“Just roll her off to the side and leave her,” said Voice One, and Rylie knew now she was dealing with Deputy Hazard Quinn. “Wayland’ll make this a vendetta if she goes missing.”
“She saw us.” That was Reggie, whining as usual, but trying to sound mean to intimidate Quinn. Once a bully, always a bully.
“She’ll wake up groggy and not even believe her own memory—if the coyotes don’t make a meal out of her.” Quinn’s words were starting to come out fast, maybe a little desperate. “Either way, I’ll have the trucks over the border and you’ll be on a plane to Mazatlan. Let’s blow, man. This place needs to be history.”
“No.” Reggie again, this time with a little more menace. “She comes with me. We’ve got unfinished business.”
Rylie’s fingers closed on the pocket knife. She slipped it slowly, slowly out of her pocket, careful to barely breathe, to keep her eyes mostly closed, slitting her lids just enough to keep track of the two thieves about to come to blows beside her.
Both men had on jeans and dark T-shirts, and they looked ready to travel. Tonight was the night they were wrapping up their operation, she had no doubt. They’d have been piss in the wind by morning if she hadn’t screwed it all up.
“We don’t have time for this shit.” Quinn’s voice was definitely getting squeaky. “I think Wayland’s on to me. Everybody had to know Gary Woods had help in the department... shit, did that bastard ever screw me good. I lost everything when I lost the income I was getting from him, but I’m an inch from getting it all back, with interest. Don’t screw it up for both of us just because you’ve got some grudge with Rylie Thorn.”
“You knew I had a grudge.” Reggie was starting to sound triumphant, like he knew he had Quinn where he wanted him. “You read the files about her supposed attempted rape back in high school. That’s why you called me and offered to cut me in on this deal. You knew I’d say yes. She comes with me.”
Quinn swore. “Look, by now Wayland’s figured out I’m the only one who could have planted that ledger on Thorn. We’ve got to get moving.”
They framed my brother. The knife in Rylie’s hand felt cool and powerful and familiar. Clay probably knows that, but he had to arrest Levi to give himself enough time to get the goods on this asshole.
Maybe she wouldn’t kill Clay after all—assuming she lived to see him again. Which was a pretty damned big assumption at this point. Rylie knew she should be completely terrified, but more than anything, she felt pissed.
No, not pissed.
Furious.
Her skin was so hot her temperature had to be nearing boil, and her teeth kept grinding together. Bastards. Reggie and Quinn both, stealing trucks and letting Levi take the fall.
And unfinished business?
Yeah, damned straight. And she’d be the one finishing it tonight.
“You always were an asshole,” she mumbled, knowing Reggie would hear her.
“What?” Reggie Parker leaned down over her, so close she could smell the stink of his hot beer breath in her face. And that cologne that had brought back horrible memories before.
Where was the fear? The terror?
All gone.
Rylie almost smiled.
She knew she was in danger, but she didn’t feel trapped and helpless anymore. She wasn’t sixteen, and this dirtbag definitely wasn’t some all-powerful god or demon who could hold her down again.
“Well, well,” Reggie muttered. “You’re awake after all—and still a wild little thing.”
Nobody but Clay gets to call me wild. Nobody ever again.
“Dickhead,” Rylie said, and she spit in Reggie’s face.
He lurched back, pawing at his eyes like she’d thrown acid on him. What a pussy. It galled Rylie to remember that she’d thought he was so handsome in high school.
“Knock it off!” Quinn was saying. “I mean it, Parker. We have to go.”
As Rylie sat up, her head throbbed, but she was still smiling.
“Get out of here,” Reggie growled at Quinn, and then Reggie came at her. “This is for old time’s sake, Rylie—and it’s gonna be fun.”
He leaned over to grab Rylie by her upper arms and her hand moved before she formed a full thought.
The blade of the pocket knife caught the bastard right where it counted, its sharpened blade punching through fabric and straight into flesh. She pulled hard and twisted. She powered through the cut, using every ounce of strength from her hours and days of hurting over what he’d done to her, from her years of feeling less-than because of her father, and her mother, and useless pricks like Reggie Parker.
Parker let out a howl like a coyote with its leg snapped in a bear trap. He threw himself backward and fell beside her, then rolled back and forth kicking his legs. Blood didn’t just trickle, it poured out of Parker’s groin, spurting between his fingers as he held himself like he was trying to make sure none of his pieces fell off.
“Good luck with that,” Rylie muttered, feeling a flicker of something like total, jabbering insanity.
Quinn started yelling. Rylie still had hold of the knife, but as she staggered to her feet and turned toward Quinn, she saw his gun, drawn and aimed right at her face.
Okay. Here’s the fear.
Icy terror flooded her in one huge, crippling rush. She shook all over, staring at that muzzle of his service pistol. She dropped the bloody knife and put both hands up like the bastard would really care that she was surrendering.
This is it. This is where I die. And I didn’t even get to tell Clay I get it—and that I’m sorry.
“Bitch!” Reggie screamed, whipping back and forth on the ground and bleeding like crazy. “The bitch stabbed me! I’m cut. I’m dying!”
Quinn’s hand shook. He stared at Rylie. “Didn’t want to have to do this, but—”
The shot blasted through Rylie’s senses, and every muscle in her body failed. She hit her knees, eyes closed, breath hitching, waiting for the agony of her face shattering into a dozen pieces.
Nothing happened except two more shots, a lot more hollering from Reggie, and Deputy Quinn falling backward, big bloody patches blooming across his T-shirt.
The night seemed to explode all around her then, with headlights and searchlights slicing in from every direction.
“Get down, Rylie,” somebody bellowed. “Get down now!”
She knew that voice.
Clay.
Rylie went face-first on the ground, her arms covering her head. Shouts erupted like fireworks, four voices. No wait, five or six. Maybe even seven.
“Secure the perimeter!”
“Thermal scanner says it’s just these three and the shooter by the big rocks.”
“DEA. Nobody move!”
And then some guy, sounding a little queasy, rasped, “Jesus. Man down. Call an ambulance. I think somebody cut this dude’s dick off—right through his jeans.”
A more familiar voice called, “Wayland, is that you behind the boulders?”
“Hunter,” Clay answered. “About damned time you showed up.” “Good shooting,” Zack Hunter called back. Then to his men, “He’s clear. Let him through.”
Rylie lifted her head out of the dirt and saw Clay coming. Her chest squeezed, and she thought her heart might actually dissolve. She got to her feet before he reached her, swayed, then felt his arms around her, felt the hard muscle of his chest against her face.
“You crazy little shit,” came his low, warm rumble in her ear. “Don’t you ever do anything this insane again, you hear me?”
But he never gave her a chance to respond. He kissed her face, her hair, her nose, and then her mouth. A hard, passionate, feral kiss that seared through Rylie like wildfire. She felt marked and possessed, and for once in her life, she reveled in it.
When he finally raised his head, he looked down at her with so much caring and love she couldn’t think straight.
“I don’t care about your issues and all that no-commitment crap. You and I are getting married.
And the sooner the better, ’cause I sure need to keep a closer eye on you.”
Rylie blinked as what he’d said sank in. A warm feeling spread through her, a feeling like nothing she’d ever known before. She licked her lips, and then smiled. “All right.” Her voice sounded shaky, but she kept going. “But only so I can keep an eye on you, too, Sheriff.”
“Damn, Rylie.” Zack Hunter loomed beside them then, catching her attention. His dark hair seemed to glimmer in the moonlight, and searchlights glared against the scar than ran down one side of his face. “Did you take a sword to this guy? He might bleed to death before we can—you know—get it all sewed back together.”
Rylie shrugged, still feeling hazy and now giddy on top of that. “What can I say? He pissed me off.”
“Do the world a favor,” Clay said through clenched teeth. “Don’t get in any hurry to put Humpty Dumpty together again. He tried to rape Rylie in high school, and he would have gone after her again tonight if she hadn’t defended herself.”
Zack looked from Rylie to Clay, then back to Rylie. “Reggie Parker. I remember that bastard now. Sky’ll be impressed, after she gets through being nine kinds of mad that you took such a huge chance with your life.” He paused, then shot Clay a grin. “Friendly word of advice, Sheriff. Don’t piss her off.”
Clay gave the man a solemn nod.
As Zack walked away, Rylie yelled, “I want my knife back as soon as it’s processed. It’s special, okay?”
Zack waved a hand to let her know he’d heard her. Then more ICE agents came swooping in, and Clay was kissing her again, and Rylie didn’t want to worry about anything else, ever again.
Chapter 16
I must be out of my mind, Rylie thought as Clay led her from his vehicle.
She was blindfolded, her hands tied securely behind her back with a silk scarf. He held her close, his arm draped around her shoulders as he guided her forward. Yeah. Out of my mind in love.
She could hardly believe that she was now Rylie Wayland. She’d thought about keeping her maiden name, like Skylar had done, but Rylie Thorn-Wayland sounded like the name of a corporate lawyer, or maybe a bad British porn star. It had been a week since they’d taken down Quinn and Parker, and Clay insisted he couldn’t wait any longer. Clay had been cleared on the righteous shooting, and Parker was still in ICU—though the docs quietly assured Clay that his raping days were over for good. If he ever got out of prison, he wouldn’t have the equipment to pose that kind of threat to a woman. They still hadn’t found any connections to a larger criminal operation—seemed like the two idiots were in it alone, just for the money.
At the moment, Rylie couldn’t care less about Reggie, or the thefts, or anything to do with Cochise County’s criminal world—though she was glad her trucks had been recovered, along with most of the others that hadn’t already been hauled across the border. She didn’t want to think about anything but Clay.
Truth be told, commitment phobia aside, she hadn’t wanted to wait any longer, either.
Clay and Rylie had been married just an hour ago at the Bisbee City Hall by the Justice of the Peace. Skylar and Zack had been in attendance, along with Levi, Chloe, and her son David. Rylie had an idea that Levi might be heading down the aisle real soon himself.
Being blindfolded heightened every one of her senses. A car passed in the distance and a small dog yapped somewhere nearby. Beneath her heels she felt asphalt then sidewalk as Clay helped her along. A gentle wind stirred her short hair against her neck, the warm air carrying the fragrance of spring with the tiniest hint of summer just around the corner.
Rylie’s skin tingled with absolute awareness of the man with her, his muscled arm holding her secure. The light scent of his aftershave enveloped her, along with his own unique masculine smell. Even if she were blindfolded in a roomful of men, she’d know his elemental scent, the taste of his skin, the feel of his hard body against hers.
“I can’t believe I let you do this to me.” Rylie lifted her head and tried to peek beneath the blindfold, but the black scarf was too well wrapped around her eyes. “Now that we’re here, why don’t you tell me where we are and what we’re doing?”
Clay laughed, his husky chuckle shooting a fireball straight through her belly. “Be careful. In about two more steps we’re gonna head up a set of stairs.”
Her feet faltered and Clay murmured, “What the hell,” and then the next thing she knew his arms were around her waist and he was raising her up and throwing her over his shoulder.
“Clay!” She cried out and laughed all at once as blood rushed to her head and she felt his body move beneath her as he climbed the stairs. The necklace of linked gold hearts and diamonds slid up over her chin, probably making her look even more ridiculous. She wished her hands weren’t bound so that she could pound on him or something.
Her wedding dress was an ocean-blue silky affair that only reached the top of her thighs. She’d loved how it looked on her, and by the way Clay had eyed her all morning, she knew he liked it, too.
“Let me down. Someone’s gonna see up my dress.” And they’d get one hell of a view, since as usual she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
His boots clomped up the wooden steps as he smoothed down her silky skirt, holding his arm tight under her ass. “Quiet down, woman.”
“You know you’re going to pay for this, don’t you?” She sank her teeth into his western dress shirt and the firm skin beneath it, giving him a playful bite.
“Hey.” Clay shrugged beneath her mouth and swatted her ass. “Watch it, wildcat.” He reached a landing, the hollow sound of wood beneath his boots as he started across it. “Or I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.”
“Ha.” The squeak of a screen door met her ears, and a rush of warm air washed over her as he stepped onto a throw rug or flooring that must have been carpeted since his boot steps were now muffled. She caught a potpourri of smells: warm bread, cinnamon, and spices. “You can let me go now.”
He shifted her in his arms, his grip tighter than ever. “Pipe down.”
Before she had a chance to tell him off, a woman laughed and said, “Welcome to Navaeh’s Bed-and-Breakfast, Sheriff Wayland. And that must be your bride?”
“Good to see you again.” Clay swatted Rylie’s butt a second time, and she gasped from the contact. “Rylie, I think you know Navaeh from the ranchers’ charity bash each Christmas.”
Heat rushed through Rylie from the tips of her toes to the ends of the hair that was hanging in her face. How embarrassing. Navaeh could see her butt sticking up in the air, and she was blindfolded and trussed up like a roped calf at a rodeo.
“Hi, Navaeh,” Rylie muttered. “Can you knock this guy over the head with a shovel or something? I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Humor infused Navaeh’s pleasant voice. “Here’s your key, Sheriff. I reserved the best room we have to offer. Just head up those stairs, then down the hall, and it’s the last door on the left.”
“Thank you kindly,” the big oaf replied and Rylie’s head spun as he turned. His boots thumped against wood flooring again.
“You are so dead, Clay Wayland,” Rylie muttered as he climbed another set of stairs and she bounced against his back. “Right after I ride you like a wild bronco, I’m gonna kill you.”
He chuckled, the deep sound reverberating from his body and straight through her. “You’ll be too worn out once I get through with you, honey.”
Clay’s entire body throbbed as he slid the key into the lock and opened the door to the room. The woman over his shoulder was going to get the biggest ride of her life, just like she wanted. After he shut and locked the door behind him, he strode across the hardwood floor to the curtained four-poster bed, and sat down on the mattress.
He carefully swung Rylie from his shoulder and laid her face down across his lap, her belly across his thighs, her wrists still tied securely behind her back.
His wife. Rylie was now his wife, and he couldn’t be a
prouder man.
“Untie me and take off this blindfold.” Her voice was muffled. “I can’t wait to get my hands on you.”
“You’ll just have to wait a little longer, honey.” He adjusted her across his lap so that her ass was sticking practically straight up. “If you don’t behave, I’ll have to gag you, too.”
“Clay—” she started, but when he pushed her skirt up over her bare butt, the threat in her voice turned into a moan.
“Damn, you have a beautiful ass.” He placed his palms on the smooth cheeks and squeezed. “After that stunt you pulled last week and almost getting yourself killed, I think you need to be punished real good.”
“You’re not going to spank me, are you?” Rylie sounded both worried and aroused. Definitely aroused.
“I kept warning you that I’d have to if you didn’t behave.” Clay swatted her ass and Rylie gasped. “And you were a bad girl, honey.”
“Clay.” Her voice was hoarse as she wiggled her butt and squirmed on his lap, her belly rubbing against him. “How bad was I?”
“Real bad.” Clay grinned, rubbing his calloused fingers over the slightly reddened flesh. He swatted her again and her moan made him ache to take her now. Hard and fast.
Instead, he slid his fingers down her crack and between her thighs to the shaved skin he so loved to touch, and she spread her legs a little, giving him better access. The scent of Rylie’s juices mingled with her vanilla musk scent, and he had to taste her.
“Please...” she groaned as he dipped his fingers into her creamy heat.
“Damn, but you’re wet.” Clay moved his fingers within her folds, then thrust them into her core. “But you still need to be punished before we can get any relief.”
“Clay.” She gasped and pushed her hips against his hand.
He drew his fingers out of her and brought them to his mouth, tasting her juices before delving back into her wetness. When his fingers were slick again, he trailed them over her crack to her cheeks, smoothing her fluids over her. And then swatted the flat of his hand against her ass again.
Clay: Armed and Dangerous Page 16
