In Too Deep: Station Seventeen Book 3

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “You want to give me something?” he asked, repeating the mind-blowing move in reverse. “You want this to be for me?”

  “Yes,” she moaned, her hands turning to fists over the sheets beside her.

  Luke looked up at her. “Then let go and come for me, baby. I only want you.”

  The words broke her, shattering her control and making her reckless. Quinn lifted her hips against his mouth—or maybe he met her halfway, she really didn’t know. Skipping all the pleasantries of soft touches and gentle movements, he circled her clit with a punishing slide of his tongue. Sparks danced across her field of vision, growing stronger with every pass, and when he pressed a finger deep inside, her breath escaped on a gasp.

  Too much. Not enough. “Luke.” She opened wider in a silent bid for more. More. “I need…”

  “I know,” he whispered, sliding another finger inside her pussy with ease. “I need it too.”

  He dropped his mouth back to her body, pleasuring her with long strokes of his tongue and fingers. Release built deep in Quinn’s belly, growing and strengthening like a perfect, beautiful storm as it crashed into her in waves. Luke worked her through her orgasm, softening his movements only when her cries became heavy exhales and her body went loose. He shifted back to grab a condom from her bedside table drawer, and by the time he’d returned to the rumpled bed sheets where she lay, the climax that had just barreled through her had begun its first twinges of rebuilding.

  “Come here,” Quinn said. Luke didn’t pause, pressing over her and balancing his weight on one forearm as he edged the head of his cock past her entrance. Her breath caught and held, unspooling on a sigh as he tested her body in slow thrusts until finally—oh God, yes, please, yes—he was seated fully inside of her.

  “Jesus, Quinn. You feel…”

  Rather than finish the sentence, he began to move, and all at once, she understood what he meant.

  “Luke.”

  His eyes flashed over hers, ice blue and wild with an emotion she’d never seen on his face. But her body, her mind, her heart, they all said the same thing.

  Mine.

  “Come for me, baby,” Quinn said, lifting and lowering her hips. “I only want you, too.”

  With a heavy exhale, he started to move, thrusting into her in steady strokes. The pressure bordered on pleasure/pain, filling her pussy so completely she was tempted to scream. Luke was exactly where she wanted him, though, and each glide of his cock made her greedy for the next. Pushing deeper, he levered his hips forward, the change in angle providing direct contact with her clit. The slide above combined with the pressure below to create a pleasure like nothing Quinn had ever felt, her inner muscles tightening harder with every thrust.

  “Oh. Oh.” Reaching around his hips, she splayed her hands over the firm curve of his ass to hold their bodies completely flush. She dug her heels into the mattress, rocking her hips wildly against him as a second climax rushed up from deep inside of her, taking her by surprise. Luke pulled back—only an inch, but the friction of his thrust in return was enough—triggering another wave of release from low in her belly. His expression changed, then, his movements growing faster and more primal. But Quinn didn’t scale back or shy away from the intensity. Instead, she opened her knees wider, letting Luke find what he needed over and over until, with one last thrust, he began to shake.

  She whispered his name, softening her motions little by little as his body relaxed and his own movements slowed. Eventually, they found their way beneath the blankets, their bodies curving in tight like spoons, and in that moment, lying there in the safety of Luke’s arms, Quinn felt like nothing—no bombs or bullets or bad guys—could ever touch them.

  28

  Ice stood in the shadows and thought of two dozen ways he’d like to murder those paramedics with nothing but a rusty spoon. That they’d somehow managed to contact the RPD and defuse the bomb Rusty had planted before he could detonate it was enough to sign their death warrants in permanent ink. But the blonde was seriously starting to piss him off. Ice had gone out of his way to hand-craft extra fear in her because she’d been the weaker link. She was a drone. Predictable.

  That she’d grown ballsy enough to take pictures of him and turn them over to the cops, when she damn well knew the price? The second this deal with Sorenson was in the bag, Ice was going to torture that treacherous bitch in ways she couldn’t imagine.

  Not even with all that knowledge of human anatomy.

  While the thought of making her pay for her sudden snap of bravery took the edge off his anger, he still had to focus on the bigger picture, which meant flying way under the radar for the next two days. Unlike his appearance outside of Three Brothers last week, Ice hadn’t intended for anyone to see him at the fire house yesterday. He’d only gone to make sure the job got done, to hammer home the chaos that would have eliminated the threat from those paramedics and let him make good on his threat to kill them all in one tidy little blast. Instead, he was dealing with eight-by-ten printouts of his face being wallpapered to every storefront and telephone pole in the fucking city.

  On second thought, he was going to kill that blonde twice, just for good measure.

  “Patience,” Ice murmured, his voice disappearing into the nighttime breeze. As much as he wanted to kill both her and the boyfriend tonight and be done with it, he needed to stick to his timeline now more than ever. The bomb not going off in time was unforeseen and unfortunate, but he was smart enough to adapt his business plan and still keep his ass covered. He hadn’t led the Vipers for this long only to let two paramedics be the end of him.

  He knew what he was doing. The gun deal was set. It would make him the biggest, most powerful gang leader in Remington.

  And he’d earned every ounce of the respect that would come with it.

  Ice’s cell phone vibrated, pulling him from his thoughts. Although he’d had more than enough cover not to be seen or heard for the past four hours—patrol cops were so easily fooled, it was pathetic—he still triple-checked his surroundings before sliding his phone from his back pocket to look at the screen.

  Incoming Call: Brady Sorenson.

  “Mr. Sorenson,” he said, keeping his voice low and neutral even though he was on full alert. They might be business partners with a common goal, but the call was unexpected, and the last thing Ice needed right now was another fucking surprise.

  “Mr. Howard.” The edge in Sorenson’s voice was enough to send a spear of unease through Ice’s gut. “It seems you’ve been busy.”

  Ice selected his words with extreme care before answering. “Yes. I’ve been finalizing the last of the preparations for our meeting.”

  Orchestrating a deal this big, with buyers he could trust and who had enough cash to buy in, plus finding a location for the exchange that was neutral, private, and easily controlled had been just shy of impossible. Not that it had kept Ice from making it happen. “Speaking of which, I’ve got coordinates for your team,” he added, knowing full well Sorenson would want to do advance recon on the site. After all, that’s what Ice would do.

  “What you’ve got is a big problem,” Sorenson said. “My sources tell me you’re experiencing a visibility issue, and that it isn’t small.”

  “There’s no issue.”

  Anger shoved the words out of Ice’s mouth too fast, and the prickly silence that followed told him that Sorenson had heard the mistake, loud and goddamned clear.

  “I can assure you my sources are extremely well-informed. If they tell me there’s an issue, believe me, there is,” he said, and a flare of irritation made Ice’s heartbeat pulse louder through the quiet night.

  “Of course,” he bit out. He counted to three, imagining how he’d cut the blonde’s Achilles tendons to make sure she couldn’t run before he started to kill her. “I understand you want to protect your assets, Mr. Sorenson. What I meant was, there’s no problem.”

  For fuck’s sake, he’d been watching the cops look for him for the past twenty
-four hours. They knew a thing or two, but so did he. Namely, all of their patterns and schedules for shift changes. He knew who they watched, from where, and when, which meant he knew their weaknesses and how to exploit them. It was how his livelihood worked, for fuck’s sake.

  He was the best.

  Sorenson’s snort caught Ice right in the chest plate. “I’m not sure I agree. I made it very clear that security was my number one priority. Yet you obviously don’t seem to recall that conversation, since your face is currently being broadcast over half the city. I told you this deal was yours to lose, Mr. Howard. Well, you just lost it.”

  This motherfucker had to be kidding. “You’re backing out of our agreement?”

  “I’m telling you your services are no longer required.”

  “I have buyers on the line,” Ice argued, but Sorenson was unmoved.

  “And I have buyers across three states. I’d been hoping we could do business, but I’m not interested in any unwanted attention, and your current situation makes you a liability.”

  Ice’s molars came together with a clack, his words seething out from between them. “I can guarantee—”

  “Nothing,” Sorenson said, his tone wrapped in barbed wire. “You can guarantee nothing. Which is why we’re done here. It’s a shame you’re not ready for the big leagues.”

  And then the line went dead.

  It took every ounce of Ice’s control to focus on the tiny bedroom window he’d been watching from a distance so he didn’t scream out loud. He had not—had not—lost the deal he’d spent months preparing for and years deserving because of that stupid whore of a paramedic.

  Except…he had.

  His hands cranked into fists, hard enough that he’d likely feel it later, but right now he didn’t care. Right now, he only wanted one thing.

  Revenge.

  And this time, nothing would stand in his way.

  The first thing Luke had learned at the academy was that being a first responder didn’t allow for waking up slowly, or for grogginess of any kind. But when someone was slamming their fist into the front door of the apartment where you were in protective custody and you were just one pair of basketball shorts away from naked, the cobwebs pretty much took a backseat to your adrenal gland anyway.

  Luke was out of bed in an instant, his muscles coiled tight and his survival instinct roaring full speed ahead. “Lock yourself in the bathroom and call Isabella,” he said to Quinn, who might be equally less-than-dressed in her tank top and panties, but she was also equally alert.

  “Luke, wait.” Her eyes were saucer-wide, her hair a riot of messy curls around her sleep-shocked face, but at least she had her cell phone to her ear. Whoever was at the door went for another round of wham-wham-wham, and nope. No way.

  Not waiting.

  With his heart locked in his throat, Luke grabbed the Louisville Slugger he’d parked by Quinn’s bedside table last week. He got three steps from her front door before a familiar voice sounded off from the other side, and his bare feet slapped to a messy halt on the floorboards.

  “Slater. Copeland. It’s me and Moreno. Open up.”

  “Hollister?” What the fuck?

  Luke checked the peep hole, relief funneling through him at the sight of the detectives on the threshold. Quinn lowered her cell phone and grabbed a long cardigan sweater from one of the hooks by the door, and Luke undid the chain and popped the dead bolt, opening the door with a quick tug.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his seconds-old relief growing heavy and cold as both Hollister and Moreno moved into Quinn’s apartment with their hands resting on their holstered weapons.

  “Are you both secure?” Isabella asked, her dark brown stare moving over the living space in a meticulous three-sixty while her partner’s did the same from the opposite direction.

  “What? Yes,” Quinn said. When neither detective moved so much as a trigger finger, she scrambled to add, “Oh my God, Omaha. Of course we’re both secure. The officer who brought us home a few hours ago checked my apartment and we’ve been locked in ever since.”

  Hollister’s shoulders let go of his neck, but only by a fraction. “I’ll call it in,” he said to Isabella, who answered with a tight nod.

  “What the hell is going on?” Luke asked, his patience threatening to detonate.

  Isabella exhaled, swapping a covert look with Hollister that peppered Luke’s gut with holes. “We’ve had a…security breach.”

  “Here?” His adrenaline surged again like high tide. “Did Ice try to get into the building?”

  “No,” Isabella said, although between her tone and her expression, the word created more questions than anything else. Hollister moved into the kitchen, murmuring into his cell phone in hushed tones that Luke couldn’t hear enough of to turn into answers, and Isabella split a glance between him and Quinn. “Why don’t you both get dressed? Liam and I need to take you to the Thirty-Third anyway. Sinclair will update you when we get there.”

  Quinn paled. “Who’s dead?”

  The word sent fear skidding through Luke’s rib cage, rendering him unable to breathe, let alone ask what the hell Quinn was talking about.

  Isabella said, “Quinn, I really think—”

  “No.” She took a step forward on the floorboards. “I’ve heard enough family notifications to know one when I see it. The first names, the ‘let’s go down to the station so you can talk to my boss’ line. So who is it, Isabella?” Her voice wavered. “Who’s dead?”

  “No one is dead,” Isabella replied after a silence that felt like an ice age even though in reality, it had only lasted a beat or two. “But we do have a dangerous situation right now, and it could be life threatening.”

  “Please.” Luke looked at her, unable to keep his composure on lockdown for another second. “Just tell us what the hell is going on.”

  The detective nodded, and although Luke had learned how to read people like the Sunday Post over the last ten years, he’d never seen an expression quite like the one Isabella wore as she turned to look at him.

  “It seems Ice managed to disable the alarm system at your grandmother’s house, and he snuck in to kidnap Hayley.”

  All the air vanished from the room. No. No, no, no, that couldn’t be—“Ice has my sister?”

  Quinn sucked in a breath. “What about Miss Billie?”

  Sweet Jesus. Luke’s world tilted in a way that suggested he’d never see right-side-up again, but Isabella shook her head, adamant.

  “Your grandmother is completely safe. She’s at the Thirty-Third, and we’ve got crime scene techs scouring her house for evidence as we speak.”

  Terror mingled with a thread of disbelief in his brain, muffling all of his thoughts. How could this have happened? For Chrissake, he’d trusted them. They’d had a plan. “I want to know everything you know,” he said to Isabella, an odd chill forming in his belly. “Right now.”

  “Okay,” she replied as Hollister returned from Quinn’s kitchen. “Your grandmother and sister checked in as usual about an hour after you left. But then we got a frantic call from your grandmother about forty minutes ago. She’d gotten up for a glass of water and went to check on Hayley on her way back to bed.”

  Something twisted deep in Luke’s chest. “Yeah, we do that a lot, just in case she needs anything. Or I guess I used to do it when I lived there.”

  Isabella nodded. “Hayley wasn’t in her bed when your grandmother checked on her, but her cell phone and her shoes were both in her room. Your grandmother was smart and called us immediately. We had a unit standing by and we were able to act fast to get her to safety. At this point, everyone at Seventeen has been accounted for. It seems Hayley is the only person missing for now.”

  “For now?” Quinn asked, her lips parting on a puff of shock. “You think Ice is going to go after more of us?”

  “We are going to do our very best to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Hollister said. “But for now, we have to err on the side of extreme
caution. Everyone’s down at the Thirty-Third.”

  “So, wait.” Luke’s brain played an epic game of catch up as he pieced together everything Isabella had said. Something didn’t quite add up. “How do you know for sure that”—he forced his lips to form the words even though they felt like razor wire jammed between his teeth—“Ice has my sister?”

  Isabella hesitated before removing her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans. “Because this was delivered to the intelligence unit’s inbox about twenty minutes ago.”

  She pulled up a video before handing the phone over to Luke. His physiology betrayed him by making his hands shake, and even though a small part of him screamed not to tap the triangle on the otherwise black screen, he scraped in a breath and did it anyway.

  “Well, well,” came Ice’s voice, followed by a barely visible shot of his menacing face a second later, and Luke would have given anything—anything—for the chance to crawl through the screen to choke the motherfucker. “By now I see you’ve figured out that I have a guest.”

  The camera swung to the side, and Luke’s knees threatened a labor strike. “Oh, Hayley,” Quinn whispered shakily as an image of his sister flashed over the screen, lasting only long enough to prove that she was both conscious and terrified before Ice returned in front of the camera.

  “As you can see, she’s not hurt. But that is going to change. See, those two paramedics knew what would come to them if they opened their mouths. I know that blonde thinks she got the best of me with those pictures. She thinks she’s brave. Safe. But she’s wrong.”

  Quinn stiffened beside him, her breath catching audibly as Ice continued. “So this one’s for you, sweetheart. I don’t care if it takes years, but I will find everyone you care about, and I’ll kill them slowly while you watch, just like I said I would. You’re going to pay for what you did to me,” he said, his expression hardening in the dim light. “And I’m going to get back the respect I deserve. Stay tuned while I get ready. Starting at midnight, this one dies.”