No Good Truth (Bad To Be Good, Book 2)

by Dana Volney

  She unbuttoned his jeans and he help shimmy them off his hips, along with his boxers.

  Fucking gorgeous erection. And all hers.

  She raised so that she could slide the long, thick length of him into her, from the tip to his base, throwing her head back in pleasure. A moan escaped her lips as his palms ran over her calves and back up her torso to her neck.

  His big hand clasped her neck and she wrapped her hands around his forearm as she rose up and down, lavishing in the pleasure consuming her body. He squeezed. She arched back and rode him faster.

  She bent down, pressing her nakedness to him. His palms ran down her back, all the way to her ass. He urged her faster. And faster. She pressed her lips to his, running her fingers through his hair and clasping his head closer to her as her orgasm begged to be released.

  Fuck. His body tensed, his legs rising against her back. They crashed faster into each other. Her skin hummed with waves of pleasure from the inside out. Twirls and twists of euphoria shot up her belly, over her chest, and swirled around her head. The release Samson provided was all-encompassing—absolute satisfaction claimed her every cell, blanketing her.

  Her body was pleasured.

  Her mind was free.

  She could live in this moment with him forever.

  Chapter Eight

  “Did you kill him?” Rife asked Claire from his perch on the love seat, which he made look like doll furniture.

  “No.” Claire rolled her eyes. “Someone thought it was a bad idea.”

  It’s not that Samson thought the idea of killing Padarn was bad; it’s how she was going about it that he disapproved of. Impulsively … with no back up.

  “It’s a good thing Padarn breathes.” Sabene put a pod in the Keurig and started the flow of coffee into her mug.

  He snuck a glance at Claire. She’d fucking slapped him. Shit, it had been like old times. Then she’d pushed him down and fucked him good.

  Both his body and his mind.

  “I got wind of another shipment coming in tonight.” Rife sat forward, his deep voice bringing Samson back to the conversation. “Live cargo. Probably more girls.”

  Samson’s stomach flipped. He was not a Boy Scout by any means. None of them were. But profiting from the sale of kidnapped girls was beyond low.

  “This proves my point.” Samson locked gazes with Claire. Her green stare was hard in return. “Now we can get information out of Padran. Then use it against him.”

  “If we had taken Padarn out of play, none of this would be happening,” she countered.

  “Nah, they’d probably be abandoned somewhere and left to die of starvation or oxygen deprivation,” Rife painted a dire picture. “They’d rather do that than let them live to send them to jail.”

  “I need to think for a moment.” Claire headed down the stairs, and Samson was right behind her.

  “Don’t try to protest,” he said before a word came out of her open mouth. “The first time I let you out of my sights you infiltrated a shipping yard, and the second time you tried to kill someone. I’m not going for a triple.”

  “I thought you liked going for a triple,” her sarcasm snapped as she pushed the front door open.

  “What is wrong with you, woman?” Claire knew how to throw shade and get him hot under the collar in every way. They’d always had the two Fs down pat—fighting and fucking.

  A man kicked off the building and started walking behind them.

  “I don’t like you not taking any of this seriously.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention. Were they being followed?

  He glanced to the shop windows beside them, careful not to make a show of checking the area. They definitely had a shadow fifteen feet back.

  “I am.” Her voice drifted, her mind probably working out a different problem, one that was most likely going to cause him grief.

  “Then act like it.” The coffee shop was one more block away. They weren’t going to make it that far. This asshole had known where to pick up their trail.

  “You want me to stomp around brooding about it then?” She tucked a curl behind her ear. “Will that make you feel better?”

  He stopped short. “You know what would make me feel better?”

  “This ought to be good.” She placed her hands on her hips.

  Samson counted to three then whirled around and grabbed the man following them with both hands on his shirt. He walked him into the alley, slamming him against the brick building.

  “Why are you following us?” Samson demanded.

  Claire was at his side, blocking the view from passersby.

  The guy spit in Samson’s face. The prick squirmed to break Samson’s grip, so he used his knee to the guy’s leg to pin him harder.

  “Tell me who sent you.”

  The guy produced a knife from nowhere; Claire whipped out her baton and hit the blade out of his hand.

  “You’re on his radar now, man,” the guy grunted between labored breaths. “He’ll keep coming.”

  “Who?” The question was rhetorical. This asshole looked just like the others from the club.

  Samson grabbed his gun from his boot in the commotion and double-tapped the mystery man in the chest. He slumped and Samson dragged him ten feet to the right and propped him up next to a dumpster. Without a word, Claire put a piece of cardboard by the body to make him look homeless. They were a fucking good team. Samson snapped a picture of the dead man’s mug and sent it to Sabene with orders to run facial recognition.

  “What was that about?” Claire asked as they continued to the coffee shop.

  “I don’t know. But I have a feeling it’s about our new friends at Club Alegria.” He opened the café door and watched her saunter in like they hadn’t just murdered somebody. The rich scent of coffee beans encased them. “Did you even see him following us?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “See.” He glanced around the café. No cops. No one suspicious. “Teamwork.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I have you.” She kissed him like it was an everyday occurrence and turned to order from the barista.

  But this wasn’t their every day. Ever since they’d started looking into the SL-40 gang and Club Alegria, Claire seemed to be in more and more danger.

  A heavy weight sank into his shoulders as worry settled into his bones. They’d had their fun last night and today in the office, but the real priority here was taking care of the SL-40 gang. On top of that, he still hadn’t been able to nail down exactly what this nagging in the back of his mind was since Claire had been in the hospital.

  * * *

  Claire blew on her cup of tea as Samson made his way to his spot on the black leather couch. Cheeky bastard—always thinking he’s right about how to go about a problem.

  She took her seat across from Sabene at the high-top table and crossed her legs. Her boots were getting heavy. Maybe she and Sabene could go get a pedicure later to welcome in springtime.

  “I’ve taken the liberty of tapping into the cell phones that are either Padarn’s or communicate with him on a regular basis.” Sabene didn’t look as happy now as when they’d left thirty minutes before. “I went through it while you were gone, and this was from last night.” She pressed a button and the call came through the speakers.

  “We have a problem,” A low voice sounded nervous.

  “What is it?” Padarn’s tone was richer, silkier.

  “Our product is missing.”

  “Missing or expired?”

  “Missing, sir. Stolen.”

  “What are we paying that fuck face for?”

  “He says he doesn’t know what happened, but he’s pulling the security tapes.”

  “I want to know who stole it and when. Put it on the street. Now.”

  The line went dead and Claire raised her brows at Sabene, who was looking at her. Yeah, they should’ve done the recon part of the job a little better and wiped out the footage of them entering the shipping yard. She’d forgot a
ll else once they’d found the girls.

  “We knew eventually they were going to find out that the women were missing.” Claire shrugged and drank her ginger peach tea.

  “Sabene, can you wipe the cameras from here?” Samson asked.

  “I can go in, but this was last night. Chances are good they already have eyes on us.”

  “I’d say they’re better than fucking good.” Samson leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Did you get anything on that picture I sent you?” Samson’s one dimple showed his display of irritation.

  “Associated with the Salvadorians.” Sabene hit a couple of keys and the dead guy who was following them popped up on the screen and an arrest picture on the other.

  “He was following us to the café,” Claire said.

  Rife stood and exchanged knowing looks with Samson. Having the location of their base of operations known to their enemy wasn’t good for any of them. “Just now?”

  “Affirmative.” Samson. “We took care of him. They’ll probably notice he’s dead sometime this week.”

  The warning was clear: the police would start canvasing the area. They all needed to be on their best behavior. Not to mention, this fight just escalated from a problem they wanted to take care of to a fight they were going to have to finish without prejudice. Finally, she was going to get what she’d wanted the entire time.

  “This shit at our doorstep isn’t good.” Rife’s blue eyes darkened and she could practically read the words repeating in his head: SL-40s must be wiped out.

  “Why is it that you guys are always getting tripped up over the ladies?” Milo was cool over on the other couch.

  “This affects all of us,” Samson scoffed. “More specifically, Claire and Sabene now have eyes on the street looking for them.” His jaw ticked back and forth.

  Knowing someone was hunting her never made for a peaceful day—or night. She did not look forward to the unsettled stomach that was sure to haunt her until this whole thing was resolved. She could pick up a dart, throw it, and hit a country where someone wanted her dead, but she wasn’t currently in those countries. She was home. Where she wanted to stay. All that stuff with Samson earlier was bullshit; she merely hated how well he thought he knew her. Because he did. He was the only one in the world who was going to be able to tell she was lying about the amnesia, and she was doing everything she could not to let that happen. She had ample motivation to make sure Padarn didn’t breathe another day. She wasn’t going to sit around and let more women get sold into sex slavery.

  “We can’t let them get more girls.”

  “Time to go to the docks.” Samson stood and clapped his hands together.

  “And then to the madam’s.” Sabene loaded up her backpack. “That’s who they take the girls to after they get them from the containers.”

  “What about Teddy?” Claire asked. They were going to need Teddy if and when they were able to locate the other women.

  “Let’s leave him out of this until we know if the gang has any law enforcement connections.” Samson walked to the row of doors behind the dining room table and punched in the code to the armory Able had stocked in their office. “I haven’t checked in with him about the last group we gave him to see if anyone was sniffing around who shouldn’t be.”

  She didn’t care who knew—she was going to rescue those women. Again. Every night if she had to.

  Chapter Nine

  Samson flipped on the switch to the room in the office where Able had stocked every type of weapon the team would ever need, including, but not limited to, grenades, smoke bombs, throwing knives, and Kevlar vests. Samson was done fucking around and not being prepared. They were going to the docks with eyes wide open.

  “Everyone wears a vest,” he ordered. Their missions, while more noble than they used to be, still brought inherent risk. Claire’s blow to the head hadn’t been the first injury a team member had sustained under the new do-gooder flag, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  He handed an effective, slimmed down version of the vests to each member. They were all wearing dark clothing. The sun had set and now would be the time to strike.

  “Are we all going together?” Claire shrugged into the vest.

  “Yeah. That way we can be in and out and not risk anything going wrong because we spread ourselves too thin.” Samson checked to make sure the knife he always carried in his left boot was ready.

  “Where are we going first?” Milo asked.

  “The docks. Let’s hit him where it hurts. With any luck, we can find his newest shipment.” Samson checked the weapon load he’d stashed on his person again. He was going to need them. “Bernard is the guy they are greasing at the Port of Arlington.”

  “He’s a bad guy. Stay sharp out there,” Rife cut in. “He’s responsible for most drugs and humans trafficked into the East Coast.”

  Claire glanced to Milo as she strapped a handgun to the front of her vest, three loaded mags, and pocketed her baton.

  “Don’t look at me.” Milo’s full smile was knock-out white. A great compliment to his golden tan and sandy blonde hair. “He’s not the guy I use.”

  “To be clear,” Samson closed the self-locking door of the armory, “we shoot to kill tonight. Padarn is going to suspect us and use everything he has. We aren’t adding to his army. We’re taking away.”

  “You know, we talk very cavalierly in here. Are we sure we aren’t being monitored?” Claire asked.

  “I sweep this place every day for bugs.” Arkham stood by Sabene, who flipped him a treat. “And there’s a high frequency white noise surrounding us to block anyone from tapping into our conversation. We’re good here. Be careful when you’re at home. You never know.”

  After this, he was going to have to talk to Sabene about jamming signals around all of their homes. Just to be on the safe side. Being on the good side didn’t mean they weren’t making enemies. At this point, they were going to have to shut Padarn down completely in order to secure the safety of the team.

  “Everyone ready?”

  “I’m going to hang back in the SUV and coordinate.” Sabene ordered Arkham to stay and turned on some type of television program with cartoons on one of the screens. “I’ve tasked satellites to the area and will have a line on heat signatures. This guy isn’t going to be alone.”

  “We treat them all like hostiles.” A flash of his past, missions in the desert with his army unit, hit him like a ton of bricks to the chest. But then he thought he was doing good only to find out that not every order was a pure one. Now he knew that who he was fighting for needed his help.

  They loaded up, Rife in the front seat, because where else was he going to fit, and they took off for the port. Rife had received intel that Bernard was expecting a delivery tonight.

  Samson parked a block down from the port entrance. They wouldn’t be going in through the security gate.

  “Short out the electricity over there.” Sabene pointed in front of them to a small electrical box by the fence. “Last time we snuck out the girls closer to the security office. I’m sure they’ve patched that up by now.”

  “Got it.” Rife hopped out and got to work on the wires.

  “You’ll go straight through five container rows then hang a left.” Sabene consulted her phone for the directions. “The main port office is there, and that’s where Bernard’s phone is.”

  “Everyone have their comms?” Sabene’s laptop screen cast a glow onto her face; the sparkles in her eye shadow twinkled. “I count six heat signatures.”

  “That seems light.” Samson shot her a serious glance before shutting his door. “Keep us informed.” If more henchmen showed up, he wanted to know right away. Seeing how Padarn had just been robbed and a new shipment was coming in, it seemed like he would’ve had all hands on deck. Unless this was all the men he had. Or it was a trap. Either way, his team was prepared.

  He knew Sabene took her work and their safety seriously, but she was young, so reminding all of them
that death could be one wrong move away wouldn’t hurt.

  “They meant business when they came at us on our own turf. Stay on guard out here— they’ll be quicker to shoot in their own area. Don’t give them that chance,” he said.

  Milo cut through the fence. They filed in one at a time.

  Claire glanced back to him, smiled, and pressed her lips on his. “Wild horses,” she whispered nearly inaudibly.

  His breath caught. “Wild horses.” He bent the fence back into place.

  That’s what they used to tell each other before every mission—one of their many phrases with hidden meaning. They’d always said that wild horses couldn’t drag them away from each other. They wouldn’t die. They wouldn’t let the other die. It was their mantra of sorts. It hadn’t meant shit in the end. What had been more powerful than wild horses? Their own pride. That’s what.

  Maybe things were changing. Maybe his internal radar was busted and this really was some kind of second chance for he and Claire.

  “Are all the bodies together?” Samson asked as they headed straight, careful not to walk into any security light that was moving back and forth.

  “Two in the office,” Sabene reported. “Two patrolling closer to the docks and two in your way.”

  “Which way?” Rife stopped.

  “One a row up walking away from you and the other two rows up walking toward you.”

  “I have them.” Rife split from the group. “Do you see which one I am?”

  “Fun fact, I put color markers on your ear comms. I’ve got you all in my system. Rife, you’re red for too hot to handle.”

  Claire’s laugh joined Sabene’s. Samson, Claire, and Milo kept moving forward.

  “Are we considering the two at the dock hostiles?” Milo asked.

  “Yes,” Samson answered. Every person in the port except for the team was going to be considered the enemy.

  “The dock isn’t open at night and is low level, so there’s only the one security guard and a company that does a drive-by every hour,” Sabene elaborated. “There’s no reason upstanding citizens would be on duty tonight. But speaking of, we should probably be out of here in fifty minutes before the next drive-by.”