Burnout: A Legal Heat Novella (2 page)

“Because the good girls always want the bad boys, and there’s no one at this party who fits the bill better than me.”

He was on a ride that would never end.

*     *     *

Sophie followed Jason around the house, a smile plastered on her face as he introduced her to his eclectic group of friends. It seemed that everyone at the party had at least one visible body part pierced or tatted, and they were high, stoned, or drunk. Well, except for the bikers standing in the corner. She couldn’t see them all, but the three nearest to her were clearly not here to party although they were all holding drinks. They stood alert, watchful, almost as if they were guarding someone. If those one-percent patches on their leather vests meant what she thought they meant, they weren’t just bikers—they were outlaws. The baddest of the bad. Bikers who had turned their backs on civilian law to live the life they wanted to live, the way they wanted to live it. God, to have that kind of freedom…

She shook herself and pushed thoughts of jumping on the back of an outlaw’s bike and escaping the devastation that was her life out of her mind. Vancouver was her new beginning. New police department. New apartment. New friends. She glanced over at Jason snorting a line of coke from the crescent of a woman’s breast. The woman’s short green-spiked hair and thick black eyeliner were a stark contrast to Jason’s unassuming, innocent look. At least until he stood and wiped a few crystals of white powder off his nose.

Same brother.

“I gotta make a call.” Jason brushed a kiss over the woman’s cheek and winked at Sophie, as if he hadn’t just committed an indictable offence that carried with it a maximum penalty of seven years in jail. “I’ll meet you at the bar in the kitchen. Andre’s handling the booze tonight. Tell him I’ll have a vodka and seven, hold the lime. He’s the one with the piercings.”

Sophie’s teeth rattled as she wove her way through the crowd toward the kitchen. She didn’t mind heavy metal music, but Anthrax was a little too morbid for her taste.

“What can I get for you?”

Rendered speechless by the bartender’s multiple facial piercings, Sophie just stared. His lips, tongue, eyebrows, eyelids, cheeks, and ears all sported tiny silver barbells, studs, or rings. Jason always had unusual friends. Too bad she wasn’t into the Frankenstein’s monster look. One year after her divorce and she hadn’t met a man who took her breath away.

“Are you Andre?”

“The one and only.” He stepped back and gave her a mock bow. “I assume you’re Jason’s sister. He said you’d be coming tonight, and you’re the only person here who fits the description of conservative, uptight, but sweet.”

“He said that?” She didn’t know Jason thought she was sweet. Although Jason had always been her protector, they’d spent their childhood butting heads until Jason dropped out of school and moved to Vancouver. Over the years, he’d returned to Toronto for the odd birthday or family holiday, but he’d never shared with Sophie what he did to make a living. Despite his erratic appearances, he and Sophie had become closer after he left home, staying in touch by text or email and, on the rare occasion, by phone.

“He might have mentioned something about a stick and an ass, but I’m too much of a gentleman to repeat it.” He bent low and kissed her hand. “Andre at your service.”

“Sophie.” A smile tugged at her lips as cool metal brushed over her skin. How did he kiss anyone? Or did the metal add a little something special?

“Sweet Sophie. He said you were his total opposite, and he was right. What can I get you to drink? Maybe something fruity?”

“Patron. Straight up.” Sophie had never been sweet… or girly. Much to the dismay of her very feminine mother, a successful real estate agent, she had always preferred jeans to dresses, computers to castles, and toy guns to dolls. No matter how hard she’d tried, Sophie’s mother couldn’t interest her daughter in shopping trips and visits to the spa in the few hours she had to spare between real estate deals. And although she shared an interest in motorcycles with her father, a long-haul trucker, his frequent absences meant they’d spent very little time together.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight tequila drinker,” Andre said. “You sure you don’t want me to mix it in a margarita?”

“That would be a waste of premium tequila.” She gestured to the table of bottles behind him. “I’ll have the Silver.”

“I like a lady who knows her liquor.” The rasping voice behind her sent a shiver down Sophie’s spine, but the broad hand that squeezed made her scowl. “But I like a lady with a nice firm ass even better.”

“Hands off.” She didn’t bother turning around, didn’t give a damn who he was or how he looked. She had enough information from the position of his shadow and the heat of his breath on her neck to calculate just how many degrees she would have to turn and exactly where she would need to place her hand to put the bastard in an arm lock and drive him to his knees if he didn’t remove his hand before she counted to three.

One.

“Can’t keep my hands off such a lush ass.” He squeezed again. “Can’t keep from thinking how much sweeter it would look without all the trimmings. You tanned down there, too, sugar?”

Two.

“Last chance,” she warned. “Remove your hand or…”

She felt a rush of cool air behind her, and his hand fell away. Sophie turned to face her assailant, only to discover one man had morphed into two, and the leather-clad giant with his arm around the throat of the terrified bald dude was definitely not the owner of the shadow that had hovered over her only moments ago.

“The lady said hands off.” Her saviour’s husky growl sent a wave of heat through Sophie’s body, and her annoyance at the unnecessary rescue gave way to desire when his dark, sensual gaze rested on her.

Damn, he was fine. And entirely too handsome. Well over six feet, his long, dark hair falling to the tops of his shoulders, he had steel-blue eyes and a hard, chiselled jaw. She supposed most women would have thought of him as rough, with his face all harsh planes and angles, and marred with silvery scars. But Sophie had always been attracted to rough men—men like her father who knew how to live. How she’d wound up with Ryan, all suited and slick, with his perfectly coiffed hair and his sharp features, she didn’t know. Maybe his pretence of caring had filled some emotional void in her life, or maybe she’d just been wilfully blind to the monster behind the man.

Her gaze drifted down to his cut and the patches that proclaimed him not just a one percenter—an outlaw—but sergeant-at-arms for the Rogue Riders MC. He was the man in charge of discipline in the club. Strongest of the strong. And from the way he was looking at her—like a predator about to feast—a man who could give her what she wanted to start her new life of independence. Sex and nothing more. No strings. No ties. Someone to fill the void for just one night and then leave her the hell alone.

A man who had nothing in common with Ryan.

“You like what you see, babe?” Far from mocking, his voice was laced with amusement, and Sophie met his heated gaze.

“I like the way you’re holding that octopus, although I had the situation under control.”

A beat cop in Toronto for four years and now a member of Vancouver Police Department’s Investigative Division, she didn’t need protection, especially after her suffocating relationship with Ryan. When they had first started seeing each other, Ryan had won her over by showering her with affection and playing the protective, caring boyfriend. But he’d slowly pushed her boundaries—constantly wanting to know her whereabouts and activities, showing up on her girls’ night out, attempting to control what she wore when they went out together—until she couldn’t see them anymore. At first, she’d enjoyed his attention, hadn’t seen the danger, and when he’d pushed for commitment and asked her to marry him under the moonlight at the top of the CN Tower, she’d said yes.

It wasn’t until he’d physically stopped her from leaving the house to meet her girlfriends shortly after their honeymoon that she’d realized he wasn’t interested in protecting her—he wanted to possess her. But by then, it was too late. Ryan wouldn’t let her go.

“Missed that control bit,” Ace said. “Saw Bones here with his hand on your ass. Heard you tell him no. Didn’t see his hand move. Now the hand is gone.” He shook the man by the neck as if he were a rag doll. “Apologize to the lady.”

With a soft snarl, Bones cast his gaze down, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Sorry, ma’am. Didn’t know you were with Ace.”

“I’m not with Ace.”

Ignoring her protest, Bones looked back over his shoulder. “We good?”

“No.” Ace jerked his head, and two bikers in Rogue Rider cuts grabbed Bones’ arms. “Take him out back and teach him about respecting a lady. Then when he wakes up, teach him about respecting our MC.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say to a man who had just ordered his biker brothers to beat a man unconscious for touching her ass.

“Pleasure.” One corner of his mouth quirked up just the slightest bit. “Little thing like you. Big guy like him. You didn’t stand much of a chance.”

“I can hold my own.” Sophie folded her arms across her chest. “I may look small—”

“You are small.” Ace reached out to brush a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Even in those fucking sexy boots. And you’re curvy. But those curves would be wasted on a man like Bones. You got a body made for sex, not violence, and you need a man up for the challenge.”

She should have felt insulted, miffed, even outraged by his presumption. But he didn’t leer the way Bones had, and his tone was more appreciative than dirty. She had no doubt if she turned him down now, he would just walk away.

A real man. Confident and commanding without even a hint of the insecurity that had driven Ryan to return to their house the night after he’d been served with divorce papers.

“And that would be you?” Her voice lifted in a teasing tone. Although she couldn’t spend a night sexing it up with a criminal, she might as well have a bit of fun.

“Me.” His traced a thick finger along her jaw, his skin calloused and rough. The thought of his warm hands on her body sent a sizzle of heat straight to her core.

Her tongue darted out, slid over her bottom lip. She tasted the tang of lipstick, the faint hint of the whiskey she’d drunk to fortify herself before coming to the party, and the sweetness of desire.

Ace sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze locking on her tongue. “You got a name, babe?”

“Sophie.”

“Sophie.” He repeated her name with a sensual rumble that vibrated through her body, spreading out to her fingers and toes.

She liked the way he said her name, soft, almost like a prayer. She liked that he thought she was beautiful, although she had nothing on the women she’d seen as she passed through the house: taller, thinner, prettier, younger, wilder…with their piercings and dyed hair, leather crop tops, and minis. She liked it even more when he slid a hand around her waist to rest it in the small of her back, making her tingle from head to toe.

“Beer me, beautiful Sophie.”

“Beer you?”

“I just saved your sweet ass. Rescuing beautiful damsels in distress is thirsty work.” He gestured in the direction of the bar behind them with the slightest lift of his chin. “I’ll keep an eye on your ass for you as you walk away. Make sure no one else touches it.”

“Very thoughtful of you.” Sophie’s lips quivered with a repressed smile. Outrageous. But then, that was part of his appeal—a total disregard for the laws and social conventions that governed her life.

Ace pulled a wooden chair away from the dining table and straddled it backward, his thick arms resting on the back, muscles rippling beneath two full sleeves of tattoos. He caught her looking and winked.
Damn
. He was clearly enjoying her discomfort. Well, she did owe him. Jason’s ass-squeezing octopus friend was likely still suffering outside at the hands of two men clearly well practiced in the art of violence. A beer was a small price to pay for saving her ass.

“Fine. I’ll get your drink.” It was that or melt in a puddle every time he opened his mouth and spoke in that sinfully sensual voice.

Now overly conscious of his eyes on her body, Sophie walked over to the bar. Did she have a nice ass? It had been so long since she’d checked herself out in the mirror, she didn’t know. It was larger than most, but she supposed it couldn’t be too bad. Especially since she’d managed to squeeze it into these jeans. Plus, working out every morning and being on her feet all day, she hadn’t suffered the late-twenties spread some of her friends back in Toronto had complained about.

“Back again,” Andre said. “Your Patron is waiting for you.”

And a crassly arrogant, misogynistic biker with a body made for sin was waiting for her. The music played louder than before, but it couldn’t drown out the thud of her heart. Despite his antiquated views, she wanted Ace. More than any man she’d ever wanted before. More than she’d wanted Ryan when he first approached her at a colleague’s wedding.

But she couldn’t have him. Cops and criminals didn’t mix. Still, she was up for a little bit of fun, and Ace needed to learn a lesson. “Your most disgusting beer, please.”

Andre widened his eyes. “Someone get on your bad side?”

“Something like that.”

He fished around in a cooler and pulled out a can with a red and yellow label and the word
Chelada
scripted across the front. “I was saving this for someone special, but I have a feeling you’ll put it to better use.” He pulled the top and poured the red-orange liquid slowly into the glass, leaving it with a perfect pink head. “Absolutely horrible. They’ve mixed beer and Clamato juice together. Have a sniff.”

Sophie leaned forward and her nose wrinkled. “It smells like a sewer with a little tomato and pepper seasoning. I can’t imagine many people ask for it.”

He grabbed a cut lemon from a bowl and squeezed it into the froth. “I work at a speciality beer store under the Granville Street Bridge when I’m not playing bodyguard. I always bring a few of the more unique brews along. Never know who might ask.”

Bodyguard?
He didn’t strike her as muscle. Usually bodyguards were big and burly, more about intimidation than actual protection.