Ace yelled over the roar of the engine. “Wrap your arms around me and hold tight.”
I did as I was told and slipped my hands under his arms, placing them on his chiseled chest. Oh my, this man is built.
Ace twisted the handle and the bike lurched forward. I hung on tightly as the motorcycle sped away. I looked behind me at the neon Nautilus sign before Ace banked around a corner. The wind soared through my hair as we cruised through the night. The vibrations between my thighs were exciting and unknown. That familiar wetness from earlier returned.
Chapter Seven
Ace
Rachael held onto me for dear life as we weaved in and out of the cars. Her hands on me felt so good. If she moved them down just a little lower she'd feel how hard my erection was. At a stoplight, I looked behind me to gauge her but the tinted visor hid her expression. She definitely wasn't trying to run away though.
I was tempted to speed right past the restaurant and ride with her for the rest of the night. I wanted to feel her arms around me forever. I held the brake as I revved the engine of my 2011 Harley-Davidson Forty-Eight, waiting for the light. When it hit green, I released the break and tugged at the throttle. The motorcycle burst forward and Rachael screamed as she dug her nails into my chest. I chuckled to myself as Rachael shrieked for her life. She'd be moaning my name soon enough.
We arrived at the restaurant that faced a busy street. I parked around the back at the valet. I lifted Brook off and set her down. I unsnapped the chin strap and set my helmet in front of the bike. Rachael peeled the helmet from her head and she couldn't stop laughing.
“What is it?” I asked. Not the reaction I was expecting after riding a motorcycle for the first time.
Rachael laughed harder and her hair was a mess from the helmet. “That was the most fun I've had in my entire life.” Rachael had a an innocence that hadn't been tainted yet. My innocence was stolen from me when my brother died.
“I'm glad you liked it.” I handed the keys to the valet who looked just as excited as Rachael to ride a motorcycle.
Rachael looked up at the restaurant's sign. “San Giovanni's? Isn't this where all the celebrities go to eat?”
I nodded and led her inside. The restaurant was empty except for the maitre d' and a lone waiter. The place was exceptionally tiny for a restaurant. The entire place only sat around sixteen people. San Giovanni's specialized in ultra-expensive dining so they only needed to fill a few tables a night.
“Good evening, sir,” the maitre d' announced. I smiled and escorted Rachael as we followed him to our table. I pulled the chair out for Rachael and winked. Her face lit up as she took her seat. The maitre d' bowed and left us.
“Where is everyone?” Rachael whispered across the table.
I unwrapped my white napkin, set the silverware down, and placed it across my lap. “They're closed.” Rachael looked confused so I elaborated. “We helped the owner out a while back with some fuckers that kept breaking their front window.”
She nodded with her mouth open. I didn't want to tell her too much—we killed the three guys and buried them out in the middle of the desert. Those details could be left secret.
The waiter arrived wearing a black and white outfit with a bow-tie. He handed us two long menus. “The chef is prepared to cook anything you desire.”
I left my menu closed on the table as I stared at Rachael. Her eyes were big as she scanned all the items. Most of the menu was in Italian and she tried to mouth the difficult words. “Anything look good?” I asked.
She looked back at me with a look of terror. “Well, I'm having a hard time figuring out what they serve here.”
I laughed and snatched the menu from her. “Do you like chicken?”
Rachael nodded and blushed. What I wouldn't do to make her blush like that all night.
I waved the waiter over and shot a wink to Rachael. “We'll both be getting the Chicken Vesuvio tonight.”
“Excellent choice, sir. Anything to drink?”
I'd kill to have a pint of beer but this place wasn't the type. “Surprise me with a nice bottle of red.”
“Of course.” The waiter bowed and left us.
“What's Vesuvio?” Rachael asked.
“It's a meat cooked in white wine served with potatoes and peas.”
“Sounds delicious. I don't think I've had a really authentic dish from Italy.”
I chuckled. “You'll have to try something else because this meal originated in Chicago.”
Rachael looked fascinated. “How do you know all this stuff? Are you Italian?”
“No, actually my parents are Scottish and Irish. I've just eaten here so much that I've picked up on a few things.”
Rachael fiddled around with the silverware on the table when the waiter came over. He placed two wine glasses in front of us and popped the cork. I stared into Rachael's eyes as she watched with wonder as the waiter expertly poured the wine.
I took a sip of wine and let the alcohol calm my nerves. Why was my body reacting this way to Rachael? She was just another chick. Just another girl to bed and forget. But I'd never taken a girl on a “date” before. I didn't want to tell her that this was another first for me. “I want to know more about you, Rachael. What made you want to dance?”
Rachael avoided eye contact. I probably shouldn't have brought up the subject. She was obviously ashamed of it. She opened up anyways. “My parents didn't help me with college so I needed a way to find money. I was working two jobs and trying to make ends meet. When I didn't have enough to pay for my books, I got desperate. I started stripping and the money came flowing in. I quit my two jobs and now I actually have time to study. And I can pay for books.”
“You got to do whatever it takes,” I added.
Rachael smirked and I felt something graze my leg. She drank her wine as her foot ran up my ankle. Jolts of electricity zapped through my system. My pants tightened. I looked around the restaurant for a place to bend her over so I could fuck her fast and hard. I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the pressing need in my pants.
Chapter Eight
Rachael
What was I doing?
It must have been the tasty wine that was giving me so much confidence. All of the sudden, I found my foot running up and down Ace's leg. My heart beat faster and my cheeks flushed scarlet. I wanted this man completely. But did he feel the same? He certainly stared at me a lot but most guys did that. It was probably because I was so goofy.
“You're so beautiful, Rachael.” Ace's words sang across the table. The redness in my face multiplied by a million. Was he reading my mind?
“Enough about me. What made you join Dark Steel?”
Ace shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable. My question hit a nerve. He felt the same way I did about the dancing question. I wished I could take it back. I pulled my foot back from his ankle.
Ace gulped. “My older brother AJ was a club member. My parents were barely around and I looked up to him like he was a superhero. When I was sixteen, he was gunned down by a rival MC.”
His eyes watered up a little. I reached out and grabbed his hand while he tried to find the words. How could a tough man like him be so sensitive?
“After that, I hung out at The Burger Joint every day until I was twenty-one and they let me join.”
“I'm so sorry, that happened to you,” I said.
Ace bit down on his lip and held my hand. The tension between us was crazy. “I've never really talked to anyone about my brother before. Not even my Dark Steel brothers.”
My heart melted instantly. I needed to change the subject. “The reason my parents wouldn't help me out with college was that I ran away when I was fifteen.”
“Oh shit, really?”
I took a sip of red wine. “My dad was really abusive. He would get drunk and beat my mom around the house. When I was little I'd run upstairs and lock myself in my room. I would stuff a pillow over my head to muffle the sounds of my mom's screams for help.
Anger
boiled in Ace's eyes. His grip on the wine glass tightened until it almost shattered. He wanted to protect me. He wanted to save that little girl. Ace could be my superhero.
I put my hand up in defense. “My father never hit me. He never touched me actually—no kisses, no hugs.” I looked outside to the street as the headlights zoomed pass the large window. “When I was old enough, I called the cops on my dad one night. I thought everything would finally be over. When they showed up, my mom protected my dad and told them I was making it all up. I didn't wait around for my dad to punish me for what I did.”
Ace's mouth was wide open. “Wow, where did you go?”
“Luckily my Aunt Mary lived a couple hundred miles away. She took me in and I finished high school. I haven't seen my parents since.”
“Yeah I haven't seen mine in years. My parents divorced after AJ died. They couldn't handle the grief.”
“We had some fucked up childhoods,” he said. We both laughed and continued drinking.
The waiter came over and with a tray of food and the aroma of dinner was intoxicating. My stomach groaned as he placed the plate in front of me. The chicken was covered in a brown sauce and surrounded by peas and red potatoes. “This looks amazing,” I told Ace.
“Dig in,” he replied, picking up his fork and knife.
The first bite of chicken was so juicy and soft that it dissolved right on my tongue. I closed my eyes and moaned softly as I enjoyed the flavors. “This food is out of this world.”
Ace smiled. “I'm glad you like it.”
I felt so comfortable around him. He made me open up and tell him secrets that Jenny didn't even know. This time his foot ran up my bare leg and almost went up my dress. I could barely concentrate on my food as we played footsie under the table. His touch was exotic. His foot was just testing the waters.
I wanted him to kiss me so badly. Just once. Just so I could feel the warmth of his lips against mine. My daydream was right in front of me and staring down my dress. I wanted his rough hands to squeeze my breasts—pinch my nipples and suck on them. A wetness was growing down below. How much longer could I wait?
But do I tell him I'm a virgin? I'd told him all my deepest secrets. But that would be pretty presumptuous of me. This was probably all a big joke. Cameras were planted in the restaurant and this was all being televised. Ace was just an actor playing a part. He had no real feelings for me.
Two old pink and purple Cadillacs parked out front right outside the huge window. A few Mexicans got out and were carrying guns.
Holy fuck!
Chapter Nine
Ace
Rachael stared at me with dreamy eyes, chewing on her bottom lip. I wanted to kiss her so hard and bite it. Her cleavage was deep and never-ending. I imagined my cock sliding right between her soft tits, unloading all over her chest. I needed to undress her and take her right here on this table.
Rachael looked outside and her calm face transformed into horror. I looked over to see Mexicans outside carrying pistols. “Get down!” I screamed to Rachael.
The Mexicans opened fire.
Everything was in slow motion. Bullets exploded through the front window, shattering it into a million pieces. I looked over to see the waiter get hit in the shoulder and his body contorted, his head snapping back as he took another bullet between the eyes.
I met Rachael under the tablecloth and pulled out my 1911 .45 Cal from behind my back. Rachael was shivering and holding her legs. The wine glasses burst above us from the gunfire. I flipped the table over and used it as a shield for both of us. I returned fire, hitting one Mexican in the chest and leg. He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“We need to get out of here, Rachael,” I yelled to her. She didn't respond, just staring at the waiter who was dead and bleeding on the ground next to us. I slapped her across the face and she finally turned her attention to me. “I'm going to provide you covering fire and I need to you to run to the back door.”
Rachael shook her head. “I can't do it. I'm not leaving without you.”
I didn't have time to argue. I fired blindly into the night, my bullets ricocheting off the Cadillacs. I didn't know how many were out there and didn't want to stay long enough to find out. I grabbed Rachael by the arm and pulled her up while I unloaded the rest of my clip at the Mexicans. The boom of my gun echoed throughout the restaurant.
We started to run for the back as bullets whizzed by us. A screaming pain came from my arm and I cried out. We passed the maitre d' cowering in the kitchen with the chef. I kicked the back door open expecting to see an army of Mexicans waiting for us but there was nobody there. The valet must have ran when he heard the gunfire. I quickly ran to the podium that held my keys and we bolted through the parking lot until we got to my Harley.
“Are you okay?” I asked her. Rachael was in a daze. I quickly checked her over for any wounds but she looked untouched. I noticed blood running down my arm and winced when the pain hit me. There wasn't anything I could do about it yet.
We didn't even bother with helmets. I hid my cannon in the waistband of my pants and started the bike as Rachael hopped on. Her hands were still shaking as she wrapped them around me. I was so furious I thought I might burst. I had put Rachael in harm's way and all I wanted to do was get revenge. I squeezed the throttle and flew out of there.
I looked behind us to see if the Mexicans were following but they must have fled the scene. The sound of sirens was off in the distance. I only had one thing on my mind: get Rachael to safety.
Chapter Ten
Katherine
My cellphone buzzed on the nightstand next to me. I closed the case file and gazed over at the clock—two in the morning. Pretty late to have somebody calling. Must be important. I pried my glasses off and answered.
“Agent Swift,” I said, my voice calm and monotone.
“It's Malarkey. The local sheriff thinks he has something for us.”
I sprung out of bed, my eyes alight with excitement. “Where are you?” I asked.
“San Giovanni's restaurant. Do you need the address?” Malarkey was excited too.
I had followed Dark Steel members to that Italian restaurant before. “No, I'll be there in ten minutes.”
I ran to the closet and pulled out a black suit that was an exact copy of the other four suits hanging. I didn't care much for fashion and wearing the same thing every day made getting ready in the morning that much quicker. I didn't even bother with my makeup or hair as I rode the elevator down to the parking garage.
I made it to San Giovanni's with one minute to spare. The entire police department was parked outside the place with their lights flashing. Yellow caution tape had been set up as a perimeter. A crowd was growing and cops guarded the area. I strolled up to one of the officers. His uniform barely fit and his eyes scanned the crowd nervously—obviously a rookie. He was about to turn me away when I flashed him my FBI badge. His demeanor changed instantly, rolling his shoulders back and straightening his back. The Bureau had that effect on people sometimes. He raised the yellow tape for me and I ducked under.
I spotted Malarkey and caught up with him. “What do we have here?”
Malarkey pointed to a portly man trying to look important. “Agent Swift, this is Sheriff Gillory.”
The sheriff was chowing down on a burrito and he wiped his disgusting hand on his pants before shaking mine. “Not every day I get the FBI in our town,” he said with his mouth full. I'd be completely grossed out if I wasn't so distracted by the crime scene.
“What do we have here,” I repeated, skipping the small talk.
The sheriff pointed to the restaurant. “We got a call around 11:30 of shots fired. We arrived on the scene to find two bodies and two witnesses.”
I put on white latex gloves and surveyed the scene. Two pairs of skid marks on the street indicated that two cars were involved. The front window of the restaurant was completely destroyed and a body lay outside.
I looked over at the closes
t intersection, searching for any traffic cameras. Next door was a small clothing boutique with a camera pointed toward the restaurant. Bingo.
“Sheriff, can I get the footage from that camera?” I asked pointing up.
He finished the burrito and threw the wrapper on the ground. I don't know what irked me worse: the contamination of the crime scene or littering. It was equally both. “I'll get one of my guys on it right away,” he answered.
I got a closer look at the body—male in his early thirty's, Mexican, and very dead. I pulled down a red bandanna that covered half his face. A small black mustache hid under his nose. I pulled up his shirt sleeve and a tattoo of a red devil and pitchfork covered his arm—Los Diablos MC. Blood stains on his chest and leg marked where the bullets entered his body.
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