Make It Hurt (Texas Bounty)

by Jackie Ashenden

  “Because she’s someone I know from way back,” he said, keeping it vague because he hadn’t told Dust about his and Nora’s history, and he wasn’t going to. “But to answer your question, yeah, I got her off your tail.”

  And he had. Sleeping with her had been a fine distraction technique—except of course when she remembered his promise to give her Dust that morning. A promise he’d had no intention of keeping and still didn’t.

  You should tell her the truth.

  Great idea. That would ensure he’d never get another night with her and that shit just wasn’t happening. Stringing her along for as long as he could so he could get his fill of her wasn’t a great idea either, all things considered, but if that’s what he had to do, then that’s what he’d do.

  She’d be pissed when she eventually found out he’d been lying to her, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. By that stage, with any luck, he would have worked out this insane chemistry with her, and he’d be ready to move on anyway.

  “Thanks, Prez,” Dust muttered.

  “Sure. You keeping a low profile?”

  “Yeah. Staying with a buddy in Waco.”

  “All right. And the emails to Duchess? You stopped sending those like I told you?”

  “That too.”

  “Good. We don’t need any of that shit making things worse.”

  Too bad the damage was done anyway. Duchess wouldn’t conveniently forget about Dust until the threat he presented to her was neutralized, which was a pity. Especially considering that Nora was involved with the neutralization.

  Awww. Going soft, asshole?

  No, but lying to her made him uneasy for some reason. Maybe it had something to do with the look she’d given him as he told her he was going to give her Dust. Kind of like she doubted him, which was totally fair since she should doubt him. He wasn’t the guy she’d once known. He was bad news. A troublemaker, just like his dear departed dad had always said, and she should trust him as far as she could throw him.

  Still. He didn’t much like how that doubtful look had crawled under his skin, but it looked like he was going to have to live with that, since if he wasn’t giving up a friend and brother because of some bullshit civilian law, he certainly wasn’t going to be doing it for pussy.

  “I hear you,” Dust said. “Don’t worry. She won’t be hearing from me again.”

  “Better not. I got enough on my plate with all the rest of these whiny-ass motherfuckers complaining about going straight, let alone trying to handle your shit.”

  There was another silence on Dust’s end of the line. “I should be there, helping out.”

  “Yeah, you should. But you fucked up, and until this situation is dealt with, you’re going to stay exactly where you are, understand?”

  Smith finished up the call and then sat there for a good ten minutes, staring at the wall, trying to get rid of the restless, antsy feeling coiling inside him.

  He picked up the knife lying on top of his desk and began toying with it. The steel blade glinted as he turned it in his fingers, hard, cold. Deadly.

  Usually when he felt this way, he got one of the club girls to help him let off a bit of steam, but the thought of doing that right now left him cold. Even imagining getting Bobbi, who could suck cock like a dream, up here didn’t get him interested.

  Because you don’t want her. You want Nora.

  Oh yeah, Nora on her knees in front of him. Naked, with her hair all down her back and over her shoulders. He’d push his hands into it and hold on tight, guiding that soft red mouth of hers to his dick. And she’d take him in, swallow him down. She’d suck him dry, make him forget how he’d promised her something he was never going to deliver and all the stupid fucking feelings of doubt that went along with it. Then they’d have a conversation and he’d get some more answers out of her, and after that? Well, after that they’d start all over again.

  His dick hardened instantly at the thought, in a way that it had never done for Bobbi or any of the club girls. Jesus. One night with Nora and already he couldn’t wait to get back into bed with her.

  It’s kind of pathetic.

  He scowled, taking the knife by the blade and aiming at an empty spot on his desk. No, it fucking wasn’t. He just wanted sex and to find out a few things about her, and once his curiosity had been sated, he’d be out of there. A couple of nights of fucking wasn’t going to turn him into the lovesick asshole he’d been years earlier, pouring out his heart to girl who couldn’t have cared less.

  Smith pulled his hand back and threw the knife with a flick. It spun through the air, the blade catching the light before embedding itself with a satisfying thunk into the wood of the desk, exactly where he’d aimed it.

  And as for that doubt about lying to her, well, he’d just ignore that too, because he was done giving a shit about anything but the club. That was all that mattered to him these days. The club and his brothers, the family that had his back and always would, unlike the fucker who’d fathered him and the mother too tired and beaten down to care.

  Unlike the girl he thought he could count on who’d let him down when he’d needed her the most.

  Smith grinned at the knife still vibrating in the desk.

  She’d told him she liked her “space” tonight, but screw that. He wasn’t done with his payback. He’d take his second night and he wasn’t waiting.

  —

  Nora’s apartment was east of the city center, in a featureless brick building with a raucous bar on one side and a gentrified café on the other. It was clean, if boring, and the best she could afford on her bounty hunter wage. That her father would have been appalled if he knew where she was living had always given her particular satisfaction.

  Sure, it was a generic, one-bedroom apartment, in a sketchy area, but it was hers, in the place she’d chosen, and if she sometimes thought wistfully about how nice it would be to be somewhere with a bit of a view or where she couldn’t hear what her neighbors were doing through the paper-thin walls, that was okay. She couldn’t afford to move anyway.

  As Nora parked her car and then got out and locked it, a stray memory of Smith’s beautiful house with the view of the lake replayed itself in her head. Yeah, she wouldn’t mind something like that one day.

  Maybe when you win the lottery or find yourself a sugar daddy.

  Which meant never.

  Her place was on the upper floor and it wasn’t until she was approaching the outside stairs leading to the second story that she heard the sound of a motorbike engine behind her.

  Oh, hell no. That better not be who she thought it was.

  She turned, just in time to see a familiar big, black motorcycle pull up beside her car. The man riding it put down the kickstand and got off, sticking the keys in his pocket as he came toward her, black eyes intent.

  Smith.

  In jeans and a T-shirt, with his cut over the top emphasizing the broad width of his shoulders, he looked powerful, dangerous, moving with all the lazy, assured arrogance of a man who knew exactly who was in control of any given situation: him.

  She didn’t know why she found that so incredibly hot, but she did. He made her breath catch and her heart flip over in her chest.

  Annoyed at the wild burst of physical attraction that instantly flooded through her, she glared at him as he approached. Fuck’s sake, had he followed her? Hadn’t he listened to her when she’d said she needed some space? Because she sure as hell needed some space right now, especially after this morning’s confrontation with Officer Uptight and Duchess.

  Goddamn, give the man an inch and he wouldn’t take just one mile, he’d take a hundred. Well, too bad. She hadn’t spent eight years learning how to stand up to people only to let some dick walk all over her the way her father used to.

  If Smith was hoping his second night would be tonight, he was shit out of luck.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded, as he came to a stop in front of her. “Did you follow me?”
<
br />   “Yeah, and?” He didn’t even try to look ashamed.

  “I told you I didn’t want to see you tonight.”

  “I know you didn’t. But I wanna see you.”

  His hungry, black gaze flicked down her body before returning to her face, and God help her, she could feel her nipples tighten and her sex clench hard.

  Dammit.

  “I don’t give a shit what you want,” she said flatly. “Not tonight means not tonight.”

  Smith only folded his powerful arms and cocked his head, staring at her. “What’s the deal, golden girl? Have a bad day?”

  Nora gritted her teeth. “No, I just don’t like assholes who don’t listen when I tell them I don’t want to see them.”

  He didn’t respond, his gaze assessing. Then abruptly he looked up at the building in front of them. “This is where you live?” It was clear he was unimpressed. “Gotta say, it’s not what I imagined.”

  Oh, that was it. She’d had it.

  She turned to the stairs. “Goodbye, Smith.” Without waiting for a response, she went quickly up them, trying not to go too fast so it wouldn’t look like she was running away. Because she wouldn’t do that, of course she wouldn’t.

  “So what’s with this place?” Smith’s voice came from beside her, his long legs easily keeping stride with hers as she rounded the turn in the stairs and went up the next flight. “Are you trying to make a point or what?”

  Her jaw tightened. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.” Stopping in front of her door, she hauled around the army backpack she used as a purse, fumbling for her keys in the front pocket. “Also, why are you still here? Because I’m pretty sure I said not tonight.”

  He now had one shoulder hitched up against the wall next to her front door, standing there with his hands in his pockets. He was close enough that she could scent that delicious smell of him, warm leather, engine oil, and some masculine spice that made her mouth water and her fingers grip her keys way too hard as she hauled them out. “I want my second night. Plus that crap about needing ‘space’ was bullshit.”

  “Wow, was that respect I heard? Or just another sexist asshole being a jerk?” She jammed the key in the lock and turned it, pushing open the door. “Wait, I already know the answer to that question. Just another sexist asshole being a jerk.”

  She began to step into her apartment only to come up short as one muscular arm blocked the doorway. Furious, she glared at him. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of my way.”

  His dark eyes were hot, fierce. “Stop running away from me, golden girl.”

  “I’m not running away. I told you I’d give you a night, just not tonight.”

  “Why not? You enjoyed what we did yesterday. It’s just more of the same. You invite me in and we’ll have a beer or two, get some dinner, talk. And then I’ll take you into your bedroom and fuck you senseless. Everybody wins.”

  Another of those delicious electric shocks jolted down her spine. Damn her stupid body for being so into it when her head definitely wasn’t.

  Don’t be such a drama queen. Of course you’re into it. And he’s right. You are running away.

  She swallowed, the truth of it settling down inside her. Because beneath the anger she’d wrapped around herself like a warm, comforting blanket ran a small, cold current of fear. A fear she didn’t want to think about.

  You’re very good at not thinking about things, aren’t you?

  Yes, but she had reason. And it had been far easier to pretend that part of her life was dead, to cut it off completely, than to carry around the pain of it forever.

  Until he came. Until he’d shoved the past, and all the things she’d conveniently packed into a box and thrust to the back of her mind, back in her face again.

  Such as the betrayal she’d felt when her father had kicked her out. The terror when she’d realized that she was on her own, with no money and no support. The grief of knowing that despite doing everything he’d asked of her, it still hadn’t been enough for him.

  She’d spent years trying to come back from that. To be strong and independent, not that needy, desperate-for-love girl she’d once been. She didn’t want to fall back into that, make those same mistakes. To want something from someone, especially not from someone as strong-willed and arrogant as her father had been.

  “It’s just a night, golden girl.” Smith dropped his arm from the doorway, his voice unexpectedly quiet. “It’s not life or death.”

  She let out a long, slow breath. He was right, it wasn’t. And she was kind of turning all of this into a drama it didn’t need to be.

  Nora glanced up at him.

  The light fell over his features, highlighting the strong bone structure of his forehead, nose, and jaw, shadowing his eyes. His hard mouth was uncompromising, yet one corner had curled up slightly, lightening the look on his face, making him even sexier than he was already.

  She wanted him so much she ached.

  It was a night, only one more night. And then she could go on pretending just the way she always did.

  “You’re an asshole,” she said, just to make it clear.

  Smith shifted, the scrape of his boots on the concrete loud in the narrow space of the walkway. “Does that mean I can come in?”

  Nora sighed. “Yeah.”

  Chapter 10

  Smith didn’t know what exactly he’d been expecting from Nora’s apartment, but the beige, boring little box he stepped into wasn’t it.

  It wasn’t that it was dirty or run-down or in a crack neighborhood or anything. Apart from the loud bar next door, there wasn’t anything particularly sketchy about it. In fact, the worst that could be said about it was that it looked like the place suits went to die after eight boring hours in a cubicle in some downtown high-rise.

  The apartment was a small, featureless room with beige walls, an inoffensive beige carpet, and beige curtains on the windows that looked out over the brick yard of the building beside it. She had a tiny two-seater couch covered in some kind of cheap brown velour printed with flowers. There was one matching chair—equally hideous—and a small glass coffee table. A TV was in one corner, a tiny dining table and two chairs in the other. Through a doorway to the right he caught a glimpse of an extremely compact kitchen and through the doorway on his left, a short hallway that presumably led to the bedroom.

  The whole place was hotel-room bland and so completely unlike the passionate, artistic Nora he’d once known that he didn’t know what to say at first. He’d expected some kind of upmarket loft, full of colorful art and rich, textured fabrics, the way her bedroom in her family’s mansion had been the one time she’d brought him up to see it. Everything had been so perfect and expensive looking, he’d been afraid to even sit down in case he somehow left dirty marks everywhere.

  This was…not that. There wasn’t even one picture on the wall, not one.

  Nora dumped the army backpack slung over one shoulder onto the floor beside the couch, took off her cowboy hat, and left it on the table. Then she took out her Colt, experienced fingers running over it in a reflexive check before putting it on the table beside her hat.

  His dick twitched. Fuck, he loved a chick with a gun.

  “So, are you gonna tell me what’s with this place?” He took a few steps into the middle of the room and looked around. Nope, it still looked just as boring as fuck from this angle as it had from the front door.

  “It’s my apartment,” she said shortly. “There’s nothing ‘with’ it.” She was standing beside the table, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, the cotton of her plain blue T-shirt stretching beautifully over her tits.

  He stared at her. Nah, there was something “with it.” Just like there’d been something with her getting all shitty with him downstairs and not wanting him to come up. He’d known he’d get a little pushback for not paying attention to her need for “space,” but not quite that much. She’d been really pissed.

  He didn’t quite know why, not whe
n he’d caught her checking him out like crazy then trying to hide it. Could still be the blackmail thing annoying her, of course, but he didn’t think it was. There was something else going on here.

  “What’s going on, baby?” He kept his gaze on her face, watching the by now familiar glitter of annoyance spark in those pretty eyes of hers. “And don’t try and give me that ‘nothing’ shit. I can see you’re pissed.”

  Her chin had lifted in that stubborn way and he found himself slightly distracted by the curve of her neck and the faint bruising at her throat.

  His marks.

  Satisfaction and pleasure clenched tight in his gut, and he wanted to tear the T-shirt off her, examine all the other places on her body that he’d also marked. But no, there was plenty of time for that. He had all night. First he wanted to see what the hell was bugging her.

  “You really don’t know?” she said with some annoyance.

  “Do I look like a fucking mind reader?”

  She all but rolled her eyes. “I told you. I don’t like you ignoring what I said this morning and basically inviting yourself over anyway.”

  “So? I didn’t want to wait.”

  “Well, I did.” She glared at him. “You bikers go on and on about people not showing you respect, but you sure as hell don’t give that respect anyone to else.”

  Briefly he debated telling her that it probably wasn’t the best idea to comment on what bikers did when she knew fuck-all about them, but then discarded the idea. Because he had a feeling this wasn’t about bikers and lack of respect. This was about something else.

  “That’s not what you’re pissed about,” he said flatly. “Wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

  But she turned away, heading in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s nothing ‘really’ going on, Smith. How many more times do you want me to say it?”

  He followed her, stopping in the doorway to the tiny space, watching as she went to the fridge and pulled it open. “If this is about Dust, he’s out of town at the moment. But I’ve sent a couple of brothers after him and they’ll be back in the next day or two.” It was close enough to the truth.