little frightened, until her gaze falls to me. She looks more reassured seeing that she isn't alone in the room with Dash. "They aren't supposed to invite strangers back to see me.
"Who are you?" Dash asks quietly. My eyes cut sideways to him, unsure of what I'm hearing. I detect a note of…something…in his voice. His hazel eyes reflect the light from above as he stares at the girl openly in wonder. I can almost believe in that moment that he's never seen a woman before.
I would never admit it out loud, but I feel humbled when I realize I know that look. It's the same way that Wolf looks at me when he thinks I'm not aware of it, when there's no tinted helmet visor for Houdini to hide behind. Still, I find myself wondering what it means that Dash wears it now as he considers this stranger.
"Gabriella." Her pretty face pulls together in anger suddenly. She's noticed the look Dash is giving her, I think, and I wonder how often she is on the receiving end of that particular gaze. I don't have long to wait: her next words explain it all. "No one is allowed back here. No one is meant to see me until the auction."
"Auction?" I echo incredulously. Dash makes a low noise in his throat. I'm fairly certain we both know what that means. The girl, Gabriella, fists her hands on her thin hips, stretching the shift downward by accident until it nearly exposes her breasts. As still as she's trying to hold, I can see that she's shivering slightly beneath it. I know, standing in my own ridiculous dress, that it's cold for a summer night, and even colder now that we're inside the poorly air conditioned building.
Dash is the first to act, and the only one with a wardrobe to spare; he yanks his coat off chivalrously and goes to her. She shrinks back from him, the show of strength she's been putting on completely evaporating, but Dash wrestles her into it without any further protest. Her hands shoot across her chest to hold it in place.
"Gracias," she murmurs, although I'm not sure she means it. It would seem like she's not sure, either. "Yes. The auction. For my birthday, I am to be sold by the cartel to the highest bidder in the Devil’s Bastards Motorcycle Club as a show of confidence in their continued business allegiance. I can see now that the two of you…will not be participating?"
"Not much of a birthday present," Dash mutters. He shoots a look at me
"No, we won't be participating." I take a step closer to her, and the girl doesn't shrink from me as she did from Dash. "Gabriella…" I begin slowly. I'm not sure where I might need to begin, how far back in the history of human rights we need to go. "It's illegal to sell a human being to another human."
"I know. I'm being trafficked." She pulls a face to convey to me that she thought I was smart enough to know that already and is extremely disappointed in me. "It's something I have been told my whole life would happen to me on my eighteenth birthday."
"You don't have to stay here," Dash asserts. I shoot him a look, but of course I was thinking the same thing; he just got around to saying it first. "You can come with us."
Gabriella blinks. "What? Just like that?"
"Just like that," I emphasize. This girl's testimony could potentially help bring down the entire operation. The Mexican cartel is usually so carefully guarded, I can scarcely believe our luck in finding a potential witness. "It's your choice, of course. Just know that if you stay here, I can't guarantee what choices you will be allowed to make in the future."
I'm tempted to not allow her to make a choice at all. I could knock her over the back of the head with my handgun and drag her out of here, and I doubt Dash would stop me. Still, I listen to my own words now, and meet her gaze levelly.
"Who are you people?" she demands suspiciously. "This isn't some kind of test, is it?"
"No test." The broad, masculine hand that had once steered me unnecessarily now settles itself on the small of Gabriella's back. She starts, and turns sideways to look up at him.
Anyone who knows me personally would never accuse me of being a romantic, but there's something about the picture these two make that has me wondering what the future holds. "You can stay with me while you get on your feet," Dash continues.
I doubt it's going to be as simple as that. Instead, I say, "And I'll be around to make sure he behaves." If the girl is used to the kind of men I think she's used to, then Dash's offer might frighten her more than it will encourage her to leave. I step forward; in lieu of the badge I wish I still carried, I draw my gun. "I'm a cop," I tell her. "You can trust us. Both of us."
"Why are you here?" Gabriella asks. She looks from Dash to me and back again. "To take down the cartel?"
"Yes." I holster my gun once more inside the hidden strap on my thigh and straighten. "Well, sort of. To do that, I need evidence." It's too early to try and pressure her into committing to give testimony, I decide. I may be single-minded when it comes to upholding the law, but that doesn’t mean I'm as compassionless as people think…at least, since meeting Wolf Larson, I'm not. "We snuck in here with the intention of finding a sample of the synthetic drug the cartel has been dispersing along the coast through the Devil’s Bastards. If I'm able to bring something, anything into a lab at…the precinct…" I can't claim that mine will be willing to take it at the moment. "...then we'll be able to better man ourselves and halt their operation in their tracks."
"And you?" Gabriella's dark eyes return again to Dash. "What's your role in all this?"
Dash shrugs. "I'm her ride out of here. And yours, if you want it."
Gabriella tugs his jacket closer over herself and appears to ponder her options. I shoot a wary look over my shoulder toward the closed door. We're running low on time, I can feel it, and I'm an impatient woman by nature without finding myself in the lion's den. To Dash's equal credit and discredit, he appears willing to give this girl all the time in the world.
Finally, Gabriella turns to the elevated cot and slips her hand underneath the pillow; when she draws it back again, she's tightly gripping a sandwich bag full of fine powder. "Is this what you're looking for?" she asks tentatively.
I start. Dash might not recognize what she holds, but there's no mistaking it's the synthetic drug we're looking for. I take an impulsive step forward, and she doesn't draw back; after what feels like an eternity spent studying me, she finally holds it out in offering. I take it, slipping the packet into a secure spot between my cleavage.
"I…I stole it." Her eyes flicker between us. "I want to get out of here. I've prayed to every saint I know, even the ones I don't believe in, to deliver me from the cartel. And when I didn't think that was working, I lifted some product. I thought I could use it to drug the man who bought me, then use what remained of it to fund my travels once I managed to escape.
"Well done," Dash says approvingly.
Just then the door behind us opens. All three of us wheel to find the Bastard who had been guarding the hallway standing before us, another man flanking him on his right.
"Sorry, time's up," he interrupts us. "I've got another party interested in testing out the merchandise before—"
In all of my short acquaintance with Dash, I have never seen him move so quickly. No sooner has the man reappeared, a lascivious smile already tainting his expression, than Dash is moving toward the door. No one has time to react, least of all the intruder; one levelled drop kick, and five fat fingers are crushed beneath the swinging door. I swear I hear wood splinter from the impact—then again, it might be the crunch of bone
I don't feel like sticking around to find out.
The Bastard emits a shrill scream as the door swings open again. Now that I'm over my initial shock at Dash's violence, I'm completely on board with going to war, and I don't have to look far for motivation. Gabriella's terrified face is enough to remind me what's at stake here.
"Move! "I order her, catching her hand and hauling her after me. I draw my gun so fast it might as w
ell have always been there, serving as an extension of my arm, and a tool to punish those that would take advantage of the weak. This is why I police, and to hell with any badge.
I raise my handgun and fire off a single shot, burying a bullet in the shoulder of Gabriella's "prospective customer.” The man careens backward with a yelp of his own and goes down on one knee. A kick from one of Dash's weighty boots takes him down the rest of the way.
The biker lets himself out into the hall first, surveying both ways, before signaling us an all-clear with a silent gesticulation of his arm. A fired gun, while probably not as rare as one would think inside a DBMC bar, likely means it won't be long before others start streaming into the back hallway to see what's happened.
"Move," Dash echoes me. "The emergency exit. Go."
As the three of us run, I feel Gabriella reach out from beneath the shelter of my arm. She pulls up short; I'm just about to yank her forward, when I realize she's messing with a panel on the wall. She shoves up once roughly, and a blaring alarm goes off; above us, a bright, rotating light flashes.
"The fire alarm!" I say. "Good idea!"
The barest of smiles has time to form on her face before we're off again. Dash holds the door open for us, ushering us out into the cool night air. Together, the two of us lead Gabriella to Dash's bike.
"We can't all ride out of here," I state the obvious. "Even if your bike can support the weight of three of us, they'll catch us."
"The girl's light," Dash argues. "You're light. It'll hold."
"But it doesn't have to." I cut a quick look behind us into the darkness surrounding the distant bar. Is it just me, or has it deepened already with the bodies of others? I didn't realize their leather jackets could appear blacker than the night. I try not to swallow, because I'm afraid my throat has stopped working properly; I don't want it to betray me, not now when it's so imperative I lead us through a change of plan. It's only a matter of minutes, maybe seconds, before they discover the two injured men in the back. Discovering their walking, talking, prized piece of property is gone can't have gone far.
BILLIONAIRE BIKERS: 3 MC Romance Books Page 41
