Something About a Bounty Hunter

by Em Petrova

  But Sundance smiled. “If you’re patched in, Druid won’t have as many reasons to shoot you down.”

  A smile stretched Wes’s mouth. “Now that I appreciate, Sundance. Very much.”

  “You’re welcome. Now,” he eyed Wes, “you know there’s a run tonight and we don’t leave our club or ladies without protection. Druid’s down for the count, I’d say, and that only leaves you to look out for what belongs to us. I’m asking you to stay here and see that it happens.”

  “I’m your guy.”

  “I know you are. Just make sure come morning, there aren’t any little baby Dirtys left behind, all right?”

  At that, he laughed. “Got it.”

  As the president gestured for Wes to leave his office first, he couldn’t help but feel a kinship toward the man he’d once suspected was his father. He was handing him so much—trust, an honored place among them and his favorite “niece” all in one fucking awesome package.

  Wes knew just how to celebrate such a sweet victory.

  * * * * *

  Stormy made a sound of surrender, and he didn’t hesitate to pick her up and carry her into her room, still kissing her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he kicked the door shut, boot heel slamming off the wood with a cracking sound.

  “Don’t stop, Dirty.”

  His chest tightened with something more than lust. He couldn’t afford to feel anything for a woman who didn’t even know his real name, but he had no control over that sensation of warm, bubbling happiness.

  He set her on her feet and they stared at each other.

  “What did Sundance say to you?”

  He shook his head. “Club business.”

  “I think you’re growing on the Bighorns.”

  “It’s the new recruit patch.” As soon as Stormy had seen the patches, she’d whisked his cut away to the kitchen and later it was returned to him with the patches stitched on.

  “I don’t think that’s the only reason.” She slapped at him, but the abuse soon turned to murmured sighs as he cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the distended tip.

  She hurled her arms around his neck, yanking him down to kiss him with a passion she’d never felt before. Tongues twirling, they tore at each other’s clothes. She took off his cut with a reverence a Bighorn had for the sacred leather and patches he’d been given tonight in a short ceremony before the guys had left on their run.

  He stripped her top overhead and her bra followed.

  The instant her full breasts bounced free, he dipped his head to one, sucking the tip into his mouth. She moaned and slid her arms into the warm leather she’d just taken off him. He rolled his tongue around her nipple until it strained and then he grazed it with his teeth.

  “God, yes. Your mouth feels so good, Dirty.” She shimmied again, pulling on his leather cut.

  “Fuck, you look gorgeous. The black leather against your pale skin makes me ache. God help me. I don’t know if I can hold back,” he rumbled.

  “I’m not asking you to.” She gripped the sides of the vest and parted it open for him to see her breasts.

  He reached between his shoulder blades and pulled his shirt overhead. Her gaze danced over his chest. She stepped up to him and rested a hand in the center. “I love that you have chest hair. So manly.”

  He gripped her wrist and guided it down the planes of his abs to the bulge in his jeans. He pressed her hand harder to his throbbing erection and stared into her eyes. “Do you love this too, baby?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then get on your knees and suck it. Suck my cock while wearing my cut.”

  A spear of desire stabbed between her thighs as she sank to her knees before him. A dizzy wave of need overwhelmed her.

  He grated out, “Unbuckle my belt and my jeans.”

  She worked over his fly and he fixed his gaze on her. She pulled his cock free and leaned in to skim the tip of his hard cock with her tongue. She flashed a look at his face to see his stare on her, eyes dark.

  She swirled her tongue around and around, easing down the length until she had all of him in her mouth. Right to the root.

  “Fucking hell,” he growled.

  Humming in response, she ran her lips up and down his hard length, pausing to suck the head with a soft pull of her lips, before repeating her explorations. He grunted and tensed, leaving only a primal beast who was putty in her hands.

  She loved the power of that far too much.

  As she continued to retrace the path from root to slit, he held his breath. She pushed his jeans and boxers down to his knees and sank her nails into his ass to pull him nearer. He watched her face as she brushed her lips against the trim hair at the base of his cock.

  “Fuck.”

  She withdrew on his cock so only the tip was between her lips, clamped softly as she stroked her tongue over the tip. Pre-cum oozed from him, and she moaned.

  Then she drew back, parting her lips so he could see the cum stretching between his body and her tongue.

  “My God.” He cupped her face and pulled her back down on him. “Look at me.”

  She flicked her gaze up to find the depths of his eyes burning with need.

  “Bite down,” he ordered, his voice sounding like grit.

  Her eyes opened wider.

  “Not too hard. Just use your teeth.”

  She’d never done such a thing. She wasn’t that experienced in the first place, but what Dirty was asking wasn’t typical either.

  She wanted to give him everything he asked for and more.

  She wrapped her fist around his cock at the base and opened wide to show him her teeth. When she grazed the head of his cock with them, he threw his head back on a groan. She ran her teeth down to the middle of his shaft and then back up. She didn’t need to ask to know he liked what she was doing.

  His legs shook with the effort to remain standing. “Fuck, don’t stop what you’re doing. It makes me want to give you my cut and helmet both.” Each a symbol of what she meant to him.

  As she moved back to the head, he urged her in a low voice to bite down again. She barely grazed him when he jerked away.

  “Enough.” He grabbed her by the hair, wound it around his fist and urged her to her feet.

  Her nipples couldn’t get any harder. She’d liked what he’d asked her to do. Liked his rough treatment of her too.

  “I bet you’re soaked for me, aren’t you?”

  She nodded, panting hard.

  “Pull your pants down and let me see.”

  With another flash of her eyes, she stripped off her boots, socks, jeans and finally her panties. When she stood before him wearing only his leather and patches, her breaths came too fast.

  “Pull your pussy open for me to see how wet you are.”

  “Oh my God, Dirty,” she whispered on almost a plea.

  He settled his gaze on her face. “Now.”

  Sliding her hands down to her thighs, she used her fingertips to pull her outer lips open. Revealing her slippery clit and inner folds.

  “The road to heaven and hell,” he muttered.

  He picked her up and tossed her on his bed. She bounced only once before he pinned her thighs open and sank his tongue deep into her pussy.

  A cry left her, followed by a long, throaty moan. He lapped in and out and then up and down her seam, just skimming her clit enough to drive her crazy.

  “You liked sucking my cock, didn’t you?” he asked between flips of his tongue.

  “Ahhhh. Yes, Dirty.”

  “And did you like biting me?”

  She trembled. “Yesss.”

  “You want to do it again, don’t you?”

  “Please.”

  “Just like you want me sucking your clit, but I won’t.” He ran his rough five o’clock shadow over her sensitive inner thigh.

  “Please, Dirty. Right there. Oh God.”

  He pulled his tongue away from her clit again before she could enjoy it too much. She
squirmed in his grip, trying to get where she wanted him most.

  He sank his tongue into her wetness again and again. She was on fire for him.

  When she bucked upward, he finally gave her what she asked for—he sucked her hard pearl into his mouth and drew on it with soft, insistent pulls.

  It took her three point two seconds to scream his name. Another millisecond to explode in a half dozen pulsations.

  Need swept her upward on the wave of her release and she had no conscious knowledge of him donning a condom, or moving over her and sinking his throbbing cock into her squeezing tight pussy until he was buried inside.

  She gasped and looked into his eyes. “Move, Dirty,” she rasped.

  He braced himself over her and did five slow, grinding pushups. Sinking deeper with each pass. Her pussy clenched as that familiar sensation of heat about to rush upward.

  He slid his hands beneath her ass and angled her just right. Another scream ripped from her as she squeezed him with her inner muscles. His movements grew disjointed and she knew he was losing it.

  The first jet that left him tore a growl from his throat. The next three made her see stars again and by the sixth spurt, he collapsed atop her. His lips found hers and they shared a slow, lingering kiss.

  Fuck, she was in so much trouble.

  It didn’t stop her from kissing him back with all the pent-up passion she was feeling. Slow passes of their tongues soon turned into hungrier, eager kisses and she straddled him to give herself two more orgasms.

  When he rolled her over and took her again, something inside her heart broke open.

  On the heels of that thought was, Hell, now what?

  Chapter Five

  Wes’s adrenaline didn’t normally hit a high like this during a foot chase, but it was pumping like a Yellowstone geyser. His leg muscles burned, and his lungs were on fire with a pent-up roar.

  When he lengthened his strides, he was unmatchable, but the asshole in his sights had gone from wanted list to Wes’s personal vendetta list and he had a head start.

  Didn’t mean anything. In two minutes max, Wes would have him on the ground even without a taser.

  Van Atkins was determined not to be caught, but Wes was ending this today. Enjoy your last bit of freedom, dickhead. Because today is the last you’ll breathe the fresh mountain air for a long time.

  He hurdled a garden bed, his boot coming down in the soft earth of the corner, and pushed off faster. He might be a big motherfucker, but he could run. Fast. Years of track had taught him how to use his size as a way to propel himself. He pumped his arms and closed the gap.

  Van ducked inside a carport and went out the other side, and Wes was right behind. This was the trouble with being in a residential neighborhood—more obstacles. But Wes wasn’t losing this guy again.

  Skidding on gravel on the other side of the carport, he feared he’d lose precious seconds, but it actually gave him another few inches of lead.

  And the guy ahead of him was no match for Wes’s long arm.

  He snagged his sleeve and yanked, ripping the man off his feet. He hit the ground with a grunt but had enough wits to throw a punch.

  It glanced off Wes’s ear, making it ring and him madder.

  Damn, but he’d like to lay into the guy. But brute force wasn’t even a possibility because Wes didn’t have much handle on his control after all Atkins had dealt him. He had to keep it together.

  He crushed Van’s thigh under his knee, pinning one limb while he made a grab for his hands. He preferred long zip-ties to handcuffs and he could snug them up as much as he needed.

  In this case, he went a bit tighter than usual just for the added aggravation of hunting Van the entire past year.

  “Owww, you bastard,” Van howled.

  “Shut up. You’re lucky this is all I’m doing to you. I owe you for that punch to my ear.”

  Van kicked, and Wes flattened him beneath his body. He had fifty pounds on him easy.

  “Now, we are going to stand up and you’re going to walk nice and slow to my truck. Got it?”

  He jerked his elbows to try to free his wrists but only managed to harm himself in the process as the plastic tie dug into his flesh. “Fuck you!”

  “No thanks. You ain’t my type.” He pushed to his feet and dragged Van up with him. The guy wobbled to stay upright, and Wes straightened him out.

  “Now walk.” When the man didn’t move, Wes kicked at the heel of Van’s boot. “Go!”

  Reluctantly, he moved forward—for two steps. Then he tried to do a drop and roll to break free.

  “Dammit, you’re not too bright, are you?” Wes dug a knee into his back and got out his rope.

  Van twisted his neck and eyed him. “What the fuck are you doin’ with that?”

  “In case you don’t know my reputation, I can string up an animal or man faster than you can think to take a step. Wanna play?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad.” He created a slipknot and dropped it over Van’s head so it settled around his chest. When he gave a hard yank, the rope tightened and Van bellowed. Struggled. He fell over and Wes hauled him back up.

  “Try that again and I’ll hogtie and drag you to the truck.”

  “I’ll hit you with charges of police brutality.”

  “I’m not police and nobody would care how I got you before the judge, since you’ve been evading arrest for a year now. Get your ass movin’.” He kicked his boot again.

  Reluctantly, Van stumbled forward. Wes wrapped the end of the rope around his fist, prepared to restrain him if he attempted to run again. But Van just spewed threats instead.

  “Fucking kill you in your sleep, Roshannon.”

  “Nice, Atkins. When you plan on doin’ that? After you get out five years from now? You had a petty charge of shoplifting but now you’re looking at hard time for all the other crimes you’ve been committing. I heard you’ve stolen two vehicles at least on top of the shoplifted DVDs. I hope to hell that ‘Ghostbusters Anniversary Edition’ was worth it.”

  Wes had chuckled at the list of stolen DVDs back when he’d seen it and he couldn’t help but smile at his jab.

  “Asshole.”

  “Take that as a compliment.”

  “I’ll hunt you down when I get out.”

  “Like to see you try.”

  “I’ll find your family. Your wife and kids.”

  “Don’t have those.” Though an image of Stormy as he’d last seen her flitted through his head. The way her eyes glowed at him as he sucked her hard nipples was a distraction he didn’t need at the moment.

  “Your ma and pa then. I’ll kill them in their beds.”

  Wes gave a harsh laugh. “Don’t have those either. Now shut your trap, Atkins. You’re boring me.”

  The exchange got to him, and he didn’t want to admit it. He’d been ignoring the whole paternity question for far too long now. Soon he’d have to make the choice—forget about it forever or confront the last person who could be responsible for baby Wes.

  He tightened his jaw and focused on getting this son of a bitch to the truck. He secured him with straps in the back seat to make sure he couldn’t break free. Then he tried to shut out Van’s bullshit threats and curses against Wes’s very soul as he drove to the sheriff’s office.

  When he dumped the asshole off, the sheriff clapped him on the back and offered to buy him a steak.

  “I’ll accept that for another time, sheriff. Thank you. I need to get back to the office. Damon has an assignment for me.”

  The drive took less than a minute, and Wes put all the windows down to air out the stink of Van Atkins from his truck. After he parked, he didn’t bother putting the windows up either. It would take a gale wind and a can of air freshener to get the scent of onions and BO out.

  As he approached the door of the building, his boss Damon was standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Heard you got Atkins.”

  “Yeah, the dickhead is way more trouble than h
e’s worth.”

  Damon held out his fist for Wes to bump with his knuckles. “Nice job.”

  He’d brought in hundreds of fugitives in his years as a bounty hunter, yet his boss had never greeted him at the door.

  “What’s going on?” He eyed Damon.

  “Got something big.”

  “I figured if you called me in.”

  “Come inside. I’m not discussing it out here.”

  The place smelled like copier ink and scorched coffee, which Damon offered him as they passed the pot.

  “No thanks,” he muttered.

  Damon led him into his small office. The whole operation was small but was one of the most well-known in the West. His boss took up his chair behind his desk and stared at Wes, his cowboy hat settled in that cocky way Damon had of wearing it.

  “Just say what’s on your mind,” he said without beating around the bush.

  Damon shifted a few papers around and came up with a sheet bearing an unfamiliar photograph.

  He reached for the sheet and stared at the photo of a guy he might have seen before but couldn’t place where. “What’s the story?” he asked his boss.

  Damon kicked back as if getting comfy for a long tale. “Trouble on the rez.”

  “Theft?”

  “Drug-related crimes. Someone is supplying some members of the tribe with prescription drugs.”

  Oh fuck. Prescription drugs.

  It could be anyone.

  Not the Bighorns.

  “Our suspect’s already on the lam. Was arrested back in November for drug possession with the intent to sell. Out on bail, his father’s doing. Now he’s on the radar of the rez cops. They want him bagged and tagged so they can control the drug problem they already battle on the rez.”

  “We have a name?”

  Damon nodded. “Alexander Bonner.”

  Wes’s fingers tingled with relief. He’d never heard the name. “Any idea where to find him?”

  “Now that’s your job, ain’t it, Wes?” Damon grinned. “But yeah, there’s a lead. He’s in this biker club called the Bighorns.”

  Wes felt his blood slowly drain from his heart to pool in his stomach, leaving him queasy. His knee-jerk reaction that this was the doing of a Bighorn was spot-on. Fucking hell, he hated being right all the time.