Riding Dirty

by Jill Sorenson

  “Do you?”

  “I’m just doing her a favor.”

  “Because you want to bang her.”

  Ace took a thoughtful drag. “I killed her son’s father.”

  Cole was startled by the confession. “She’s got a kid?”

  “A boy. He’s twelve.”

  “Does she know what you did?”

  “She was there.”

  “Jesus, man.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “How could it get worse?”

  Ace sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Trust me, it does.”

  “So she’s the last woman on earth who would go out with you.”

  “Probably.”

  “And yet, here you are.”

  “I fixed her window. It’s nothing.”

  Cole didn’t believe him. Ace might feel guilty and protective of that brunette, but he’d also staked some sort of claim on her. A claim that defied logic and didn’t care about whatever tangled past they had. Cole recognized it, because he felt the same way about Mia. It didn’t matter that she’d been his psychologist, or that she was still hung up on her dead husband. No other woman would do.

  “Was the lap dance nothing, too?”

  Ace tossed his cigarette into Cole’s bucket, where it extinguished with a hiss. “Just state your fucking business, Shank.”

  “I ran into Dimebag Arno at the Hairy Palms the other night.”

  Ace studied Cole’s face. “He give you those bruises?”

  “I gave him some, too,” Cole said. He’d been thinking about his scuffle with Dimebag, wondering about his brother’s connections to White Lightning. “Was it Roach’s idea to sling meth with them?”

  “Let’s not speak ill of the dead.”

  “I have to know.”

  “He was strung out. So was Courtney. They were both high all the time.”

  “What about you?”

  Ace inclined his head. “I was drunk most nights and amped up on the weekends. I thought I had it under control, but I was kidding myself. Before I knew it, Roach was in debt to Dimebag. He’d been scoring for Courtney and selling on the side to support his habit. Your uncle stepped in to clean up the mess.”

  “This is clean?”

  Ace didn’t answer. There was no such thing as clean in the meth business, or any other criminal enterprise.

  “My uncle said the cartels were moving in.”

  “They were.”

  “He also told me you were doing wet work.”

  Ace flinched at the charge. “Did he tell you who for?”

  “AB.”

  Ace glanced across the gas station, not denying it. Damn him.

  Cole’s chest tightened with unease and disappointment and another feeling he didn’t want to recognize. Sadness. “How’s that going to help you get Skye back?”

  “It’s not,” Ace said shortly.

  “If they hired you to—”

  “No.”

  “I wasn’t finished.”

  “I wouldn’t do it.”

  “What if you had to?”

  Ace mulled the question over. “I’d kill you to save Skye, if that was my only option. I wish I didn’t have to kill anyone, ever, but I made a deal with the devil. Does that answer suit you better?”

  It did. Cole appreciated his honesty. “I’m an informant.”

  Ace’s mouth dropped open. He had a silver incisor on the top row, courtesy of some back-alley dentistry. He collected himself and squinted at their surroundings, as if searching the area for undercover officers.

  “No one’s watching us, as far as I know.”

  His gaze returned to Cole, burning with animosity. “How dare you bring the heat on me?”

  “I’m not. I won’t tell them anything you said.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I’m warning you that shit’s about to go down.”

  “And asking if I’d take you out.”

  “That, too.”

  “I said I wouldn’t.”

  “You might not have a choice.”

  “There’s only one person with the power to make me choose between killing you and never seeing Skye again.”

  His uncle. Cole nodded a confirmation.

  Ace’s expression became grim. He understood that Cole was collecting information to use against Bill. “You’re digging your own grave. And mine.”

  “Stand with me.”

  “Hell no. He has too much dirt on me. I’ll lose Skye.”

  “You could get immunity.”

  “Gunmen don’t get immunity.”

  Cole weighed his options. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Ace, who had to play nice with Bill because he was Skye’s guardian. Shawnee was another question mark. His aunt had always looked out for number one. If she knew what Cole was planning, she might go straight to Bill and tell him about their affair.

  Christ. What a clusterfuck of family dysfunction.

  “Have you ever considered...warming up to Shawnee?” Cole asked.

  “I’d rather stick my dick in a vice.”

  Cole grimaced at the mental picture. “Do you think she manipulated me into attacking Jester Arno?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the time she...”

  “Fucked you?”

  Cole felt a flush rise up his neck.

  “I assume she did that to get back at Bill.”

  “Not to keep me in line?”

  “Has she ever threatened to tell him?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “Neither would I.”

  Cole shifted his leg in the bucket, uncomfortable with the conversation. He didn’t want to view himself as a victim of Shawnee’s wiles. It made him feel like a sucker and a fool. He preferred being in control with women. With everyone.

  “Where have you been lately?” Ace asked. “I haven’t seen you at the Palms.”

  “I’ve been out and about.”

  “With who?”

  “I met someone.”

  Ace gave him a skeptical look. “And you’ve been with her more than once?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “You’re more of a fuck-and-run type.”

  Cole fished the floating cigarette out of the bucket and tossed it aside. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with Mia. He had too many enemies who might be a threat to her. “I can’t run forever.”

  Ace didn’t argue.

  “What’s it like, living clean?” Cole asked.

  “You think I’m clean?”

  “Sober,” he amended. “Independent.”

  An independent rider had no MC affiliation. Ace was still a criminal, but he wasn’t an outlaw. He had no band of brothers to carouse with, no biker babes to plunder. He might as well be old and retired.

  “It’s lonely,” Ace said. “I have a lot of time to sit and think about the things I’ve done.”

  “Sounds like prison.”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you stand it?”

  “Skye.”

  Cole wondered if his uncle had sold Ace’s services in exchange for visits with Skye. Cole couldn’t think of any other reason Ace would do that kind of work. It was clear that Skye meant the world to him. There was nothing Ace wouldn’t do for her, even kill. Cole didn’t have anyone like that in his life. Except Mia. Maybe.

  He removed his foot from the bucket to dry it out. “I’d love to sit on this curb all night, but I have a date.”

  “Where you going?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Cole remembered the joke he’d made about her going down on him in the theater. He wouldn’t mind that, but he’d rather go somewhere quiet. Just the two of them. No distracting sounds. He put on his sock and motorcycle boot, dumping the water into the bushes. Then he threw the bucket into the back of Ace’s truck.

  “Good luck,” Cole said, extending his hand.

  Ace rose to his feet and gave Cole a h
ug, as if they were bros again. The bad blood between them didn’t matter. Rylan might be gone, and Courtney, too. But they still had each other’s backs.

  “Don’t fuck up.”

  That was Ace’s way of saying “take care.”

  Cole released him and cleared his throat. His eyes were burning. “Fucking up is my signature move.”

  “People change.”

  They did. Usually not for the better, though.

  Cole returned to his bike and drove away from Coachella, feeling melancholy. Ace was stuck in this life as much as Cole was. If Wild Bill and White Lightning went down, Ace would go with them. Cole resented the damp neoprene around his ankle and the tracking device it covered. He resented the Aryan Brotherhood, and Investigator Vargas, and everyone else who wanted a piece of him.

  By the time he reached the Starplex, he’d thought of a place to take Mia. It was more private than she might like. He considered her intriguing sexual proclivities and wondered if she was afraid of being alone in a room with him. Or afraid of intimacy, which meant letting go of her dead husband and moving on.

  Jesus. Two weeks with a shrink and he was getting philosophical.

  He found her in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of her car. She was wearing skintight jeans, sexy boots and a stylish jacket. He slowed to a stop in the empty space next to her, his mood lifting. She had smoky eyes tonight, and she looked extra-hot. The sight of her face made his heart ping like a pinball inside his chest.

  She perused his body with interest. “Looking for a date, handsome?”

  He smiled at her game. “Are you available?”

  “Always.”

  “How much?”

  “Depends on what part of me you want.”

  He wanted all of her. His gaze traveled along the length of her legs, lingering on her breasts and settling on her pursed lips. “Your mouth.”

  “Two hundred.”

  He arched a brow, aware that she didn’t have any idea what a street blow job cost. “That’s a little pricey.”

  “I’m worth it.”

  “Hop on.”

  She donned his helmet and a pair of sunglasses. Then she straddled the bike and slipped her arms around his waist, clinging to him like wet paint. He could feel her breasts against his back and her taut thighs hugging his hips. She was a natural rider. A perfect fit for him in more ways than one. He left the parking lot and headed toward the highway. He wanted to go fast enough to warm up that beautiful pussy. He pictured her tight jeans tugging at her clit, adding to the sensation.

  She clutched his T-shirt with one hand and let the other wander down his fly. His cock swelled against her palm. Smothering a groan, he made a turn quick enough to dissuade her. She jerked her hand away from his crotch and held on for dear life. He drove about five more miles. When they arrived at their destination, he parked in an empty gravel lot underneath a big sign advertising the place of business. There was a closed gift shop, an empty fruit stand and several acres of date palm trees.

  Mia took off the helmet, fluffing her hair. “Burt’s Date Farm?”

  “It’s where people go for dates.”

  She wrinkled her nose at his corny joke. “My price just went up to two-fifty.”

  Laughing, he left the helmet with the bike and draped his arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the grove. Date trees were a type of tall palm, with clusters of fruit hanging near the top. It was harvest time, so the fruit was protected from birds and other scavengers by sacks of brown muslin.

  “They look like balls,” Mia said.

  “The fruit sacks, or the dates themselves?”

  “Both.”

  “Maybe you just have balls on the brain.”

  “I’d rather have them somewhere else.”

  He slid his hand down the curve of her ass, wanting to smack it. She might let him. “How much to spank you?”

  “That’s free.”

  Christ. He wasn’t sure if she meant the suggestive things she said, or if she was leading him around by his cock. Did she really fantasize about sleeping with another woman? That was too good to be true. But she’d also said that the thought of being watched turned her on, and she’d been dripping wet at the lake. The proof was in the pussy.

  He’d planned to take her to the nature trail on the other side of the grove, but they came upon a convenient garden bench in front of a stone fountain. He didn’t see any farm workers in the rows of trees. It was early evening; all of the employees had gone home. His hard-on demanded they stop here.

  He pulled her against him, belly to belly. Although she wasn’t a tall woman, her heels gave her a few extra inches, so kissing her wasn’t awkward. She tilted her head back and he covered her mouth with his, plunging his tongue inside. She moaned and threaded her fingers through his hair. He liked that. He liked her eager hands, skating over him. Her sweet little tongue, curling around his.

  He groaned and cupped her cute ass, lifting her against him. His fingers pressed between her buttocks. He wanted her naked. Now.

  “Take off your clothes,” he said, releasing her.

  She glanced around, eyes dark with excitement. A pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. Removing her bomber jacket, she pulled her tank top over her head, revealing a cherry-red bra in sheer lace. His cock throbbed at the sight.

  “Keep that on.”

  She sat down on the bench to take off her boots. Then she unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled free of them. Her panties matched the bra, and they were transparent. He could see the delicate strip of hair above her cleft and the damp spot between her legs. His hands were shaking, his pulse racing.

  “I like those,” he said, indicating her panties.

  She left them on.

  He took a seat across from her, on the edge of the fountain. “Touch yourself.”

  Inhaling a sharp breath, she cupped her breasts, plumping them together. With a low moan, she squeezed her nipples between her fingers. Then she used her fingertips to pluck and pinch them. She wasn’t gentle.

  He watched with interest, his cock aching. “Are you wet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Show me.”

  Smoothing her hands down her sleek stomach, she spread her thighs wide. He could see most of her pussy through the fabric of her panties, but she tugged aside the lacy crotch, baring herself to him completely. Then she slipped one slender finger inside her body, biting her lip. When she removed her finger, it was shiny.

  “Suck it.”

  She did, sliding her finger in and out of her mouth. He was too enraptured to speak. Taking her own initiative, she buried two fingers in her pussy, thrusting deep. Then she turned her attention to her clit, circling and stroking with slippery fingers. After a minute or two, her breaths grew ragged and her cheeks became flushed.

  “Are you going to come?”

  She leaned back against the bench, working her fingers faster. “Yes.”

  “Don’t.”

  Her eyes flew open. “What?”

  “Don’t come yet. I’m paying you to suck my cock, remember?”

  A crease formed between her brows, but she didn’t protest. She stopped touching herself and awaited his instructions.

  He stood and unbuttoned his fly. Stepping forward, he presented his cock to her. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and pumped him up and down. Her pale, slender hand made an erotic contrast to his dark-flushed skin. He knew that women enjoyed his size, but he was a crude-looking beast, veiny and thick. Which was why it was so hot to watch a beautiful mouth or a pretty hand on him.

  When he made a fist in her hair, she parted her lips for him. She didn’t deep-throat like a porn star, but she took as much as she could, which was quite a lot. He guided her head up and down, groaning as she swallowed more. His shaft became wet with her saliva. She moaned around him, her lips stretched wide. Tears smeared her mascara, giving her a messy, slutty look he loved. She cupped his balls, squeezing them gently. Then she released his cock to ki
ss them, pumping his slippery shaft with one hand. She alternated between licking his balls and sucking his cock, drawing out his pleasure.

  It was no use; he couldn’t last. This was the hottest blow job of his life. He buried his hands in her hair and thrust his hips, fucking her eager mouth.

  “I’m going to come on your tits,” he gasped, withdrawing.

  She peeled down the cups of her bra, the straps falling off her shoulders. Her dusky-pink nipples sent him over the edge. He pumped his cock furiously, directing it at her chest. Hot jets spurted from the tip, decorating her lovely skin. Her parted lips drew his attention. With one hand in her hair and the other fisting his cock, he painted her mouth, too. When he was finished, she had his cum all over her.

  He reached into his pocket with a trembling hand, offering her a clean handkerchief. Then he collapsed on the bench beside her, knees weak. She rose and dipped the fabric in the fountain before using it to clean herself up.

  “Was that worth two-fifty?” she asked.

  He dug out his money clip and counted out three bills, tossing them to her. “Every penny.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MIA GATHERED THE bills and tucked them into her bra, pleased with herself.

  And desperately aroused.

  She’d been nervous about their date all day. Before he picked her up on his motorcycle, she’d paced the parking lot, replaying their conversation from the previous night. She’d wondered if he was still angry with her. She’d worried that he’d try to take her somewhere romantic and treat her like a girlfriend.

  Instead he’d treated her like a whore. And she’d loved it.

  She curled up next to him on the bench. He was sitting with his eyes closed and his fly unbuttoned. Although his penis was tucked away, his boxer shorts were visible. They were green plaid today.

  It would be more polite to give him time to recover, but she couldn’t wait. She pushed his leather vest off his shoulders and pressed her mouth to the spider web on his neck. She licked his salty skin with a breathy moan. She’d put her mouth on his cock again if that would wake it up. She needed his thick shaft inside her. Or his fingers, his tongue, a handy foreign object...she wasn’t picky.

  He let her divest him of his vest and then took off his white T-shirt. God, his body. He was big and hard all over. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps, flat belly. He had a furry strip on his stomach and dark, dense pubic hair.