“Bridie,” Tuck asked then, holding the picture up so the girl could see. “Is this your aunt? Your aunt who died?” Bridie fluttered her eyelids, looking dazed. She reached for the picture, her hands grazing Tuck's as she clasped it in her long, pretty fingers.
“Yeah,” she said, confused.
“Hey, geniuses? The fuzz'll be here any second! Don't you think we better scram?” Yak yelled to the team over the purr of his Harley's humming engine as he secured the chin-straps of his helmet with fumbling fingers. The other Barons rallied at this cry, racing toward their own motorcycles. It was an instinct bred deep in a man outside the law: avoid the stiffs, at all costs. And especially avoid the police.
“We probably should go,” said Athena, her voice comforting in its lucidity. She put her hand again on the small of Bridie's trembling back. “Let's go, sugar.”
“Wait,” the little girl murmured. She was eyeing Tuck, who now swayed on his feet. “He's drunk as a skunk, he can't drive.”
“Well we can't all ride mine.” Athena sounded impatient. She, too, had a record she wasn't interested in rehashing with the boys in blue.
“I'll wait, then. Till he sobers up.”
“That's stupid, Bry. He can make his own way, he's done it before.”
“I don't mind,” Bridie said. “And I'm not afraid of the police.”
The sirens were upon them now, screeching and furious. Red and blue light danced over Dixie's facade.
Wavering one more moment, Athena looked from her best friend to her new charge. Bridie couldn't sense what she was thinking, and Tuck's gaze was nothing but opaque. But Athena was aware of the gravity in this exchange. It felt like she was giving something up, leaving these two beautiful people alone here, together. But she rallied, as she had to, as she always did. She got on her bike and kicked off from the ground just as three cruisers drove into the parking lot.
“What now?” Tuck managed, but Bridie was ahead of him. She clasped his wrist and pulled him back towards the entrance of the bar.
“Well, now it's just you and me,” she said. “That gonna be a problem?”
Chapter Eighteen
DET. RAMIREZ: How did you like your sandwich? Pastrami alright?
BRIDIE: What're you, detective? A New Yorker?
DET. RAMIREZ: My mother. Why?
BRIDIE: Pastrami ain't too chic around these parts, is all. It's nice. Like a peppery piece of ham.
DET. RAMIREZ: Bridie, did the Lieutenant kill that man in the parking lot? The night you first went to Dixie's?
BRIDIE: Excuse me?!
DET. RAMIREZ: Did Tucker LaRouche lay a hand on this man? The one you recognized, from your first police interrogation? He was a friend of your aunt's. He was one of Caroline's dealers. We need to know, Bridie. Tucker was a violent man, you knew this all along. Did he hurt him, in any way?
BRIDIE: But why would Tuck have done a thing like that? This all seems awfully out of left field, Detective Ramirez. One minute it's rye bread, the next it's...listen. I'm not saying another word without a lawyer present. I know I may look like a brainless floozie to you, but I know my rights.
DET. RAMIREZ: I didn't mean to offend you, Ms. Calyer. It's an unsolved murder—we're just asking questions.
BRIDIE: Let me ask you one then, mister. Where was Gil Cannon that night? Y'all have him accounted for? Policing? Somewhere along his “East Side”?
(Prolonged silence)
BRIDIE: Ha, I thought so. Now you boys sit tight. Gonna make me a phone call.
Chapter Nineteen
Back inside Dixie's, the bar was silent. In the hubbub, all the other patrons had either left or resigned themselves to the grimy back booths. There was no music. Penny had abandoned the bar to speak with a few officers outside the door. She now made sweeping gestures back toward all the people inside.
“Penny's a good woman. She'll account for all of us,” Tuck murmured. Bridie'd finagled a cup of oily black coffee from the kitchen, and Tuck now contemplated this ruefully. He much preferred to sleep off his benders.
“How did you know?” Bridie asked, swishing a straw around the rim of her own Coke. “To look for the picture like that. Why would you think to do that?”
Tuck murmured something inaudible. Bridie jostled his arm, not unkindly.
“Look sharp, Lieutenant. I know you can't be that drunk.”
“What do you know about drunk, little girl?” A part of him felt the inkling to flirt, but Tuck couldn't shake the image of the dead man out in the lot. The situation had changed, yet again. Tuck was suddenly aware of a deep fatigue. He wanted nothing more now than the dark folds of his cot, a space to think, to dream.
“You know I knew plenty. Did you know my aunt?” In that moment, Tuck saw how hopeful Bridie's beautiful eyes were. How eager she was, in her heart of hearts, to unravel the mystery. The Rider softened.
“It's the kind of thing that comes with the job,” he conceded. “I read the newspaper today. There's a picture of your Aunt, looks like you. You put two and two together.”
“But you clearly think all the murders are connected. Why?”
“Guy outside was one of your aunt's dealers, right? That's why you recognized him, isn't it? Just like the guy she got killed with? Too suspicious, for a sleepy town like this. We've got our finger on the pulse of all the organized crime—there's not even a big drug culture. Too strange to be a coincidence, I guess.”
Bridie took a thoughtful swallow. “I saw that man again, not with my Aunt. They showed me his photo in the interrogation room. Said I recognized him, then before I knew it they were shipping me off blindfolded to your mountain.” She swiveled the whole of her petite little body so she was facing him full-on. Her legs splayed slightly apart on the barstool, and Tuck struggled not to look at the dark fold between them. The Rider now felt a second or third wind coming on, the same way he felt his bike's engine hum to life, sliding the keys into the ignition. There was just something about this girl...
Penny chose this moment to mosey toward the pair, two officers in tow. Bridie bent low, shielding her body away from the men. He wondered if either of them recognized her from her recent time at the station. Waco Police couldn't be that big.
“Either of you folks see or hear anything unusual in the bar, preceding the incident outside? We're looking for statements.”
Tuck took the lead. “I ran outside when I heard the commotion, but I told the missus to stay indoors.” He spoke in a thick hillbilly drawl, taking pains to cover the Barons crest on his t-shirt as he spoke. “Fraid I don't have nothing helpful to say. Just saw that poor man there, dead as a knob on the ground.”
The questioning officer squinted in response, but his companion put a guiding hand on his shoulder. He bent low to whisper something into his partner's ear. Following this, both men straightened, tipped their hats, and ambled away.
To his shock, when Tuck turned back to Bridie he saw that the girl was struggling to contain a giggle. For the first time since they'd been introduced, if one could call it that, she looked like a carefree girl. Tuck cracked a goofy grin in response.
“Didn't know you were such a great actor, Lieutenant.”
“It comes and goes, ma'am,” he drawled. They burst into a peal of giggles together—so loud that the officers turned back toward them and peered over their aviators.
“And that's our cue, ward.” Tuck stood. The slimy coffee had worked its magic—he wasn't exactly stone cold sober, but he felt he could manage a straight line. Bridie hopped off the stool and followed his path. “Back to the homestead.” As they moseyed out the cowboy doors—as innocently as either could manage—Penny shot the pair a sly little wink, which Tuck pretended to ignore.
“You ever been on a motorcycle?”
“Well I took one getting here, didn't I?”
“Smartass.”
Together they neatly side-stepped the patch of asphalt a few other officers had cordoned off with police tape. The body had been moved, but a rud
imentary chalk outline remained in the dust. And a stain of blood, still shiny.
“That man. He wasn't a friend of yours, was he?”
“Oh, Lieutenant. Friends has never been a word I use lightly.”
Tuck slid the key into the ignition and offered Bridie his riding helmet. The air was humid. When he reached up to adjust the straps around her much smaller head, his fingers felt the fine gloss of sweat emerging along her temples. Bridie smiled up at him while he felt below her chin. He felt he could feel her leaning toward him then, her body arching in his direction like a flower to sunlight.
“Athena doesn't drive like me,” Tuck said, his voice low. “I just want you to be prepared.” He mounted the bike and closed his eyes as he felt her little body clamor up behind him. Her warm, slightly sticky legs clamped around his middle. The flat pan of her stomach and the swell of her breasts burrowed into his back. Her slender, smooth arms reached low—lower than he would have expected, really—and cradled his taut midsection, just a few inches shy of the bulge in his pants that was fast growing larger. Then she breathed a hot, still-whiskey-soaked breath into his waiting ear: “I'm prepared, these days. I'm always, always prepared.”
It was hard to focus. The road blurred in front of and behind him as he drove. All of Texas (time, space...) seemed concentrated on the Honda, and the girl who gripped his waist while he rode it. Since he rarely rode with a passenger, Tuck was suddenly aware of the new weight as they glided across the flatlands. Together, they were heavy. The pair of them made gravity.
Tuck could hear nothing but the loud sputter of the engine, but he imagined Bridie whispering things into his ear: sweet, sexy, dirty nothings, more stuff of his fantasies. But then he reminded himself—this wasn't a dream. She was really behind him, and this was her body, and something might happen tonight. He felt like a fucking high school nerd—all worried about getting the girl.
As they pulled into the camp Tuck took note of the overwhelming silence once the engine had cooled. The gang had gone to bed, it seemed—there were no windows lit in either the big house or the rooms above the garage. Checking his watch, he realized they'd stayed out longer than intended. It wouldn't be long before dawn crept over the earth.
They sat for a moment in the silence, waiting for the road thrum in their ears to give way to cicadas and the nighttime songs of various Texas critters. Bridie, Tuck realized, was panting and trembling behind him. Still road-shocked.
“You are much faster than Athena,” the girl stuttered. Her hands remained locked about his midriff. Unthinkingly, Tuck put his own palms over her fingers. They sat like this a moment, in the summer night. He held on to the quiver that now ran through his whole body, feeling her breathing on his damp neck.
“It's late,” Bridie said finally, after what felt like ten minutes, “and Athena might worry.”
Tucker still stayed quiet. He waited. There was something about this girl...
When Bridie still made no move to dismount, Tuck gently took her hand and placed it—lightly—over the throbbing erection in his jeans. He leaned his head back then, shaking out his hair, aiming his gaze up at the stars. He waited again.
He reminded himself that he could ostensibly make her do anything, here in the quiet woods. No one was there to judge or see. He could take her, as he'd planned to only yesterday. He could have his way with her, and no one would be the wiser. The thought gave him both a thrill and a twist in his stomach.
Bridie's hand was still on his jeans, but he became aware of a pulse along his back, where her heart lay. She radiated heat from every pore. And then, to Tuck's almost impossible pleasure, the ward moved her hand up and across his pants, rubbing his member through the denim. He grew at her touch.
Tuck nearly cried out from the wave of pleasure, the fervent, eager little movements her hand made along his crotch. He felt his tip grow wet with precum. He gasped, and then began to buck and thrust against her palm and fingers. “Please,” the Rider heard himself beg, “Oh please, Baby. Let me get inside of you. Oh, Jesus.”
In response, Bridie took another hand and reached up to cup Tuck's stubbly chin. She swiveled his face towards her own, so their eyes met over his shoulder. Her body had seemed so nubile, nearly virginal, but her eyes told a different story: Tuck knew immediately that this little woman knew exactly what she was doing.
He kissed her then, reaching a powerful hand upward to cradle her soft cheek. His muscular arms bulged with the effort to contain her. Her mouth was warm and giving, all welcome. He sucked on the plump part of her lower lip, before moving his own mouth down. He twisted on the bike to reach her neck, his lips roving. He sought to tilt her head all the way backward, so he could drink in as much of her body as possible.
Then, Bridie took the biker's hand and snaked it along her own thigh, placing it finally on the rounded, damp patch of her pubis. She wasn't wearing underwear, Tuck discovered with an electric thrill. And like her mouth, her pussy was warm and improbably wet. He pressed one thick finger into the pad of her clitoris, beginning to rub in quick, deep circles.
Like he had moments before, Bridie nearly cried out—but he shut her pleading mouth with an ardent kiss. Tuck was now facing his woman fully on the bike. His own straining cock rubbed along the naked expanse of her thigh. He moved his hands down and gripped her supple cheeks, so hard that he could imagine his fingers leaving marks.
“Lie down,” he commanded. “Lie down, and spread your legs.” The girl did so. She flung her lovely body across the back of his bike's seat, so her arms and head draped almost off the back of the bike. Tucker all but tore the thin linen dress off her body, peeling the cloth up and over her head so she lay there naked, body glinting pale and perfect in the moonlight.
Tuck took one reverent moment to drink her in, the contours, the sweet hills and valleys of Bridie's frame. But the girl was already humping his hand with abandon, nudging her pussy up and into his waiting palm. His other hand still gripped her ass tight. She cooed and yelped at an increasing pitch.
Tuck scooted himself farther back, so his own ass touched the handlebars. Then he pushed one rough finger into her waiting folds, relishing the feel of her juices as they snaked along his wrist. Bridie bucked again, so hard this time that her head and arms flung back against the bike's wheels. Tuck slid a second finger into her pussy. He watched her pert little nipples stiffen with pleasure, her swollen mouth form the shape of a joyful, 'O' as she got close. For a few moments he slid his fingers in and out, up and out, fast and hard along the rise of her G-spot.
“I want you to come for me, Baby. I want you to come so fucking hard you forget your name.”
Bridie opened her eyes then, looking briefly startled. But then she reached a hand down and grasped her lover's dripping wrist. Looking straight into his eyes and drawing his fingers as deep inside her as they could possibly go, she came with a shudder, flooding the seat of the Harley with a warm burst of cum.
As her body lay shuddering, Tuck bent low to kiss her still-throbbing clit. When she quivered at the contact, he moved his kisses outward, brushing his lips against the quivering skin of her thighs, the expanse of her bare stomach, the swells of her breasts. He sucked her left nipple for a long time, positioning his body so he could cradle her in both hands. Bridie contoured to him, wrapped her body around his. A coyote howled in the distance like some sort of twisted finale fanfare.
Though he was still hard as a rock, Tuck fell spent over his lover. He felt her heartbeat again, through the thin layer of his t-shirt. Neither of them spoke for what felt like ten minutes. Bridie's eyes fluttered with sleep. He kissed her earlobe lightly.
“Well,” Tuck said finally.
“Don't say anything,” Bridie whispered. She grasped him a little tighter, though he felt a kink coming up in his neck from their awkward situation on the bike. Sure enough, at the horizon Tuck could discern grey morning rays coming up through the trees. Soon, it would be morning. Soon, the camp would quicken with activity, and they'd
have to explain...whatever this was....to someone.
“I should go,” the girl said finally. “I don't know...yeah. I should just go.” Tuck rose reluctantly, then turned like a gentleman so she could find and resume her dress. Before he could come up with any kind of thoughtful parting words Bridie had hustled off into the night, in the direction of the garage. In a moment more, it was like the whole thing might have been a dream. The only memory was the smell and feel of her left behind, intermingled with a whiff of honeysuckle from the forest that he hadn't noticed before.
“Motherfucker,” Tuck whispered to the dark. He locked the ignition, then moved towards his own quarters. He started to let himself smile, but just as he reached the yawning door to the upstairs rooms he caught sight of lamplight in the big house. He squinted to see which room the light came from, and saw only a figure in shadow for an instant. Then, the light snapped out.
Chapter Twenty
Bridie awoke the next morning to a towel in her face, covered with motor oil. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” cried her new caretaker in a flinty voice. “Got a lot of engines to put on blocks today. Barons gotta ride, you know.”
Her head was spinning, the same way it had during those mornings spent in the interrogation room—it took a moment to remember where she was, even who she was. Aunt Caroline was dead. She was waking up, once more, in the company of the Barons of Sodom. The towel was one of Athena Sark's. Everything smelled like motor oil and gasoline because this was a garage.
Vulnerable (Barons of Sodom) Page 7
