by J. C. Wilder
Dedication
For Libby
Prologue
The first time Jason “Ranger” Diver laid his eyes on Sissy Kolchek he couldn’t help but admire the unique way she made friends.
It was only two weeks into the new school year and an unscheduled fire drill had emptied both the high and middle schools leaving seven hundred students waiting in the morning sun. The unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh followed by a tremendous splash brought the mass of chattering kids to a halt.
Jace gaped at the sight of Brian Harding, one of his classmates, sitting in the foot-deep water of the fountain in front of the administration building across the street from the schools. Standing over him on the rim was a painfully skinny young girl. With her long white-gold hair pulled back into an uneven braid and tennis shoes held together with silver duct tape, she resembled a rag doll his little sister carried everywhere. Her big, gray eyes threw daggers at the wet sophomore, and her face was flushed with anger.
“Who ya callin’ Prissy Sissy, mama’s boy?” Her heavy southern accent sounded oddly exotic to his Midwestern ears. “You evah call me that agin, I’ll kick yer butt.”
His eyes widened. Harding was a bully and a braggart just like his father, Big Jim, a successful businessman in the town of Haven. Most of the kids had been subjected to Junior’s threats or temper at one time or another, and Jace was tickled to see that a girl had just taken him down, a feat even the senior class didn’t dare attempt. He grinned. It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.
Jace’s twin brother, Jeff, nudged him with his elbow. “Who’s that?”
He shrugged.
“Miss Kolchek!” Mrs. Wolfe, the middle school librarian, hurried over to the girl. He winced when she pulled the blonde off the fountain none too gently.
“She’s gonna get it now,” someone behind him whispered.
“Young ladies do not use that kind of language, little miss. Threatening others with bodily harm is a sign of ignorance and poor breeding,” the librarian was saying. “You don’t want people thinking you’re uneducated, do you?”
The girl looked confused, her face scrunched up in concentration, then she smiled. “Well, ma’am, I doan rightly know much ’bout breedin’ an’ all an’ I hope to learn ’bout it in school.” She looked down at Brian. “What I do know is if’n he calls me prissy again, I’m gonna kick his ass.”
Five years later
As their friendship grew, Jace came to appreciate her no-nonsense style of problem solving.
CRASH!
The sound of shattering glass made Jace turn toward the bar. The crowd parted and he caught a glimpse of a man on the floor. The figure clutched his nose and his white T-shirt was splattered with blood as he glared up at the blonde women standing over him. Wearing a tight, pink polyester waitress uniform, Sissy brandished a large serving tray as if she were going to bring it down over his head.
At barely eighteen years old, the puberty gods had favored her with the figure of a 1940’s pinup model. With large breasts, a tiny waist and shapely hips, Sissy figured largely in the sexual fantasies of a great many men in Haven…Jace included. She’d just started working at the 3C Bar and Grille, and the place was more popular than ever.
“You broke my nose.” Brian’s howl of outrage had a distinctly nasal tone.
“You grabbed my ass, again.” She slammed the tray on the bar and shouted, “You’re danged lucky that’s the only protrudin’ body part I broke. You try it again and I’ll rip off that lil’ thing danglin’ ’tween your legs and ram it down your throat.”
Ten Years later
One of Sissy’s most admirable character traits was her determination. When she set a goal for herself, she let nothing deter her.
THUD!
Jace slammed into the wall with enough force to rattle the windows. It was sheer willpower that enabled him to retain his grip on one hundred and thirty pounds of ravenous female who was climbing him like a tree.
“Your house might come down around our ears tonight, Sissy,” he gasped between deep, heated kisses.
The half-naked blonde laughed then nipped his lower lip. “Only if we’re lucky.”
His answering chuckle turned to a growl when she raked her fingernails over his chest. She swallowed the hungry sound, her tongue sliding against his in a move so carnal it made his head spin.
They’d barely made it into her bedroom before she’d jumped on him like a fat kid on the ice cream man. At the rate they were going they’d end up on the floor in the next fifteen seconds if they didn’t suffocate each other first.
Gripping her firm, round ass, Jace turned then set her on the first available flat surface. The dresser. Personally, he didn’t care where they ended up as long as he was inside her when they got there.
He’d fantasized about making love to her hundreds of times, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the meteoric rush of lust that came from fourteen years of foreplay. He felt like a one-armed firefighter battling a house fire—he couldn’t be everywhere at once but he sure gave it his best.
Her inquisitive fingers slipped beneath his shoulder holster, and between kisses, she demanded its removal.
“Watch what you’re grabbing, little girl.” He nipped her lower lip. “It might go off.”
“Promises, promises.”
Moments later his weapon hit the floor followed by his shirt. His arms weren’t even down before her mouth was on his nipples. Heat slammed into his groin, and the mesmerizing slide of her tongue was doing odd things to his equilibrium. When he moved between her legs she wrapped them around him, and he was pathetically grateful for the support.
Her hands fisted in his hair, and she hauled his face down to hers. With a groan, he crushed his mouth against hers, thrusting his tongue into her warm heat. His hands stroked her back, her hips and everywhere else he could reach, memorizing the terrain of her curves and the texture of her skin. When he reached the thin elastic waist of her panties he wrenched his mouth from hers.
“These have to go.”
Her gray cat’s eyes gleamed with a slumberous light, and her wicked pink tongue moved over her lips. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Bracing her hands on the edge of the dresser, Sissy released him then arched upward. He yanked off her panties then carelessly tossed them over his shoulder. Her sexy, sleepy gaze met his, and her shy smile brought his blood to a boil. When she whipped off her tank top he promptly forgot how to breathe.
Jace had always been a breast man, and every erotic fantasy he’d ever entertained about her featured these gorgeous twins. Her honey-tinted skin was silky soft, and the tips were the color of dark pink roses. Already firm, her tight nipples begged to be touched, tasted. He wanted to bury his face in her fragrant warmth and stay there for the next twenty years.
Grabbing her knees, he pressed forward, his erection rubbing against the apex of her thighs. Her silken moan sent shivers down his back. When she leaned back on her elbows, her back arched in an invitation he had no intention of passing up. Dropping his head, he took one nipple into his mouth.
Her moan was deep, earthy, and the sound sent a bolt of lust to his groin. He licked, nibbled and sucked his way down her torso before dropping to his knees. The scent of her arousal and the sight of her glistening folds rendered him mute, and the urge to claim her blotted out all rational thought.
Silently willing his hunger to back off, he slowly kissed his way up the insides of her thighs. Inches from his goal, he teased her mercilessly, refusing to go any farther until she was sobbing his name. Her grip tightened on his hair, and he wondered if she’d snatch him bald if he didn’t give her what she wanted.
Sissy wasn’t the kind of woman who kept a man guessing. Her throaty mo
ans were loud and plentiful as he pleasured her with his mouth. Her hips bucked upward, and her cries urged him on. Moments later her body tightened around his fingers as she climaxed against his tongue.
His control shattered.
Rising, he freed his erection from the confines of his jeans then thrust inside her. The clasp of her body held him motionless and all he could do was feel her surrounding him. The heat of her flesh penetrated his, and the lingering spasms from her earlier release set his teeth on edge. The silken tremors could prove to be his undoing. It had been a while for him, and he was afraid to move for fear he’d come with the first stroke.
Taking deep, even breaths he thought he’d regained control when she wrapped her legs around him, driving him in deeper. Holding back was no longer an option.
With a growl, he pulled out then drove himself deep again and again. Sissy clung to him, and he pulled her close for a greedy kiss. Her nipples prodded his chest as her fingernails dug into his shoulders. Surrounded by the living silk of her body and the perfume of their lovemaking, he wanted the perfection of this moment to last forever.
Instead, he got another thirty seconds.
Afterward, he leaned heavily against the dresser and her soft body as he struggled to regain his breath. With Sissy’s hands lazily stroking his back it was all he could do to remain conscious. What was the appeal of having sex standing up? His body felt like he’d run a marathon and his knees were shaking. After that lackluster performance he now had to face the humiliation of crumpling to the floor when she released him.
Well, if he could ever move again.
“Jeez…” Her voice was thick with satisfaction. “That was… I don’t know. I’m at a loss for words. Ain’t that a first?”
Chuckling, he ordered his shaky limbs to work though his legs were as sturdy as wet cardboard. It took some effort but slowly he straightened. It wasn’t until he pulled out that an alarm went off in his head.
“I didn’t use anything.” He stared at the evidence of his lust and utter stupidity. Having sex without a condom wasn’t something that had ever happened to him before. From the time they were twelve, Pops had pounded safe sex into their heads.
“Oh.” Her sleepy gaze dropped to his cock. “It’s all good. I’m on the pill for, well,…” Her cheeks went pink. “Female issues.”
Relief washed over him, and he kissed her forehead. “That’s a relief. I don’t think either one of us is in the position to be a parent.”
“Well.” A teasing smile touched her lips. “I think we’re in the perfect position.”
“Good point.” His smile was rueful.
“Come on Jason Jump-Start.” She slid off the dresser, deliberately rubbing her gorgeous body against his. “I’ll let you have a little nap before round two.”
Jason Jump-Start?
“That’s cold, woman.” He gave her ass a little spank, and she laughed.
Hampered by his jeans down around his knees, he hobbled the short distance to the bed. Damn, he still had his boots on. Shaking his head, he shed the rest of clothes. His only thought had been to get her naked as he fast as he could. He felt the press of her generous curves against his back. At least he’d succeeded in that mission.
“What name would ya prefer?” She licked his earlobe. “Rapid-Fire Johnson or—”
Her teasing ended in a squeal when he swept her legs out from under her body, and she fell on her back. With a lecherous laugh, he kissed, licked and tickled every inch of exposed flesh. Sissy tried to evade his questing fingers, but her shrieks of laughter gave her away. Now that he had her, he wasn’t about to let her go so easily.
All too soon the wiggling and squirming had an uplifting effect on his anatomy. Moving between her legs, his breath hissed between his teeth when she hooked one over his hip, and he slid himself home. When he began to move she arched upward to meet him, and her eyes went smoky with desire.
“I’m sorry, Sis.” His voice was gruff.
Her brows drew together. “For what?”
“The condom.” He burrowed his face in the fragrant curve of her neck. “I wasn’t thinking straight, and I jumped on you like—”
“Mmm, silly boy.” Her hands skimmed down up his sides to curl under his arms and over his shoulders. “Am I complainin’?”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” His lips brushed hers. “My ears are still ringing from your vocal performance a few minutes ago.” Her snort of laughter had him grinning like a fool.
“I don’t ‘member ya bein’ all that quiet, Mr. Diver.” She wrapped her legs around him. “And ya have no idea what a turn-on it is knowin’ I rocked your world.”
“Is that so? Well, maybe I should return the favor…”
While there were still some people who had little appreciation for Sissy’s diverse talents, Jace figured he liked her just fine.
Chapter One
Three weeks later
From his position beneath the battered hulk of a 1971 Plymouth Barracuda, Jace had an unobstructed view of the strip joint he had under surveillance. Living Dolls was one of several clubs owned by the Arroyo-Ramirez brothers, a pair of lowlifes if ever there was. The investigation was triggered by a paid police informant’s claim the brothers were soliciting prostitution.
Little did they know that tidbit would open a giant can of worms.
Like most criminals, the brothers didn’t limit themselves to only one vice. Prostitution, drugs and extortion, you name it and they’d probably committed it. For years the Ramirez brothers had succeeded in skirting the law. Armed with a highly paid team of lawyers, they’d weaseled their way through and around the legal system with ease. Lieutenant Walker, his commanding officer, had described the brothers as volatile, and Jace quickly learned that was an understatement.
Volatile was LT’s polite way of saying the brothers were fuck-nut crazy.
As far as criminals went the brothers weren’t exactly Mensa candidates. It hadn’t taken a great deal of manpower to uncover their crimes even though they did an adequate job of covering their tracks. No, the bigger issue was finding sufficient evidence against them. The brothers were well connected in the city, and they counted on the citizens being intimidated enough to remain silent.
The club was located on the heart of Oak Brook, a lower-class city with the boundaries of Cleveland, Ohio. The area consisted of thirty thousand people, none of whom ever saw anything. Someone could be shot in the middle of a crowded street but the likelihood of receiving a solid lead was slim to none. Jace had worked his fair share of complex investigations but he’d never experienced one where the citizens worked against him.
So far, he and his partner, Mateo Ortiz, had amassed a laundry list of charges against the brothers and half of their employees. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending upon how Jace felt that day, the more they dug the more crimes they’d uncovered.
The real kicker came less than twenty-four hours ago when the brothers were linked to a criminal organization known as the Diez Hombres or Ten Men. According to the Feds, the Hombres had no centralized command structure like in the movies. Less than twenty-four hours before they were scheduled to raid the club, a key player in Diez Hombres, a man named Manuel Serrano-Jimenez, arrived at the club and all hell broke loose. In less time than it took to watch The Godfather, the F.B.I. assumed command of the investigation.
Their first act was to put the case on indefinite hold.
As it turned out, Jimenez was under close scrutiny by the Feds. Tasked with building a capital murder case against Jimenez and several members of his inner circle, they weren’t happy to find the local cops pissing in their pool. They voiced concerns that the local cops would compromise their case.
Jace snorted. Compromise? They had someone on the inside of Jimenez’s crew but when it came to the Ramirez brothers and the club, they didn’t have squat. If it weren’t for the O.B. team, the Feds would’ve walked into Living Dolls armed only with their dicks. For weeks the club was under
constant surveillance, and everyone who came and went from the place was scrutinized. They’d amassed thousands of photographs and every square foot of the building was wired for audio. If someone so much as farted it was recorded for all posterity.
No, this had nothing to do with their investigation. All the posturing came down to one thing—the Feds never played well with others.
Special Agent-in-Charge Tom Stafford was a media whore. When an arrest was made in any high profile case, it was Stafford who received the glory and delivered succinct sound bites to the press.
Stafford was the Fed’s version of a dog and pony show. The agent looked at each case as a way to advance his career, a means to an end and nothing more. He was young, ambitious and from Jace’s perspective, impulsive. After spending five minutes in the man’s presence, he was not impressed.
And from what he could tell, Stafford felt the same way about him.
Making quick work of gathering his scattered tools, Jace hauled himself out from under the car. Keeping an eye on the club was about as exciting as watching a chick flick. The only good thing about this case was having ample time to work on restoring his car while still getting a paycheck at the same time. Tinkering on the Barracuda was the perfect excuse to hang out with no one being the wiser.
The distinctive thump-thump of a subwoofer brought his attention back to the club. A gray BMW X6 with blackout windows pulled into a reserved parking space near the side doors. Moments later the music was cut off, and a Latino man exited the car. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes, and Jace caught a glimpse of the shoulder holster beneath his tailored jacket. After a discreet scan of the parking lot, he headed in Jace’s direction.
Mateo Ortiz was a Cleveland police detective with a few more years experience working undercover than Jace. As part of Esteban’s security team, the detective had unfettered access to every corner of the man’s life. It was through Ortiz that Jace was hired on part-time at the club as bouncer slash maintenance engineer slash whatever was needed done guy.
