Heavenly Hacked (Reckless Bastards MC Book 5)

by KB Winters

  “No. To make a grab for whatever’s in the van.”

  “Piece of shit!” Savior yelled at the kid, who I could see now was just that, a kid. Probably not even a full fucking club member yet. I stood and held Savior back. “What the fuck Jag, he just—”

  “He just told us exactly what we needed to know.” Vigo wasn’t looking to kill us, not yet anyway. He wanted to make us do something stupid so the feds could step in and freeze our cash, maybe hand out a few promotions afterward. That wouldn’t happen, not on my fucking watch. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “And leave them? You fuckin’ nuts, man?”

  Yeah, I was nuts. I turned to the kid, still writhing on the ground. “Tell Rizzoli he better watch his fucking back!” We all walked away and took off down the road, eager to check on our Prez and our guns.

  “What the hell was that?” Savior’s voice was accusatory when we got back to the clubhouse. “We should’ve fucking killed those fuckers!” He got in my face like he always did, assuming because I wasn’t always a loud mouth like him that I was a pushover.

  “Some problems require you to use your brain man, not your fists.” I could feel Cross’s gaze on me, but I didn’t turn to him. This was about Savior and him trusting that he wasn’t the only guy in the room who could handle shit. “Vigo wants to test us, make us do something stupid but now we know he’s still working with the feds.”

  “This kumbaya shit won’t cut it, Jag.”

  I laughed. “Said the guy who was just bitching that a war with Roadkill might interfere with getting laid by his new girlfriend.”

  “Watch your mouth, mother fucker!” Savior yelled.

  “Or what?” My chest puffed out, daring my brother to pick a fight with me.

  “Or I’ll have to watch it for you.” Savior was spoiling for a fight and that made me wonder what else was going on in his life.

  “If you plan to watch my mouth, I better get some more lip balm.” I smacked my lips together and Savior smiled.

  “Asshole. We should have kicked his fuckin’ ass!”

  My lips parted in a smile. “You might just get your chance, man. Relax.”

  Easy for him to say when Mandy worked in one of the most secure locations in the whole damn city.

  “I’m about to, Jag. Got a whole new shipment of guns to play with. Wanna come?”

  “No can do, gotta go make sure Lasso and Vivi are still alive.” They would be. I was sure of it.

  I hoped.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vivi

  You don’t know who you’re messing with.

  That was all the anonymous text message said. If it was meant to scare me, it failed spectacularly in pointing out the obvious. I didn’t know, not yet, but I had a pretty good idea who it was. If scaring me was the goal, then I was being chased by the stupidest criminal on the planet.

  “I have a pretty good idea,” I said out loud as I deleted the message, but not before checking out the metadata to confirm it was routed through an anonymous third party carrier, which meant it couldn’t be traced. Not without a court order.

  The asshole had to be Blaise because Rizzoli had his plate full at the moment. The other asshole, Rizzoli, not the governor, had attacked Jag and his guys on their way back from wherever they’d gone. Though Jag didn’t say it, the move had shaken all of them. Hell, it had shaken me too. Made me realize just how dangerous life could be with a motorcycle club in your orbit.

  Too bad I had plans for Rizzoli. Plans to fuck up his whole world and then shit all over it. “That’s entirely too much damn thinking before the alarm goes off.” Jag’s thick arms wrapped around my waist, his hot hands roaming the expanse of my skin until I shivered.

  “How do you know how much thinking I’m doing?”

  “The damn grinding gear shifts woke me up. What’s on your mind?”

  “Your friend was shot, Jag. That easily could have been you and I fucking hate it.”

  He turned me onto my back and leaned onto his torso so we were chest to chest, deep brown eyes smiling and serious as they seared through me. “I’m glad you hate it because it means you care but this is my life Vivi.”

  I knew that, I’d been telling myself that since he picked me up from Lasso and Rocky’s place. His life was constant danger and threats. It was something I needed to keep telling myself until it stuck. “I’m aware, Jag. Doesn’t mean it’s a pleasant experience. Anyway, I was just … plotting.”

  His smile widened as his lips closed in on me, pressed against mine slow and sensual. “You’re really sexy when you go all evil genius on me, you know that?”

  “Tell me more,” I purred and wrapped my arms around his neck. My legs followed suit as his hips pressed against mine, not enough to give me exactly what I wanted but just enough to send shards of light shooting out behind my eyes.

  “I do more showing than talking,” he said with a laugh, the blunt tip of his cock resting right at my opening, making me clench with desire. I spread my legs wider and Jag began to fill me magnificently. Beautifully. Spectacularly.

  “Jeremiah, please.” My back arched into him and his hands gripped my waist hard and pounded into me, fucking me to within an inch of my life. He thrust deep until I cried, until I moaned and called out his name like he was the only one who could save me. Who could keep me from flying off into the stratosphere as my orgasm crashed over me in thick, heavy waves that made me feel drugged. Like I was having an out of body experience. “Fuck me, Jag. That was…”

  “Intense?”

  “As fuck,” I agreed as we both laughed in the sexually charged moment. I groaned when Jag’s ringing cell phone began skipping across the nightstand beside him. “You’re popular.”

  “It’s an unknown number.” He frowned at the screen and I could see the hesitation on his face.

  “Answer it.” I snatched the phone from his hand and pressed the talk button. And then the speakerphone.

  “Yeah,” he barked into the phone.

  “You’ve gone too fucking far, nerd boy. I’ll make sure you and your whole fucking club pays for this, asshole!” It was Vigo Rizzoli. I’d played the recording of his voice at least a hundred times before, so I was certain of that.

  “I’m gonna need more details than that, Macaroni.”

  He growled into the phone. “My fucking money. You fucking stole all of my money and I know it was you. Give it back and this won’t get ugly.”

  Jag held up a hand to stop the smartass remark poised to leap off my lips. “Money? Why on earth would I want a few thousand dollars when we have several profitable businesses?” He was doing his best to sound like some suburban poindexter, which only pissed Rizzoli off more.

  “Don’t fuck around with me Jag! I will end you and that bitch of yours. But first I’ll let all my boys have a ride on that sweet pussy and then I’ll put a bullet between her motherfuckin’ eyes.”

  Jag clenched his jaws and fists as he listened to the vitriol coming from the phone and I knew he was angry. More than angry. “The same way your boys tried—and failed—to take out me and my crew? Glad to see you rodents are keeping your standards as low as ever.”

  “Put the money back, Jag.” His voice was low and infused with steel to show he meant business. Jag only grinned at the phone.

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Vigo but I wish I had stolen your chump change just so I’d be the one responsible for causing you this pain, but it wasn’t me. Your sparkling personality must have pissed someone else off.”

  “Fucking liar! Get ready for war you piece of shit.”

  Jag reached for the phone, but I took three steps away from him. “If anything happens to Jag or any of his friends or any of their family, you will never see that money again. Test me and I’ll take even more.” I ended the call. “Talking to that greaseball makes me feel dirty. I feel like I need a shower now.”

  He grinned and licked his full lips while I let my gaze slide down to the tent in th
e sheet over his lap. “Yeah, Vivi. Really fucking hot when you go all evil genius.”

  Normally I’d hate a nickname like that but coming from Jag it sounded kind of all right. “Yeah? You all hot and bothered, Jag?” Hands on my hips, I stood tall and took a step toward him. He nodded and beckoned me closer.

  “Hell yeah, I am.” He stroked his naked cock, already thick and hard and ready. And all for me. “But…you stole Vigo Rizzoli’s money?”

  “Not really. Right now it’s just in a kind of limbo where it exists but doesn’t. If I’m dead the money will stay where it is. Forever.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. I didn’t like thinking about you getting hurt.”

  “So you wiped him out?”

  “Not exactly. I left one account available to him and I really hope he decides to use it.” Because it would be the beginning of the end for him and that day couldn’t come soon enough for me. As soon as I could stop worrying about Vigo Rizzoli, I could put my focus back where it belonged.

  On Governor Blaise.

  ***

  After spending the morning digging deep into any journalists and paparazzi who’d ever reported on Blaise, I’d learned a lot about Roger Stanhope Blaise in the past six hours. He was a hometown Florida boy who ignored his small town, working class background and married up to a Connecticut blue blood who loved the Florida sun. Unfortunately, the rumors of Roger’s affinity for younger girls had plagued him since the early days of his political career. Well, unfortunate for him because I found it quite fortuitous.

  The one good thing about the paparazzi was that you could count on them to be as mercenary as possible. Cash was king and fortunately for both of us, I had plenty of it. And there was one guy, a real greaseball with a mullet and a penchant for acid wash jeans. Terry Murphy. He somehow got all the goods, which meant he was the man I needed to see.

  That and he was totally old school. Kept his photos offline. All the way the fuck offline.

  “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this, Vivi.” Jag sat in the driver’s seat because, heaven forbid, a man actually ever placed his butt in the passenger seat. Even though it was my car, I relented. Driving wasn’t all that fun and driving in Los Angeles was the worst fucking thing ever.

  “Because you know I’m right. This Terry dude is cautious. Too cautious for someone who takes the same damn photos of twenty-five other guys every time he snaps an image.” It didn’t make sense unless he had more. “The few non-celeb images to his credit were of Blaise. It’s a lead, Jag. The only one I’ve got.”

  He sighed and smacked the steering wheel. “Dammit, Vivi this guy could be crazy!”

  “And you’re coming with me. We’re both armed and possess above average intelligence, I think we’ll be all right.”

  Jag nodded and rested a hand on my thigh. “I have no doubt about that Vivi, but that doesn’t mean we need to go in there guns blazing. And by we, I mean you.”

  “I don’t even have a gun, just my blade. I’m just going to ask him a few questions and offer him some money for his research.”

  “Money for research? Another fake identity. Are you sure you’re not the spy, Vivi?” His mouth was set in a grim line but there was a spark of humor in his deep brown eyes.

  “Believe me, I’m sure about that. But there was a time in my life when I had a stalker, only he had skills to rival my own.” I hated talking about it because it was the only other time in my adult life that I felt helpless. Not in control. “You know those big hackathons where the government and private corporations go in search of the best hackers in the world and throw money at them?”

  “I’m familiar,” he said with a chuckle that made me smile.

  “Well he was there too, apparently. I barely even remember him because I just wanted to get in, get some contacts and get gone. But he saw me and wanted me and from there it went pretty fucking crazy. Calls at all hours, deliveries of flowers and jewelry and even lingerie. Then the asshole hacked into my webcam. Thank God he didn’t see anything. I’m not that stupid.”

  “What happened? Did you kill him?”

  I flashed a proud smile and rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately I didn’t, but I did have several seasoned IDs at my disposal and that helped keep me a step or two ahead.”

  “And what was this asshole’s name?” His big hands wrapped around the steering wheel tight enough to break it.

  “Charles or Chaz or something. I don’t even think we were formally introduced, just some weirdo who was fixated on me.”

  “And what happened to him?”

  “Let’s just say that you shouldn’t stalk people when you’re embezzling from your clients.” After all the drama it ended with a whimper and not a bang. Thank fuck. “But the IDs took a lot of time and I refuse to let them go to waste.”

  “Makes sense. Let me guess, you don’t leave home without them?”

  “No, home is usually where most bad shit goes down. Anyway it’s behind me. Now tell me why you’re still dangerously single Jag.”

  “Dangerously?”

  “Considering how many women you’re surrounded by, you’d have to actively try not to get involved. That equals dangerously single, okay maybe compulsively single. How’s that?” I knew most guys weren’t too eager to couple up and sleep with just one woman, but Jag seemed like the kind of guy made for a one-woman relationship.

  “I guess I kind of am. Coupled up,” he clarified without looking at me. The jerk. He knew exactly how his words sounded but refused to clarify until we’d gone about ten miles. “You’re living with me and sleeping with me, plus we’re on a road trip, which is basically a vacation. That’s more serious than I’ve ever gotten with any woman.”

  His words shouldn’t have made me feel such a sense of relief, but they did. “Me too,” I admitted quietly, feeling uncertain at my own brief display of vulnerability. Since I was thirteen, I learned to keep my own counsel. If I didn’t divulge my secrets and weaknesses to the world, they couldn’t be used against me.

  Ever.

  We finally made it into Los Angeles and to the quiet West Hollywood neighborhood where Terry lived. “I should go up first. Alone.”

  Jag frowned and rejected the idea outright, just as I knew he would. “You really are fucking crazy if you think I’ll let that happen.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You can’t stop me, Jag. And you know he’s more likely to open up to a woman.” Men were simple creatures that way.

  “Or he’s going to grab you and pull you into his house, maybe keep you in his basement before burying you under the tomatoes.”

  I stared at him for a long moment and then burst out laughing. “That’s an active imagination you have, Jag. The guy’s a photographer, not a serial killer.”

  “They’re not mutually exclusive Vivi. I’m coming with you,” he said and then stepped from the car, leaving me ensconced in the dark while he walked around and opened the door for me. “Come on. I’ll follow your lead.” Jag pulled me out of the car and pressed me between him and the cool metal of the door, his lips closed in on mine. The kiss was slow and simmering. Just enough to make me want more. “Just keep your knife against that fine ass. Please.”

  “Fine.” The walk up to Terry’s little bungalow was nearly overgrown with a beautiful English garden that needed serious tending. “That’s unexpected,” I said as I rang the bell and waited. It was late afternoon so I took a chance he’d be home during the day. If not, I had a few leads.

  The knob turned and someone disengaged several locks before the door opened. Slowly revealing a man with a longish red mullet and dark green eyes, freckles galore under his wife beater and acid wash jeans.

  Acid. Wash. Jeans.

  “Yeah, whadda ya want?” He was gruff and on the wrong side of grumpy, but this was too important.

  “Hi Mr. Murphy, I’m Victoria Vivischenko and was hoping you could answer a few questions for me about some of your photos.”

  His eyes went wide in reco
gnition. “Hell no. All my pics are clean and legal so fuck off!”

  I held up my hands and kept up a polite smile. Men always felt at ease when you approached them with sugary sweetness. “I’m not a lawyer and I don’t represent any celebrities. I was hoping you could tell me everything you know about Roger Blaise. Everything.”

  For a second I thought I had him, but Terry’s sneer returned and he took a step forward. Jag had taken a step to match him but I waved my sweet protector off. Right now, getting info was far more important. “What’s a sweet girl like you want to know about a scumbag like that for?” He leaned forward and flicked my hair from my shoulder.

  I didn’t like to be touched without permission and instinct kicked in. “Don’t ever put your hands on me, asshole. Now, can you help me with this guy or not?”

  Even with my blade pressed against the base of his throat, Terry didn’t flinch and he didn’t beg. What the crazy bastard did, was smile. “I like ’em crazy girl, come on in.”

  I looked back at Jag who only shrugged and motioned for me to follow Terry. “What the fuck,” I mouthed.

  “He likes ’em crazy,” he whispered in my ear and stayed close as we entered.

  “So what’s got you interested in ol’ Blaise? Got a young sister in the family way and naming him as the father?”

  It was a curious statement but right in line with what I’d been able to dig up on my own. “Not exactly, but you’re in the right area.”

  He nodded and went to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a few beers. “Well, Blaise has had an underage girlfriend since his first term as state senator, at least. They were always around, too. Babysitters until his kids outgrew them and then they were all types of things, young entrepreneurs with a cleaning or car wash service, apprentice chefs and once even a cheerleading coach. He’s crafty about it, but not crafty enough.”

  He popped the top off of a beer and handed it to me. Then he handed one to Jag. I took the beer and nodded thanks as we sat on the dingy sofa. “Not to be rude but, how does a pap know all of this?”

  He grinned and for a moment I could see beyond the mullet and jeans. “I wasn’t always chasing celebs. I used to be an actual journalist at The Herald but my Blaise stories were squashed one too many times by the editor and we parted ways.” Terry took a long pull from his beer and sighed. “This job pays better and more people give a shit about it.”