Skye didn’t know what to say, so she nodded. She moved her hand to the base of his throat and lower, pressing against the black T-shirt.
“I was mad.” Finn shook his head. “I was crazy mad, angry past any point I’d ever been. I wanted to find the son of a bitch who sold her the stuff. I wanted revenge for what this monster had done to her, to me by poisoning her. The day after the funeral, I went around the neighborhood and beat people up, looking for information. Worked my way through three guys before someone gave up a name.” His growl startled her. “Son of a bitch lived around the corner from us. I grew up with Rick. We were in the same damned graduating class. My mother thought she could trust him because he was practically family. She was wrong. I came home, and on the worst day of my life, I buried my mother.”
He shook under her hand, vibrating with the anger he was holding inside.
Skye found her voice. “What did you do then?”
“I spoke to the cops—they couldn’t do anything. There was no direct link between Rick and my mom, no way to put him behind bars.” He shook his head. “He covered his tracks well. But I wasn’t going to let him get away with this. I tracked Rick down, cornered him in an alley, and began beating on him.” He took her hand and moved it back to the scar. “Killing him wasn’t an option, no matter how much the rage burned inside me. I held back, and he got a shot in with a broken bottle. Slashed me, taunted me for not being strong enough to finish the job.” Finn’s jaw tensed. “I turned away, sick to my stomach because I’d wanted to kill him out of anger, out of my need for revenge.” He sighed. “I’ve killed in the line of duty. That’s different. This…this would have changed me into something bad, something my mother wouldn’t have wanted me to become. Rick…” He stared at the floor. “Rick never sold drugs again. After that I went back overseas, back to my unit and my job. So I know what it means to lose someone to a monster. All the monsters, human and otherwise.”
She didn’t know what to say.
“So yes, I do know what I’m doing here. And I know what you’re going through. And I won’t let what happened to me happen to you. I won’t let you make that mistake, take that step too far and destroy a part of yourself. You can’t allow it to eat away at your heart and soul like it did mine. I care too much to let that happen.”
Her heart broke a little for Finn, for the two of them. Then her heart grew to cover them both, breaking through the thin barrier holding her at bay.
Skye moved closer, wrapping her arms around him, and kissed him.
…
Finn fought to catch his breath. The confession burned through his body, ripping open old scars he’d thought healed, exposing them to the light.
But if it saved her from his fate…
Her arms circled him, drew him into her heat. One hand caressed the back of his neck, brushing lightly over the tiny hairs there as her lips brushed against his—gentle at first, then more demanding, their shared pain asking to be wiped out by a more powerful emotion.
He hadn’t set out to seduce her.
But here she was, on his lap and kissing him, and it was hard not to return the same passion Skye was giving, devouring her with a hunger he hadn’t known existed inside him.
It was as if he’d been drowning all his life and this woman, this angel, suddenly appeared to pull him out of the water, pull him free of the weight that had been dragging him down for years.
A few seconds later Skye pulled back, her eyes wide.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Her words were contrary to her actions as she ran her hands under his T-shirt, nails scraping lightly over his chest.
He shifted his hips, painfully aware of his arousal pressing against the front of his jeans. It was hard to move his thinking from his groin back up to his brain. Not with his hands digging into her hips and itching to slip under the short black skirt to see what lay underneath.
“We shouldn’t,” Finn confirmed.
Skye slid her hands along his arms, stroking his bare skin.
She sighed before pulling away. She stood up. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” Finn replied. “But it’s not the right time for this.” He forced himself to grin, fighting down the desire to reach for her. “Or the place.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Skye ran a hand through her short black hair, her eyes still wide and unfocused. “We’re both…” She shook her head. “All messed up inside. It’s not good.”
Finn nodded, calling up every ounce of his willpower to not take hold of her and pull her down again, wanting to lose himself in those beautiful eyes. “Yes. You’re right.”
The detente continued for another few seconds as they stared at each other.
Finn broke first. He cleared his throat. “I’ve got to go out. The bikers. I need to find the bikers and get to work.”
He flinched inside, hearing himself babble. He sounded like a rookie in his first firefight.
Skye took another step back, out of reach. She crossed her arms in front of her. “Yes. That’s what you came here for, after all.”
“True. So I’m going to go out and start working.” He dug his fingers into his knees, nails tight against the jeans to keep his hands still.
“Good. You go do that.” Skye drew a shallow breath. “You’ve got an extra set of keys so you can let yourself in and out. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.” She spun around and fled the living room.
Finn grabbed one of the throw pillows and placed it in his lap before giving it a series of light punches, trying to calm his libido down.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
He bit his tongue hard, using the pain to clear his senses. He scrubbed his head with both hands, trying to push himself back into business mode.
All he’d wanted to do was give her some perspective, tell her revenge wouldn’t make her feel better. Relate his own story and let her see how it’d affected him.
It’d sure as hell affected her, his inner voice muttered, along with you.
Finn could hear water running in the bathroom.
His imagination flipped a switch, giving him a vision of Skye Harris, naked, slowly settling into a tub full of bubbles.
His cock throbbed and twitched, begging for release.
“No.” He said the word aloud, feeling a bit foolish. It’d been years since he’d reacted to a woman like this, and all from a single kiss. That was guaranteed to be trouble in the long run.
Finn shook his head.
Time to go. This wasn’t why he’d come to Whispering Willows.
And he still had a job to do.
Finn grabbed what he needed and headed for the front door.
No rest for the wicked.
…
Skye slid down into the white fluffy bubbles, letting the hot water come up to her chin. Her knees stuck up out of the foam, and not for the first time she wished she had a bigger tub that would let her stretch her legs.
I kissed him.
She closed her eyes and licked her lips, reliving the experience.
God, he tasted good.
Her emotions had snapped from sadness to mortification to desire to lust in as many seconds as it did to say it.
Finn’s story had cut her deep, too. Now she knew why Dylan had sent Finn back with her—he would have the drive to finish the job.
He’d take the bikers down, and Mick Smith with them.
Her confidence in him had multiplied tenfold. This was a man who knew what she was talking about, knew what was at stake.
He was also damned hot.
She blew across the top of the steaming water, sending a cluster of bubbles away from her face.
There was no denying her desire for him. From the minute he’d come up to her in the bar, to the visit in the diner, to comforting her on the couch, she’d had a thing for Finn Storm. His confidence, his attitude, the way he teased her… It all added up to a man she wanted to know a whole lot better.
She flashed back to her brother lying i
n the hospital bed.
Robby.
The single word cut off what was left of her simmering arousal, tamped it down and killed it stone cold.
Skye pursed her lips, feeling the anger surge up again, fresh and raw.
Finn might not have had been able to kill his mother’s dealer, but she’d have no problem putting a bullet in the Wolf’s head given a chance.
Chapter Eight
The cool night air washed over Finn as he drove through the empty streets. He’d been in small towns many times through the years, but the silence always astonished him, especially after working at the nightclub.
In Las Vegas, it was easy to lose track of time, the Strip running non-stop along with all the connected businesses. No matter what time of the day or night, you could find and get access to anything your heart desired. Legal and illegal.
Here, most of the stores rolled up the sidewalks at closing time and went dark, filling the streets with an eerie stillness. Other than the inner core where the bars were, Whispering Willows became a ghost town.
Which made his job both easier and harder. Easier in that he’d be able to access areas without worrying about being interrupted. Harder because he’d be the only one around, possibly drawing attention.
He slowed the truck and turned into the bar he’d noticed earlier—the Broken Spoke. It had been an obvious choice, the slew of motorcycles outside signaling it was a frequent gang hangout. Pickup trucks filled the parking lot, covered with dust and dirt, some held together by bumper stickers. Loud music vibrated through the walls, a heavy metal throbbing that drowned out everything else.
This wasn’t one of those nice bars that put umbrellas in your drink. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t catch anything from sitting on the stools.
Finn got out of the truck, adjusted his leather jacket, and headed on in.
The bar was busy, the wall-to-wall customers enjoying the live band as they surged back and forth from the bar to the small dance floor. If the Spoke had a decor, it was smoky and dark, the wooden floor stained almost black from foot traffic and spilled beer. The leader of the live band screamed something indecipherable into the microphone as the rest of the band howled and banged on their instruments.
Finn caught the eye of the large, no-necked man standing by the front door, a permanent scowl announcing his position. Finn gave him a respectful nod before pushing through the crowd.
Finn fingered the tiny buttons in his pocket as he reached the bar. Another of Trey’s little toys, these portable GPS tags would allow him to track the movements of anyone he placed them on.
He could have asked Trey to hack their cell phones and access their tracking software, but Finn suspected the bikers weren’t stupid enough to have that particular feature active. Underestimating the gang members could get him killed and place Skye and Robby in more danger than they were in already.
He knew where the bikers had their headquarters. That was no secret.
Now he needed to find out where they worked.
He turned his attention back to the crowd, searching for targets.
A good number of bikers were in the club, most of them at the bar drinking beer. He could easily identify them by the leather vests, each emblazoned on the back with the gang insignia—a white wolf’s skull with a revolver shoved in its mouth, ready to fire. Gold coins covered the skull’s eye sockets, the shiny thread catching the light.
The vests were prized possessions, bought with hard work and blood. No one wore one who wasn’t devoted heart and soul to the gang.
A gang’s colors were treated with the same reverence as a national flag, not to be abused or maligned. Anyone disrespecting a gang’s colors, member or not, could expect a severe beating at the very least.
The Wolf’s Teeth didn’t strike Finn as being any different from other biker gangs in that regard.
Under no condition would the leather vests be discarded, tossed onto a laundry pile, or left behind in some woman’s room. They stayed with their owners from dusk to dawn, and he suspected some slept in them.
It was a perfect target for the tracers.
It took a few minutes to get the bartender’s attention as the woman scurried back and forth filling orders. Once he did, Finn ordered a draft beer and studied the man next to him.
The biker was older than Finn, the black hair at his temples going gray to match his thin beard. He didn’t pay any attention to Finn as the bartender placed the beer on the dented and scratched wood, foam sloshing out over the top of the glass. Alone and away from his fellow bikers, he was focused on his drinking.
Perfect.
Finn spotted a pair of women at the other end of the bar smiling and giggling as they surveyed the crowd. Every few minutes their gaze would sweep over the bar patrons, studying Finn and the biker beside him.
It was obvious they preferred the biker over Finn.
He didn’t take it personally.
Finn took a sip of beer and winced, the lukewarm drink assaulting his senses. Holding the glass in one hand, he slipped his other into his jacket pocket and flicked the tiny piece of paper off the back of the tracer with his fingernail. It was small, barely a half-inch in diameter, and coal-black. Trey had chosen the color back at the nightclub with this plan in mind, giving the tracers as much camouflage as possible.
It was now active, sending information back to Trey’s computer servers in the Playground’s basement.
With the disk between his fingers, Finn pulled his hand out.
“Hey.” He tapped the biker on the back, close to the white crescent patch with the gang’s name on it. “Looks like you’ve got some ladies wanting your attention.”
The man twisted and glared at Finn, his lips pulled away from his teeth in a snarl. “What?”
Finn stood his ground. He nodded toward the end of the bar. “Ladies been checking you out. They look interested. Thought I’d let you know.”
The biker’s stare went past Finn to the women. He grunted, a thin smile appearing as he studied the lovely ladies.
“Good pickings there. Have a good night.” Finn glanced at the man’s back, checking that the marker had stuck. It took a second to find it, just under the edge of the patch and flush against the leather. The adhesive was top-grade, a variation on the super glues out on the market. Trey had promised the tracers would stay on through almost every situation—something Finn didn’t want to put to the test.
The man nodded at Finn as he picked up his beer. “Later.” He pushed through the crowd, headed for his admirers.
Finn let his breath out slowly, happy, for the moment, with his success.
One down, four to go.
He had more than that in the box, but he wasn’t going to up the risk of getting caught. The last thing he needed was for the thugs to find a tracker and go on alert, aware they’d been tagged. Five would be enough, for now.
Finn turned around and scanned the crowd. He sipped his beer, mentally logging the number of gang members in the bar. It was going to take some time and careful maneuvering to tag four more, hopefully without being punched out.
Information is power.
He swished the foul liquid around in his mouth and forced himself to swallow it.
Time to play the cheap drunk.
…
Skye couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed fighting the urge to touch herself and relieve the racing need burning through her since she’d kissed Finn.
Skye shifted again, twisting the sheets into knots.
She hadn’t gone to the Playground to find a man.
Well, not for that.
Face reality. When the Wolf is gone, Finn will be gone as well—back to Vegas and the Brotherhood.
Her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss.
Slow down, she told herself. Slow the hell down.
Whatever was between them was temporary, just a flash of lightning in the middle of a storm. That was all there was to it. Two lonely people seeking solace in each other’s company
, no promises offered or given.
She could live with that.
With a shock, she realized she was touching her cheek, tracing where his stubble had left a light burn, the reddened skin still sensitive.
She rubbed her nose, ignoring the temptation to slip her hand elsewhere.
Go to sleep.
Stop thinking about Finn.
She forced herself to calm down, her mind still racing as she juggled her concern for Robby, her anger at Mick Smith, and her desire for Finn. After a good hour of mental shuffling, Skye fell into a restless sleep.
It was well after three in the morning when she heard the front door open and the man moving inside the apartment.
Skye froze before remembering she’d given Finn the spare key.
The footsteps moved down the hall. A muffled curse came as he bumped into a table, and she recognized Finn’s voice, putting her fears to rest.
The light went on in the hallway, soon switched with the one in the spare room.
A few minutes later, the bathroom light came on. She caught the smell of tobacco and stale beer wafting in from the hall. Skye scrunched up her nose. She wasn’t allergic to cigarette smoke, but she wasn’t a big fan of the habit and was grateful Finn was taking a shower.
At the sound of running water, Skye closed her eyes, trying hard not to imagine Finn in the shower, naked and wet.
She failed miserably.
The hot water trickling over those tight abs, the washboard muscles calling to be touched and stroked, a road she longed to trace with her tongue.
Soap bubbles starting on his bare chest, breaking free of his hands to slide southward, the wet, white line dragging her attention to his hips and what lay beyond…
She turned her face, muffling a groan with her pillow.
This wasn’t helping her get back to sleep.
A few minutes later, she heard the water stop. The door opened and the light went off as Finn returned to his room.
Hard Run Page 6
