Bleacke's Geek

by Lesli Richardson

  Reality intruded. He’d just had unprotected sex—albeit very hot and very good sex, the best of his life—with a perfect stranger.

  In a bathroom.

  A ladies’ bathroom.

  Her palm against his mouth felt hot. Unable to help himself, he flicked his tongue against her flesh. She tasted sweet, salty, exotic.

  Something inside him wanted to curl up with her in a very large, very comfortable bed and feel her in his arms forever.

  Maybe those assholes in the Engineering department hired her to fuck me. They’d been busting his balls enough lately about his lack of a love life. Except she felt dangerous in a totally sexy way. Really, that coat she wore made her look like an extra from some Quentin Tarantino movie.

  Then again, it was the first sex he’d had with another person in three years. And she was really, really hot.

  Maybe I shouldn’t complain too much.

  * * * *

  She pulled her palm away from his mouth. When she put her feet down, she felt something she hadn’t felt in…ever. Shaky, knees trembling.

  He leaned against the wall. “What the fuck?” he whispered.

  Peckingham.

  “No time.” She didn’t have time to explain to this poor bastard what just happened. She needed to take out her mark and safely get her mate the hell out of there. There’d be plenty of time for pleasantries and snuggling and more fucking later.

  Much more fucking.

  She reached for her panties and jeans and pulled them on. “Get dressed. Now.”

  He stood there, pants down around his ankles. “What?”

  “Pull. Your. Pants. Up.” She buckled her belt and had her boots and coat on and his laptop case slung over her shoulder again by the time he leaned over to reach for his clothes.

  Leaning a little, she got a look at his pale ass. Tight, nice.

  Lustful heat rolled through her core when she imagined leaving bite marks on his unblemished flesh.

  Later. At home.

  “Hurry up,” she growled.

  He straightened and turned away from her as he tucked himself in. “I’m sorry, but it’s not every day I get raped at dinner by a perfect stranger.”

  Guilt flashed through her. She hadn’t given him much of a choice. It wasn’t his fault he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Under normal circumstances, she would have taken care of pleasantries first, like finding out his name and zodiac sign, before taking him to bed and claiming him. “You damn sure didn’t fight me. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain. Later. At home.”

  “Who says I’m going home with you?” He finished putting himself back together, lips tightly pursed as he reseated his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate you paying for my dinner, and…this, but frankly, I’d rather go home. Alone.” He held out his hand, presumably for his laptop case. He wasn’t a skinny toothpick, but she’d seen more muscles on a starved raccoon.

  Oh, my mate is so cute when he’s angry. She’d soon fuck that attitude out of him. She adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Sorry.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re coming home with me. You’re going to follow me, and when I tell you, you’re going to run like hell for my car.”

  Screw the earlier plan. She’d shoot the fucker in the booth and mojo a few patrons to swear they saw one of his buddies do it. She’d been to this pub before and knew they didn’t have any security cameras in the dining room.

  Her mate glared, but he couldn’t resist her order.

  She grabbed his still outstretched hand and dragged him out of the bathroom. Across the crowded restaurant, Peckingham sat in his booth, oblivious.

  She leaned in and rumbled in her mate’s ear. She really would have to ask him his name at some point. “Wait for me by the front door. When you hear the shot, run. I’ll catch up with you.”

  “What shot? Run where?”

  “Straight ahead. You’ll see my car. Can’t miss it. Go.”

  Casting a glance at her over his shoulder, he crossed the dining room and stopped at the door.

  Good, she didn’t want to have to chase him down after making the kill.

  That could lead to a very ugly accident. Or, at the minimum, public indecency.

  At least she still had his laptop. She had a feeling he wouldn’t try to run away without it.

  She stopped beside a waitress, touched her shoulder, and sent her a thought. On her way across the room, out of Peckingham’s direct line of sight, she repeated the action several times with patrons and waitresses alike. Then she walked up to his table.

  The men were so drunk they didn’t notice her at first.

  “Jonathan Peckingham, Junior,” she softly said.

  That’s when his eyes focused on her. Recognition and fear washed across his features. She drew her gun.

  “As Head Enforcer of the Targhee pack, and by edict of the pack Alpha, this is for selling out your daughter, asswipe.”

  She put one hollow-point bullet squarely into his heart and another between his eyes into his brain, turning both to mush and ensuring his demise despite his wolf shifter bloodlines. He slumped back in the booth. Screams filled the restaurant as she calmly holstered the gun and turned from the booth. She’d expected at least one of his slimeball buddies to come after her, but they didn’t, apparently in too much shock and too drunk to do anything but stare at their fallen comrade.

  Across the room, the glass door was swinging shut after her mate. Several patrons spooked by the sound of the gunshot stampeded toward the door. Quick, smooth strides carried her across the dining room, through the throng, and out the door before she even had to reach out to push the door open again.

  She spotted her mate halfway across the wet asphalt, frightened, running. Without missing a step she reached into her pocket and pulled out her key ring. In his path, her Saleen’s lights blinked and the horn chirruped as the car unlocked.

  He slid to a stop a few feet from the car as she strode up behind him and opened the passenger door.

  “In.”

  When he hesitated, she grabbed his shoulder and pushed him into the seat and dropped his bag in his lap. “Buckle up.” She closed the door and walked around the front end to slide behind the wheel.

  When she turned the key, the engine smoothly roared to life. More patrons spilled out of the pub onto the sidewalk and into the parking lot as she pulled out and pointed the car toward I-75. A few sheriff’s cars passed going the other way, lights and sirens blaring, heading toward the pub.

  She smiled at him. “Another job well done.”

  * * * *

  He felt like he could barely breathe. He sat there clutching his laptop bag and praying he’d wake up in a hospital after maybe slipping in the shower or something. When a line from The Big Bang Theory came to mind, something about a lack of adhesive ducks, a frantic giggle escaped him.

  Or maybe I’ve died and this is a weird form of Hell?

  Okay, maybe not Hell. Not that he was religious, but he guessed eternal punishment probably didn’t include scorching hot sex with a smokingly gorgeous stranger.

  “My bike’s back there,” he lamely said. It was the only thing he could think to utter in his shock. “I need to get it.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror as she took the I-75 northbound on-ramp. Then she looked at him. “Ah, I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have taken you for a rider. That’s good. We can ride together. What kind of bike? Harley? Or something fast and sporty, like a Ducati or a Hayabusa?”

  “Schwinn.”

  She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “That’s not a motorcycle.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, I’d never ride a motorcycle. Those things are dangerous. It’s a bike, a twelve-speed. I prefer to take green transportation. I want to leave as small a carbon footprint as possible.” He knew he was ridiculously babbling in his fear.

  He didn’t think he imagined her disgusted sigh as she turned back toward the road ahead of them.

  “I told you to buck
le up.”

  He wanted to argue, but something in her tone told him that might be a very, very bad idea.

  Especially considering she’d just killed someone.

  He carefully set his laptop bag on the floor between his feet and buckled his seatbelt. “Where are we going?”

  “Home. I told you that.”

  “You told me? Sorry, I don’t remember that. Would that be before or after you raped me?”

  Maybe not the wisest thing to say, but self-preservation had never been his strong suit.

  In the glow of the instrument panel, he saw her expression darken. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have time to explain.”

  “When are you planning on making time?”

  “After we get home. I have to eat.”

  “I have a home, and it’s in the other direction—”

  He was thrown hard against the seatbelt as she jammed on the brakes, the car sliding with a loud squeal of tires on the damp pavement. They came to a stop on the right-hand shoulder.

  She turned to him. “Listen to me, and listen good. For the last time, you’re coming home with me, and it’s now your home, too. Do. You. Understand?”

  Something about her eyes stole his strength. Not just their sweet, dark mocha color, but they compelled him, washing away all his will.

  He felt himself nod.

  She nodded back. “Good. We’ll figure out how and when to get your stuff moved.” She shifted the powerful car into gear and took off again, the force slamming him back in his seat. Apparently she drove only at two speeds—stop, and oh, shit.

  He wanted to ask her name, or at the very least find out if she was going to kill him, too.

  She spoke again, her tone sounding more gentle. “No, I’m not going to kill you. I will not hurt you, I swear. I’m sorry you had to see that. I never expected to meet you tonight.”

  Spooky. As if she’d read his mind.

  Maybe I don’t want to know her name. Less chance of him identifying her so she wouldn’t come after him. “So you can’t let me go because I know what you did?”

  She smiled. “Not exactly.”

  He liked her smile. Jesus, I’ve lost my mind. I’ve been abducted by a hot sexy murderer, and in less than five minutes I’m already suffering Stockholm Syndrome.

  She veered toward the Land O’ Lakes exit. “I’m not a murderer. I’m a pack Enforcer. That fucker sold his fifteen-year-old daughter to his drug dealer to be a sex slave so he could pay off his debt.” She timed it just right so she rolled through the intersection as the light turned green, veering hard to the right. “Asshole does something like that, he gets taken out. It’s my job to do the taking.”

  “Isn’t that something for the courts to decide? Why not turn him in to the police?”

  She snorted. “Police have no business in pack business.”

  He didn’t know what to make of that, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Chapter Two

  He didn’t recognize the music blaring on the car’s stereo. A female rocker, the deep bass thump uncomfortably pounded through his body. His abductor apparently knew the songs by heart, tapping her hands on the wheel and singing along with the lyrics. She seemed perfectly at ease driving the fast car, which sailed over the asphalt like a screaming black demon.

  They roared through the darkness along a nearly empty rural two-lane road. Best he could figure, they were now east of I-75 and heading eastward toward Zephyrhills. Then, barely slowing, she whipped the car off the road and to the left, onto an even smaller, darker, rural street. She pulled out a cell phone and dialed.

  When the other party answered, she said, “Done. Almost home now.” She glanced at him sitting in the passenger seat. “I’ve got a surprise for you.” She ended the call. “I hope you’re open minded,” she said to him.

  Right now, he was barely right-minded. “What do you mean?”

  She grinned. He didn’t miss how there appeared to be something downright wolfish in her expression. “You’ve just entered a whole new world.”

  “If you start humming The Twilight Zone theme, I’m jumping from the car.”

  He heard the locks click as she smiled again. “No, you’re not. I can’t let that happen.”

  He tried to summon manly strength and realized that whoever this woman was she had bigger balls than he did. “Why? Afraid I’ll tell the cops?”

  Shaking her head, she laughed again. “No, but I prefer you remain in one piece and uninjured.”

  “Get more ransom that way? I’ll have you know I don’t have any money. And I have no family to pay it anyway.”

  “Oh, puhleeze.” She rolled her eyes. “Dude, I sooo don’t need your money. Did you get a look at my car? It’s a fucking Saleen. Paid cash for it. Bought it brand new. Money is not an issue.” She snorted in what he took as amusement. “I sure as hell don’t need yours.”

  “Then what?” Maybe if I keep her talking, she won’t kill me.

  “Quit with the ‘I’m gonna die’ business. You’re not going to die.” The way she growled it made his jaw snap shut on the next snarky comment about to fall from his mouth.

  He decided to sit back and shut up.

  “Wise move,” she muttered.

  * * * *

  She reached up to her visor and punched a button on a remote control. Then she veered into a driveway where a gate opened. Timing it just right, she barely slowed from her road speed and blasted through as it rolled open only inches wider than the car’s width.

  He looked behind them. In the glow from the taillights, he saw the gate closing.

  The smoothly-paved asphalt driveway wound through thick stands of pine trees. He saw no signs of nearby houses.

  “Nearly five hundred acres,” she told him.

  That’s freaky.

  “If you think me reading your mind is freaky, you ain’t seen nothing yet, buddy.”

  He shut up again. A nervous lump grew in his throat as they continued through the darkness.

  After rounding one last curve they rolled into a huge clearing where a large, two-story house sat in the center. One bay of an attached four-car garage stood open, light spilling out onto the paved driveway. She smoothly pulled in as if she didn’t need to aim, braking at the last moment.

  Once the car shut off, only the sound of the garage door lowering and his pounding heart filled his ears.

  “We’re here,” she announced.

  He swallowed to form spit so he could speak. “I gathered.”

  The door locks clicked open and she climbed out. He sat there for a moment, eyes closed, almost afraid to look around. He flinched when she opened his door.

  “Out.”

  Before he could grab his laptop case, she’d already picked it up, slung it over her shoulder, and headed toward a door he presumed led inside. He unbuckled his seat belt and followed her on shaky legs.

  The door opened into a large kitchen. He stood, stunned, as he looked around. Wide expanses of spotless granite counters, stainless steel appliances, and what appeared to be custom-made cherry cabinets. Someone with a lot of money and very good taste had designed this kitchen.

  After setting his laptop case on the counter, she shrugged off her coat and hung it on one of a row of hooks by the door they’d just entered, where other jackets and coats were hung.

  Then he spotted the gun on her hip. In his earlier shock, he realized he hadn’t actually seen it when they were in the bathroom. She’d undressed and dressed so quickly, he hadn’t noticed.

  She watched him as she drew it, did something to it, and removed both the magazine and a chambered round. Laying them on the counter, she asked, “You ever handle a gun before?”

  He shook his head.

  She pointed at him. “Don’t. Touch. Not until after I have a chance to teach you.”

  A sudden compulsion to leave the weapon alone washed over him. He’d thought about maybe trying to grab it, use it to make her give him her phone so h
e could call for help.

  Not that he’d ever held a gun before or even knew where he was to ask for the police to rescue him, but now he couldn’t even think about touching it.

  “Go ahead and try, if you think you can,” she called over her shoulder at him as she walked across the kitchen to the large fridge.

  Taking her up on it, he found if he tried to step forward with the intent of grabbing the gun, he couldn’t.

  She turned from the fridge with a carton of milk in her hand and a smile on her face. “You and I will get along just fine.” Then she screamed, startling him. “Badger!”

  He flinched, then flinched again as an answering roar rumbled from somewhere upstairs. “Hold yer britches, kiddo. I’m comin’.”

  He heard before he saw the large, squat man descend the stairs. His solid bulk seemed to make the whole house tremble as he grumbled under his breath all the way down to where they stood in the kitchen. His left eye was gone, the sunken lid crossed by a thick, gnarled, twisting scar that started above his eyebrow and descended nearly all the way to his chin.

  A few inches shorter than him, but taller than the woman, the man looked him up and down. Wild, curly red hair liberally threaded with grey framed his stocky, grizzled face. His remaining eye, a bright crystalline blue, carefully looked him over with keen interest.

  He spoke with a thick and distinctive Scottish brogue. “Eh, what’s this? This yer surprise?”

  “Promise not to laugh?” she asked.

  “I make no such promise, Dewi.” Well, at least he had a name to go by now. “Fess up.”

  She took another drink from the carton. “He’s my mate,” she mumbled.

  “He’s yer what?”

  Her gaze fell to the floor as her face reddened. Seemed something could make her blush and crack her composure after all. “My mate,” she softly repeated.

  The older man looked stunned as he stared at him, then back to her. “Claimed and all?” he finally asked.

  He couldn’t stand them talking about him as if he wasn’t there. “What’s going on?” he asked, fully aware his voice bordered on a shrill, girlie shriek. “I’d like some answers!”