by Jodi Linton
Em sucked on the spoon and a dollop of chocolate ice cream dripped on her chin. Inwardly he groaned and pulled on the cigarette, cooling himself down with a much-needed drag. Bottomless blue eyes narrowed into a curious look, then lowered on the cigarette pinched between his lips. Shame heated his gut. Deep down he knew he should kick the nasty habit, but it kept him calm, sane, and less likely to maul her. All extremely important endeavors right about now.
She set the ice cream tub next to her bare thigh and scooted back, making the hem of his T-shirt ride up higher. “You’re going to need to brush your teeth before I allow you to kiss me again.”
A puff of smoke blew around his face. “Sorry.” He edged past her, plucked the butt out of his mouth, and flicked the butt down the drain. After placing his phone near the kitchen sink, he braced both his hands on the counter’s edge and, over the miles and miles of her endless long legs, tried to focus on an escape plan. “Nasty habit, and it beats me if I know how to fix it.”
That last bit of truth had been his inner cry for help. He’d backed himself into a corner and brought Em along for the ride. Gentle hands gripped his tense shoulder blades and began to rub, soothe, and ease his edgy mood. She pressed her mouth to his neck and kissed him. It wasn’t her touch alone that undid him, but that she cared, cared enough to help ease his troubled soul. In that moment, he decided, fuck protocol. Fuck Roland. Em believed in him, and goddamn he wouldn’t let her down. He pushed both his hands off the counter edge and backed up, soaking in her confused expression. “Listen to me, Em. You need to let me call in backup to help out at the drug drop.” A small sign of regret flashed beneath her worried gaze. No way would he allow her to shut down on him now and push him away. Not after what he’d felt—and knew she’d felt, too—transpire between them. He reached out and gripped her arms, shaking her lightly. Anger laced his voice before he was able to stop himself. “This plan of yours is suicidal, Em. Don’t tell me you can’t see that? See how fucked-up it sounds to go in alone.”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, Cade,” she said bitterly, “other than I’m a good lay. I’m hard and cold-blooded. I was raised to be a criminal. Not a cop’s girlfriend.”
He clenched his teeth and tightened his hold on her. She flinched at first, then came a go-to-hell look. So he acted on the first thing that came to mind and pushed her up against the cabinets, pinning her in place by planting both his arms on either side of her body. “Like hell you’re cold-blooded.” He cut a glance at his gun lying within reach of her fingertips. “Pull the fucking trigger, Em, and rid your life of my goddamn cop ass. Isn’t that what a cold-blooded criminal would do?”
Damn he wished to take that back. There was something about Em that made the asshole inside him rear its ugly head. And he had lousy timing.
“Let’s cut this damn cat-and-mouse game short.” She shoved him in the chest. “You’ve had your fun. There was probably a bet to see how long it took you to screw the biker whore president.” Her brow arched, and her expression was a mix of pain and horror. He couldn’t bear watching her look so broken and fragile. So he made a stupid move and tried to touch her. She slapped his cheek, and he allowed it. He deserved it. “Arrest me so you can go back to your cushy non-criminal life.”
Somehow, he’d taken a moment of truth and let it quickly spiral out of control into a motherfucking fight. He wedged himself between her spread thighs and dropped his chin on her head. “There was never a bet,” he said, hands involuntarily sliding up her thighs of their own free will. “I might’ve made one with myself, but not with any of the other officers. No one knew I was undercover.” He sighed, inhaling the scent of her vanilla perfume that seemed to linger well after a round of sweaty sex. “Then I actually met you, and everything I thought I knew seemed to contradict with the sexy biker offering me a clean shirt in the Sinners’ clubhouse office. I wanted to get close to you. I wanted to find the ‘real’ truth behind the woman pinned as ‘the deadly MC president.’” He gently touched her cheek, knowing if he moved any closer he’d try to kiss her. And right now they both needed to spill the truth more than they needed a kiss. He couldn’t afford to lose her. Not after everything that’d just gone down between them. “And then I kissed you, and I made up my mind when your lips touched mine you weren’t ever going to leave my side. Not on my watch.”
She looked at him and sucked in a breath, eyes glassy and confused. “After Wes’s death I made a deal with the DEA office. I wanted out of the club, and I knew the only way for that to happen was if I turned over something valuable to them.”
Nothing like a few truths to cause a man to want to drink. He swallowed the urge and fingered a piece of her hair. “What exactly did you tell them you’d hand over?”
“I agreed to help the DEA find their dirty cop. Name, rank, division, what have you.” She tugged at the T-shirt hem. “But things changed, I’ve changed. I’m no longer good on the deal. Cyrus Benedict killed Wes, and he needs to pay. Club code and all.”
His fist smacked the counter. “What about us? Is club code more important than what we have?”
Her head fell back. “No. But, Cade, you have to understand this is something I have to do. Revenge is ingrained in me, in my blood, and if I don’t personally see that bullet lodge in Cyrus’s head… It’s who I am. It’s the type of woman my father raised.”
“You really believe that bullshit? Because I sure as hell don’t. You’re so much more than the MC president your father created.” His hand brushed down the side of her cheek. “Turn Cyrus over to the DEA, and I’ll make sure he’s prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Trust me. I can get you that justice you seek. The justice Wes deserves.”
She opened her mouth to reply but stalled when his phone buzzed near her leg. He stood with her legs secured around his waist as her gaze slowly, oh slowly, lowered to the text flashing on the screen. When her whole body stiffened against him, Cade knew whatever the text had said was going to cause some damage. He glanced down at the screen, and fire burned in his gut at the sight of Roland’s message.
Thanks for agreeing to bring Em Connors to the station tomorrow. I knew you wouldn’t turn your back on the department or let me down for a hot piece of criminal ass, Jackson.
Chief Roland.
Fucking prick. Immediately he reached for Em, but she shrank away from him and jumped off the kitchen counter. The sexy brunette who just minutes ago happened to be wrapped in his arms was now shooting daggers at him. “You fucking bastard! Look at you, standing here telling me to trust you.” Her hands slammed into his chest. He stumbled back, and the warmth of her legs vanished along with her sweet touch. “I was going to agree with you. Say yes to your crazy cop plan.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I guess once a cop, always a pig.” She shouldered past him and headed into his bedroom, slamming the door in his face.
When his phone had vibrated, he should have known better than to ignore the pesky sound, but he’d been so locked in on Em that any outside interference was the devil. Why had he thought telling Roland “to stick it where the sun didn’t shine” on an open case had been a smart move? Roland was a bulldog and stopped at nothing when it came to solving a crime or getting what he wanted. And in one phone call, Cade squashed the police chief’s flawless crime-solving record. Roland played him well and hit him exactly where it hurt the most. He’d made Em doubt his loyalty. A feat he’d worked really damn hard to acquire. The sexy MC president had finally opened up and placed her trust in him. Jesus. He raked a hand through his hair and decided to chase after his girl. Let her know the truth…that Roland was playing them both.
“Em, don’t you dare shut me out.” Cade stalked toward the bedroom. As he leaned his forehead into the door, his biggest fucking fear had come to life: she saw him as the enemy. Shit, it hurt. She’d run from him as if he’d burned her. Pounding his fist at the door, he began to shout. “It’s not what you think. If you’d just let me explain…”
The air got knock
ed out of him when the door swung back open, and he saw Em standing in his bedroom, dressed in her skintight black leather pants, halter top, and her sky-high heels.
“Not what I think?” She waved him off and closed in on the doorway. He stood his ground and used his wide frame to block her exit. Wild blue eyes fluttered upward, and then her plump red lips curled into a smile as her gun jabbed him in the chest. Hard. “Step aside, Detective, before I redecorate your bedroom floors in your own blood.”
She has a gun aimed at my heart. A gun. The woman I just made scream my name in passion is willing to shoot me. Damn. Choosing not to call her bluff, he threw up his arms and moved, giving her room to exit through the doorway. “If you walk out that door, don’t expect me to come and bail you out when shit hits the fan.”
“I’d rather rot inside a six-by-eight-foot steel cell than see your face again.” Em stuck her gun down into her waistline and edged out of the bedroom. “Fun times as always, Cade. I’ll get myself a ride, seeing how Logan is always game to lend a hand.”
“But you’re going to turn Cyrus over to the DEA, right?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Or do I actually need to place that call?”
The trailer door crashed shut without even a “fuck off, cop,” and suddenly his nasty urge to light up in times of stress resurfaced.
Chapter Seventeen
No good deed goes unpunished.
Em fiddled with her bracelet as she stalked through the empty field behind Cade’s trailer.
When she’d taken his cock in her mouth and seen the way his heated gaze had worshiped her, she felt that nothing could tear them apart. She assumed they’d connected on a much deeper level than a simple fuck. Hell. Cade said he’d cared about her. It’d been a long damn time since a man actually showed more interest in her than sex. And hadn’t she’d allowed herself to fucking drown in his touch, in his kisses, in his words You can trust me? Truly, she had. She had fallen under his spell. Though she should’ve known it was a bad idea to get involved with him—desiring to be his girl—because in the end he must’ve been only after a good time, since he’d willingly ratted her out to his boss. Fuck, it hurt. She hurt. Wrapping her arms around her body, Em picked up her pace, parting through the brush. Cell-phone service sucked, because she couldn’t get a damn bar to save her life. She needed to call Logan and get the hell back to the clubhouse. There had to be a road ahead. I should’ve hot-wired Cade’s bike. Shit. I should’ve done a lot things, like not sleep with a bastard cop.
Life was so fucked-up.
And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d fallen in love with Cade. Oh my God, I pointed my gun at the guy I love…loved. It was time to come clean to Logan and tell him all the details about her and Cade. Logan would know exactly what to do. He’d understand, even if he’d probably light into her first for getting mixed up with yet another cop.
She glanced around the barren space littered in old tractor parts. It’d been pretty damn stupid riding off on the back of Cade’s bike with no exit strategy if things turned sour. God, she had problems when it came to tattooed dirty-talkers on bikes. Daddy would be so proud, princess. And Christ, now she was calling herself the shitty-ass nickname her father had awarded her on his deathbed. She leaned a hip against an old oak tree and once again checked her phone. Damn, the charge had run out. Somewhere there had to be a gas station, and then she could call Logan to come rescue her ass. And didn’t that sound pathetic. Needing a man’s help.
Fuck, Em, you’ve fallen so damn far.
The sound of boots clomping loudly in the distance rattled her nerves. Clasping the phone to her ear with a shoulder, Em slid the safety off her gun and aimed it in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man sporting a red ball cap saunter out from the shadows. She double checked her gun and pointed it at the stranger giving her a sly, stomach-curdling grin.
With her palms slick and balmy, she tried to move behind a tree in an attempt to hide. When she saw the guy take another step in her direction and his thick, hairy arm reach out toward her, the wariness swimming in her stomach screamed to pull the trigger, but she swallowed the urge and pulled a smile. Fake it until you make it. I’m the motherfucking president of the Sinners.
“Back off, or I’ll shoot.”
“Still a pistol, huh?” The voice deepened. “At least there’s something to love about you, Connors.”
The sound of the man’s voice made her sick, bringing back a flood of terror from the night of Wes’s murder. Her eyes flicked in recognition. She couldn’t breathe. That voice, the telltale sign of a lisp. Her mouth went dry. Familiarity bottomed out in her gut as she dragged her gaze past a pair of smoky-gray eyes and locked on to a tiny scar above his bushy eyebrow. Instantly Em felt the fear she’d tried to suppress with all her stupid shit-talking swallow her whole. He was just an ordinary guy wearing an ordinary ball cap. And yet she knew there was nothing ordinary about him. This guy was the murderer she’d been looking for.
She pointed her gun at him. The trigger snapped, the hard pull vibrating through her forearm, but nothing fired. No loud bang, or “please don’t kill me,” just dead silence, followed by the sound of her heavy breathing mingled with the cruel laughter of the man who wanted her dead.
Who had already tried to kill her.
Em lowered the gun to her side, the memory of unloading the chamber slowly catching up to her clouded thoughts. Earlier she’d only meant to muscle Cade, not shoot him, so she emptied her gun, placing the bullets in the bedside table, keeping them both safe from harm. The exact same bullets she could’ve used this very moment.
“Son of a bitch!”
“It seems all this lovey-dovey bullcrap is messing with that criminal head of yours.” The red-ball-cap guy scrunched his nose, and he gnashed his teeth in annoyance. “Such a disappointment, Em, really it is. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize an old friend?”
Her skin prickled as he lazily pulled a bum leg through a pile of leaves. “You caught me at a bad time.” Her legs trembled, but she played it cool. “I just stormed out on a guy after a one-night stand, so I’m not really into playing games right now.”
A bloodcurdling laugh echoed in the silence. “Looks like getting you alone was easier than I originally thought.” The guy crossed in front of her; the indecent way he checked out her body made her skin crawl. He rested his hand on the gun holstered at his hip. “Let me see if I can help jar your memory. What was it I said that night? Oh, yeah,” he snarled. “‘She’ll have a .47 caliber wedged inside her left boot, boys. Make sure not to rough her up since I plan on seeing just how sweet the Dirty Sinners president tastes before lodging a bullet in her head.’” The vindictive smile grew across his pasty-white face. “Remember me, Ms. Connors? Because I sure as hell remember how you begged me to fuck you if it would save Wes’s life. Scared, now? I would be, Miss President.”
A gasp broke from her lips, and then her teeth sank into her bottom lip as the gun tumbled from her hand and thudded onto the ground. “I’ve always been under the assumption that the big guys in glass houses hired other men to do their dirty work.” She cocked her head at the gun holster strapped to his belt buckle. “But you can’t be a real bad guy, right? Since the real deal wouldn’t be taking out his own goddamn dirty laundry.”
Combat boots toed hers. “Correction, I’m the mastermind who murdered your fiancé. Not that motherfucker wimp Cyrus. How does it feel to know the whole damn time you’d fingered the wrong man?”
Her stomach churned in disgust. “Why should I believe anything you say? That voice”—her thoughts jumbled—“it doesn’t mean you pulled the trigger. For all I know you’re just another one of Cyrus’s goons.”
His slimy smile broadened. “The name’s Roland, princess,” he said, licking his tongue across his bottom lip. “Just a heads-up, I’m the chief of police and Cade Jackson’s boss. Didn’t know you were sleeping with another cop, did you?” The nasty glint in his eyes danced in amusement. “
Seeing how my detective refuses to bring you in, I came to finish the job. Put you in the ground where you should’ve been ten months ago.”
Oh God, Cade’s boss. This whole fucking time the rat has been the chief of police. Don’t look sick. Hold it together, Connors. Stay strong.
Running was no longer an option. She’d walked into this trap all on her own. Steeling herself, she swallowed the bitterness in her throat and forced herself to discover the truth about that horrible night that had dealt so many nightmares. Afterward, if she met her fate, so be it.
“You were supposed to protect Wes. Isn’t that how your shiny badge works?” The pain in her chest yawned wide open. “Which one of my men paid you off to get rid of me?”
The police chief roughly gripped her chin and shook her face, jolting a chilling reminder who was in charge down her spine. “Wes was fucking right.” He laughed, spit landing on her neck. “You don’t have a trustworthy bone in that sexy body. Your old man raised a damn fine Sinner. An untrustworthy bitch he’d be proud of.” Thick fingers squeezed, pinching into her flesh, making the panic set back in. He gave her a knowing glance. “Jackson was never helping me, but I was watching you. I knew sending that text to him would make you run. And you walked right into it.”
“Wait. W-what?”
He slid his hand around the nape of her neck and squeezed. “It was Wes, darling. He’d been on my payroll for two years, dealing dope and making connections with the MC presidents. Drugs, baby. Lots and lots of drugs that you so willingly shot down.” His fingers dug into her. “I sent Wes undercover into the Sinners’ compound hoping he’d convince you to deal or snuff you out and replace you with someone else at the head of the table.”
