Code of Honor

by Radclyffe

Sky shot him a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Then I guess you’d better take care of business so you don’t miss anything.”

  Loren took Sky’s hand. “Exactly what I was thinking.” Without glancing at Ramsey, she led Sky away.

  “You’re going to piss him off,” Sky murmured, gripping the back of Loren’s chaps.

  “I don’t care. He needs to get the message.”

  “What message is that?”

  Loren stabbed the elevator button and slid her hand onto Sky’s ass. “That you belong to me.”

  “Optimistic,” Sky murmured.

  “Nah.” Loren yanked her into the elevator, pinned her to the wall, and kissed her. “Just sure.”

  *

  “Oh God.” Blair leaned back on the sofa in Diane’s living room and propped her feet on the coffee table. “I can’t eat or drink another thing.”

  Laughing, Cam settled beside her and slid an arm around Blair’s shoulders. “I think there’s cake.”

  “No,” Blair moaned.

  Diane emerged from the kitchen with a tray bearing a chocolate layer cake with a single candle burning in the center. She placed it ceremoniously on the coffee table. “Happy birthday, Blair.”

  Valerie followed with a bottle of champagne and four flutes. She set them down and began to fill them. “It’s not quite New Year’s, but since it’s your birthday now, we should start the celebration.”

  “This has been great.” Blair threaded her fingers through Cam’s. “The best birthday ever.”

  “We haven’t even given you your presents yet,” Diane protested.

  “Believe me, you guys are the only presents I need.”

  Cam kissed her temple. “Happy birthday, baby.”

  Blair kissed her. “Thank you. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Somehow, Blair managed to make it through the cake and her champagne, and before she knew it the countdown to the new year had begun on TV as the illuminated ball descended above Times Square.

  “You sure you don’t want to head down there?” Diane said.

  “God, no.” Blair pointed to the television. “I can do without the crowd and the cold. I’m happy right here.” She was more than happy. Cam was with her and she was celebrating with friends. At the stroke of midnight, she kissed Cam. “Happy New Year, darling.”

  Shortly thereafter they said their good-byes and caught a cab home.

  “Tonight was the perfect birthday,” Blair said, shedding her clothes and climbing into bed. “Thank you for being here.”

  “I can’t think of anywhere or any place I’d rather be right now than right here with you.” Cam undressed quickly and joined her.

  “Me neither. This is perfect.” Blair slid on top of her and kissed her. “And I have you for two more whole days.”

  Cam kissed her. “You have me for a lot longer than that.”

  Blair rested her forehead on Cam’s. “Like I said, perfect.”

  *

  Sky got her wish—a hot shower, a surprisingly good room-service steak, a quick nap, and clean clothes. Loren went out while Sky slept to check on her bike and collect the rest of their gear. Warm, full, and refreshed, Sky pulled on low-riding jeans and a stretchy scooped-neck tank that left a few inches of belly bare and a lot of breast showing. From the way Loren’s eyes flared when she walked out of the bathroom, she figured the outfit would work. Loren was heart-stopping as usual in boot-cut jeans, heavy boots, and a black leather vest over nothing but skin and ink. Sky’s throat was suddenly as dry as the desert. “You sure we have to go so soon?”

  Loren grinned. “You want Ramsey in here?”

  “I’ll pass.” Sky took Loren’s hand. “Are you armed?”

  “Just a blade. We get caught carrying here, the casino can lose its gaming license, and we lose our welcome.”

  “Be careful tonight,” Sky murmured.

  “You too.”

  They found the Renegades congregated six deep at the casino bar. Chapter after chapter poured in all evening, and bikers in leather and denim overflowed the bar onto the casino floor. Eventually, the noise and increasing advances from bikers toward any woman, attached or unattached, drove the ordinary citizens out into the night in search of less intimidating surroundings.

  At midnight, a roar filled the casino. Loren grabbed Sky, slid a hand into her hair, and covered her mouth with a hard kiss. She’d been fending off men all night who’d wanted to get over on Sky before she could set them straight as to just whose old lady Sky was. Her patience was gone and her hold on her temper thinner than air. The ear-shattering din in the room was nothing compared to the thunder in her head when Sky’s warm lips melted against hers. She hadn’t been hungry earlier, but she was starving now.

  “We need to get out of here,” Loren gasped.

  “It’s still early,” Sky whispered, running her hands up and down Loren’s back. “And Ramsey has been watching us.”

  “Fuck Ramsey.” Loren couldn’t catch her breath. “I want you alone.”

  “Loren.” Sky stroked her cheek. “Baby, we need—”

  A heavy hand appeared out of nowhere, closed over Sky’s upper arm, and pulled her away. A beery voice demanded, “Come on, sweet stuff. Give me a little of that.”

  The filament holding Loren’s last sliver of control snapped. She caught the biker’s arm, spun him to face her, and punched him in the face. Her knuckles screamed at the impact, but a flood of satisfaction filled her chest. The gratification ended just as quickly when the burly, bearded stranger rocked on his feet for a second, then shot out a fist the size of a cinder block and knocked her back into the bar. Someone grabbed her from behind, another fist connected with her abdomen, and she doubled over as all the air left her body. Her knees wobbled, and a blow to the back of the head put her down. She tried once to get up, but a boot to the side and a wave of nausea pulled her into the black.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Russo checked his phone messages and saw a recent call from Derrick with an odd sense of relief. Business was infinitely preferable to watching any more of the New Year’s Day parade with his wife, teenage daughter, and mother-in-law. If he’d had any plausible excuse for absenting himself from their Palm Springs retreat, he certainly would have, but his focusing on family for the holidays looked good to the electorate. Perhaps Derrick’s call would provide him a reason to leave early.

  At his wife’s questioning look, he assumed an apologetic expression. “Sorry, my dear. Business. I won’t be long.”

  She smiled absently before turning her attention back to the television. “Of course.”

  As he walked outside to the patio and closed the slider behind him, the thought crossed his mind that she was probably just as glad for the interruption as he was. When they were forced to spend more than a few hours together, their lack of common interests rapidly became painfully clear. He had no real idea how she occupied her time and didn’t care. She took no interest in his political aspirations but faithfully fulfilled her obligations as the wife of a political figure as she had been raised to do. Their relationship functioned best when they each kept to their own separate spheres, in and out of the bedroom. Nora was expected back in Idaho after a short holiday with friends. A few days alone with her would be far preferable to enduring any more family time. While his wife accepted his attentions, she never relished them. And Nora—Nora threatened to burn him to cinders with her demand. Smiling at the image of Nora astride him, eyes wild and mouth open in a silent scream, Russo paused to adjust the sudden fullness in his trousers and called his assistant.

  “Derrick,” he said when the call was answered, “I got your message.”

  “Yes, sir,” Derrick said. “I’m sorry to interrupt your holiday—”

  “No matter. What is it?”

  “Hooker wants to speak with you. I tried to put him off, but he says there’s a problem. It sounded urgent.”

  “When isn’t it?” Russo
trusted Derrick nearly as much as he trusted Nora. He’d plucked him out of the state campaign office a number of years before when he’d been looking for loyal staffers to run his presidential campaign. Derrick was smart, aggressive, and loyal. He was the type of man who made a perfect number two—not likely to attempt to replace Russo, but quite willing to orchestrate the demise of anyone who threatened Russo’s power. With Derrick handling the campaign machine and Nora orchestrating the public platform, Russo was well protected from any unfortunate outcomes. “I’ll speak with him if you think it’s prudent.”

  “I do.”

  “I’m going to take a drive and pick up another phone. If I need you, I’ll call.”

  “Of course, sir. Anytime.”

  “I hope you’ve had a pleasant few days’ vacation.”

  “Very nice. But truthfully, sir, I’m ready to go back to work.” Derrick’s tone was eager and completely genuine. “We’ve got a big year ahead of us.”

  Russo laughed. “We’ve got a big eight years ahead of us.”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  Russo ended the call and walked inside to collect his car keys. He told the housekeeper to inform his wife he would be gone for an hour or so.

  “Of course,” answered the diffident middle-aged woman whose name he couldn’t recall. “Should I hold lunch, sir?”

  “I’ll be back before then.”

  She nodded, never looking at him directly. “Very good, sir.”

  He didn’t bother to tell his wife he was leaving. At a nearby shopping complex, he bought a disposable phone along with a bottle of iced tea at a Rite Aid. Back in his car, he called Hooker. “What couldn’t wait?”

  “Our friends in the mountains called me again,” Hooker said.

  “You need to remind them we’re in charge here,” Russo said. “I already told you I would arrange for the funds to be available early.”

  “This isn’t about the funds. This is more serious than money.”

  Russo laughed. “I don’t believe there is anything more serious.”

  “Try Homeland Security.”

  A cold wave churned through Russo’s guts. “What are you talking about?”

  “Our friends have friends in the local sheriff’s department. They got wind of a meeting between someone in Homeland Security and an informant. Homeland is looking at the militia.”

  “That can’t be unusual,” Russo said, relaxing a little bit. “One agency or another is always looking at militias. It gives them an excuse to take a bigger piece of the budget than they deserve.”

  “The timing is suspicious, considering the situation in DC.”

  “It’s very likely to be a coincidence,” Russo said, aware that he was trying to convince himself as much as Hooker. “Do we know who the interested party is?”

  “Not yet, but I’ve told our friends we need further details—who, when, and where.”

  “And you trust the source?”

  “An ATF agent in Los Angeles called the sheriff’s department requesting covert backup for a meet between an undercover agent and the Homeland agent. One of the sheriff’s deputies is a member of the militia.”

  “And what about the undercover agent—are we exposed?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m worried about the gun deal. We can’t be sure what they know.”

  Russo paused, considered his options. His popularity was growing, and the gap between his polls and Powell’s was narrowing. He’d wanted to cripple Powell’s campaign by creating national doubt as to Powell’s ability to keep the nation safe. Even without an assault, his odds of victory were improving, and he still had time to put together another plan. He didn’t like giving up his long-range plans, but any connection to the militia and illegal activity would effectively destroy his chances of winning the White House. “How much time do we have before the exchange?”

  “Not that long. Inside a week, probably. They’ll want the money soon.”

  “Can we stall—perhaps suggest the exchange is too dangerous if there’s a possible infiltrator?”

  “If we pull out, there’s going to be trouble.”

  “I’m sure you can handle it. After all, that’s what I’m paying you for.”

  “We aren’t the only people that can help supply this group with guns, and they’re crazy.”

  “If we can’t handle a rabscrabble pack of amateur soldiers, we can hardly expect to rule the country.”

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more.”

  “I want the name of exactly who is snooping around, and where they’re getting their information.”

  “That’s my top priority.”

  “I’ll expect an update within twenty-four hours.”

  Hooker disconnected without bothering to reply.

  Russo drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Homeland Security. Even the suggestion of his involvement with the militia could taint his campaign. But if he showed himself to be capable of enforcing law and order on the home front, he might be able to counteract some of the criticism aimed at his support of the NRA. After all, a leader who took on the radical fringe would appeal to the liberals. Perhaps he could turn this investigation to his advantage, even if it meant sacrificing some useful connections.

  *

  “I can walk,” Loren muttered, pushing feebly at Quincy’s arm.

  “Sure you can,” Quincy snorted, “on water too, I’ll bet.”

  Sky checked over her shoulder to be sure they weren’t going to do anything stupid like let Loren try walking on her own, and then hurried to unlock the hotel room door. “Put her on the bed.”

  Quincy and one of the prospects half carried, half walked Loren to the bed and none too gently deposited her on her back in the middle of the single king.

  “Next time, wait till you got backup before you take on a bunch of Lobos,” Quincy said good-naturedly. “Don’t know who was watching the door, but Ramsey is probably chewing them a new one right about now for letting a rival club crash our party.”

  “Thanks,” Sky said as Quincy and the prospect walked to the door.

  “Keep her in here tonight,” Quincy said.

  “I plan to.” Sky closed the door and turned all the lights off except for a small lamp on the desk. She searched in the TV cabinet for an ice bucket. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Ice.” Sky studied Loren’s eyes. Both pupils were equal and reactive although slightly unfocused. Her cheek was swollen, the corner of her mouth bleeding. Sky ran her fingers lightly along the edge of Loren’s jaw, looking for any evidence a fist or foot had fractured it. She concentrated on what needed to be done and not the terror that had gripped her when Loren had gone down and she’d lost sight of her beneath a melee of flying fists and legs.

  Loren gripped Sky’s wrist. “You okay?”

  Sky laughed wryly. “I wasn’t the one getting hammered on back there.”

  “I should have stayed with you. Shouldn’t have left you alone.”

  “You should’ve let me handle that asshole,” Sky said sharply even as she gently brushed hair away from Loren’s eyes. “Or, like Quincy said, waited until a few more of the Renegades were around before picking a fight with some gatecrashers.”

  “Tired of everyone pawing at you.”

  “No one was pawing. I don’t allow pawing.” Sky leaned down and kissed Loren’s forehead. “Unless you’re doing it.”

  “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad. I’m worried. Just lie still. I’ll be back in a minute. If we don’t get ice on your face, you won’t be able to open your jaw in the morning.”

  “Looks worse than it is.”

  “I sincerely hope so, because it looks bad.” Sky laughed before she vented her anxiety and fear on Loren. Maybe Loren had been playing a part when she’d gone after the asshole who’d probably left finger marks on her arm, and maybe Loren really had reacted on instinct. Either way, Loren couldn’t help being who s
he was, and browbeating her while she was hurt wasn’t fair. “Stay put.”

  Sky filled the bucket with ice from a machine in an alcove down the hall and hurried back, afraid to leave Loren alone too long. Sure enough, Loren had managed to get to a sitting position and was trying to get her boots off.

  “What part of lie down don’t you understand?” Sky slammed the bucket down on the TV cabinet hard enough to spew ice cubes onto the floor. She stepped over the ice and grabbed Loren’s right boot. “Lie back, I’ll get these off.”

  “Don’t like being helpless.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you do.” Carefully, Sky eased Loren’s boots off and sat beside her on the bed. “I’m going to take off your vest and jeans. I’ll go slowly, but I think it’s going to hurt.”

  Loren tried for a grin, the swelling in her lower lip blunting her devastating smile but not completely obliterating the appeal. Even bruised and battered, she was the most exciting woman Sky had ever seen. “You have to stop trying to protect me.”

  “It’s my job. You’re my old lady.”

  “Don’t try to manage me.” Sky carefully unbuttoned Loren’s vest and opened it. Loren was naked underneath and just as beautiful as Sky remembered. A multicolored dragon wended its way up her left side and ended along the curve of her breast. Sky had seen the tattoo from a distance, but now the backs of her fingers traced the graceful arch of the ancient warrior demon. “This is beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” Loren raised a hand, caressed Sky’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m going to pull this out from behind you. Don’t try to sit up. I can get it.” Sky concentrated on getting Loren’s vest off and not on how striking her body was or how electrifying her touch. After dispensing with that, she unbuckled Loren’s wide leather belt and opened her fly. Grasping the waistband of Loren’s jeans, she tugged the pants down over her hips. She’d been prepared to find nothing beneath, but the impact of Loren’s naked body was still a blow. Loren was beautiful, and if she hadn’t been hurt, Sky wouldn’t have resisted the urge to touch her. But a bruise as big as both her hands spread over Loren’s right hip onto her lower abdomen, tempering her desire. Sky lightly stroked the purpling skin. “This looks bad.”