Courting Trouble: Running with the Devil Book 6

by Jasmin Quinn

  She studied the man who Jack pegged to be her hero. Hugo Marsden, who she’d known not quite a full day, who’d already asked her to marry him. Twice. What was wrong with him? Men like him didn’t ask girls like her to be his wife. Men saw her and wanted to fuck her. Hugo did too, but that didn’t stop him from being noble about it. Except he said he didn’t know the definition of the word noble. He confused her, which was a problem since she didn’t really need any help being confused. It was a like a religion for her. But she was noble, that’s for fucking sure. She saved him from himself. Both times he asked, she said no. Well, the first time she just laughed.

  But now that her belly was full of oatmeal and she was eventually off to Canada, she thought she probably should have just married him. Why the fuck not? It wasn’t like anyone else was offering and even as she thought this, she thought she didn’t want anyone else offering. Hugo was maybe the first man she’d ever met that caused her stomach to do backflips like a stoned Russian gymnast.

  The trouble was that she didn’t know all that much about him. He was Canadian but she’d park that for now. She didn’t realize they grew them that tall in Canada. She knew he was dangerous even if he had an easy smile and a way with women that made her want to drip maple syrup in her belly button and get him to lick it out. He was connected to Jack Creed in a significant way. He was a gun for hire, a bounty hunter, a killer.

  She shifted as a trickle of sweat rolled down her neck into the crevice between her breasts. She was sure by now that she had sweat rings on the armpits of her tank, under her breasts and on her crotch. She looked at Hugo again. He hadn’t moved, not so much as a muscle twitch. She wondered if he was sleeping with his eyes open. But he sensed her gaze and his eyes flicked to her face.

  “Why the hell don’t we just go in and see if he’s there?” The fucking heat was making her bat-shit crazy. It came out in the tone of her voice.

  “He’s there.”

  Hugo’s confidence was pissing her off. “So why not go in, act like we’re a happy couple in need of a half-dozen cold ones? Cozy up to him – ”

  Hugo ran his tongue over his top teeth. “WE don’t do anything, Blondie. When I have the chance, I’ll be taking him down. You’ll stay in the car like a good little poodle and wait until I get back.”

  Olivia narrowed her eyes at him as she rubbed a hand across the back of her neck, lifting her hair off it, which made no fucking difference at all. “So what you’re saying is that you’ll keep the windows rolled down so I don’t die of heat stroke while you go in and save the day. What’s the problem then? Why’re you waiting out here if he’s in there?”

  “The problem is that half his fucking posse is in there with him. If I walk in there, I won’t walk out alive.”

  “I got news for you, dead people don’t walk.” Olivia wasn’t sure if she snarled or barked. Probably barked since he just called her a poodle.

  He threw her a small smirk. “Good point.”

  “So what, then? We just sit here dying of heat stroke until he comes out for a piss?”

  Hugo shifted. “Something like that. It is what it is, Olivia. I can’t take on the whole fucking bar, so I have to wait until he’s alone. He comes out, we let him go and we follow him.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Mexican,” Hugo grunted.

  “Thanks, that narrows it down.”

  Hugo glanced her way, his eyes getting stuck on her breasts. “He’s a little tall for a Mexican, maybe around 6 feet. Long hair - wears it in a pony-tail most days of the week. Has a pretty little goatee and a snake tattoo that starts at his belly, coils its way around his torso, head ends at his neck. Fucking masterpiece if you’re into cold-blooded reptiles.” His eyes travelled up to her face and he turned fully in her direction as much as the space would allow. He reached towards her and wrapped a hand around the back of her neck.

  Olivia stiffened. “What are you doing?”

  “Going to kiss you. May as well do something to pass the time.” He tucked his other hand around her waist and pulled her head towards his. Olivia wasn’t excited about bumping up against him in this heat, but as his lips brushed hers, her skin pimpled and her nipples hardened. Fuck was that unexpected! He pressed his body in, slid his tongue into her mouth and took her hard and possessive. She felt like she was the only woman in the world as he stroked her with his tongue, in her mouth, on her lips, pulling her inside, brushing her with his teeth.

  She was heating up in a way she didn’t mind even in this temperature. Her hands moved without her say-so, grabbing his head, knocking his hat back, and pressing his lips closer to hers. Then he froze, pulled back an inch.

  “What?” Olivia asked, confused.

  His eyes looked past her head. “Don’t move. He’s out.”

  Olivia tried to look, but he wrapped his hand in her hair and shoved her head out of his way. “Stay still. He’s not going to pay any attention to a couple necking in a car.” He dropped his lips to hers, but his eyes were open and focused on the mark. The moment had passed, and Olivia’s desire dried up.

  She pulled away from him, twisted out of his embrace and looked out the side window. “Where is he?” The lot was empty.

  “In the alley. Probably taking a piss.” Hugo craned his neck a little as he reached for Olivia again. “Work with me, will you?”

  Work with him? She’d work with him all right! She threw her arms around his neck and dragged his face to hers, kissing him full on, tongue in mouth, lips mashed against his. She wasn’t going to share him with some Mexican asshole out for a stroll in this heat. If Hugo wanted her to kiss him, he was going to get a kiss. He startled under her onslaught, then pulled her to him, across the gap between the seats until she was practically on top of him. The gear shift dug painfully into her hip.

  “Ow, fuck!” she mumbled as she squirmed. He didn’t hear her, his hand was up her shirt, cupping her breast, tweaking her nipple. He’d taken over the kissing, pushing inside her mouth, fucking her with his tongue, almost savagely. His breathing was heavy and his hands were playing volleyball with her breasts and her ass. She lost her balance, dropped her fingers to his crotch to steady herself, felt his growing cock, his hardness a clear indication of what was on his mind. She tried to move her hand to his thigh.

  He pulled it back. “Keep it there,” he growled.

  “I can’t.” Olivia tried to find a better hold, but Hugo grabbed her hand, cupping it around his erection.

  “Keep it there!” His lips were on hers again, urgent. His hand roved over her breasts, squeezing them, tweaking her nipples. The gear shift dug into her hip, and then she lost her balance, her head hitting the steering wheel, the horn emitting a short beep.

  “Hugo!” she cried, as he caught her, pulled her off his lap and moved her back to her seat. He shifted more fully onto his seat, adjusted his crotch, shoved his hat on his head and stared out the window. The moment had passed. All the moments had passed. The mark was gone, the passion had died.

  Olivia drew the scorching air into her lungs. It didn’t help settle her. “What’s his fucking name?”

  “Arturo Ruiz,” he growled, irritation in every word. The heat, the closeness was getting to both of them.

  She yanked open the door and jumped out of the jeep, evading his attempt to grab her. “I’m gonna go get him out and into the alley. Be there to take him.”

  “Olivia, no!” Hugo reached for her, but she slammed the door on him.

  “Should take me five minutes,” she threw back at him over her shoulder. “Be ready.”

  She strode across the parking lot with determination. She needed to get this the fuck over with so they could get on the road and out of this heat. She had bigger problems than the fucking Mexican cartel.

  Olivia slammed her way into the bar and then stopped about three feet inside the door as it swung closed behind her. As her pupils adjusted to dimness of the bar, she saw that all eyes were on her. Nothing less than she expected
but still, her heart was hammering, her breathing shallow, her chest heaving. It was a natural response to her nervousness and it helped keep her head up, her lips parted, and her pupils slightly dilated. She placed her fingertips in her jean pockets as she looked around, kept her back straight, her chest jutted. Mostly men, a few women, some real pretty. But the men were looking at her. Of course they were. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the bar, but it didn’t matter. Beautiful had its advantages, but attitude got you further.

  She pinned each and every male with her eyes, one at a time. No one moved. It was like the building stopped breathing. All of them criminals, all waiting to see which prick she was looking for. She finally saw him, Arturo Ruiz, off in a corner surrounded by several other men. He was splayed out in a chair, a little slumped, legs wide open like he was king of his castle. A cigarette in his mouth, elbow on the table, beer bottle tucked between his fingers. Dark brown eyes boring into her.

  Perfect.

  Olivia let her eyes linger on him for a few seconds, enough that he knew she was looking for him. Then she walked towards him, hips swaying, fingers still tucked into her jean pockets, long blonde hair swinging in time with her steps. When she reached him, she pulled up short of his knees by a half-foot, reached for the cigarette, grabbed it out of his mouth, took a long drag on it, willed herself not to cough, then flung it to the floor. She placed her hands on his shoulders as she straddled him, legs on each side of his hips, her pelvis grinding into his. Then she grabbed the back of his head as she brought her face down to his and kissed him like he was the only fucking man on earth and she wanted to have his baby.

  He sat up straighter, let his beer go and drew his hands around her waist, tucking her into his body. One hand crept down the back of her jeans to her ass and the other up to her neck, pulling her closer as his cock woke up and realized it was about to get lucky. For a few seconds, it was quiet as death, and then men were shouting, laughing, clapping. She had him, she had them all, now she just had to get him outside.

  She could feel his erection through his jeans, pushing into her pussy. She tried to swallow her disgust. She was doing this to him. This is what she did to most men. This time deliberately, most times not. She came up for air, felt a little dirty, five minutes ago in Hugo’s arms and now in this asshole’s. “Name’s Liv,” she said in a cool, sultry voice.

  “Liv,” he repeated. “How come I’m so fuckin’ lucky?”

  She smiled her best seductive smile. It was a good one. She’d practiced it a lot. She shrugged. “Don’t know, didn’t ask. Owed a friend a favour who owed a friend a favour who I guess owed you a favour.” She leaned into his ear and ground her pelvis just a little. “I’m the favour.”

  “Fuck me,” he groaned as his hand latched on to her breast.

  “That’s the idea, handsome. Got someplace private we can go?”

  “Alley?”

  She pulled her head back and looked at him speculatively. “That the best you can do?” It wouldn’t have been good to agree too readily to the dark, disgusting alley.

  “Men’s washroom.”

  “Alley it is.”

  Arturo Ruiz needed no further prodding as he stood up, tucked his hands under Olivia’s ass. She wrapped her legs around his hips and hugged her arms tighter around his shoulders. He was strong, that was good – she’d been dropped in the past. It was a mood killer. She brought her lips to his, razed his mouth as he carried her through the crowded bar, kicked the door open and walked outside. The heat hit her like a hot wet sucking blanket and she fought the urge to jump off him. She looked over Ruiz’s shoulder and saw that Hugo’s jeep was gone. A moment of sheer terror hit her. What if he left? What if he decided she wasn’t worth the effort and drove off?

  The Mexican bandit was staggering a little now, the oppressive heat weakening him, but to his credit, he hung on as he rounded the corner of the building. “Further down,” Olivia urged, trying to keep the panic she was feeling out of her voice. She had to trust that Hugo was a man of his word. “I like privacy.”

  He lurched down the alley to a dark recess, then dropped Olivia to her feet and pressed her against the wall. His mouth found hers again, his hands roaming all over, yanking at the button on her jeans, hands up under her shirt, pulling it over her breasts. His breath was stale, his touch greedy.

  Where the fuck was Hugo?

  He dropped his head down to her chest, trying to get at a nipple. Then he froze, a second, maybe two at most before he dropped to her feet like a stone. Hugo was standing directly behind him, gun in hand, barrel-end. His face was mottled with rage. “That’s your fucking way to get a man out of a bar?” His voice came out in a hiss. She could tell he wanted to shout at her. Thought maybe he’d save it for later.

  “It was effective, wasn’t it?” Now that she knew Hugo hadn’t deserted her, all Olivia wanted to do was drink a beer, a shot of tequila, even a whiskey – anything to get Ruiz’s taste out of her mouth. She tugged her shirt down.

  Hugo leaned over Ruiz, who was lying at their feet groaning and pushed himself into Olivia. “You fucking touch another man ever again and I will lock you up until you’re old and ugly.”

  Maybe it was the stress of the situation, maybe it was the heat, maybe it was Hugo’s tone. Olivia glared at him. “Whoa, Mr. Dictator. First, I will never be old and ugly. And second, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  He wrapped a hand around the back of her head, gripped her hair with his fingers and snapped her face up to his, stopping an inch short. “I do, Olivia. I get to tell you exactly what to do.” Then he pushed her back, away from him and bent down to pick up the semi-conscious man. He grabbed Ruiz by the collar and started dragging him to the other end of the alley. Olivia stayed rooted in place for a few seconds trying to process what had just happened. He swung around, caught her eye and said, “Get the fuck in the jeep.”

  She followed because she still needed him, still wanted him, was even kind of turned on by his shitty alpha male attitude. But only sort of. She’d always been a one-man kind of woman and thought maybe Hugo could be that man. He definitely was acting like she was his woman. But if one applied some thought to the situation, one could conclude that he wasn’t exactly her man. He was more like her employee. The thought strengthened her resolve.

  He didn’t fucking know his place.

  The jeep was parked at the end of the alley, in the shade. Hugo hauled the back of it open and shoved Arturo Ruiz in. The Mexican bandit was starting to come around, mumbling profanity in Spanish. Hugo clocked him with his massive fist, helping him to swallow his words. Then he gagged Ruiz with a dirty bandana, tied his hands behind his back with a zip tie, and did the same to his ankles. He slammed the jeep door shut, grabbed Olivia, who had been standing next to him, by the arm and hauled her to the passenger side of the jeep, shoving her in. As he got in the driver’s side, he said, “Put your fucking seat belt on.”

  Then he peeled away.

  CHAPTER 12

  Hugo was livid. Angrier than at any other moment in his entire life and there’d been a lot of fucking moments that had pissed him off. He was all the more furious because he was so furious. He didn’t get this mad for a reason. It made him reckless and reckless was a death sentence in his line of work. The blonde sitting beside him didn’t seem contrite enough. He needed to get her somewhere, shove her into a shower and wash the stink of Ruiz off her, then fuck her until she understood who she belonged to.

  He couldn’t believe it when she popped out of the jeep and sashayed her way to the bar, threw open the door and strolled in like she owned the goddamned place. His heart fell to the pit of his stomach which had already plummeted to his toes. His fear for her weighted him down and he felt like he was drowning. It was such a fucking foreign feeling that he didn’t recognize it at first. He almost went in after her but didn’t for two reasons. First, because that would be a sure-fire death sentence for the two of them, and second, he remembered how she owned the bar
back at the Mirage.

  He decided to give her five minutes, but it damn near did him in. It took less than four seconds to kill a person. He knew. He’d counted it off once as he pulled the trigger. He moved the jeep to the other end of the alley, then got out and stood in the shadows, watching the clock on his phone. One minute, two minutes, three of the longest fucking minutes of his life and then they rounded the corner.

  Her legs were wrapped around the Mexican’s waist, her lips were locked on his like she was performing a tonsillectomy. Ruiz shoved her up against the wall and started groping her, hands everywhere. Hugo lost his mind. He just about shot the Mexican fucker but found a little satisfaction at the sound of the asshole’s skull cracking under the butt of his gun. As Ruiz dropped, Hugo’s eyes raked Olivia. He was looking to see her reaction to the Mexican, to his own aggression. He knew he was in way too deep looking for small signs of reassurance that she wasn’t having as good a time as Ruiz. He got them. She was pale, almost shaking, her irises too blue, her pupils too black. The only thing that stopped him from slapping her was the sudden relief on her face when she saw him.

  But holy mother of god, he couldn’t fathom the depth of his anger, his fear. He known her for a day, hadn’t even fucked her, but knew he’d die a heartbroken man if something happened to her. It was the worst feeling in the world.

  He drove like a maniac for a few minutes, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road. He couldn’t look at her, not yet. He didn’t want to see the rawness of her lips, her heaving chest. But he had to say something, so he said, “Are you fucking nuts?” Okay, he didn’t say it, he roared it.

  “You’re welcome, you asshole!” she shot back.