Shooting Dirty

by Jill Sorenson

  She strode forward, shoving her laundry basket at Ace. Then she sat down next to Jamie on the bench and cupped his chin. His nose was a little swollen, but it didn’t look broken. “Who did this to you?”

  Jamie shied away from her touch.

  She glanced at Ace. “If you hurt my son...”

  “It was jus’ some kids from school,” Jamie said, slurring his words. “Stop acting like a psycho.”

  Janelle wondered if he’d stolen the tequila from her cabinet. He smelled like booze. “You’re drunk,” she said, appalled by the situation. “You’re twelve years old, and you’re drunk as a skunk.”

  “At leassht I’m not a whore.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath of dismay. She had no idea what to say. He’d never spoken to her this way before.

  Ace winced at the harsh words. He started to lower the laundry basket. “I should go.”

  “I need to talk to you in private,” Janelle said, shaking from tension. She had to give him the message from his criminal associate. She pointed a finger at Jamie. “You sit right here and think about what you’ve done.”

  Jamie took a swig of soda, his lip curled in rebellion. She didn’t normally let him drink that crap, but she had to pick her battles. Obviously there were more pressing issues to worry about than his sugar intake.

  What was she going to do with him? He wasn’t even a teenager yet. If his current behavior was a harbinger of things to come, she was doomed.

  She rose from the bench and grabbed the basket from Ace. The laundry building was right next to the playground. Thankfully it was empty. Ace followed her inside. She could see Jamie through the window above the first set of machines, but he wouldn’t be able to hear them.

  Heart racing, she set her basket down on top of the dryer and opened the washer lid. Ace watched as she sorted out the delicates, her movements jerky from tension. She always hand-washed her lingerie. When his eyes lingered on her lacy underwear, she remembered she was missing a pair.

  “What did you do with my panties?” she asked.

  His gaze flew up to her face. “Huh?”

  “I had a pair in my purse that day.”

  “Oh. I used them to wipe down my truck for fingerprints.”

  “Before you torched it?”

  He shrugged. “I like to be thorough.”

  She added detergent to the wash and turned the knob to start the cycle. Then she put her delicates in the sink for a soak, thinking about what had happened after he’d kidnapped her. He’d driven to the Salton Sea in the morning to track down Shane. At one point she’d grabbed the wheel and wrecked his truck. Then he couldn’t use it as a getaway vehicle, so he’d set the thing on fire before he fled the scene.

  She’d caused him a lot of trouble, but she refused to apologize. He’d messed with the wrong girl and paid the price. “I told you to stay away from my son.”

  He leaned his hip against a dryer, his arms crossed over his chest. The defensive posture emphasized his biceps. “He was outnumbered four to one. They were kicking him on the ground. Should I have let them break his ribs?”

  Tears of dismay flooded her eyes. “Who were they?”

  “Some punks from the Slabs. I got rid of them.”

  She blinked to clear her vision, taking a deep breath. His presence was unsettling. She felt nervous about being in an enclosed space with him. She didn’t think he’d harm her—but every man she’d ever known had, at some point. “There was a man looking for you just now. He came by my trailer.”

  He straightened abruptly. “What man?”

  “He didn’t leave a name.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Motorcycle jacket, shaved head, weird tattoos. He had some kind of clown on his neck. A creepy old-time clown.”

  “Jester,” he said under his breath.

  That’s what it was. A court jester, with a colorful hat.

  “What did he say?”

  “He said you have to meet him at the clubhouse, and if you don’t, he’ll keep coming here to bother me.”

  His expression went flat. “He bothered you?”

  “Not really,” she said, uneasy. “He just left a message and went away.”

  “I’ll take care of him,” Ace said, his eyes cold as ice.

  Janelle shivered at the sight, remembering how he’d taken care of Shane. With a bullet. She swished her lingerie around in the soapy water, unsure how to broach the next subject. “You put money in my mailbox.”

  After a pause, he nodded.

  “What do you want from me?”

  His gaze drifted down her body and fell away. That was what he wanted—her body. She knew all the signs of male interest. He hadn’t acted on that desire yet, but he would. Men didn’t do favors for nothing.

  “Are you trying to pay me off?”

  “No,” he said, appearing disgruntled.

  “You think you’re my protector now, is that it?”

  “Maybe you need one.”

  “Maybe I need to be left alone.”

  He frowned at her for a moment. “The cash I gave you was part of your ex’s cut. It’s rightfully yours, and there’s plenty more.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t want your money.”

  “Save it for Jamie.”

  She shook her head, adamant. “I don’t need your money or your protection, and I sure as hell don’t need you telling me what to do with my son.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed. “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “I’ll leave you alone.”

  She lifted her chin. “Good.”

  Instead of walking away, he just stood there. “Why didn’t you give the cops my description?”

  She glanced out the window at Jamie. He was still sitting in the shade. She’d been vague with the police because she didn’t trust them to protect her. It was safer and easier to stay quiet. She’d also had bad experiences with law officers, namely her stepfather. “None of your business.”

  “Did you keep my gun?”

  “Your gun?”

  “My Colt. The one you picked up and pointed at me.”

  “Why would I have kept it?”

  “What did you do with it?”

  She tried to remember the sequence of events. He’d been angry about his wrecked truck. She’d kissed him in a futile attempt to distract him. He’d retaliated by dragging her into a shed, stripping her naked and leaving her there, tied up. After she broke free, she’d found him outside, brawling with Shane’s brother, Owen. She’d grabbed the gun and told Ace to start running. “I think I dropped it.”

  “Where?”

  “By the shed.”

  He nodded, falling silent.

  Owen hadn’t given the police much information, either. He’d suspected that Ace had ties to the Aryan Brotherhood, a prison gang that was notorious for eliminating witnesses. The crime scene investigators must not have been able to find Ace’s fingerprints or any other evidence. If they had, he wouldn’t be standing here with her. He’d be in jail.

  “The money wasn’t...what you think,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to buy your silence, or anything else. I just wanted to make it right.”

  Janelle wasn’t sure why he seemed so conflicted. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man who second-guessed his actions. He was a hardened criminal, brutal and decisive. “You can’t make it right.”

  “Can I apologize?”

  She bristled at his offer. The last thing she expected from him was an apology. “For what, chasing me down by the side of the road and overpowering me? Keeping me prisoner? Tying me up and scaring the hell out of me?”

  “No,” he said with a wave of his hand, as if those vio
lations were incidental. “I did what I had to do for the job. I didn’t like it.”

  “You didn’t like it,” she repeated, incredulous. “Well, okay then. As long as you didn’t enjoy yourself, everything’s cool!”

  He braced his hand against the washing machine, his head low.

  It dawned on her that he had enjoyed her helplessness, on some level. And that was why he kept coming around. He thought he could pay her and assuage his guilt. Or maybe he just wanted to fuck her.

  “I shouldn’t have stripped you in the shed,” he said finally. “I went too far.”

  “And you liked it.”

  “Yes.”

  Janelle didn’t know how to react to this confession. She was used to being desired by men—and mishandled by them. They never said they were sorry afterward. Most had no compunctions about treating her like a sex object or groping her in the VIP room. Some were insulting and deliberately cruel.

  Ace hadn’t even touched her. He’d just yanked off her clothes and looked at her. She’d goaded him into it, perhaps, by wrecking his truck and throwing herself at him. She’d pushed him to the limit.

  But it wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay. He was a big, rough-looking brute with tattooed knuckles and raven-black hair. His shirt was smudged with dirt and his eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t even have the basic decency to be rude or ugly. Instead, he was darkly appealing. His apology seemed sincere, and his frank admission that he’d enjoyed tearing off her clothes did something funny to her insides.

  No. She couldn’t go there.

  She was done with being attracted to the wrong kind of men, the ones who used and abused her. That part of her life was over. She’d rather be alone forever than get caught up in that dysfunctional cycle again.

  She had her friends. She had her son. She had a job that paid well, even if she hated certain aspects of it. She had herself, and she had her vibrator. She didn’t need a man, no matter how sexy and hard-edged he was. Ace would bring her nothing but trouble.

  Janelle couldn’t take any more trouble. She was full up.

  She whirled away from him and focused on the sink. Squirting some liquid detergent into the basin, she started scrubbing with too much force. Then she rinsed the items, squeezed the excess moisture from the fabric, and tossed them into her basket.

  Ace stayed right where he was, watching her.

  She shot him an annoyed glance. When would he leave her alone?

  “I thought you might want help,” he said. “Just this once.”

  She followed his gaze out the window. Jamie was slumped over on the bench, passed out.

  Shit.

  She did need help. Jamie was already taller than her by half an inch, and he weighed over a hundred pounds. She hadn’t been able to carry him in years.

  Ace headed through the door, well aware of her dilemma. He lifted Jamie easily and carried him toward her trailer. She followed with her basket. Jamie mumbled a weak protest but didn’t wake. He smelled like a distillery.

  “I hope he doesn’t throw up,” she muttered.

  “He already did,” Ace said.

  That was good news, at least. She unlocked the front door and waved Ace inside. He set Jamie down on his faded Minecraft bedspread. Jamie rolled over onto his stomach, groaning. Janelle moved a pillow out of the way so he could breathe easily. She remembered all the times she’d checked in on him while he was sleeping as a baby. She studied the rise and fall of his chest, her throat tight.

  He’d called her a whore. Did he know?

  She hugged her arms around herself and left his room. What an awful day. It had started bad and gone downhill from there. Whenever she thought she’d hit rock bottom, there was a new low waiting around the corner.

  Ace stood by the screen door, poised to exit. After a short hesitation, he took a battered leather wallet out of his front pocket. “I’m going to give you my number, just in case.”

  “Just in case what?”

  He shrugged, removing a square card from his billfold. A photograph fell out at the same time and fluttered to the floor, right between Janelle’s cowboy boots. She bent to pick it up. The picture showed an adorable little girl with honey-blond hair in a party hat, blowing out three candles on a big chocolate cake.

  “My daughter,” Ace said.

  Janelle handed it back to him, softening despite herself. “She’s cute.”

  He tucked the photo away. “She lives with her grandparents.”

  “Do you visit her?”

  “Three times a week,” he said gruffly.

  She felt a twist of pain on Jamie’s behalf. Because of this man, her son would never see his father again. Shane hadn’t been around much, anyway, and Jamie was better off without him, but it was still a sad situation.

  A sad, sorry, fucked-up situation.

  Ace gave her a card with his cell phone number and a business address in Indio. That was near Coachella, where she worked. “Call me if you ever need anything,” he said, his gaze skimming her curves.

  She knew what he thought she needed—his dick. She remembered how he’d felt against her, thick and hard. Her skin prickled with awareness and she glanced away, moistening her lips. She hadn’t been touched by a man in months.

  Years ago, she’d fallen into the habit of infrequent, no-strings hookups. Casual encounters were easier than long-term relationships, and her options were limited, as far as boyfriends were concerned. Men wanted to sleep with strippers, not date them. Her profession attracted more than its share of jerks, addicts and losers.

  She’d all but given up on finding a decent man.

  That didn’t mean she had to settle for a common criminal. Especially not this one. It was a shame that he had such a hot body and intriguing face. He knew how to kiss, too. She imagined he knew how to fuck. He might feel bad about what he’d done to her, but his guilty conscience hadn’t stopped him from wanting to do it again.

  She trembled at the thought of being bound and naked for him.

  Jesus. What was wrong with her?

  Pushing aside her twisted fantasy, she opened the door. “Don’t hold your breath,” she said in a husky voice.

  He studied her mouth intently, as if he could read her desire in its shape. She went still, wondering if he’d try to kiss her. Instead of lowering his lips to hers, he respected her request and walked out.

  Chapter Four

  Ace climbed into his battered work truck, feeling surly.

  He gritted his teeth and locked his hands around the steering wheel, fighting the urge to slam his forehead against it.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  He didn’t want to deal with Jesse “Jester” Arno. The bad blood between them went deep. Ace resented the request for a meeting, and he was furious about the threat toward Janelle. He’d rather shoot Jester than have a sit-down with him.

  The problem was, he couldn’t refuse.

  Jester was the new president of White Lightning, an outlaw motorcycle club known for its shady dealings. Ace used to belong to Dirty Eleven, a rival club. He was no longer a member but he couldn’t sever ties with them completely, because Dirty Eleven was run by Wild Bill Shepherd, Skye’s legal guardian and grandfather.

  Ace felt no loyalty to Bill, only bitterness. Bill had promised to release Skye after the last job. He’d gone back on his word, and he’d been stringing Ace along ever since. Ace couldn’t get custody on his own. He paid child support on time and he never missed a visit with Skye, but he was also a convicted felon. The courts wouldn’t be sympathetic, and Bill would punish him in ways Ace didn’t want to think about.

  He was stuck.

  Now he had to worry about Jester Arno on top of all that. The White Lightning president must have had Ace followed to Janelle’s trailer. He’d se
nsed trouble, and he should have listened to his instincts. He shouldn’t have gone near her.

  He’d risked her safety. Again.

  The day he’d taken Janelle hostage, Ace had promised that no harm would come to her or her son. He might be a killer, but he was also a man of his word. He’d protect her whether she liked it or not. If she didn’t want him around, fine. She didn’t have to know. He could be stealthy.

  Ace got the feeling she did want him around, however. She just didn’t want to admit it, and he didn’t blame her. They’d met under the worst circumstances imaginable. She had every right to be wary of him.

  Even so, he sensed her interest. It wasn’t just wishful thinking on his part. He knew she felt desire for him. He’d seen the evidence when he’d stripped her. He’d watched her stomach quiver as he’d tugged down her panties. Her nipples had been tight pink buds, her pussy slick with moisture.

  “Fuck,” he said out loud, raking a hand through his hair. He was getting a hard-on.

  Her response to his aggression had played into his fantasies, big-time. He’d been plagued by thoughts of pleasuring her until she begged for mercy. The idea that she might enjoy being under his control was tantalizing. It was everything.

  He wanted her to be as turned on as he was. There was something about the way she looked at him, her eyes sliding over his body and jerking away. There was something about her mouth that beckoned him.

  Ace understood his appeal to the opposite sex. He did okay with women. He was taller and stronger than average. He showered daily. He had steady work and all of his teeth. Not everyone in this desert wasteland could boast as much.

  His mother had also raised him to be respectful. He’d learned to use a slow hand with women, and to listen when they said no. Janelle had asked him to leave her alone. He couldn’t just grab her and tie her up again, no matter how delicious that sounded.

  He wasn’t that much of an animal.

  Instead of conjuring more erotic images of her in bondage, Ace drove away from the trailer park, drumming his fingertips against the wheel. It was a long drive to the White Lightning clubhouse in Riverside, but he wanted to get the meeting over with. He couldn’t take the chance that Jester would come back to harass Janelle tomorrow.