by Debra Kayn
"Fuck, baby," he whispered. "What you do to me."
"What am I doing?"
"Loving me." His thumbs stroked the sensitive span of her cheekbones. "That look you get when my cock slides into you is one that burns into my head."
"Then let me give you more." She moved her hips, rising on her knees and going down slowly.
After a few minutes, she gasped for her lost breath. Cam's hands moved to her ass and she welcomed the reprieve. The glorious dips and sways in her belly made it impossible to keep any rhythm. He directed her movements. His cock slowly slid in and out, and then he raised his hips and she panted through the glorious flood of reactions going off in her body. He touched something deep inside of her that took her beyond understanding and turned her greedy.
His grip on her tightened and he thrust into her rapidly, taking her higher. Unable to stop, she dug her nails into his shoulders and hung on.
Soft gusts of air burst out of her mouth, sounding like his name.
"Take it," he said, low and husky.
Frantic, she held on tighter and let him take her to the end. Bright lights flashed in her vision and her muscles clenched. "God, yes..."
"Fuck." Cam held her completely on him and he groaned. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Then it dawned on her that he came inside of her, but his attention went to the window. His body, hard and pulsating, became even stiffer. She blinked, studying his face, and the lights in the room were not a result of her orgasm, but blue and white, and coming from the window.
"Cam?" Her body froze on top of him.
He lifted her off him and rolled off the bed. She scrambled after him, frantic to find her clothes. Her heart raced. This couldn't be happening.
"Why are the cops here?" She dragged a sweatshirt over her head.
"I don't know." Cam buttoned his jeans and left his belt undone. "Where's my boots?"
She wiped between her legs with one of his T-shirts off the dresser and grabbed a pair of yoga pants, pointing at his boots in front of the recliner. Shoving one leg into the pants, she fell against the bed in her hurry. "You didn't do anything...wrong, did you?"
"No."
She jumped in place, pulling the elastic around her waist. "Shit. Where's Jeremy?"
Cam stilled tying his boots. "God damn it."
She beat him to the door. He pulled her back and thrust a pistol in her hand.
"What are you doing?" She moved to set the weapon on the dresser and he stopped her.
"I can't have it on me, but I want it close. Put it in your waistband." He pulled her by the pants and slipped it inside.
"It'll fall—"
"Leave the handle on the outside." He pulled her sweatshirt down. "Now put your arm down to your side."
Her stomach pitched. She looked up at him. "What if something happened to Jeremy?"
Cam sent Jeremy off to town to take Tiff home. She didn't even know what time it was or how long Jeremy had been gone.
"Hold it together." Cam kissed her hard. "Stay right beside me."
She nodded, following him out into the hallway. Her worry over Jeremy outweighed her fear of what Cam planned. If anything happened to Jeremy, she'd never forgive herself for not trying to stop the madness circling all of them.
Gunner stood peeking out the window in the living room, his pistol held in front of him. Cam motioned Gunner back.
"Who's in the house?" Cam asked.
"Stache and Johnson took the two spare rooms upstairs. They haven't come down, so they must be asleep. Everyone else went home and said they'd be here on time in the morning." Stache frowned. "Cam...I don't like this. I'm not going back to prison. Not tonight."
"Nobody is going anywhere. Stay inside. The sheriff can't come in the house without a warrant. They won't know who is here." Cam held out his hand to Christina. "Come on, baby. Stay with me."
She walked outside onto the porch on shaky legs. Half-dressed and scared, she held on to Cam with one hand and pressed her arm into her side, afraid the pistol would fall out of her pants.
The driver's door on the sheriff's SUV opened. Cam stepped down onto the grass. Christina stared at the car waiting for another door to open and Jeremy to walk out, but nothing happened. She clung to Cam's hand. The sheriff came alone. The only time law enforcement arrived in the middle of the night was to deliver bad news.
"What's going on?" Cam asked.
"Sorry to wake you this late at night." Sheriff Colby flicked on his flashlight. "I received a call from James Tarmerk's parole officer, and he never received his nightly courtesy call. Our department tried to call Tarmerk and he failed to answer. I'm doing an official check-in to make sure Tarmerk's where he's supposed to be."
James Tarmerk? Merk? Christina swallowed her relief that the sheriff's visit had nothing to do with Jeremy.
Cam dropped her hand. "I'll get him."
The sheriff followed Cam across the yard to the travel trailer. Christina moved to hug her waist and stopped when the heaviness of the pistol slid against her hip. Afraid to get too far away from Cam and upset him, she hurried after him. The grass dampened her bare feet.
Cam banged his fist on the trailer door. "Merk, get out here. The sheriff wants to check on you."
Christina watched the curtained windows for any movement in the dark travel trailer. Merk always went to his trailer at night instead of going over to one of the other MC members' houses. For as long as he stayed here after getting out of prison, he'd always kept a light on or the reflection from the small television lit up the tiny area.
"Under agreement with his parole officer and the courts, I have the right to search his house," Sheriff Colby said.
"Hang on a damn minute." Cam beat harder on the door. "Merk, get outside."
Cam's patience slipped. Christina moved forward. "Maybe he's sleeping. He talked about having a headache earlier and wanting to take some aspirin."
The lies tumbled off her tongue.
Cam used his boot and kicked at the door.
Finally, the door opened.
Merk leaned, hunched over in the doorframe. "What?" he slurred.
Bare chest, mussed hair, and the smell of alcohol greeted them all. Christina gawked at the sight of Merk holding a whiskey bottle at his side. This was not good.
Cam turned to the sheriff. "You've seen him. Now you can report that he's here and leave my property."
"I'm assuming you'll make sure he doesn't leave the property in his condition, correct?" The sheriff glanced between Cam and Christina.
"He's going to bed, and last time I looked alcohol wasn't against his probation." Cam tilted his head. "Now, if you'll leave, I can go back to bed. I don't appreciate getting woke up by flashing lights in my window."
The sheriff remained standing in the yard. A rumble of a motorcycle grew louder. Christina tightened her arm against her side. She hoped the sheriff would leave before more Moroad members arrived and started trouble.
Jeremy pulled to the edge of the lawn, took off his helmet, and walked to Christina, glancing every few feet behind him at the sheriff's SUV. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. The sheriff is just leaving." She shook her head, wanting Jeremy to go in the house.
"Son, do you know it's after one in the morning and Federal has a curfew?" Sheriff Colby asked.
Jeremy widened his stance. "Yes, sir. I do know that."
"Do you want to tell me what you were doing out after curfew?"
"No, sir, I don't. Last time I studied the driver's manual to get my license, curfew laws ended when you turned eighteen years old. That means I'm old enough not to have to explain my whereabouts to you or my parents." Jeremy lifted his chin.
"Fair enough." The sheriff nodded and turned to Christina. "I'm sorry for interrupting your night, Christina."
"That's okay," she whispered, managing a smile.
The sheriff walked to his car, made a U-turn in the driveway, and drove away. Christina bit her lip. Cam looked furious.
Ca
m glared at Merk. "Get back inside. You're off the ride tomorrow."
Merk held up the bottle. "Looks like I live for another day."
Cam's head snapped back before he recovered and put his hand on Christina's back, leading her to the house. She glanced behind her and caught Jeremy talking to Merk and getting him inside the trailer.
She had no idea why Merk decided tonight would be a good night to drink so much. He always had a beer or three with the men, but he'd never allowed himself to get fall-down drunk before. Why would he do that when he had to call his probation officer three times a week or risk the judge putting him back in prison?
Inside the house, Cam walked straight to the bedroom and stripped his clothes back off. She followed his actions, keeping her thoughts and questions to herself. Afraid if she asked too much, Cam would get more upset.
After tonight, she understood how upsetting a middle of the night visit from the sheriff bothered everyone. Now wide-awake, her heart continued to race. At first, she thought the sheriff came for Cam, and then worried Jeremy wrecked his motorcycle. She never imagined Merk would be the one the sheriff came looking for. Out of all the bikers, Merk always seemed reliable and more of a rule follower than the others.
Settled in bed, lying against Cam, she stroked his chest trying to sooth the tension out of his body. Neither one of them said a word. Tonight, she understood the fear he lived with and never showed his men. Here in bed, he was unable to hide the chink in his fierce façade. She knew him too well. While he remained in control in front of his club and even the sheriff, she could feel the rapid beat of his heart coming off the adrenaline rush. A thin coat of sweat glistened his skin knowing in a blink, his life could be snuffed out. For a man always in control, he was powerless to protect the one thing that meant everything to him. His freedom.
On top of his own worry, he not once forgot about her. She doubled the stress in his life, and she hated adding the extra responsibility. She swallowed the emotions clogging her throat to keep them hidden. She wanted to ease his troubles if he'd let her help.
Chapter Twenty Three
The lone colonial style house sat at the end of a still-in-progress gated cul-de-sac. Cam studied the area. The set up couldn't be any better. The building lots beside Judge Cranley's house sat in different phases of construction. Obviously, Judge Cranley used his money to be the first one in his neighborhood.
The location, time, and day meant there would be no witnesses around.
"Are you sure he's home?" Gunner asked.
Cam pulled on a pair of latex gloves and reached back in his saddlebag for a pair of leather gloves to wear on top. Careful not to rip the latex, he said. "That's his Mercedes in the driveway. His wife drives a Lexus."
"The other car could be in the garage." Stache flicked his cigarette to the curb.
"It's not." Cam looked at the window to the right of the door and flexed his hands, stretching the well-worn leather of the gloves. "We'll ride clear to the house."
"He'll hear us." Jeremy straddled his bike.
"Good. That's what I want him to do." Cam toed his kickstand and started the engine.
Leading the Moroad riders, Cam kept his speed at twenty miles an hour. The sixty seconds from when Cranley became aware of their presence and the reality of the situation would work in Cam's favor. He wanted the judge scared for his life.
As one, each member dismounted their motorcycle and walked behind Cam to the front door. Cam took one look behind him to make sure everyone was ready. Satisfied, he gave the sign to move forward.
The red door with the gold colored handle and stained glass peek-through window welcomed all future neighbors. Cam kicked the front door, breaking the lock. Bear rushed forward with another kick beside the latch and the door swung open, crashing into the wall.
Cam stepped over the threshold, his pistol in his hand, and the Moroad men spread out. He motioned Gunner to stay with him and walked through the foyer, down the hall, and entered the first room on his right.
Judge Cranley stood by his desk with a shotgun pointed at Cam's chest. Cam ignored the threat and whistled, bringing his men into the room.
"I've called 911." The extra bulging skin underneath the judge's chin wobbled with fear. "They'll be here any second."
Cam put his pistol behind his back and tucked the gun in his jeans, then took the seat in front of the desk. "No, they won't."
Judge Cranley shifted, keeping aim on Cam. The morning paper half covered the cell phone on Cranley's desk as if his arrival interrupted his reading. As predicted, Cranley reached for his shotgun at the first sign of trouble instead of calling for help. A guilty man would never call for help if he feared his secrets getting out.
"Put the rifle down and sit." Cam hooked his finger over his shoulder, motioning his men to come closer.
Judge Cranley hesitated. Cam sighed in impatience. They didn't have all day.
"You can shoot me if you think you'll have a chance of walking out of this room without one of my men peppering your heart," Cam said. "I'm only giving you ten seconds to follow my directions before I give them the signal to bring this party to an end."
Judge Cranley set the rifle butt on the floor and leaned the barrel against the desk. Without taking his eyes off the men in the room, the judge sat. "What do you want?"
"Do you know me?" Cam asked.
Judge Cranley shook his head.
"Let me introduce myself." Cam paused. "I'm Cam Farrell, president of the Moroad Motorcycle Club out of Federal, Idaho. I also go by prisoner #18792 within the system, and have control over Blues, Reds, Los Li, and every other fuckup in Idaho State pen. Nothing happens without me finding out, and I do not like what is happening lately."
"Jesus Christ...." Judge Cranley's forehead wrinkled. "What do you want?"
"To talk," Cam said, leaning back in the chair. "I've come across some information that you're using your position to help parole Reds members."
"I'm doing no such—"
"I wonder how your family will react to the knowledge that not only are you illegally working the system, but the same men you've let out are also responsible for your missing sister in law..." Cam reached into his pocket, grabbed a cigarette, and lit the end. He inhaled, giving the judge time to come to terms with what Cam knew as facts. "That's right. Your wife believes her sister is vacationing and using her time to unplug from the grid. She hasn't questioned the lack of phone calls or why her sister isn't answering her emails yet. But, she will when I have a little chat with your wife about what her husband is doing."
"You can't do that!" Cranley stood, shoving back his chair. "Her sister knew too much."
Cam nodded. "Being on the budget board for the state, I could see where your sister in law would question your activities. I can even understand why you killed her." Cam shrugged. "I'm sure once the truth comes out that your sister in law is dead, your wife won't have much use for you ..."
"Stop." Cranley held up his hand, visibly shaken. "What do I need to do to make this conversation end in this room?"
Cam shoved the newspaper on the top of the desk aside and slid the cell phone in front of Cranley. "Call your buddy Roseberg and explain how the deal you have with Reds stops immediately."
"I can't just cut them off." Cranley backed up, pulling at the tie around his neck. "Do you know what that would mean?"
"I know exactly what it means." Cam removed his pistol. "Do you know what it means if you don't make the call?"
Gunner stepped forward and picked up a picture of Judge Cranley's family. His wife. His two teenage daughters. Everyone Cranley loved most smiling for dear, ol' dad.
"Look at the tits on these babes." Gunner held the picture toward Cam. "There's not much use for the old bitch, but those two girls are fucking sweet."
Cam watched Cranley. He'd lost all color on his face.
"I'll do it." Cranley sat down. "You're ruining my career and Roseberg will be out for blood, but God damn it, I'll do it. Leave my
family out of this and do not touch my daughters."
Cam propped his elbow on the desk and aimed the pistol at Cranley's head. "Make sure you let Judge Roseberg know the significant pressure you're under, and do not mention where that pressure is coming from."
Stache walked behind the desk, lifted a bottle of bourbon off the mini bar, and opened it. "Here, take a drink. We want you to be comfortable."
Cranley grabbed the bottle like a dying man caught naked between his whore's legs. Cam's finger twitched. All Cranley had to do was relay one word in his phone conversation to Roseberg and every free Moroad member would find their ass back in prison and the gun chain out of their hands.
"Call," Cam ordered.
Cranley picked up the phone, tapped the screen, showed Cam the name on the front, and held the cell to his ear. The itch in Cam's hand to pull the trigger intensified. He hated taking the chance of something going wrong, but for the good of the club and the gun chain, he had to make sure Cranley followed his exact instructions.
"George? It's Frank." Cranley sank down in his chair and stared at Cam. "Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I..."
Five pistols appeared beside Cam, all aimed at Cranley's sweaty head. Cam took that moment to check on Jeremy. The kid's hand and eyes never wavered from Cranley. He was doing all right.
"I've ran into a bit of a problem. We need to pull Flores back and keep the remaining Reds members to their original sentences. We can't allow anymore Reds members an early release," Cranley said. "It's imperative that this goes into effect immediately."
The rest of the conversation existed of yes and no answers he hoped had nothing to do with the club and only involved Cranley. Cam shifted onto his hip, reached into his pocket, extracted the paper he'd written his next instructions on earlier, and handed the new request to Cranley.
"Hold on a minute, George." Cranley hit a button on the phone and held up the piece of paper. "What the hell is this?"
Cam stood before Cranley could react, and punched him hard in the jaw and watched the older man drop to the ground. "Read the message over the phone exactly like the paper says, and then once you have verification of Roseberg following through, hang up. If you don't, your daughter's belong to my men and your wife goes and visits her sister."
