Silas (Dirty Aces MC Book 4)

by Lane Hart

  Beautiful? Did he just say…he thinks I’m beautiful? Is he attracted to me?

  “How could you be so stupid to fall for not only a pyromaniac, but a thief and an adulterer?” he asks, which completely wipes out the compliment. If it even was a compliment.

  “Guess I was stupid,” I admit. “The truth is, I was just happy to have someone, anyone show an interest in me, to actually see me for once, that I ignored all of the red flags.”

  “So you did see the red flags but overlooked them?” Agent Sheppard asks.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Ignoring them and not seeing the flags are two totally different things.”

  “Really?” I ask in confusion. “How so?”

  “Maybe you were just looking for a little excitement in your life,” he remarks. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Until it gets me into trouble,” I respond as I watch a drop of sweat race down the side of his corded neck and disappear into the collar of his shirt. No, no, no. I cannot fall for an FBI agent! He’s only here to get me settled in and then he’s gone. Adios. So long, never to be seen or heard from again, like a ghost. A sexy, badass ghost. I’m in enough trouble as it is. No need to add heartbreak to my struggles, even if it would be nice to spend even one night in the arms of a man who is making sure I’m safe.

  “I gave up on seeking the thrill to be normal,” I announce both to him and as a reminder to myself. “I swear that is not how I ended up working for Harold Cox. I didn’t know anything about his enemies. All I knew back then was that I needed the money and he was offering a lot for me to cook one meal for him. I had no clue it would blow up in my face so epically. I’ve learned my lesson once and for all. Thrills will get me killed eventually, and I don’t want to die. Actually, now I’m sort of scared of dying before I have something worth living for, you know?”

  Agent Sheppard clears his throat before responding. “Ah, yeah.”

  “Kind of wish I had learned self-defense or something, but that probably wouldn’t have done me any good when a gun was pointed at my head.”

  “You had a gun pointed at your head?” he asks.

  “Yes, and it was terrifying. This guy, I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear his voice and he was ready to do it, to pull the trigger and just kill me right then and there if not for another guy stopping him. I still have nightmares about that moment when my life hung in the balance, in someone else’s hands, literally,” I confess.

  Hardly a night goes by that I don’t think about the man with the gun, making it impossible to sleep. Is that a good enough reason to try and get this man, who is just here with me trying to do his job, into my bed as a nice distraction? Of course, if his superiors found out, it could get him fired, but no one but us would ever have to know. And I wouldn’t let myself get attached knowing he would have to leave me in the morning.

  Silas

  * * *

  Fucking hell.

  Cora has nightmares? I gave her nightmares? The temperature in this hot as hell attic seems to suddenly go up a few more degrees.

  I didn’t mean to scare her like that. Devlin was freaking out trying to find his girl, and I just wanted to help. We assumed everyone in Harold Cox’s house except Jetta was a threat and needed to die. Looking at Cora now, I don’t know how I could think for even a second that she was anything but innocent. The kind of beautiful innocence that makes me think of doing bad things to her.

  I still remember hearing her screams, and because I’m a sick bastard, they still make me hard.

  “If you want, I could teach you a little self-defense and how to use a gun,” I find myself offering for some unknown reason.

  “I don’t know,” Cora replies. “Guns are pretty scary.”

  “Only if you don’t know how to handle it.” Or if one is pointed at your face.

  “We’ll go over a few basics before I leave,” I assure her. It’s the least I can do to make sure she’s safe. I’m leaving her alone in a new town with a new name to start her life over, and it’s the Dirty Aces fault.

  “Okay, thanks,” she says. “So what else is on the agenda for today?” she asks, her front teeth biting down seductively on her bottom lip.

  “Well, if this house is acceptable, I need to make arrangements with the realtor.”

  “I love this house,” Cora agrees. “All it’s missing is groceries. I can’t cook without food.”

  “Then, if you make a list, I guess I could go to the store and round up what you need.”

  “Will you…would you like to maybe stay for dinner tonight?” she asks, nervously. “I can cook anything you want.”

  “Anything I want?” I repeat, noticing it sounds more like an offer for fucking than for food. Is she hitting on me?

  “By the time I cook, it’ll be late if you want to just crash here tonight?”

  Holy shit, she is! This woman has no sense of self-preservation at all. It’s a miracle that she’s survived this long.

  “I know I would feel safer if you stay here my first night,” Cora says.

  And fuck, how am I supposed to say no to that?

  “Okay, I’ll stay.” I’ll stay, but I sure as fuck won’t sleep with her. Hell no. I don’t trust myself to not hurt her. I’m here to do a job, not get my dick wet. “In one of the guest bedrooms,” I add to make my intentions clear.

  “Whatever you want,” she replies with a smile, as if it’s her life mission to give me what I want like some sort of subservient goddess. While I’m sweating buckets in what feels like hell, my dick is in fucking heaven, eager to get her on her knees to be worshipped. “I’m just happy you’re staying.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say, having to clear the lust from my throat. “Let’s find something to write on so you can make a list.” Since she’s standing next to the attic stairs, I have to slip past her to get by, desperate for the cooler air downstairs. My biceps brush her perky breasts, and I nearly groan at the contact.

  “I love grocery shopping. Can I come with you?” Cora asks excitedly as she follows me down.

  “You’re lying low, remember? Make a list, and I’ll get everything you need, along with hair dye.”

  “Ugh, fine,” she mutters, knowing better than to push the issue.

  On the main floor, I find the tray of pens the realtor left with her company’s name on them and a stack of fliers, so I grab one of each, turning the flyer over to give Cora a place to write.

  “Thanks,” she says when she picks up the pen. “What’s your favorite dish?”

  “My favorite dish? Why?” I ask in confusion.

  “I want to make you something you like,” she explains, her pale green eyes blinking at me expectantly.

  “I can eat anything,” I announce as my gaze lands on her cleavage and the words come out sounding like innuendo. The truth is, I’ve never been a fan of eating pussy since it doesn’t do anything for me. I pay to get myself off a few times, not the whores. But Cora looks so sweet and innocent, I would love to hear the kinds of screams she would make if I threw her down and shoved my tongue in her cunt.

  “Tell me something specifically,” she demands.

  And since I know eating her pussy would only lead to fucking her so hard she may not survive it, I find myself saying, “I like pie.”

  “Pie?” she repeats. “What kind of pie?” When I don’t elaborate for fear of admitting I want to devour the hot, sweet pussy pie between her legs, she offers me a few actual edible options. “Apple, pecan, pumpkin?”

  “Yes,” I choke out.

  “You like all three?”

  “Sure, why not.”

  “Okay, then,” she replies with a grin before jotting down items on the grocery list while my swollen dick throbs and aches behind my zipper.

  But I will not give in.

  I don’t deserve any relief even by my own hand. I’ll just have to keep hurting until this job is over.

  Chapter Eight

  Cora

  * *
*

  Agent Sheppard leaves; and I grab my bags, heading up to the master bathroom to freshen up and unpack. I put a little makeup on to try and hide the bags under my eyes.

  There’s not much to do in the quiet house, no television or internet, no phone to play on; so while I wait, I go and sit on the back porch with the doors open, letting in the fresh, salty air, watching the ocean and waiting for Agent Sheppard to come back.

  I really should find out his first name. I’ve been thinking about sleeping with the man, and I don’t even know what I would scream out when we’re in bed.

  Not that he’ll agree to sleep with me. He did say he would stay the night, though, and all men are the same. If he’s not married, then why wouldn’t he want a night of no strings attached sex?

  Unless…what if he is married but doesn’t wear a wedding band for some reason, maybe as part of his job, to protect his family?

  I’ll have to ask when he comes back.

  Silas

  * * *

  After a quick stop at the realtor’s office to sign the paperwork and pay a year’s rent in advance, I hit up the one grocery store on the island.

  By the end of the trip, my shopping cart is so full of shit, I’m starting to think I’m going to have to get a second one. The woman doesn’t skimp on anything when it comes to food. Me, on the other hand, I can usually carry everything in my arms that I need when I go grocery shopping.

  I’ve crossed off everything on her list and am about to get in line to check out when I remember the hair color.

  It really is a shame to have to cover her beautiful red locks with a bland color, but it’s only temporary and for the best. Brunettes don’t stand out nearly as much as redheads.

  I grab one of the boxes of hair color that has a hint of an auburn tint to it, tossing it in the front of the grocery cart.

  Only after the cashier has rung everything up, bagged the load, and I’ve paid does it hit me that I somehow have to get all of this shit back to the rental house on a goddamn golf cart.

  Outside the store, I eye the cart and decide that I could carry more than it can haul because I know for a fact I won’t drop anything, while the load on the cart could go flying off.

  Gathering up all ten of the heavy reusable bags in my fists, I start the trek back. It’s less than a mile, but tell that to the blood circulation being cut off in my hands.

  Sweat is pouring down my face and the rest of my body by the time I make it to the steps to the house. I drop half the bags on the ground and carry the rest up, unlocking the door with my free hand to drag them inside and deposit the goods on the kitchen counter.

  Hearing me come in, Cora heads inside from the porch.

  “Hey, you’re back!” she says enthusiastically, like she missed me when I was only gone for an hour.

  “Yeah, I’m back,” I mutter as I start unbuttoning my shirt. “And it’s hot as fuck.” Once the fabric is off, allowing my bare arms to breathe, I toss it on one of the chairs at the bar, enjoying the cool air on my skin. The white ribbed tank underneath is more ‘wife beater’ than FBI agent, but I don’t give a shit.

  Cora doesn’t seem to mind either. She’s openly gawking at my biceps like she’s never seen them on a man before. Did her arsonist, thief and adulterer never work out?

  “I’ll let you put all this away wherever you want since you’ll be the one who has to find it again later,” I tell her.

  “Oh, right,” she says, her cheeks turning ruby red before she bursts into action, unbagging the groceries. “Thanks for getting all this for me,” she says, avoiding eye contact.

  “This isn’t everything,” I mutter before I go and haul in the rest of the load I left outside, feeling like a goddamn mule by the time I drop it all on the kitchen floor.

  “Jeez! How did you get all this back on the golf cart?” Cora asks, her jaw gaping at all the bags that are filled to the brim.

  “I didn’t,” I huff. “I carried it back. Now I’ve gotta go get the damned golf cart.”

  “Wow. That’s…the agency must have some serious requirement for you to work out and stay in shape.”

  “The agency, right,” I grumble.

  “Aw, you got me some cough drops and cold medicine!” Cora gushes when she finds the boxes, as if I brought her a dozen roses or some shit.

  “Maybe I was tired of hearing you cough up a lung,” I respond.

  “That’s really nice of you,” she says, either unaware or unconcerned by my sarcasm.

  “I’ve got to go get the damn golf cart,” I tell her.

  “If you give me a few minutes to put the groceries away, I could walk with you.”

  Taking a deep breath, I remind her, “You’re supposed to be…”

  “Laying low,” she finishes. “I know, I know. Fine, go,” she huffs in annoyance.

  I almost change my mind and let her come along but think better of it at the last second when I walk out the door without another word.

  My job is not to make her happy but to get her setup with a new life and get the fuck out of dodge.

  Chapter Nine

  Cora

  * * *

  I can’t believe he carried all these bags here by hand! I’m not sure how far the grocery store is from the house; but even if it’s only a block or two away, that’s far with all the weight of the bags.

  Not that he didn’t look fully capable of handling the load. I knew Agent Sheppard appeared muscular in his suit, but his biceps are the size of actual bowling balls, cut with muscle, veins bulging every which way. My first reaction to them was that I wanted to give them both a squeeze.

  Then I found the cold meds and nearly melted into a puddle since they were not on the list. In fact, I’ve felt better today than I have all week. It could be that all that stress I felt, worrying about the killers finding me, has finally been lifted off my shoulders.

  If Agent Sheppard thinks I’ll be safe here, then I trust him.

  By the time he returns, I’ve put all the food away and started making pork chops and mashed potatoes with apple pie for dessert.

  “Something smells good,” Agent Sheppard says when he returns and takes a seat on one of the stools at the bar to watch. “By the way, this place is officially yours,” he says, placing the key on the counter. “Rent is paid up for the next year.”

  “A year? Seriously?” I ask, pausing my potato peeling. “That’s…wow, that’s so nice of you,” I say while trying not to stare at his arms. “A year will give me plenty of time to find another job.”

  “Not me. The feds,” he corrects.

  “Well, it’s nice of you to help me through them,” I say. “By the way, what’s your first name? I don’t believe you ever told me.”

  “Uh, it’s Sam.”

  “Sam?” I repeat.

  “Short for Samuel.”

  “Oh, of course. Is it okay if I call you Sam, or should I keep calling you Agent Sheppard?” I ask.

  “Doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning anyway.”

  “Right,” I say at that unfortunate reminder of being in a new place all alone.

  “I’ll make sure you know how to use my gun before I leave,” he says as if picking up on my disappointment.

  “If you insist,” I reply since I’m not real thrilled about learning how to shoot a gun. It just seems like a lot of responsibility, having the power to kill someone with the pull of a trigger. God knows a gun almost took my life. “Anyway, I hope you like pork chops. I’m making them for dinner.”

  “That sounds good. I told you I could eat anything,” he reminds me.

  And of course, that phrase has me thinking about incredibly naughty things that he could be referring to. It’s so hard to get a read on the agent. Sam. Is he interested in me or just being polite? I can’t tell one way or the other with this guy.

  “While you work on that, I’ll try and get your internet hooked up so you can at least watch some TV,” he says. I’m a little disappointed when
he gets up from the bar and leaves, preferring that he stay and talk so I can keep trying and failing to flirt with him.

  As I cook, I decide that there’s no reason not to just go for it and tell Sam that I want him to keep me company in my bed tonight. Worst case scenario, he turns me down and then leaves tomorrow. Best case scenario, he gives me a hot night of sex that I won’t ever forget before he leaves tomorrow. The benefits outweigh the risk. Yes, I could end up making a huge fool of myself. It won’t be the first time and probably won’t be my last.

  Silas

  * * *

  I had no idea how hungry I was until I dig into the dinner Cora made. Turns out, I was fucking starving. Pretending to be an FBI agent is hard work. I’ve worked up more of an appetite than I realized, and not just for food.

  One bite of Cora’s hot apple pie and I’m thinking about eating her pussy again, which is an all new obsession for me. It doesn’t make any sense. Why do I keep fantasizing about going down on her, getting her off, instead of my usual go-to — picturing her on her knees with my dick shoved down her throat, giving me some relief?

  I’ve always been selfish when it comes to sex, so I don’t know what’s suddenly changed. Guess I just never wanted to put my mouth on a whore’s cunt since I know it’s had all sorts of dicks inside of it. But Cora…she’s just so sweet and innocent looking, like a virginal goddess. I want to be the first man to corrupt her.

  And dammit, I know I wouldn’t be the first man to fuck her, but that doesn’t seem to stop the insane fantasies. I have no doubt I would be the first to ruin her.

  “So? What do you think?” Cora asks. For a second, I think she’s asking about the war raging inside of me, wanting to know what I’ve decided – am I going to bury my face between her legs or not. Then I realize she’s asking about dinner and her pie. The apple pie.