Heavenly Hacked

by KB Winters

  Her body flooded with moisture and I fucked her harder, hypnotized by the way her creamy tits bounced with every stroke. And then another orgasm crashed over her, milking me until I was bone dry. Her name was on my lips once again as I emptied myself into her.

  “Fuck, Vivi.” I collapsed on top of her, chest heaving but I couldn’t move away. She smelled too good and she felt too damn good.

  Her laughter echoed in the room. “Gimme a few minutes and I will.”

  Her words made me grin and I rolled off her, pulling her close and we fell asleep with our bodies still intertwined.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Vivi

  “Un-fucking-believable!” Not only wasn’t the good Governor keeping a low profile while he had people trying to kill me, but the asshole was planning a big fucking fundraiser. Here in Las Vegas at some hotel owned by a rich and handsome one percenter. At twenty-five grand a plate it wasn’t worth attending just to get up in his grill, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still fuck with him. I brewed a full pot of coffee in Jag’s kitchen and began working on my plan.

  Vengeance, if nothing else, would be my final act.

  But before any of that could happen it was time to shit or get off the proverbial pot. A disgusting phrase I’d always hated until that alert sounded on my phone. If I was going to be brave enough to go balls to the wall against a sitting governor or a crazed gangster, then I needed to decide who I could trust and who I couldn’t. Starting with Jag.

  If I decided he wasn’t on the up and up with me, then I needed to walk away. Forget him. If I chose to put my faith in him, then I had to trust him fully. With everything. And I had to be absolutely certain that trust wasn’t based on the fact that he was dicking me good whenever he got the chance. And the dick was good, amazing even, so I had to make this decision with a clear head. Logic and reason were my friends and they said Jag could help me with his tech and badass military biker skills. And if I was wrong, well I was dead anyway, wasn’t I?

  But a pot of coffee and a long hot shower later, I had my answer and I was resolute. In my decision, if not execution.

  “I was wondering if you were hiding or avoiding me?”

  I turned from my computer to see him draped casually against the doorjamb like some Nubian god. Way to disrupt my concentration, Jag. “Avoiding you? Didn’t I just spend all night wrapped around you and sucking you off?”

  Even trying to play it casual had my body responding to the memories of Jag in my mouth, my pussy. His big hands all over my body.

  “You were up there for a long time, especially considering you killed an entire pot of coffee.” For emphasis he held up the coffee pot with maybe a swallow of brown liquid in it and swirled it around, but my attention was on his smooth mahogany skin. Other than one puckered scar low on the right side of his back, his skin was so smooth it looked liquid. Lickable.

  “You want me to make another pot for you?”

  He turned, one eyebrow arched in that cocky way that made me want to smack him or kiss him. Maybe both. “No. I’m fine.”

  “You hungry?”

  “If you can put some warm butter and maple syrup together, I’ll pretend I’m starved.”

  Jag turned with a proud smile. “Well you did get quite the cardio workout last night.”

  I took a seat at the kitchen table and crossed my legs. “Don’t you have a job to go to?” Yeah, I was stalling but I had a plan. Sort of.

  “I do but I took some time off to take care of you. Remember the whole not leaving your side thing?”

  “You were serious?” I groaned and rolled my eyes.

  “I was serious,” he said, dark chocolate pecs just inches from my suddenly watering mouth. Was that due to the muscles or the pancakes he’d started to make? Who the hell knew or cared?

  “Go in to work today, Jag. I’ll come with you and hang out at the shop. You have wi-fi there, don’t you?”

  By way of an answer he slid a plate full of heaven at me. “Eat.”

  “Okay!” He didn’t have to tell me twice. The pancakes were fluffy and just sweet enough to need nothing but a pat of butter and the bacon was crispy, fatty and delicious. How did he put that together so fast? Had I been drooling over him without noticing it?

  “I thought you wanted to go into the shop,” he bit out and I looked up, confused.

  “I do. But, you’re not even finished eating yet.”

  He smirked. “And I won’t get to if you don’t stop making noises while you eat that make my dick hard, Vivi.”

  Damn I love the way he said my name, like it was an oath or a prayer. No wonder women lost their shit over certain men.

  I pushed my plate away. Breakfast was getting complicated as shit. “I’ll go get my stuff and meet you outside.” I was pretty sure he mumbled “thank fuck” as I left the kitchen, but I decided not to call him on it. The man was trying to help after all.

  I hoped.

  ***

  We were inside GET INK’D for nearly an hour when Jag finally muttered, “Why in the hell did I listen to you? We could have stayed home and gotten all blissed out in my big bed. I haven’t had one customer all day.” He glared at me and I pretended to be engrossed in a book on my tablet.

  “Feel free to go out there and drum up some business,” Golden Boy, the owner said to him, catching him by surprise. Behind us, Lasso laughed so hard his broad shoulders shook.

  “I’m good, thanks. But we’re leaving soon,” he said with his unhappy gaze aimed my way.

  I shrugged but the chimes over the door sounded before I could come up with a smartass comment and a group of four well-dressed women walked in wearing bachelorette sashes.

  “Hello honey,” the leader of the pack said to Golden Boy. “Do you work here?” Her sweet southern accent was thick and cultured.

  “Nope. They’re keeping me here against my will.”

  With a hand to her chest the woman laughed prettily. “Lucky you. I hear these boys are h-o-t hot! Anyone back there?”

  Jag came out first with Lasso right behind him. “How can I help you ladies?”

  “My goodness but you do grow ’em big here don’tcha? I’m the bride and I want a piercing.”

  Jag smiled. “You’ll have to be more specific than that, lady.”

  Her eyes flashed appreciation. “I want my clit pierced. That specific enough for ya, sugar?”

  “Yep. But ah,” Jag rubbed his neck and I held my breath, waiting to see what he’d say. Though the woman was braced for the worst, I didn’t think that was the kind of man Jeremiah had grown into.

  “Spit it out, big guy.”

  “Well it says you’re the bride, so I assume that means you’re getting married soon?”

  She nodded, arms crossed in a stance that said she would fight if she had to. “And you have a problem with that?”

  “For fuck’s sake lady, your clit might not be healed in time for your honeymoon!”

  I sucked in a breath at the same time she did. But before I could recover, the southern belle beamed a smile at him. “That’s mighty sweet of you, mister. Let’s go with the nipples then?”

  “Come on back and I’ll get you started on the paperwork.”

  “Make this one yours, honey!” said her friend. With more swing in her hips than I could ever produce on purpose, she followed Jag to the back with one friend and the others stepped outside to vape.

  I might have stared at the space Jag occupied a bit too long but dammit he really was a good guy. A biker, sure. A hacker, too, and some type of government contractor like me, but he was still one of the good ones and that scene just proved it. The last thing I needed was to renew my crush on Jag, but the man was making it damn hard.

  Damn hard.

  “So you do like him,” Lasso said, breaking into my thoughts.

  “Of course I do, we used to be friends.”

  He shrugged. “Not for a long time.”

  And that was exactly the reminder I needed to take that crush a
nd send it straight to hell. “Yeah well he’s the one who left. Not me.” And this time it would be me who left.

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I turned back to my tablet because the last fucking thing I wanted to think about was how many people in my life find it so easy to walk away. Too easy, if you ask me. Which they never did.

  Twenty minutes later Jag came out with the woman, looking mentally exhausted. When the shop was empty again I smiled at him. “Got room for another customer?”

  “You?”

  “Me. I want to add some color and shading to my feathers.” He smiled at the mention of his favorite tattoo that he traced most nights until I fell asleep in his arms.

  “Come on.”

  “Clean the room when you’re done. Thoroughly,” Lasso called out with a snicker.

  We both ignored him and I followed Jag into one of the rooms with a door instead of a curtain. Normally I would have given him a hard time for being presumptuous but the talk I wanted to have would be better in private.

  He gestured to the table. “Hop up.”

  I watched him gather his tools, mesmerized by the play of muscles in his forearms and biceps.

  I got comfortable on the table, the slick paper crunching under my ass, and began to lift the hem of my shirt when his hand shot out to stop me. “What?” I complained.

  “I’ll do it.” A playful smile curled his lips and I played along, letting him adjust my clothes as needed until he crooned, “Perfect,” in my ear.

  “Hardly,” I snorted and then the room was filled with the buzz of the tattoo gun. And only the sounds of the tattoo gun. Tats made me squirmy, and they hurt like hell, so I broke the silence to relieve me of the nerves. “Tell me about the relationship the Reckless Bastards have with Roadkill?”

  He stilled and the tattoo gun went silent. “Why?”

  “Because I’d like to know, if you don’t mind telling me.”

  He said nothing for a long time and I kept my back to him. When the gun started up again, I had my answer. “We tolerate each other, or at least we used to until recently. When White Boy Craig took over as Prez, shit went crazy over there and they got into some bad shit. We co-existed as much as it was possible but then little things started to happen. A burnt pot field and then teaming up with outsiders to go after one of our women. Now I’d say we’re edging close to war.”

  War.

  He said the word with such ease for a man who knew the realities of war. I turned, risking a glance because I wanted to see his eyes as he said those words. I needed to see him. The words hadn’t been spoken lightly. War. That’s when I made up my mind.

  I told him, “There was another photo. Two more actually. Two FBI agents with a man who looks like a gangster, V. Rizzoli which I’m pretty sure is the VP of Roadkill.”

  The gun stopped again and moved away from my skin. “Why tell me this now?”

  I sighed and turned away. “I’m choosing to trust you, Jag.”

  He stood and walked around the chair, crouching down so we were face to face. “Why?”

  “Because if you’re working with them, I’m dead anyway.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jag

  Fuck!

  Two days after Vivi spilled her guts to me at GET INK’D, I could still only utter one word. Fuck. Shit was so much more fucked up than I realized in Vivi’s life. Not only did she have a high level politician with a lot to lose if anyone found out about him chasing after his underage girlfriend, probably with hired government and private goons on Vivi’s tail, but now there was also Vigo.

  Vigo wasn’t just the Vice President of Roadkill MC, he was a psychopathic son of a bitch who got off on causing people pain. He volunteered for the wet work and I was pretty sure the guy moonlighted as a serial killer. To put it short, he was batshit fucking crazy and if he was also an FBI informant he was likely to act bold. Reckless.

  That meant Vivi was in even more trouble than she knew. And I had to be the one to tell her. Fuck!

  Vivi breezed into the living room wearing her standard skintight black jeans and a dark tank top, only today she was barefoot. It probably didn’t mean a damn thing other than she’d been so engrossed in whatever angle she was working today and had forgotten to put on her boots. It didn’t mean she was comfortable here. Or that she was staying. “I have something for you.”

  I smiled at her and patted the seat beside me. “I love surprises,” I told her even though I didn’t. Surprises were rarely good but when she sat I palmed her thigh. “What is it?”

  “It’s not that, dirty boy.” Vivi pushed my hands away and turned the laptop so I could see the screen but I pulled her closer and kept the computer where it was.

  “That’s better. Now show me.”

  “Okay look.” She showed me several tabs of emails from Rizzoli to Agent Ryan. “They both thought they were being so careful, but this is an old school trick that even teenage girls used to talk to older guys online. Rizzoli wrote an email to Agent Ryan but instead of sending it, he saved it to the drafts folder and when Agent Ryan replied he did the same.” Vivi slid the laptop to my lap and stood. “Check out the drafts written in early May last year.”

  I did what she said but, of course, Vivi had already pulled them up. “Motherfucker!” Rizzoli, that crazy fucker, had sent an email to the feds the day before the pot field had been set on fire. Lookout for retaliation by the Bastards. Burned marijuana fields. “I’m going to kill that motherfucker myself.”

  “I know.” She sat and put a 2-liter bottle of diet root beer on the table along with two plastic tumblers full of ice. “I debated whether or not to share this with you, Jag. Because I know what it means.” She poured the root beer into each glass and handed one to me, her eyes serious as they tore through me. “War. Another war for you.” Vivi took a drink and sighed, as though the thought of me going back to war was hard to take. “I also know that the more wars you fight, the better the odds are of you dying.”

  “Hey, Vivi, it’ll be fine.”

  “No it won’t,” she shot back. “You don’t know that it’ll be fine and we both know that much, but this decision wasn’t mine to make. So here.” She handed me a flash drive. “To share with your club.”

  “Shit Vivi, thank you.” I didn’t know how to express just how much this meant to me, getting exactly what we needed without any games.

  “Don’t thank me for this, Jag. I wanted like hell to keep this from you. To scrub it from my drives and pretend I never saw any of it, but if you have to fight, then I prefer knowing you’re going in prepared. Or at least that you know there is a fight.” Her gray eyes were suspiciously wet and that just fucking gutted me. My tough girl, eyes wet with tears. For me.

  I didn’t deserve her tears and that only made them impact me even more. “Aw, you care about me,” I joked.

  “No need to make a big deal out of it,” she grumbled. “I’ll be in my camper.”

  I wanted to stop her, to go after her and show her just how grateful I was that she’d come through for the club but she needed space. I didn’t know what changed over the past few days, but she’d been quieter than usual and spent more time in her trailer. I hated it, but she’d already had so much change and upheaval, I couldn’t begrudge her time and space.

  So much fucking space I was suffocating with it but armed with the info from Vivi, there was no fucking time to waste. I picked up my phone and pressed the Prez’s number. “Cross, I got the info you need. Concrete proof, man.”

  “Fuck yeah. You on your way here?” Ever since Lauren died Cross was always at the clubhouse. I didn’t even know if he ever went back to the house they shared or if he even still owned that house.

  “Vivi’s here and I can’t leave her alone.”

  “Shit. Can’t you bring her with?” I understood his frustration, but I doubted she would agree.

  “Probably not but I’ll see what I can do, man.”

  “Thanks, Jag. Really.”

&nbs
p; “Don’t thank me, it was Vivi who found it. I’ll keep you posted.” The call ended, and I tossed my phone on the table beside Vivi’s empty tumbler. Vivi. Having her here was surreal but in the best way possible. I just wish she wasn’t in so much fucking danger.

  Now all I wanted to do was to keep her safe and sound.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Vivi

  There were a dozen bikes parked outside of Jag’s house, which meant just one thing: a meeting of the Reckless Bastards going on inside. I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but I was pretty sure it had something to do with Vigo Rizzoli. I fucking hated giving Jag that info but he was the only one who could decide how to fight. Whether to fight.

  Of course he would fight. They all would. And someone might die. I just hoped it wasn’t Jag. Since I had no control over any of that, I focused on the layout of Siren Casino and Resort. Blaise’s campaign had reserved the grand ballroom but a prominent billionaire had paid the tab. Charitable donation, my ass. Still it was good to know where he would be and when because it gave me time to plot my revenge. Even if I wasn’t around to enjoy it, that motherfucker would know.

  “Pack a bag Vivi!” Jag pounded on my door. “Be quick!”

  I rolled my eyes and continued to eye the blueprints. Drake Foster had good cyber security at his place. It just wasn’t good enough. Getting in had been easy and so far, no one had been alerted that there was a breach in security. “Where am I going?”

  I jumped a little when Jag’s hand smacked the door again. “Dammit, Vivi.”

  I took a few screen grabs of the blueprints and shut my computer before opening the door. Lasso stood behind him but I fixed my glare just on Jag. “I am not a child, Jag. Don’t bark orders at me. Tell me what’s going on.”

  He sighed and stepped up, getting in my space until I backed away. “Me and Cross need to go take care of some things and I can’t leave you alone. I won’t,” he amended to stop me from arguing.

  “Where am I going? Exactly, Jag.”

  “Lasso’s place. His wife is pregnant so he’s staying behind and—”