Tarnished Lies and Dead Ends Page 21

  He lifted a mug and surrendered it to her grip before grabbing the other one. “Yeah, Jussie, just long nights catching up with me. Slept better with you than I have in a long time.” Sipping noisily from the mug, he cut his eyes to her. “You sleep okay?”

  “Did I snore? I snored, didn’t I.” The coffee was hot and rich, filled with flavor and blessed caffeine. “I’m sorry.”

  “Jesus, Jussie. No, woman.” He chuckled again. “You didn’t make a peep at all. Just curled up against me and took your rest. Made me happy to see.”

  “Oh, well, then that’s a relief.” She shook her head, huffing air up to fluff her bangs. “What time is it, Lyle?” She knew she was taking a chance using his name, but the way he’d demanded it last night gave her confidence it would be what he wanted.

  His smile was blinding, his entire focus on her as he leaned in close to brush his lips across hers. “We’ve got about an hour before we need to head out. I’ve got breakfast warming in the oven, so finish your coffee—” He twisted away, setting the mug down before reaching down to the foot of the bed. “Slip on my shirt, and come to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  “You want me to wear your shirt?” She thought she understood the gesture but wanted to verify his motives.

  “Fuck yeah, woman. You in my shirt? Gonna be hot as hell. Rile me up right before a war meeting, and I’ll do my best work. Then when we’re all done there, we’ll come back here and make our way through a couple sets of sheets before we hit the road.” He smiled broadly, not as brilliantly as before, but close. “Now, give your old man a kiss.” She reached for the shirt as he leaned close, fingers wrapping around the fabric, so she had a handful of material and a hot mug of coffee in her hands when he pulled the covers down around her waist, his hands immediately going to her skin. One broad palm skated along her ribs, his work-roughened thumb scraping across the side of her breast in a titillating caress. His other hand cupped and lifted a breast, fingers and thumb tweaking the nipple until she felt the burning sting of pain from the pinch. Breaths coming out choppy, she stared at him as he watched her face. “My Jussie.”

  Closing the distance between them, she offered her lips as he’d demanded, and he instantly took control of the kiss, using tongue and teeth as his mouth worked against hers.

  “Kitchen, honey.” He pulled back, tweaked the stinging nipple a final time, picked up his mug, and sauntered through the door.

  Justine watched him stride out of sight, those damn jeans clinging to his ass and thighs like they’d been made for him. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his T-shirt thin to give a great show of the muscles moving underneath.

  “Man’s a menace,” she muttered, gulping at the cooling coffee. She set it on the table and spread the shirt out over her lap, casually bringing the covers back up to cover herself because the sight of her one nipple red and puffy was distracting. It wouldn’t have been as bad if he’d given both the girls the same treatment, but he’d apparently picked a favorite. She snorted a quiet laugh.

  Support your local Incoherent was on the back with iron-on vinyl, and the same material displayed SYLI on the front.

  Something he’d just said struck her, and her brain reeled back to last night as she stood next to him in the clubhouse, shoulder to shoulder. My old man. Justine pulled in a shaky breath because this wasn’t something she’d ever wanted. In fact, this was something she’d actively avoided, moving away from her father’s club as a teen, staying at arm’s length from Davy’s club. Hell, even her job had been selected as the most opposite thing. Sure, she’d told herself—and still mostly believed it—that she’d gone into law enforcement studies because she’d wanted to help women like herself, those who had their loved ones stolen, those whose lives were made impossible by criminals—like my dad—but joining the agency? That had been the biggest stick she could push into her father’s eye. A virtual scream of “I’m not like you, not at all.”

  “And here I am.” She looked at the doorway, wafting scents of eggs and bacon beginning to make their way in through the air. “I’m an old lady.”

  Wild—Lyle isn’t like Daddy. Not at his core. She had no illusions that if there’d been money to be made running flesh back in the day, her father’s club would have been all over that. Davy’s not like Daddy, either. She’d understood as soon as she’d realized who Davis Mason was, her half-sibling, but one who had also angled his path well away from the line their father had trod.

  There were no hard and fast rules about this relationship with Lyle. He’d claimed her in front of the men who mattered in his life, but hadn’t she done the same thing? We’ll do this get-to-know-you tour on his bike, and then I’ll have decisions to explain.

  But she didn’t have to turn her mind to those changes yet.

  She flipped the covers back, picked up the shirt, and shimmied into it. He wants to see me wearing his shirt. When she stood, the hem swung midthigh, so she smiled as she picked up the nearly empty mug and very deliberately stepped past her panties on the floor.

  The only thing she had to do in the next hour was tease and please her old man.

  And that sounds pretty damn fine to me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wildman

  Backing his pipes to the building with the ease of long practice, he stabilized the bike and held up a hand, smiling when Justine’s palm confidently met his. She stepped off the pegs, swinging her leg over, so she stood next to his left side, and he grinned again. First, it put her opposite the hot pipes, so no chance of getting burned, but he was also right-handed, and it put her well away from the piece holstered along his thigh.

  “Fuckin’ champ, woman.” Kickstand down, he stood up and off the bike, taking the helmet she’d already removed and hanging the chin clip on a metal hook welded to the bike’s frame. Dangling his from the handlebars, he slipped in behind her and captured her hands, replacing them in her hair with his own as he fluffed her bangs and stroked stray strands behind her ears. “Love havin’ you wrapped around me.”

  “You’re not half bad yourself, Wild.” She twisted around in his arms, and he waited to tighten his hold on her when she’d turned to face him. His hand on her ass brought their lower bodies flush. “No slouch.”

  “Lovin’ the approval, Jussie.” Eyes open, he leaned in to kiss her, grinning against her mouth. “You ready to head in?”

  She pulled back and glanced around the lot, seeming to take in the elevated number of bikes in the lot. “Is this the whole club? All chapters?”

  “Nah, we’ll just have Mother here. Maybe BR. Not everyone, though.” He pointed to a bike with distinctive handlebars parked two rows out. “Retro’s bike. His crew is here.” He scanned and gestured towards a clump clearly parked together, a prospect set to watch over the machines. “That’ll be the Rebels delegation, and I’m not going to venture a guess how many chapters they’ve pulled from, but it’s probably safe to say most of their southern contingent.” Another line of bikes was pulling into the lot, and he lifted a hand in a welcoming gesture to the lead rider, earning a head-nod in response. “That’s a Georgia club right there. They may or may not be in the negotiations but will definitely be around for assignments afterwards. Support shit, that’s what they do. Capone there took over from Big Nico when he was deposed, runs the South Coast Devils with an iron fist. I like the man, like how he is with his members more.”

  “So Twisted is willing to lean on leadership of other clubs?” She shook her head slowly, gaze following the movement of the bikes and riders as they found a space large enough for the whole group to park. “Isn’t that something he would normally avoid?”

  “Being capable of doing something yourself but understanding if you band with others who have the same abilities then the result will be stronger—that don’t make someone weak. Just means they’re confident enough to see the endgame and be willing to apply whatever tools are needed to get there fast and sure.” She hummed and turned to face the road, leani
ng her head against his chest as another group turned into the drive. “That’s Wrench and the CoBos. They’re probably the last to arrive. That’ll be an intentional move on his part, guarantee. Kept Po’Boy out of the clubhouse for the earlier introductions, which makes his defection less of a topic of conversation.”

  “Politics never change, do they?” Placing her palms flat on his chest, she angled her head up, and he looked down into her face. “In the government, in the agency, asking or accepting offered help without a fight is seen as an inability to manage resources or solve issues. Everyone is always pissing in the corners of their territory to keep other agents out of the way. Cross-department endeavors often need a mediator to even start to talk about whatever it is needs doing. I saw one case stalled in committee for a year, and then it was just dropped, because no clear hierarchy was ever established.”

  “That’s why your guys were so pissed, because you stepped over that process and took things into your own hands.” The club had ears in the DEA, and it had been brought to his attention this morning via series of calls and texts how much shit Justine had earned for her part in the recovery of the women. Despite the positive outcome, there were rumblings of an official reprimand coming her way, which was shit. “And not one of those fuckers have your back. That’s the biggest difference in doing things their way or our way. I go out on my own and source a solution that works, I know Twisted will be right there beside me when I need him. No coulda, woulda, shoulda around, just him and his ‘fuck yeah, get it’ as we deal with the shit.”

  “That sounds sorta freeing.” She laughed, but the strain in her voice was echoed in the tension lines around her mouth. “I can’t imagine not needing to requisition things in triplicate.”

  “And I can’t imagine you being happy with that process for long.” He gave her a squeeze, then turned them, heading towards the door. “Hence your rogue status in the DEA.” They reached the door the same time as Capone, and Wildman held out his hand, grinning as the man removed his riding gloves before gripping his thumb, hands wrapping around in a warrior’s greeting. “Capone, good to see you, man. This is my old lady, Justine.”

  “Ms. LaPorte.” No surprise, Capone knew exactly who she was. He lifted a finger to his brow in an abbreviated salute, not trying to touch her. Saved himself some pain there. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but you know how things are.” Capone must have noted Wildman’s instant offense, because he scoffed and shook his head. “Not trying to insult your old lady, man. It’s the day, brother. I fuckin’ hate this shit, and we did it not even a decade ago. Those cartel boys don’t gots long enough memories, seems like, and I’m tired of learnin’ ’em. Note I didn’t say it was good to see you, either.”

  The feel of Justine’s fingers slipping into Wildman’s back pocket was good, a silent vote of confidence. He tried to reel back in his anger, listening to Capone’s tone as well as his words.

  Capone continued, “That ugly mug gonna haunt my nightmares for the next few weeks, no doubt.” Capone’s face wreathed in a grin, corners of his mouth lifting his beard. “So unfuck yourself, man. It’s all good.”

  “No, man. I get it.” He lowered his shoulders and rolled his neck, grunting when it caught and popped loudly, telegraphing to anyone within earshot the level of his tension. “I’m with ya, brother.” Tipping his head towards the door, he reached out and opened it. “After you. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  Capone gave him another grin as he walked past, his shout echoing into the building, “Fuckin’ South Coast Devils are in the house, motherfuckers. Where the hell’s Twisted?” Wildman chuckled, tightening his arm around Justine as he held the door for the SCDMC members following their crazy president.

  A hand fell on his shoulder from behind, and he turned his head to see Po’Boy standing there. Justine ducked under his arm as he spun and wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders, pounding against the patch in the center of his back. “Good to see you, brother.”

  “Wild.” Po’Boy’s muffled voice in his ear sounded strained, and Wildman gave another brutal squeeze, forcing a groan out of the man, who then matched force for force, gripping Wildman hard enough he lifted him off the ground an inch, and Wild gave out a groan of his own. “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, Quacker.”

  They released at the same time, both men stumbling back a few inches with broad grins on their faces. Wildman shook his head and sighed, reaching his arm out, and was pleased as fuck when Justine immediately reclaimed her spot at his side, her fingers tucking in along his waist this time, curling underneath the fabric to stroke his bare skin.

  “Justine, you know I nearly kissed this man once? Was just going to be an experiment. Just to see how it was to be on the other end of all that intensity.” He shook his head, feigning sadness as he glanced down to see a crooked, questioning smile aimed his way. “I’d seen him kissin’ Wrench, and it sparked a curiosity in me.” He leaned close, hand up for privacy he negated by raising his voice instead of lowering it. “Bastard took offense, if you can believe that. ‘Keep ya tongue to yaself,’ he told me. So instead, the next time I went to the club down in Orleans, I found myself a…well, that’s neither here nor there, but let’s just say I’m glad I found you, baby girl.”

  Laughter rose from the men who had clustered around their little group, Wrench standing at Po’Boy’s back one of the loudest.

  “And that’s how it’s fuckin’ done, boys.” Po’Boy shook his head, then tipped his chin towards Justine. “You’re a stronger person than I am, woman. Takin’ this old troublemaker on like you’re doin’? Hope you got the patience of a saint, because a saint he ain’t.”

  Justine’s headshake and sigh came with a smile as she said, “Already got that memo. Think there’s still time to get out?”

  “Hey.” Wildman glared at Po’Boy, then gave Justine a shake. “Hell no, you ain’t gettin’ away from me.”

  “Good thing I wasn’t going to try then, isn’t it?” Her fingertips dug into the soft skin under his ribs, and he flinched, which only pressed them more tightly together.

  “Let’s get inside,” Wrench offered, pounding Wildman’s shoulder as he stepped past them. “Found your match, I see. You’re in for a helluva ride, brother.”

  “Don’t I know it.” Wildman ignored the rest of the CoBos as they filed past, dipping to brush his lips against Justine’s. “Can’t get enough of your taste. Can’t get enough of you.” He kissed her again, flicking his tongue against her lower lip, delving deeper when she opened for him, as uncaring of their audience as he was. “Want you right fuckin’ now and can’t have you. Told you that shit’ll rile me up, and we’ll get through this meeting faster. Good job, baby.”

  He caught her laugh in his mouth, only moving back to let her speak when her shoulders had stopped shaking.

  “Just doin’ my part for the cause.” Head against his chest, she stayed close as he led her into the clubhouse, which was bursting at the seams with so many members and guests present.

  It struck him immediately that Justine was the only female face he saw. No party dolls, no old ladies, not a single woman present—except Justine.

  “Quick primer, since you’ve been out of the life for a long time. I’m going to do my best to keep you right here with me, Jussie. If you’re barred from any closed-door meetings, then you look for any IMC with a Mother rocker. Don’t speak to them. Just let them see you and then get close, so it’s clear you’re looking for protection. I guarantee you they know why you’re here, and they’ll keep you safe if I’m not in the room with you. Don’t speak to a soul unless you’re under my arm and I give you the nod. Even direct questions, hear me?” He gave her a shake and stared down at her, watching as her lips pressed thin. She clearly wrestled with the directive before nodding her acceptance. “Not fuckin’ around here, Jussie. This is unprecedented, this many clubs in one fuckin’ room, and I expect shit to start at some point. Someone’s gonna bump someone, and it’ll be a shitshow for a min
ute before our guys wade in. Just don’t want you caught up in any shit. I don’t think anyone’ll be targeting you. If they do, then they’re too stupid to keep breathin’, and I’ll introduce them to the concept myself. But don’t put yourself in a position where you can be compromised.”

  “I won’t embarrass you.” Low and clipped, her words carried a thread of anger that had him shaking his head.

  “You mistake me, lady. I have no doubt you can handle yourself. Fuck, saw you do that with my own eyes just days ago. You got the goods, baby, but in this situation, it is counterproductive to use them. One on one, or even two on one, you got your shit handled. No doubts.” He pressed her against a wall, curling around her the best he could, creating a space for just them. “I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about shit breakin’ out behind you that’s got nothin’ at all to do with you, but you get swept underfoot because folks are tryin’ to keep it toned down and no weapons drawn. I expect you noted we weren’t checkin’ at the door, which means every one of these motherfuckers has at least one piece on ’em. Last thing we need is for someone to need a doc today, so we’ll be squashing shit fast. It’s in those moments between ‘not happening’ and full-blown where you could get hurt. I don’t want that.”

  “What if I pull a chair behind the bar and sit?” Brows furrowed, she angled her head to look around him. “I’d be below casual line-of-sight, and I can stay out of the way of the prospects. I’m guessing they won’t be serving much more than cans of beer today, if that. Would that work? This way I’m not a distraction if one of your officers needs to wade in and stop whatever altercation is brewing.”

  “Beautiful and brilliant. I’m the luckiest motherfucker around.” He kissed her hard, turned, and walked into the room. His hand on her hip pulled her with him. At the bar, he pointed to an upturned bucket near one end, shoving it behind the bar with the toe of his boot. “There’s your throne. You won’t be on it long, if at all, promise.” A low whistle caught the attention of Ruger nearby. He waited for the man to be within hearing distance before he again pointed at the bucket. “If I have to be in a closed door, Jussie’ll be here. You’ll watch out for her for me?”