Road to Grace (Dogs of Fire Book 8)

by Piper Davenport

  Once inside, Flea covered my mouth with his, his hand to my face, guiding me backwards toward a row of parts tables lined up against the back wall.

  “Careful,” he said, attempting to guide me around something as we walked, continuing to kiss me. Despite his warning, I managed to bump my elbow on the corner of something very hard and sharp; not surprising, given our surroundings.

  “Shit!” I cried out, breaking away from Flea’s delicious lips.

  “Did you hit the cherry picker?” Flea asked, and I looked over to see a large car part of some sort, hanging by a chain on a large metal stand.

  “I don’t know. Is that what that’s called?” I asked, pointing to the object. Flea burst out laughing, killing what little was left of my lady boner. I’ll give him this, he correctly read the expression on my face and stopped laughing, gently taking my elbow in his hands.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Are you okay?” he asked, still smiling slightly.

  “No, my elbow hurts, and you think I’m stupid,” I said, irritated and in pain.

  “Stupid? When did I call you stupid?” he asked, but I said nothing, and pulled my arm away.

  “C’mon, don’t do that,” Flea said. “I only laughed because you’ve been working here for over two weeks, and you still don’t know the difference between a V-twin motorcycle engine, and the hoist that’s holding it up.”

  “See? You think I’m stupid,” I ground out.

  “No, I think you’re smart, beautiful, funny, and that your sexy ass doesn’t know the difference between a spark plug and a butt plug.” He smiled.

  I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. As much as I wanted to be mad at Flea, he was right. He took my hand and kissed it, working his way gently all the way up to my throbbing elbow where he placed one final kiss.

  “Is that better?” he asked.

  “Getting there,” I replied. “But I still don’t get what you boys see in all this metal junk that gets you so excited.”

  “Metal junk?” Flea exclaimed. “Baby, next to you, this Harley V-twin engine is the sexiest thing on the planet. In fact, both of you in the same room is almost more than I can handle.”

  “You’re comparing me to an engine?” I protested playfully.

  “An engine is very sexy when you think about it.”

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  “Lemme show you,” he said, guiding my hands to the chrome beast hanging from the heavy chain. “Inside this dual-cylinder block are pistons. The pistons move in and out of the cylinders, driven by tiny explosions.” He leaned down and ran his lips over my neck.

  “What c… causes the exp… losions?” I asked, finding it hard to form words, distracted by the heat of Flea’s mouth on my bare skin.

  “When just the right spark meets the right amount of fuel, the piston thrusts into the cylinder, driving the crank shaft into motion. This is repeated, over and over. Thrusting in and out, explosion after explosion, until the V is purring.”

  His hand moved down my neck, cupping my breast, then using his palm to rub my nipple into a hard bead. He guided me to the wall and removed his hand long enough to hike my skirt up over my hips, then his hand was between my legs and his breath whispered across my skin as he said, “Of course, friction can be a problem, causing things to overheat. That’s why lubrication is important.”

  I heard the swish of tearing lace as my panties were instantly ruined, but when his thumb went to my clit, I didn’t care. His mouth left my neck and he knelt in front of me, running his tongue over my clit. As I stayed anchored to the wall, he guided one leg over his shoulder and pressed his face further into my pussy, his tongue lapping at my folds.

  I gripped his head, trying to stay balanced as my hips moved of their own accord against his mouth. I let out a whimper. “Flea.”

  He stood quickly, unbuttoning his jeans and dropping them to his ankles, then rolling on a condom. “Hold my shoulders, baby.”

  I did as he directed and was rewarded with his cock pressing against my entrance. “Hold on.”

  He thrust into me and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He gripped my thighs to keep me steady and slammed into me again and again as I tried not to scream his name. One orgasm then another rolled over me and I bit his shoulder to stay as quiet as I could. He buried himself deep and kissed me as I felt his cock pulse inside of me.

  “God damn, you’re perfect,” he whispered, smiling as he kissed me again.

  I slid my hands into his hair. “Back atya.”

  “Gonna let you go now.”

  I nodded, and he pulled out of me, holding me while I set my feet on the ground. He grabbed a wad of paper towels and took care of the condom while I caught my breath.

  Snagging my panties off the floor, he shoved them in the pocket of his jeans, now pulled back over his hips. He pressed a paper towel gently against me and I frowned.

  “I can’t believe you ruined yet another pair of my panties,” I complained.

  He grinned. “Next time don’t wear any.”

  “You’re funny,” I retorted. “Grab my purse, would you?”

  He nodded and left me, returning quickly with my bag where I’d stashed a fresh pair.

  “You little minx,” he said, as I shimmied them on.

  I grinned. “You mean, genius.”

  He kissed me, stroking my cheek. “Yes, definitely a genius.”

  “Is sex always like this?” I asked, fixing my skirt.

  “No.”

  I frowned. “You mean it can be bad?”

  “With us? No, it won’t be.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He slid his hand to my neck. “Are you really concerned?”

  I bit my lip.

  “What, baby?” he pressed.

  “I overheard my mom and Maisie talking once. About sex. It kind of traumatized me,” I admitted. “I remember more the grossness I felt than the words, but now that I know more, a few things fell into place.”

  “And…”

  “Mom faked her orgasms.”

  Flea dropped his head back and laughed. “How old were you?”

  “Ten. I remember because it was the day before my birthday and Maisie had come over to help decorate the house.” I shuddered. “Maisie and my mom shared way too much about their sex lives.”

  “I think we’re okay.”

  “How do you know I haven’t faked my orgasms?”

  He smiled, his eyes getting soft. “Because I know your body, Grace. Believe me, if you weren’t into it, I’d know.”

  “What makes you so special?”

  “You do,” he said. “My whole being wants to make you feel good, so I know when you’re slightly off center, emotionally, sexually, whatever.”

  I looped my arms around his neck and stood on my tiptoes to kiss him gently. “I like that, honey.”

  “On the flipside of that, though. If you’re not feelin’ it, you tell me. Don’t fake anything, okay?”

  “I promise.”

  He smiled, kissing me again, then giving me a gentle squeeze. “You ready to open the shop?”

  I nodded and we went about our day.

  Grace

  AS OUR DAY progressed, I tried not to blush every time Flea walked by the desk. I’m not entirely sure I succeeded, but it was still a valiant effort. I couldn’t believe I liked having semi-public sex. Granted, I wasn’t anywhere near experienced in any sex, period, but I was finding out that I liked sex with Flea, anywhere, anytime.

  “Connor Wallace!” a deep voice bellowed.

  I faced the windows that faced the shop and saw two uniformed policemen, along with two other men in cheap suits. Detectives. I frowned. This was not good.

  “Who’s askin’?” Hatch said, somewhat good-naturedly, stepping out from behind the hood of a car.

  “On your knees!” one of the detectives snapped, his gun now out of his holster.

  “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”

  “Get on you
r knees.”

  Hatch removed his gloves, dropped them on the ground, then got on his knees and linked his fingers behind his head like he’d been through this several times before. I wanted to rush in and do something, but I knew enough to know I would only make things worse. So I grabbed my cell phone and started recording.

  The detective handcuffed my surrogate dad and dragged him back to his feet.

  “Someone call Mack,” Hatch ordered as they hauled him toward the patrol car. “Flea, you call Maisie.”

  Hatch caught my eye and gave me a bolstering smile, but something wasn’t right. What the hell was going on?

  Flea rushed past the customer service desk and into the employee breakroom where our lockers were. No one was in the customer service area, so I followed him. “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t know,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and putting it to his ear. “Mack. Hatch just got nabbed.”

  I heard Mack let out a series of creative curse words, then he wanted to know everything, which Flea provided. At least, what he knew.

  I stood in the middle of the room, rubbing my arms, suddenly very, very cold. While Flea filled Mack in on the play-by-play, he closed the distance between us and wrapped an arm around me. I held my arms to my chest and pressed close to him, taking his warmth into my bones.

  “Yeah, man,” Flea said. “No idea. Hatch just assumed the position. Yeah, I’m gonna call her now. Sure. Okay. Yeah. Cool.” Flea hung up and wrapped both his arms around me. “I need you not to freak out just yet, baby.”

  “I’m okay,” I lied. “Just cold.”

  He stepped away from me long enough to snag his leather jacket off the rack and wrap it around me. “I’m gonna call Maisie.”

  “Okay.” I slid my arms into his sleeves and smiled. “I’m okay.”

  He pulled me against him again and put his phone back to his ear. “Maisie?”

  I decided I had my own phone call to make and stepped away from Flea to grab my phone and call Poppy.

  “Hey, bestie,” she said, answering on the first ring.

  “Hey. Um, is Devon with you?”

  “Yes. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Hatch got arrested.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “We don’t know why, but they just took him away. Flea’s talking to your mom right now and Mack’s already been called.”

  I waited while Poppy filled Devon in on everything I’d told her, then I could hear Devon bellowing in the background.

  “He’s talking to Hawk,” Poppy said. “Was Sid okay?”

  Poppy’s biological father had died when she was two, so when Maisie had married Hatch, Poppy called him her ‘stand-in dad,’ which got shortened to ‘Sid.’

  “He seemed to be,” I said. “But I’ve never seen someone I care about get arrested, so I’m not an expert.”

  She sighed. “Okay, I’m going to call Mum.”

  “Okay, honey. Keep me posted on what you find out.”

  “You too.”

  “I will.” I hung up and walked back into the employee area.

  I walked in just as Flea threw something at the wall with a yell. He dragged his hands down his face and turned tortured eyes to me. This time, it was me wrapping my arms around him and squeezing tight. “We’re going to figure this out,” I promised.

  “None of this makes any fuckin’ sense,” he rasped, holding me close. “There’s nothin’ they can get him on, because he hasn’t done anyone wrong.”

  “Yeah, it’s weird.”

  “I need to get up to the club,” he said. “Preacher’s pickin’ me up. You gonna be okay drivin’ home alone?”

  “I’ve been doing that for a few years now, so yes.”

  He shook his head. “Feisty to the nth degree, huh?”

  Since that was obviously a rhetorical question, I didn’t answer as I stared up at him. “Will you keep me updated as you find things out?”

  “If I can, yeah,” he said. “You should head home now. We’re gonna close up the shop.”

  “What about the work that still needs to be done?”

  “We’re caught up enough. Hatch’s brothers will tag-team tomorrow, then we’ll go from there.”

  I had no idea when he’d had time to call Hatch’s brothers and set all that up, but knowing Flea, he’d probably set up a modern-day phone line the second the officers arrived.

  I nodded. “Will I see you later?”

  “Don’t know, baby, but I’ll call you.” He kissed me quickly, then walked me to my car. “Drive safe.”

  “No, I’m going to ram into a tree,” I deadpanned.

  He gripped my chin with his thumb and index finger. “You ram into a tree, and you and I are gonna have a problem.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He kissed me again. “Text me when you get to your grandmother’s.”

  “I will.”

  I climbed into my car and headed home.

  * * *

  Flea

  Since my bike was at Grace’s grandmother’s, I hitched a ride with Preacher and we pulled into the compound to find the parking lot almost full.

  “All-hands,” Preacher observed.

  “Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I said and climbed out of the truck, heading inside. Every club brother, along with Ace and Knight’s biological FBI brother, Jaxon, milled in the great room. What I wasn’t expecting to see was Grace’s dad. I made my way to him. “Does Grace know you’re here?”

  Ryan shook his head. “Merrick filled me in on what happened. I’m hoping I can help.”

  I crossed my arms. “If you’re expectin’ me to keep this from Grace, you need to adjust those expectations.”

  “Hatch had my back when he could have told me to fuck off,” he said. “I plan to help however I can. I’d like to keep this from Grace for as long as possible, but if you feel you need to tell her that’s up to you. As a side note, I’ve checked you out, and I know you’re clean. I also know you’re Hatch’s guy, which means somethin’, but you hurt my little girl and I will bring down a world of hurt, this shit with Hatch will look like child’s play. We clear?”

  “Clear, man,” I said and walked to where Booker and Hawk were in a heated discussion. “What’s goin’ on?” I asked.

  “Not sure. Crow’s been meeting with Mack and Jaxon for a while,” Hawk said.

  “Has Mack been to see Hatch yet?” I asked.

  “I just said I don’t know anything,” Hawk replied, sounding irritated.

  “He’s acting as his lawyer, right?”

  “I don’t fucking know, Flea,” Hawk growled.

  A loud whistle sounded and we all turned to face Crow. “Right, brothers, this is the situation,” he said as he walked to the center of the room, Mack and Jaxon flanking him at each side. “According to what Jaxon’s been able to find out, the local PD are holding Hatch for suspicion of producing explosives.”

  “What the fuck?” I snapped.

  “It gets worse. They’ve notified the FBI, who will most likely detain him under the Patriot Act. That’s why it was on Jax’s radar so quickly.

  “Hatch is no fucking terrorist.” Ace said, to nods all around.

  “No one said anything about terrorists,” Crow said. “Only that they’re holding him for questioning regarding making explosives.”

  “Which is also complete horse shit!” Hawk exclaimed with a scoff.

  “Obviously,” Crow replied. “We all know Hatch, and I know that he would never purchase large amounts of bomb making materials.”

  “Is that what the cops are claiming?” I asked, unable to comprehend Hatch doing anything of the sort.

  “Yes, in a nutshell, that’s why he’s being detained,” Jaxon said. “Portland PD was given an anonymous tip that a man matching Hatch’s description has been seen at local building supply and box stores purchasing large quantities of acetone, fertilizer, and pool cleaner, as well as items like lengths of pipe, duct tape, and spools of wire. Thes
e are all obvious ingredients of mass producing pipe bombs, or other explosive devices.”

  “No fucking way, not Hatch, and this is total bullshit that he could be hauled off just because someone makes a phony fucking phone call,” I said.

  “That’s not all they have, Flea. I wish it was,” Mack said, with something in in his voice I’d never heard before; fear.

  “What is it?” I asked. “You’re his lawyer, what do you know?”

  “That’s just it,” Mack said. “I’m not his lawyer. No one is.”

  “What about his Miranda rights?” I asked.

  “Miranda rights don’t apply here, because Hatch hasn’t been arrested. He’s simply being detained, and under the Patriot Act, that can be for as long as deemed necessary, without counsel.”

  “Based on what? What the fuck do they have besides this so-called concerned citizen’s phone call?”

  “For starters, Hatch’s internet browser history, and it’s not pretty. Anarchist web sites, manuals on DIY bomb-making, schematics and architectural drawing of local buildings—”

  “All of that can easily be faked by someone who knows what they’re doing, right Booker?”

  “Not easily,” Book countered. “Not if it’s passing the cop’s sniff test, anyway. It also wouldn’t be cheap forgery, I can tell you that. They must feel good about this intel, because they moved in fast as hell.”

  “That’s not all,” Crow said, and nodded for Jaxon to continue.

  “They have Hatch on surveillance video at three stores buying this stuff, his credit card transaction records at each of them,” Jaxon said. “They’ve also got a photo of him, and his vehicle taken from a red-light cam, one block away from the last store he visited.”

  “No… no fucking way,” I said.

  “Look, none of us believe that Hatch is planning on blowing up the courthouse or anything—”

  “Who said he’s actually involved at all? Doesn’t anyone here actually have his back?” I asked.

  “They’ve got a lot of solid initial evidence here, Flea,” Jaxon said. “I don’t want to believe it either, but obviously something’s going on here, and the police are just doing their jobs. Frankly, if I had the kind of information and evidence they have, I’d be just as inclined to move on it as they are.”