Take Me Harder

by Jackie Ashenden

  She scowled after him. Just once it would be nice if he could say things to her face and not go behind her back.

  Irritated, Ava tried to forget about it, going into the kitchen and getting herself a proper meal to get rid of the lingering effects of the bourbon.

  But even a Supernatural marathon on TV didn’t do anything to stop the thoughts of Rush that kept going around and around in her head. And when she went up to her bedroom to get ready for bed, she found herself standing in front of her full-length mirror, staring at herself. Wondering what on earth it was that had made Rush want to push his thumb into her mouth. Had made him tell her to suck it.

  She couldn’t see anything. Red hair and freckles. Pasty skin. Nothing a man like him would find attractive, she was sure. He would want the bouncing, inflatable boobs of the strippers he liked to watch, and the tanned golden skin and long blond hair. None of which she had.

  Then again, maybe that didn’t matter to him. Maybe it was only because she was female and in his general vicinity. Maybe after Quinn had taken her home, Rush had gone back to Sugar Daddy’s and taken Candy up into the VIP room. Maybe she’d given him a lap dance and he’d pushed his thumb in her mouth and gotten her to suck it. Maybe it didn’t matter to him who did.

  He’s messed up, Ava.

  Yes, he quite clearly was. And it probably wasn’t even actually her he wanted. Just a woman, any woman.

  Which meant she needed to stop replaying what he’d done to her, what he’d said to her, over and over in her head. She needed to stop thinking about the feel of him hard and hot beneath her hand under the table at Jack’s. Stop remembering the taste of him on her tongue as he’d told her to suck his thumb. Stop going over and over those words he’d murmured to her, the hot, dirty words that had made her feel so…restless.

  You ever sucked a man’s cock, honey?

  She’d always thought that when she was ready for a relationship, she would go for a man like her dad. Upright. Honest. Honorable. A man who would do the right thing. Okay, maybe a little bit more emotionally accessible might be nice, but someone along those lines.

  That man wasn’t Rush Redmond.

  Sure, he was a good guy underneath, she was sure of that. But the guy he’d turned into in prison wasn’t upright or honest. He wasn’t honorable. And he certainly wasn’t a man who’d do the right thing.

  As Quinn had said, he was messed up. Not to mention foul-mouthed, rude, and obnoxious.

  “You were drunk,” she said aloud to her reflection. “And so was he, and it’s a mistake to want to take it any further.”

  Anyway, she had to keep her eyes on her ultimate goal, which was to bring her mother’s murderer to justice, not think about what Rush had meant by “building up to his dick.”

  Not that she was thinking about his dick. Or any other part of him.

  Satisfied with her decision, Ava went to bed.

  And ended up dreaming about how she’d slid off the stool in Lone Star’s kitchen, gone to her knees in front of him, pulled down his zipper, and…

  Woke up before she could find out.

  Chapter 7

  Rush leaned against the reception desk of Duchess Bail Bonds and grinned at the bouncy blonde who was sitting behind it. She had blue eyes, golden curls, and a saucy smile, pretty much all the things he liked in a woman. Plus she was Duchess’s sister, which was an added bonus when it came to flirting like a motherfucker with her.

  Duchess hated it when he flirted with her sister.

  “Good afternoon, sweet pea,” he said, grinning at her. “I bet you can’t guess why I’m here.”

  Rose fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Oh, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  She put her elbows on the desk. “I think you want to play with your boyfriend.”

  Rush laughed. “You’re funny, you know that? Any time you’re at loose ends, you come talk to me. I’ll show you which team I prefer to bat for.”

  “If you don’t want that bat hitting your head, maybe you shouldn’t be playing at all,” a distinctly pissed-off-sounding male voice said.

  Rush glanced up and found West—another agent in the Duchess team—standing behind the desk near Rose and staring at him. The other guy was smiling, but that meant nothing, as Rush knew all too well. With his blond hair in a buzz cut and his steel-gray eyes, there was nothing friendly in his expression.

  The possessive note in West’s voice wasn’t friendly either, and Rush didn’t miss the way Rose rolled her eyes, as if this wasn’t news to her. “Keep it in your pants, big man,” she said with some disdain. “This hasn’t got anything to do with you.”

  Rush gave West an insolent grin. “Sounds like the lady can take of herself.”

  “The lady is not a lady,” West said, his deep voice descending into a growl. “The lady is only a girl. Isn’t that right, darlin’?”

  Rose shot him a glare. “Don’t you darlin’ me, shithead.”

  “Well, this is fun.” Rush settled against the desk and folded his arms. “Oh, don’t mind me. Please continue.” Really, it was nice to see someone who wasn’t him getting it in the neck for a change.

  Not that he ever intended to do anything with Rose. He just liked flirting with her because it annoyed other people.

  You don’t want her anyway.

  Rush only just stopped himself from scowling, because unfortunately that was the truth. He couldn’t think of any other woman right now, not when Ava St. George was taking up so much space in his head.

  After Quinn had taken her home a few days earlier, he’d fully intended to take a cab to Sugar Daddy’s and finish his evening in the VIP room, hopefully with Candy.

  However, he hadn’t even gotten to the front door when the hard-on in his pants disappeared and stubbornly refused to come back, not even when he pictured Candy doing some of her more risqué moves on him.

  But the memory of Ava sucking his thumb? Oh, fuck yeah. His stupid-ass dick was all over that. The heat of her mouth on his skin and the wicked touch of her tongue. The way her eyes had gone wide as he’d ordered her to suck it, then flared bright gold with heat as she did what she was told. The pull of the suction, a drag he felt down the whole length of his cock. And the way she looked at him, part astonishment, as if she couldn’t believe what she was doing, and part smoky desire, as if there was a part of her who did believe it. Who wanted it. Who wanted him.

  He still couldn’t quite get his head around that, and he’d been trying not to think about it, because it didn’t lead him anywhere good.

  Uptight cop Ava St. George wanted him, a convicted criminal and an all-round douchebag. Christ. It was so wrong on every level, and yet somehow that only made the desire worse. It was almost as if the wrong thing turned him on.

  Yeah, no surprises there, motherfucker. Not when you consider where you came from.

  Good fucking point.

  Yet another reason he should be keeping the hell away from her.

  “You need to learn some manners, darlin’,” West was saying acidly. “Little things like not calling your colleagues shithead would be a good start.”

  “When you stop calling me darlin’, you sexist asshole, I’ll stop calling you shithead.”

  “Okay, okay,” Rush interrupted, because he was here for an actual reason. “As much fun as this is, I need to know where the fuck Rhys is.”

  Rose, still glaring at West, leaned back in her chair and yelled at the top of her lungs. “Rhys! Your boyfriend’s here!”

  Holy shit, she was a firecracker.

  Rush gave West a good-natured grin, minus the insolence this time. “Watch your back, buddy. That one’s gonna give you trouble.”

  The other man snorted in a way that reminded Rush of Quinn. “Like that’s happening. Not.”

  Rose’s glare became laser-like, aimed squarely at West as he turned and disappeared down the corridor.

  Oh yeah, it was happening. He knew that look in a woman’s e
ye. It was the I-hate-you-but-I-can’t-wait-to-rip-your-clothes-off look. Come to think of it, it was the very same look Quinn often got around Duchess.

  Interesting…

  “Yeah?” The voice was male and uninflected. “What do you want?”

  Rush looked up to see Rhys stepping out of one of the offices, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. His dark eyes held their usual expression, which was nothing at all.

  “Yo, dude.” Rush straightened. “Got a little errand to run and I could use some extra muscle.”

  Rhys’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What kind of errand?”

  “The beating-the-shit-out-of-assholes-for-information kind.”

  One of his contacts had gotten in touch the day before and told him that there was going to be some kind of massive deal going down at Jimmy Troy’s ranch. Underworld types from all over the state were going to be attending, and since it looked like the perfect opportunity for Rush to get close to Troy, he was set on going too.

  Only problem with that was the fact that it was by invitation only, and since he didn’t have a small army to break down Troy’s door, he needed to somehow get an invite.

  Which was where the beating-the-shit-out-of-assholes part came in.

  And luckily, Quinn had given him the perfect excuse with that skip he’d wanted some info on. The guy was one of Troy’s low-level thugs and hung around the Graveyard Ministry, the local outlaw motorcycle club. He also knew that Nora Sinclair, one of the agents in the Duchess team, was the old lady of Smith, the chapter president.

  So he’d had a brief conversation with Nora the previous day, sounding out Smith’s feelings on the low-level thug, because obviously going in to rough up some Ministry affiliate wasn’t going to earn him any favors. Luckily, Smith—who was in the process of getting his chapter on the straight and narrow—was suspicious of the guy and so was perfectly happy for Rush to do what he needed to with him.

  Rush could have done it on his own, but having company was always nice. And besides, Rhys didn’t look like he got out much. He could probably use a little fun.

  The other man gave him a considering look. Then he gave a nod. “I’ll just get my gun.”

  “Excellent.” Rush cracked his knuckles and grinned at Rose. “Looks like it’s gonna be a party.”

  She gave him another flirtatious look from beneath her eyelashes. “Maybe I could come along too? Help you polish your…gun.”

  “Honey, my gun is too much for just one woman to handle.”

  Bullshit. There’s one woman in particular who could handle it.

  Red hair. Freckles. Scrubbed-clean skin. Hot mouth wrapped around his thumb…

  “Give a girl a chance,” Rose murmured.

  Oh, he’d love to give a girl a chance. Just not this particular girl.

  Shit. Firmly Rush pushed all thoughts of Ava from his head and tried to put Rose there instead. But it didn’t work. She was pretty and fun, and she had a sweet mouth, that was true. Yet the thought of her sucking his thumb…?

  Nothing. Not even a twitch.

  Jesus Christ. Was he sick? Or had Ava taken a trip down south and gotten some kind of voodoo spell to put on him?

  Maybe you just want her. Ever think of that?

  Nope. He didn’t want her. He wanted sex. That was the beginning and end, it always had been, and maybe tonight, after he’d paid his visit to this douchebag and gotten the invite he needed out of him, he’d go back to Sugar Daddy’s and finally make good on his Candy fantasies. Get Ava out of his head for good.

  Satisfied with the decision, Rush looked up as Rhys came back out of his office, shrugging a leather jacket on over his shoulder holster. A small blond woman followed on his heels, long golden ponytail swinging. Nora.

  “Smith’s expecting you,” she said as they both came up to the reception desk. “He’s got Dev with him. So all you need to do is walk in and he’ll make sure the other guys clear out, give you some room to do your thing.”

  Rush nodded. “We’ll owe him for this.”

  “His only stipulation is that you leave Dev conscious.” She grinned. “He’s got a few of his own questions he wants to ask him. Apparently the asshole’s been informing on the club for Troy, which doesn’t make for a happy Smith.”

  “And we don’t want an unhappy Smith.”

  “No, we don’t,” Nora agreed. “You wouldn’t like him when he’s angry.”

  “I’m almost sure I wouldn’t.” Rush shot Rhys a look. “Ready? Let’s go mess with a motherfucker.”

  This was all coming together nicely. Once he got this invite, he’d finally be able to corner Troy himself and get the real story out of him. Such as whether the prick was actually his father, because if so…

  Yeah, he wasn’t going to make a decision about that yet. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself.

  Half an hour later, after an argument with Rhys about music that involved the guy coolly aiming his piece at the crappy stereo in Rush’s rust bucket of a truck and Rush eventually giving in and turning off the Kings of Leon track he was listening to, the pair of them pulled up into the lot of the Rusty Nail Bar and Grill.

  The hubcaps attached to the fence outside glittered in the midday sun, as did the chrome of all the motorcycles drawn up in front, advertising loudly the fact that this was a biker bar.

  Rush checked the handgun he wasn’t supposed to be carrying and about which his parole officer would have a fit, then stuck it in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

  “You need to upgrade,” Rhys commented in his usual toneless way, his black eyes glancing disdainfully in the direction of Rush’s weapon.

  Rush rolled his eyes. “Bro, commenting on the state of another man’s weapon assumes a certain friendship level. And I’m not sure we’re there yet.”

  Rhys shrugged and said nothing.

  Rush sighed. He did like the guy, but sometimes he wouldn’t mind a snappy comeback. Then again, part of the reason he liked Rhys’s company was the fact that he didn’t say a lot. Which left Rush running his mouth off all the time.

  That’s not good either, dickbag.

  Bullshit. It was great. The more he talked at, pushed against, and irritated other people, the less he had to think about himself. The less he had to think about the waste of the past eight years, the sacrifice he’d made that wasn’t a sacrifice at all. And the less he thought about how his father never used to meet his eyes and was always so uncomfortable whenever Rush was around. How he never talked to him or slapped him on the back the way he did with Quinn.

  How Rush had always assumed it was because he wasn’t his father’s favorite.

  He’d never guessed his father treated him like that because Joe knew Rush wasn’t his son.

  Yeah, best not to think about that. Best to keep moving forward, to focus on what he had to do to find the prick who’d fathered him, and not on the anger that burned like a hot, steady ache in his gut. An anger that neither two years in the army nor any amount of pussy or booze could ever dull.

  In fact, there had only been one part of his life where he hadn’t felt so goddamned angry, and that had been the time he’d had with Ava, looking out for someone else instead of himself.

  Until prison. Until he’d finally put together his plan.

  A plan that this trip was going to bring one step closer to fruition.

  The heat was intense, as it always was in the middle of a Texas summer, yet Rhys, still in his leather jacket, didn’t seem to notice. Rush scowled as they approached the bar entrance, feeling himself already breaking out into a sweat. Man, the guy was like a goddamn robot. Nothing touched him.

  A couple of club prospects out watching the bikes gave Rush and Rhys a jerk of their chins in welcome. Nora had been right: clearly Smith was expecting them.

  Awesome. This was just what he needed—some good old-fashioned violence to let off some steam, to get his head back in the game and get Ava, his jerk-face brothers, and the rest of the shit out of it.
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  Rush paused in front of the door and shot Rhys a glance. “Go in loud and proud or keep it on the down-low?”

  Rhys’s expression didn’t change. “On the down-low. No point drawing attention to ourselves.”

  Rush nodded for form’s sake, then pushed open the door of the bar.

  The place was full of tattoos and piercings, beards and black leather vests. A useless fan turned above the crowd of men, moving the hot, sluggish air precisely nowhere. A jukebox was churning out—ironically—Kings of Leon.

  Everyone turned to look at them.

  Not drawing attention. Right.

  Fuck that shit.

  Rush reached into the waistband of his jeans, took out his Colt, and fired it up into the ceiling just for fun. The noise ricocheted off the walls, briefly drowning out the music, and the entire bar went for their weapons, the air full of the sound of safeties being clicked off and guns being cocked. About a hundred muzzles turned in his direction.

  “I thought you said we were keeping this on the down-low,” Rhys said dryly from behind him.

  “Uh, have you met me?” Rush kept his attention firmly on the death and mayhem pointed in his direction, adrenaline beginning to do its thing, making him want to grin like a maniac. Fuck, he loved it. “I don’t do low-key and I like attention.” He let the grin take control, baring his teeth at the entire chapter of the Graveyard Ministry. “Oops. Sorry, motherfuckers. Meant to be all low-key and shit, like my bro behind me said. But you know, I see a bunch of leather and I get excited. Anyway, where the fuck is Smith?”

  A massively built man shouldered his way through the crowd of men. He was black-haired and bearded, with ink on his powerful arms and the promise of death in his dark eyes. A good bastard, in other words.

  “I can’t figure out whether you’ve got balls of steel,” Smith growled, “or whether you’re just a stupid fuck who doesn’t know enough not to pull a gun in a bar full of brothers.”

  “The ladies would say the former, though I have been known to be a stupid fuck on occasion too.” Rush lowered his weapon. “Nora said you have a douchebag for us.”

  Smith glanced at the dark-haired man standing next to him. “Get them out of here, Fish.”