by Kay Maree
Darcy’s shocked expression lightens as she nods shyly at Lula. “I’d like that. Thank you so much. I’m really glad I came back here tonight.”
Yeah, I’m kind of glad Scarlet dragged me to Tainted too. I have a feeling that Darcy is going to fit in well with our band of misfits.
Chapter Ten
Lucifer
“Need you to look at this,” Trace mutters tightly, dropping a file on my desk.
“Morning to you too, asshole,” I grunt in response opening it and skimming over the two measly pages inside.
The information staring back at me has me snapping the folder shut, and glaring at Trace like he’s lost his goddamn mind. “What the fuck is this? And why the hell are you poking around in shit that is none of our business? You know who these guys are, right?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s a favor for a friend,” he grunts without answering my questions.
“This friend worth ending up in a shallow grave for?” I ask seriously.
“More than.”
Well, all right then. I’ll start ordering his headstone now, shall I?
Regarding him closely, I note the closed off expression on his face and the tight set of his shoulders. Apparently, whatever has him digging into the Irish Mob must be important to him because I’ve never known Trace to be reckless or impulsive.
With that in mind, I state, “Then I suppose you and I should sit down and go over this shit because there’s no way in hell I’m letting my wife’s father end up six-feet under.”
Half an hour later, and I’m no closer to understanding what Trace’s interest in these guys are. “You’re going to have to give me something, man,” I prompt, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Nelson Dunleavy doesn’t have any outstanding warrants, and aside from being brought in for questioning on a double homicide that he was cleared of, his record is clean.”
“It’s not Dunleavy I’m looking into. He’s a means to an end, nothing else.”
“Then who?’ I say, getting more and more confused by the minute.
Every shred of information in the file he handed me pertains to, Nelson Dunleavy. Even then, there isn’t much; a few parking tickets, the record of his police interview, and a grainy image probably taken during a stakeout.
“Elias McDougal, his enforcer.”
“Oh, fuck no,” I bellow, spearing him with a withering look. “Have you lost your motherfucking mind? I don’t give the first fuck who you’re looking into this for; it stops now.”
When I was President of the Satan’s Sons, Dunleavy’s old man was head of the Irish Mob here in the U.S. Nelson was in his early twenties, and nowhere near experienced enough to take over the American operations of one of the world’s most notorious crime syndicates. Nelson’s best friend, Elias McDougal was already busy making a name for himself as a brutal, emotionless killer even back then, and his reputation has only gotten worse with every passing year.
A year before I stepped down as President, McDougal was sent to approach the club about running protection for a shipment they had coming in from Canada. If it worked out, they were offering us ten percent of the value of the shipment, and a permanent gig, taking over from the Soldiers of Havoc that had been in charge of their protection for more than a decade.
I’m not sure what they expected, but I wasn’t some wet behind the ears newbie. I had held the gavel for going on twenty years, so I knew a set up when I saw one.
Soldiers of Havoc weren’t one of our support clubs, but we weren’t rivals either. Skull is a good man and an even better President. The last thing me and my boys needed was a beef with him, or his club because that would equal war. And everyone who’s anyone in the MC world knows the fastest way to start a war is to fuck with a clubs’ income stream. Which, in essence, is what McDougal was proposing.
In the nicest way possible, which means I didn’t put a bullet between his eyes, I turned McDougal and the Irish Mob down flat. I didn’t even bother taking that shit to a vote. To say, McDougal was happy with my decision is like saying a Priest enjoys celibacy. In other words, he was pissed, not that I gave a fuck. His parting promise was that he was going to make Satan’s Sons pay for declining their generous offer, and he did.
Six weeks after his visit, three of my boys went missing and were later discovered on an almost deserted stretch of highway. They had been on a run to deliver a new batch of 9mm to one of our charters out that way. When they didn’t show up, the Charter President, Neo called me to reported it. Our searches for them came up empty handed until the county sheriff arrived and asked me to follow him down to the station to look at some photos of three bodies that were brought into a local hospital in Arizona. Their ink had been burned off, and their bodies were barely recognizable after spending weeks exposed to the elements in the blistering heat, but I still managed to positively ID them.
We buried them with honor, just like they deserved, but we never forgot them. We never forgot the message the Irish Mob sent, either.
“The way I see it, we don’t have much of a choice,” Trace mutters in response, bringing me back to the present. “Something he wants is in Waterfield, so it’s only a matter of time before he shows up here, and I want to be ready for him.”
“Whatever it is isn’t worth the shit storm that will come with him Trace. I’m telling you, McDougal doesn’t fuck around metering out his sick form of justice,” I tell him.
“Yeah, well, I’m not fucking around, either.”
“And what about your kids, Trace? I’m not risking my woman’s safety because you’ve got some kind of hard-on for this guy.”
Trace shocks the shit out of me with what he says next, but I don’t let it show. “I trust you to protect, Tate. And as for my girls, I’ll have Levi and Wyatt watching them.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying and failing to stave off the headache I can feel looming behind my eyes. “Level with me, Trace. What’s this really about? If you want my help, you’re going to have to give me more than this,” I state, pointing at the file in front of me.
Begrudgingly Trace tilts his head in agreement. “Lula’s married to the bastard, and he wants her back.”
Well, shit. That settles that then. I take it Trace, and I are going hunting.
* * * *
“He’s in the wind. Tracked him to a motel outside Salt Lake City, but lost his trail after that.”
“Fuck,” comes Trace’s hissed response.
Yeah, that sounds about right.
Two weeks of hunting this asshole down and we’ve got dick to show for it. Not that I thought getting a lock on McDougal would be easy, but he’s proving to be more fucking slippery than either Trace, or I gave him credit for.
Trace and I got straight to work after our briefing two weeks ago. Trace called Chase and let him know we were going off the grid for a while, which didn’t make the other man happy, but it’s not like he was given a choice in the matter. Trace wasn’t in the mood to explain why, and Chase took that to mean he shouldn’t ask questions if he didn’t want his ass linked to something that would inevitably affect his business.
I didn’t want to leave Tatum after we’d just got on the same page, but Trace wasn’t budging. He wanted to stick around and keep an eye on Lula, and since she is invariably McDougal’s target, I drew the short straw.
I’d been to Arizona, Wyoming, the Dakota’s, and now Utah all within the span of fourteen days following McDougal’s movements only to come up empty-handed. I was more than ready to be done with this wild goose chase and get home to my wife. But that wouldn’t be happening until tomorrow, which is what led me to now, sitting in a chain motel, stroking my dick to the memories of the last night I spent with Tatum five days ago...
Tatum leaned back with her forearms planted on the bed as I crawled between her legs. Throwing her legs over my shoulders, my mouth closed over her pussy, and I ate. I licked, sucked, devoured every inch of her dripping wet cunt, and I loved it. Her taste. H
er moans. The way she pulled my hair, anchoring me to her as if she thought I was going up and disappear.
My fingers trailed up the outside of her thighs, clamping down on her hips to hold her down as she thrashed beneath me. Fuck yeah. My wife got off on having my mouth between her legs. She got off on my fingers, but it was my cock she went wild for. A cock I was going to give her as soon as I’d eaten my fill.
Separating the outer lips of her pussy, I plunged two thick fingers into her scorching heat and zeroed in on her clit. Tatum’s hips bucked up to meet my mouth, silently asking for more. I could do that. I could so do that. Teasing her nub with short, sharp flicks of my tongue, I crook my fingers inside her and aim for G-spot. The tight bundle of nerves sets off a chain reaction. The speed Tatum’s first orgasm hits her, coupled with my refusal to let up and allow her to ride it out, causes a second orgasm stronger than the first to rack her body only moments later.
Once I’m satisfied that my woman is primed and ready for me to take her hard, I move up her body and position my throbbing cock at her entrance. This wasn’t going to be a slow and languid ride. No, this was going to be a hard and fast fuck.
“You ready for me, sweetheart,” I asked as I looked down at my beautiful wife through lust-filled eyes.
“God, yes,” she panted, rocking her hips against my dick, coating me in her wetness.
My mouth connected with hers, crushing our lips together with bruising force. At the same time, my cock slammed inside Tatum, hitting her cervix in one brutally powerful thrust.
Tatum tasted like toothpaste with a hint of the coffee she had downed before bed, and hot, sensual woman. She was fucking delicious.
Our hands roamed, grabbed, kneaded every inch of exposed flesh we could reach. My mouth moved down her the long expanse of her neck, sucking, licking, latching on to the spot between her neck and shoulder that I knew would drive her insane. And it did.
“Marcus,” she moaned, arching her back so that her chest was pressed hard up against mine.
I reached down, hitching her thigh up over my hip, opening her up wider to take my punishing strokes. “Is this what you need?” Rotating my hips so that the base of my cock rasps over her clit, I growl, “You need me to fuck you
hard, baby? You need me to make sure you still feel my cock inside you every time you sit down?”
Tatum’s nod is the only response I get, but that’s okay. The fact that I’ve rendered her speechless is all the confirmation I need that this is exactly what my woman needs.
Whispering all the filthy things I want to do to her into Tatum’s neck, I continue to drive into her with such force I would be concerned I was hurting her if it weren’t for the moans of pleasure slipping from her lips.
One of my hands finds Tatum’s ass, squeezing it hard, as the other gives the same treatment to her right breast. My lips capture her nipple, sucking it into my mouth, making sure to scrape my teeth over the sensitive peak.
Without breaking the momentum of my thrusts, I rise up and over her with one fist now planted in the mattress beside her head and watch. Tatum’s skin is flushed pink from her nipples to her cheeks. Her pupils are dilated with desire. And her breathing is choppy and shallow. Never has my wife been more beautiful than when she’s taking me inside her body. Seeing her like this; hot, desperate, craving what only I can give her makes me feel like a king.
We were both so close to the edge, so ready to let go and catch each other that I knew this wasn’t going to last much longer, regardless of how badly we wanted it to. My balls slapped wetly against her ass as her pussy sucked me in deeper. Tatum’s fingernails bit into the skin on my shoulders making me groan against the slick skin between her tits.
We came together the same way we climaxed; hard. The intensity of our orgasms left us breathless and sweaty, but personally, I’d never felt more complete.
“I take it you’re heading home then?” Trace guesses correctly, interrupting one of the best middle of the day fantasies I’ve had in a long time.
“Unless you’ve got another location for me, then yeah,” I confirm.
“I’ve got jack shit. Called in favors from everyone I know that could possibly find a lead on where he is, and nothing. He’s like a fucking ghost,” he ends on a frustrated grunt.
“I’ll be on the road in the morning. Once I’m back, we’ll sit down and go over everything we’ve got and see if something turns up. I’m not saying we missed anything on the first pass, but no one’s infallible, man,” I reassure him, knowing it’s the truth.
With a heavy sigh, Trace admits, “Tate will be happy you’re coming back. Without you here, she’s been up my ass about making a move on Lula, and micromanaging shit at home within an inch of its life.”
Yeah, that sounds like my woman.
When Tatum gets stressed out or angry, she needs an outlet. And unfortunately for Trace, it sounds like he has been the focus of Tatum’s attention this time around.
Chuckling at the poor bastard, my grin widens. “What did she do this time?”
“Fuck you,” he hisses without any heat behind it. “I love my daughter, I really fucking do, but I’m seriously considering disowning her. She detailed my truck. And when I say detailed, I mean she went to fucking town on it. Right down to waxing the seats so that when I went to sit down, my ass slid right back out again. You know how goddamn humiliating it is to fall out of your truck ass first, in front of a client no less?”
“Jesus,” I snort.
“Yeah, laugh it up buddy because I know for a fact your place is going to smell like Pine Sol and bleach for the next month. Good luck with that,” he finishes, disconnecting the call.
As far as I’m concerned, I’ll take the smell of cleaning products and obsessive-compulsive woman over having to spend another minute away from my wife. Honestly, I’d take Tatum any way she came if it meant being able to hold her and tell her how much I love her. Which is exactly what I plan on doing in T-minus twelve hours.
Chapter Eleven
Tatum
I have a bad feeling as the tones drop at the fire station, letting everyone know both fire and paramedics are being called out. I can’t put my finger on it, but ever since I woke up this morning things have felt off. So much so, I called Scarlet and Darcy on my way to work to see if it was just me or they were felt it too. According to Scarlet, she’s been feeling jumpy since last night. I haven’t been able to reach Darcy yet, but I’ll keep trying after this call. Ever since Lucifer got back into town last week, I’ve sensed an uneasy tension between him and my dad. Not so much directed at each other, more like in the very air surrounding them. Both of them are on edge as if they’re just waiting for something to happen.
Part of me thinks that may have something to do with why I feel the way I do right now. But then my conscience prickles and I’m reminded of all the times dad has told me to trust my instincts.
The dispatcher's voice crackles over the radio as Josh, and I pull out of the station. “Code 417 reported at 1159 Colonial Boulevard. Officers be advised suspect is wanted in connection with a multiple homicide and should be considered dangerous.”
“Fuck,” Josh hisses. “Isn’t that Lula’s place?”
Oh, God. It is.
“I need to call dad. There’s an alley between the buildings, two doors up. Park there.”
Dad’s cell only rings twice before he picks up. “Hey, sweetheart. I was just going to call you.”
“Dad,” I say, swallowing back the tears threatening to spill over.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” He barks.
“No, I’m fine. I need you to calm down for me, though,” I suggest, telling him to sit down and pay close attention. “We aren’t on scene yet, but we’ve been called out to a 417,” which for everyone who isn’t well-versed in police code stands for ‘person with a gun’.
“I assume Austin’s on route?”
“Yeah, dad, but that’s not what I ne
ed to tell you. The call out is to Lula’s studio. We’re on approach now, about two minutes out, so you’re going to hear the sirens soon. I wanted to tell you first, though.”
His heavy breathing echoes over the line, but he doesn’t say anything. “Dad, everything is going to be okay. I promise.”
The first thing they teach you during training is not to make promises you can’t keep, but this is different. This is my dad and the woman he loves we’re talking about. Dad may not have said as much, but even a blind man can tell he loves Lula. And regardless of all my better judgment, even if it’s only false hope, I have to give him something until I can make sure Lula’s alright.
When he still doesn’t speak, I tell him that I’ve got to go and I’ll call him back as soon as I have any updates on the situation. I highly doubt, dad will last more than five minutes before he’s standing front and center at the police line, but we’ll see.
“This the one,” Josh clips out, pointing to the alley between Sandra’s Hair Design and Dr. Colfax’s Veterinary practice.
“Yeah,” I confirm. “Pull in but line the back doors up with the sidewalk so that if we have to transport, we’ve got easy access.”
Austin is already here, barking orders at a couple of uniforms, as Engine Three pulls up to the curb behind us. “Establish the fucking line, and for Christ’s sake, keep people inside. We don’t know what the state of play is yet, but the last thing we need is an innocent bystander getting shot.” Just as he’s about to walk away, Austin catches sight of me and Josh and strides in our direction.
Pulling me into a one-armed hug, Austin instructs, “Hey, beautiful. No heroics on this one. I get Lula is a friend of yours, but if there’s any chance you can’t keep a professional distance, you let me know, and I’ll call for another bus.”
Giving him what I pray is a reassuring smile, I shake my head no. “That won’t be necessary. A heads up, though. I let dad know what was going on, so you can probably expect him to show up armed to the teeth sometime in the next five or ten.”
