HWY 550 (Rock Point Book 3)
Page 15
“Do you mind if I ask why?” I jump in before Ouray blows a gasket and the cop’s eyes come to me. “Not that I mean to be difficult, I’m just curious.” It’s clear the man finds me a nuisance, which is just fine by me. I just don’t want Ouray to antagonize him further.
“Investigating an aggravated robbery and assault. I’d like to know where you were between eight thirty and nine thirty this morning.”
“None of your goddamn—”
“Actually, officer,” I quickly interrupt Ouray, who gets up to his full height in an attempt to cower the shorter man. But I know the type, deriving power from his badge, and antagonizing him will only turn this situation, that is easily resolved, into one that has no chance of ending well. “At eight thirty we were at the Planned Parenthood clinic in Farmington for an appointment. I’m sure you can easily confirm that. We left at about ten after nine, and got here at nine thirty, which I’m sure the diner staff can attest to.”
The man looks disgruntled when he asks, “Can I see some identification?” Without argument I pull my purse from the saddlebags and hand over my driver’s license while Ouray just stands there glowering.
“Honey, give the officer your driver’s license,” I nudge him. Reluctantly he fishes his billfold from his back pocket and produces it.
“What seems to be the trouble here?” Of all people, Manny walks out with a few of his guys by his side.
“Not your concern, Salinas,” the officer replies, locked in a battle of glares with Ouray.
“Come on, Berkland, don’t you have somethin’ better to do than throw your weight around at a friendly gatherin’?” This draws the officer’s ire, and he swings on Manny, who doesn’t seem affected as the man gets in his face.
“Not when a man was left with a dent in his skull the size of my fist on the floor of his gun shop, not half a mile from here, as the result of an aggravated robbery. I’m gonna wanna check all of your buddies. Best call ’em out,” he orders, poking a finger at a docile looking Manny, before getting on his radio to call for more units. Fabulous.
In minutes, three more cruisers arrive, and with a parking lot now full of aggravated bikers and half a dozen stern-faced police officers, the situation is tense to say the least.
It takes two hours for the cops to check everyone’s ID for active warrants, while Wheels seems to be the one designated to keep the crowd under control. Amazingly out of the almost thirty bikers, only two guys end up cuffed and put in the back of the cruiser. One of Ouray’s guys, Honon, has a bench warrant for a traffic ticket he ignored on an earlier pass through New Mexico this year, and the other is one of the Amontinados with a probation violation.
When we finally ride out a few hours late, and a couple of riders short, the mood is dark and the tempers short. And not just among the group, the officers weren’t looking too happy themselves, having to let the rest go without recourse.
Ouray doesn’t say much until we stop to gas up, about three hours later, just the other side of Albuquerque.
“I need a word,” he says, grabbing my arm and marching me to the far side of the small building, where he gets in my face. “What the fuck was that back there?”
“Sorry?”
“The little stunt you pulled with that cop, talking out of turn, making me look like a goddamn lapdog.”
“Excuse me? You mean when I tried to stop you from getting yourself in a whole lot of trouble with that attitude?”
“I get what you were trying to do, but goddammit, woman, the only way I’ve stayed in the saddle, since taking the club legit, is the respect of my brothers and these other MCs. Without it, we’d have been overrun a long fucking time ago. Respect is my power, and you just publicly undermined that.”
“Fine, then next time I see you dig a grave for yourself, I’m gonna go right ahead and let you bury yourself.”
Already cranky, and now butthurt by his words, I slip from his hold, turn on a heel, and dive inside the gas station, looking for a restroom. Five minutes later, cooled down with some cold water on my face, and munching on a Snickers bar I needed, I march back outside without looking at Ouray, who is waiting by the bike. I grab my helmet from the handlebars, slap it on my head, and get on the bitch seat, pointedly looking at the road and ignoring him.
I can feel him staring at me, before he finally gives up with a deep sigh and gets on his bike. A few minutes later we’re back on the road, the warm wind drying the odd tear rolling down my cheek almost as fast as it appears.
CHAPTER 18
LUNA
My ass is sore.
I guess riding on the back of a motorcycle for five and a half hours will do that to you. The comfort of the bitch seat apparently only lasts so long.
My head is sore too. It would’ve helped if I had time to call into the office and hash over this morning’s events with one of the guys, but since that was not an option, I spent the entire ride mulling over every detail, doing my own head in. I’m not in a position to get the particulars about the robbery this morning, so I can’t confirm if there is any connection to the dispensary hits, or to any of the MCs. I had to make a judgement call, and decided not to use my badge and instead continue to fly under the radar.
Still, the whole scene left me feeling uneasy. From what I could overhear a couple of the officers say, there was minimal information they were able to get from the severely injured shopkeeper, but it was enough to have the hair on my neck stand on end. My ears perked up with the mention of two suspects, all in black, and although the poor man hadn’t seen them leave, he recalled hearing the whining sound of an engine.
“I’ll grab the bags,” Ouray says, taking the helmet from my hands. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me since our brief stop the other side of Albuquerque. I can’t bring myself to speak yet, so I just nod, and walk off to stretch my legs and explore the rustic setting of Canyon Cabins, where we’re staying.
The basic cabins are spread out under a canopy of tall pine trees, with picnic tables outside each, and the clumps of motorcycles parked in front of most of them seem out of place. From what I can tell, the guys are sharing, three or four per cabin. Ours looks to be one of the smaller ones, sporting only one bedroom, so I guess it’ll just be Ouray and me. I’m sure I would’ve been grateful for that before, but now the prospect of being alone with him is not something I look forward to.
Just as I round the corner of one of the larger units, I spot Rowtag leaning against the back of a van, sharing what looks to be a massive joint with another guy. I think I may have seen him ride with one of the other MCs. I distinctly remember seeing him sitting with Rowtag in a booth at the diner when we walked in this morning. Instead of walking into another confrontation with the kid—which will only hurt whatever reputation he has—I slip between two cabins and start heading back.
When I spot Ginger, Red’s old lady—on the porch of a cabin two over from ours—I walk over to say hello.
“How’s your ass?” she asks, grinning, when she sees me coming. I must be bowlegged, at least it feels that way.
“Tender,” I admit. “Guess I’ll get used to it.”
“Fuck no. Unless you ride out with your man every time he hits the road, you’ll feel it every time you go on a longer run. Extra padding doesn’t really help either,” she says, slapping her own rounded ass. “Best thing to do is grab a drink and take a nice long soak in the tub.”
“Maybe I’ll do that.”
Wheels steps out of the cabin right next to ours when I pass by, and I smile at his chin lift. I feel his eyes follow me all the way up the steps of our little porch.
“Was wondering if you’d return.” Ouray is sitting on a plastic white chair, holding a beer and with his feet propped up on the railing.
“I was just looking around.”
“Want a beer?” he asks, getting up from his seat.
“No thanks,” I stop him. “I’ve got to make a quick call and thought maybe I’d soak in the tub for a bit.”
“A bit.” I manage a smile and head inside the small cabin.
OURAY
I was able to hear her on the phone inside. Sounded like she was reporting back to the office, but it’s quiet now.
Doesn’t surprise me to hear her suspicions were raised by that robbery this morning. Mine were too. I’m pretty sure we were the last ones to get to the diner, but I’m trying to recall if anyone else looked like they’d just arrived. The only person I really paid any notice to was Wheels, and he was down to the dregs of his coffee, so I figure he’d been there a while. I didn’t really notice Manny until he tried to mess with Luna. It wasn’t until the cop started asking about the bandanas, and the significance of the colors, that I clued in there might be some connection. Otherwise I might’ve paid closer attention when we first got there.
That was one fucked-up situation. Not a good start to our week. Of course it didn’t help that I lost my shit on Luna, who’s been quiet the rest of the ride, but I can’t have her jump in like she did. I was pissed she shared about our visit to the clinic—that’s no one’s fucking business but our own—even if she did it to clear my name right off the bat. It was the first time I saw the potential pitfalls of this relationship.
Because that’s exactly what this is: a relationship. She may want to crawl back behind her mask and pretend this is all about the damn case, but I saw the hurt in her face and it ate at me the whole ride here. Even with what I know will be some serious adjustments on both our parts to make this work, it’s fucking well worth it for me. I’m too damn old to play around.
Determined, I head inside, dropping my empty in the kitchen sink. I can hear her in the tub and don’t waste time—stripping down in the bedroom—before opening the adjoining door.
“What the hell, Ouray?” she snaps, trying to cover herself.
“We gotta talk.”
Her eyes fly up to my face. “Not much to talk about.”
“Bullshit.” I climb in behind her, dropping a condom on the edge of the tub while I force her forward.
“Well, do we need to be naked for that?” She tries to scoot away, but I lock my arm around her waist and haul her back against me. She’s stiffer than a board.
“Abso-fucking-lutely. All bared, Sprite. Nothing to hide behind.” No response except for a soft snort. “First off, I might’ve handled that better.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she snaps right away, betraying she knows damn well.
“No bullshit, Luna. I climbed down your throat, and even though my point’s still solid, I could’ve made it another way.”
She twists her head around and looks at me with disbelief. “Is that supposed to be an apology? Because if it is, it sucks.” I grin at her fire. I’d rather have that than the straight face and blank tone.
“This won’t be the only time we argue, baby—I foresee a future filled with those—but we can’t throw in the towel at every fucking bump we hit on the way.”
She’s quiet for a bit, until I feel her body relaxing against me. “You foresee a future?”
“Not playing games.”
“It’s hard. Trying to find that line between personal and professional,” she confesses, turning in the tub so she’s facing me.
“I’m thinking until this shit is cleared up, it’ll keep being hard,” I agree. “I know I’ve gotta give you room to do what you’ve gotta do, but I ask you try and keep a mind about the way you do it. I wasn’t kidding when I said I can’t have you putting my position in question. Especially when it already looks like someone’s trying hard to trip me up. I’m all for equality and shit, but not everyone in this world understands that, so if we could go easy—in public—I’d be much obliged.”
“So noted.” Her words are short, but the little smile she rewards me with says all I need to know.
Tagging her behind the neck, I stretch my legs and pull her on top of me, her warm skin slick against mine. “Now that we have that settled, what did the boss have to say?”
“Damian?” She props her chin on a hand resting on my chest. “They were already aware of what happened in Bloomfield. The MO looks to be similar to the dispensary robberies, as are the suspect descriptions. The only bit new to me was that the owner says he was hit over the head with a sap of some kind.” I raise my eyebrows at that piece of information. “Yeah, I was thinking that too,” she says without needing my words. “After you mentioned the padlock thing. I mentioned to Damian it might be another indication someone is looking to frame you.” I know I had nothing to do with this, and I know Luna knows I had nothing to do with it, because she’s been with me the whole day, but still it feels good to hear her say that. I scoot her up a little higher with my hands on her ass, and give her a hard kiss on the lips. “Which reminds me, he just got word earlier today there was a small cut in my brake line.”
“Figured there might be.”
“Right. So now the question is, when did it get there? And, more importantly, where did I get it? Damian is having a forensic mechanic from the Colorado Bureau of Investigation look at it. See if he can determine the first, so we can figure out the second.”
“Good.”
That’s what I say, but my thoughts immediately go to the fact that damn Jeep was parked behind gates in the parking lot of my clubhouse. Even the thought it could have been one of my own brothers makes me sick to my stomach. I just don’t know why any of them would, it doesn’t make any sense.
Luna’s soft fingers stroke over the frown on my forehead. “You’re thinking too hard.”
“That’s not the only thing hard.” I slightly tilt my hips so she can feel exactly what I’m talking about, before making quick work of rolling on the condom.
“Convenient,” she mumbles, smiling as she immediately opens her legs to straddle my hips. Even submersed in the warm water, I can feel the heat of her core. Her hand reaches up, trailing her fingers through the scruff on my chin. “We done talkin’, Sprite?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, her eyes on my mouth before they slide up, settling on mine.
I don’t hesitate taking her lips, her soft skin sliding easily against mine, as her arms slip around my neck, holding on tight. Almost effortlessly, my cock finds her heat.
With our movement restricted in the slippery tub, all I manage is slow, shallow strokes, which all too soon prove not enough.
“Out of the tub, babe,” I mumble against her skin, my hands on her hips lifting her off me. She grumbles softly in protest. “You’ll get it back.”
I get out after her, wrapping her in one of the threadbare towels, but before have a chance to lead her to the bed, she lifts herself on the bathroom counter. She lets the towel fall open, spreads her legs, and pulls one heel up on the cracked Formica.
Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Innocence and temptation rolled into one. Her lips still swollen from my kiss, her pale skin flushed, and her plump pussy an invitation, she brings me to my knees. Literally.
She curves a hand around the back of my head the moment my mouth closes on her and her moans fill the small bathroom. When her thighs start trembling against my face, I surge to my feet, and with one smooth stroke, I bury myself to the hilt.
Having this tightly restrained woman come apart in my arms makes me feel like a fucking king.
LUNA
The distant slam of a screen door wakes me up.
I’m pinned to the bed, Ouray’s much larger body wrapped around me, much the same way we fell asleep last night. He’d carried me to bed after making me come the first time, only to slip inside me again from behind. A large hand is still cupping my tender sex.
He grumbles in his sleep when I untangle myself and pad into the
bathroom to relieve myself.
My phone is in my purse in the living room, but I’m guessing it’s around eight. Still early, but there are some sounds of life coming from outside. I head back into the bedroom to grab some clothes to put on before I get coffee going, but stop in the doorway taking in the view. Ouray—now on his back—one strong arm folded behind his head, the sheet tangled around his hips displaying his broad chest, and one knee pulled wide. This large, powerful man, lying there so openly relaxed, is burrowing deep under my skin. In my life. In my heart.
I quietly get dressed and leave him sleeping in the bedroom to go in search of coffee. We probably should’ve gone to grab some groceries yesterday, because the cupboards are bare. There’s a coffee maker and filters, but there isn’t a coffee bean in sight. I grab my purse, scribble a note for Ouray in case he wakes up, and head out the door. We’re not that far from town and I could use a walk to loosen up my stiff muscles.
The cabins are mostly quiet and I don’t encounter anyone when I set out. About a mile down the road, I find a small grocery store that carries everything I need to get a decent breakfast together. I grab whatever I can carry—making note that at some point today we’ll need to get more supplies—and head back to Canyon Cabins.
There are quite a few cabin rental places along this road and I notice a shitload of bikes. Looks like ours isn’t the only group arriving early for the rally that doesn’t start until Thursday.
About a block from the resort, I look up a side street and spot a familiar figure standing beside an idling white pickup, talking animatedly to whomever is behind the wheel. I try to memorize the license plate, looking away quickly when the man turns his head in my direction.
Tempted to look over my shoulder, I instead focus on keeping my eyes ahead, my ears sharp for any movement behind me. No footsteps following, but I do hear the distinct whine of an engine moments later.
Not wanting to risk being overheard, I stop just inside the entrance to the cabins and sit down on a rock. I quickly dial the office, knowing one of the guys will be in.