by Jodi Linton
“Fine. I’ve got rap sheets down by the Gulf Coast all the way up to the Red River. And I’m proud to say one of those citations is for punching a cop in the face. The Houston DEA administrator, to be exact.” He pulled the smoke from his lips and flicked it on the ground, snuffing it out with a boot tip. “A bar fight’s a bar fight. Right, Em Connors?”
Nothing in the undercover rule book stated he had to reveal personal information to get the job done. Yet Cade always found immense pleasure talking about how he clocked DEA administrator Matt Hunt upside the head at the annual HPD vs. DEA pool tournament. Besides, Hunt had had it coming. The bastard shouldn’t have broken his kid sister Grace’s heart. And from the pleased expression ghosting across the face of the stunningly attractive woman before him, Cade knew she’d enjoyed his tale.
Those blue eyes again, clearer than a thousand ocean sunsets, cut straight through him. “How did you know to ask for a chick? It’s not like I’m known to flaunt my president status.”
Rocking forward on the toes of his boots, Cade tested the distance between them, needing to examine if the tattoo was real. “A gentleman never tells.”
Em pursed her lips. “You’re no gentleman.”
A hard swallow worked in his throat. “Easy guess.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You look like a smart cookie, Outlaw, so enough with the bullshit. It’s likely to get you killed.”
Cade cut a glance at the big guy to her left and decided it was best to come clean. “I talked to some of the local mechanics in town, and they all told me a broad ran the show when it came to the Dirty Sinners.” He threw his arms out at his side. “Like I said, I’m here looking for work.”
The muscle at twelve o’clock grunted, and he watched her shoulders stiffen. She cut the guy a warning glance, and then she stepped even closer, smiled warmly, and flicked his leather vest open. “Got a name”—her gaze zeroed in on the ink hidden beneath his shirt—“outcast?”
He rubbed his neck, unconsciously. “Cade. Cade Jackson.”
“Well, Cade.” She leaned in a little too damn close for comfort. “Not sure how your old crew did things…but here at the Sinners we are a little wary of new blood.” The princess president cut a glance at the biker standing behind her gearing up for a throw-down. “Ain’t that right, Logan?”
His stomach rolled, the tremble settling midchest. “I’m just seeking some work…and maybe a change of scenery.” Cade dragged his eyes down her body, silently cursing at the way her leather pants hugged her sexy curves. “And this view seems real promising.”
She gave him a look, one of merit and promise. “I don’t give a flying fuck that your ass got itchy to find a new adventure. The Sinners aren’t looking to bring any heat to our premises. So what’s your angle, Cade? It can’t just be you’re looking for work.”
One shot. Don’t fuck this up. This is not the time to act like some renegade cop out for justice.
He scowled at the man she’d called Logan, who stood, bulging, tattooed arms crossed about his chest, just waiting for a reason to fuck him over. One wrong move and it’d get him killed. Sucking in a deep breath, he accidently inhaled the rich scent of Em Connors. He paused, then took into account the Sinners vice president. From the look on his face, he knew the guy had a set of blue balls for his boss. He couldn’t blame the biker, but he’d figure a way to use that weakness against him in order to gain a leg up with the motorcycle princess.
Hooking a thumb in his jeans pocket, he spat on the ground, then glanced back at his mark. “Work, yes. But now that I look around, I thought you could use some brains, seeing how none of your men look to be bright enough to hold down the fort.”
She shoved a hand into his chest and grinned. “Damn, aren’t you a cocky ass? You must be in the market for a beating from my guys.”
“I call them like I see them. But I’m more than happy to take a punch if you’ll be dishing out the first swing.”
Big, bottomless eyes examined him, trying to slice to the core of his hidden truths. Then a set of fuck-me hips rubbed up against him, and his cocked stirred again. Get it together, man.
“I don’t mess around with the hired help.”
Damn woman. She’d caught him off guard. He could already tell Em Connors might have a bite to go along with the bark.
He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “Worried you might enjoy it?”
She quickly pulled away. “Nope. I’m just much more interested in running the show.” Then she stepped back, making the space grow wider between them.
She might be the prettiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on, but he’d learned those types usually turned out to be the most lethal. And this one had secrets he needed to uncover if he ever intended on seeking justice for Wes.
“So, princess.” He could have sworn he heard a gasp. “You gonna talk to me about that job, or not?”
Now her gaze turned cold, unreadable, and met him dead-on. A hint of anger fired off those red, bee-stung lips as she barked another order. “If he’s clean, then send him into my office.” Em cut him one more glance and turned, walking back toward the clubhouse.
Remember, she’s a coldhearted, drug-dealing bitch. Not my next long-term relationship.
Arms hung at his side in surrender, Cade kept his gaze fixed on a tight, round ass, secretly admiring how much fun this undercover gig was going to be even if it ended as always: blood, guts, and no glory.
“Well, honey, do I need to get down on bended knee in order to receive the royal treatment?”
The woman occupying every nerve cell of his body shot him the finger. “Did you hear him, Logan? This one wants the royal treatment. Have fun with the initiation, boys. I know I’m looking forward to it.” Em leaned against the office door shut in their faces, leaving his fate in the hands of her vice president.
Cade smiled, airing confidence. “So, this is awkward,” he managed to say right before a fist connected with his jaw.
Blood ran down the length of his chin. It was just another outing with the boys. Fun. He’d experienced the beat-down more times than he could count on one hand. All clubs had their own way of allowing an outsider into the folds. But the motherfucker dealing the blows today had a helluva mean uppercut. The vice president gripped his arms, digging at flesh in a pat-down that was borderline psychotic. Not exactly his idea of a blissful Sunday afternoon. Cade lit another cigarette, clamping it between his blood-crusted lips as the guy circled him. He puffed out a ring of smoke.
“Push any deeper and you might find gold.”
His arms strained back, and then his chest smacked into the brick wall, the rough surface flat and harsh against his cheek. On a sharp inhale, Cade watched the smoke fall from his mouth to the ground.
“Cocky son of a bitch, aren’t ya?”
There had to be some dirt that would get to Logan. Some piece of information Cade could use to help widen the gap between Em and her vice president.
“Sure about that, big guy? Because I’m pretty certain that’s a hard cock I feel pressed up against my asshole.”
That’d done it. Rough hands spun him around and knuckles collided with his nose. The tangy taste of blood coated his mouth and tongue the way a fresh application of lip gloss lingered after kissing a girl. Cade turned a cheek and spat a wad of saliva mixed with blood near his boot.
“Like it rough, huh?” he muttered under his breath. “Sorry to disappoint, man, but I’m not much into taking it up the ass.”
“You haven’t seen rough, asshole.”
Logan gripped him by the shoulders and slammed the back of his head into the brick wall. Cade shook off the fog blurring his vision and tried to remember why he couldn’t send his fist into the biker’s face. He wasn’t the target. Besides, the guy seemed to have Em’s loyalty, and he couldn’t risk pissing her off by knocking her right-hand man out cold.
He leaned into Logan. “It must suck being so hard up on a chick who doesn’t give a shit about that cock inside your
pants. I wonder if I could get her to pay attention to mine?”
“Motherfucker,” Logan grunted as he punched him in the jaw again. “Em might buy that job bullshit, but I’m on to you.”
Cade lifted an eyebrow and said, “On to me, how? That I enjoy hot tail like your president and a little extra cash to pad my pockets?”
The biker’s nostrils flared, and in that moment Cade decided his last comment might’ve pushed the asshole over the edge. It’d been a run-of-the-mill diversion tactic he’d used to force the guy’s mind off his suspicions. Such questions would get him fucked.
Dead.
“I’m about to teach you a Sinners’ lesson.” Logan jabbed a kneecap into his thigh, drilling home that his comment had worked. “We hate nosy little outsiders.”
Cade clenched his teeth and braced for the inevitable rib punch when the office door flung back open.
“I’d hate for my head mechanic to break his hands over some asshole.” Cade looked up, catching Em resting a hip against the doorway. “Leave our new guest to me, Logan. I need you to get back to work. We both know that 1952 Vincent Black Lightning won’t fix itself.” She cocked her head at the garage. “Adams will be by tomorrow, and I don’t want him laying eyes on a pile of junkyard parts. And, Logan, double check to make sure the boys cleaned up the mess in the garage.”
Logan snorted, the hesitation apparent to Cade in his movement, but then he released his arms and exited around the side of the building.
“A Vincent Black Lightning, huh?” Cade let out a cough and wiped his mouth clean with the sleeve of his jacket. “Impressive.”
“Not mine.”
When she moved away from the door, he couldn’t help but stare at the way that tiny tank top rode up her stomach. Bare skin moved into his line of sight, and he shifted, desperate to gain control of his lust-driven reaction. He shouldn’t be thinking about pushing her against the building wall and letting his hands roam all over her killer body, about yanking down her top and drawing her nipples between his teeth, about listening to her moans and the effect she would have on him as she rode his cock. Fuck. She was a job. Not some pornographic fantasy. Talk about concussions. All those punches to the head must’ve done a number on him. Why else was he daydreaming about riding Em bareback?
Cade casually tugged at the collar of his cut, making a point to keep his gaze eye level. “So about that job…” He got caught up in the movement of her boobs jiggling above the neckline of her tank top when she stuck out a hand.
“You gonna gawk at my tits some more or shake my hand?” she asked, mindlessly fiddling with a gold chain bracelet on her wrist.
Shrugging, he gave her a half smile. “That butterfly is there for a reason, right?”
“Come on, we can discuss that job you’re so game to get your hands on.” She laughed, the girlie sound a pleasant surprise. “There’s a bathroom in my office. Time to clean up, Cade.”
Chapter Four
Who was this guy really? He sure didn’t look like someone who would enjoy the gypsy lifestyle.
Twisting the washcloth in her hands, Em stood for a second more, wetting the rag under the lukewarm water. Slouched down shirtless on her couch, the lone biker leaned his head over onto the armrest, stretching a toned, muscled stomach. A light dusting of brown hair trailed like an arrow directly toward his fly. And damn, it was something she didn’t want to notice. She hadn’t felt anything for a man in a long time. Well, not since the night she’d laid blindfolded, listening to her lover beg their masked attacker to spare her life. For ten months she’d woken in a cold sweat from her repetitive nightmares that always ended when the gun fired, taking her fiancé’s life and setting her on the path of revenge. She doubted she’d ever feel anything again, let alone go out of her way to help a strange biker.
She turned off the faucet and stepped into the doorway. “Sorry about the jaw, Cade.”
A rough laugh filled the small space, and her heart fluttered at the deep chuckle.
“No you’re not.” He lifted up and reached for the bloody white T-shirt lying in a pile on the floor. “But don’t worry about it. This ain’t my first rodeo.”
“Wait. You shouldn’t put that bloody shirt back on.”
“Haven’t I troubled you enough already?”
She couldn’t disagree. Yet she wasn’t ready for Cade Jackson to leave. Because the guy staring at her, who just moments ago had both his ripped, tattooed arms lazily slung above his head, caused her mouth to grow dry, and she wanted to gawk some more. Soak in his sexual masculinity. Indulge. Her heart might be dead, but she still had an occasional urge.
Unconsciously, he began to rub his two fingers together. She remembered the feeling, that nasty itch that came with trying to kick the habit. Opening the top file cabinet drawer, she rooted a hand inside, fingernails skimming envelopes and a box of paper clips before flitting over an old pack of cigarettes. “How about a smoke?”
A bit of excitement dawned at the way his amber-colored eyes danced upon her offer. “Don’t mind if I do.”
He stood. Both long legs strode toward her, narrowing the distance between them. When he leaned against the file cabinet and stretched his bare chest into view, the air stilled in her lungs. Mouth visibly close, Cade reached out and plucked the smoke from her trembling fingertips. Normally, Em hid the fear that consumed her on a daily basis by talking shit, playing the part of the baddest girl in a man’s world, and turning a blind eye to all the criminal activities the Sinners chose to fill up their time. But she hadn’t been prepared for the effect Cade Jackson would have on her sexually numb body—the way he made her burn and ache to be touched. And yet she knew she just wasn’t ready. No matter how much he revved her libido, she wouldn’t open herself up to another man.
“No problem.”
“Not gonna light one, too?”
“I kicked the habit months ago.”
He seemed to debate an inner demon, then scooped up the lighter off the desk. “Good for you.” Smoke rings puffed about his perfectly sexy mouth. “Although…” He cocked his head at her desk and pulled a lazy, heart-stopper grin. “You might want to think about taking up another habit or hire yourself a cleaning lady.” Cade lifted his hands, palms up in the air. “No offense, Connors, but I’m wondering how you intend on paying me with all those unopened bills lying around.”
Her heart actually stopped at his words. How stupid could she be to bring some outside biker into her office? The piece of paper on which she’d jotted down the DEA agent’s name sat front and center on her desk.
Damn, damn, damn, this guy could be anyone. He could work for anyone. Thinking on her toes, which seemed to be a specialty of hers lately, Em reached out, grabbed his arm, and pulled him closer into her. The hard line of his mouth was quickly replaced by a crooked smile. His skin felt amazing pressed into hers. Brown eyes grew heavy, and when he dipped his head, she realized exactly what her move to divert his attention might cost her. Smoke rings engulfed the thin air between them. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, the longing in his gaze making her shiver with temptation.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” His hand flew up to her face and cupped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “But I bet you knew that, didn’t you, Em?”
Mistake number one, thinking this guy was anything but her type. “W-we…should talk about the…”
“The job.” He intercepted her thoughts. “But I want to talk about how I don’t think you understand what a turn-on it is to see a woman, to see you, having the loyalty of a dozen men.”
If he only knew the actual truth, except this guy making her question her own fucking loyalty to seek out revenge would never get to see that side of Em Connors. She wasn’t even sure if that girl existed anymore.
She slumped against the file cabinet as if she’d been burned by his touch. “The job, Cade,” she said, inflicting some authority in her voice.
“What’s up with this hot-and-cold act you’ve got going?” h
e asked through a drag, his gaze still blazing. “You want up close and personal, but at the first sign of a compliment you pull away. Commitment issues, babe?”
Her hand automatically skimmed across the bracelet fastened at her wrist. “What’s up with asking questions that aren’t any of your business?”
“Fair enough.” He scrubbed a hand over his sore jaw and winked. “I know when I’m being let down easy.”
“So about that job, Cade. How are your mechanic skills? Good, I hope.”
He pulled a drag. “Decent. I’ve worked in chop shops all over the state.”
“Any good with fixing old bikes?”
He shrugged. “Better than most.”
His matter-of-fact comment piqued her interest. Maybe curiosity had gotten the best of her, or maybe she was just so damn lonely that the idea of having a man she clearly found attractive around the garage seemed logical. Someone or something to take her mind off daily routines. Allow herself a bit of fun in her life to break up the monotony. Damn. Just damn. Do not go there, honey. Nothing special about this biker—except that he makes me need a tall drink of cold water. And holy hell, that smile. No calories in eye candy.
Em’s throat went dry. “We have a position open, but I’m taking you on a trial basis to see if you’re as good as you say.” Clearly trying to keep her eyes pec-level high, she edged around the desk and shuffled through some paperwork until she found the application beneath the pile. She plucked it up and began to hand it over. “The job’s temporary, minimum wage, and it starts tomorrow.” She stalled when he moved closer, the lines of his face rigid.
He reached out and grabbed the application, knuckles brushing hers.
She’d been a grease monkey’s daughter for the better part of her life and rubbed elbows with some of the best motorcycle mechanics in the industry. It didn’t matter that each one of them came with a rap sheet. She was used to them, but none of those guys had stormy-brown eyes. Still, Em could handle it. She was born to run this show. The corners of his mouth turned up as she allowed her gaze to linger a little longer than necessary on his tattooed chest.
