Captive Ride (4 page)

I
wake
up to a hand over my mouth.

"Shh." Flint's whisper is nearly voiceless. "You've got visitors. I'm going to get up and when I leave the room, you roll out of bed. Don't stand. Roll. Got it? Nod your head if you get me."

I nod. People in my house?

“Good girl.” He presses his lips against my cheek. “Go to the bathroom. Get a can of hairspray and wait.”

He rises soundlessly from the bed and pads to the door. He pauses and it’s at that point I see the wicked gun in his right hand. I strain to hear the intruders, but the only sound is the whirring of my old furnace, chugging along on its last breath.

He slips out down the hall and I beat back the urge to run after him. I do as I’m told because if there’s anyone competent to fight off an intruder, it’s Flint. And it’s not the big bruising body I’m putting my faith in, but the cold killer that lurks inside.

I know what the Death Lords is—a club that skirts around the edges of the law. The president called on me to bail out his son who’d killed a skinhead in a skirmish outside of a bar. They’d given me enough information to help deal the son’s case down to an involuntary manslaughter charge and he served only three years.

Only. At the age of nineteen, he was already a felon. But having a record was true for many of the Death Lords—most of the charges were related to violent assaults. None against women. I would have walked away and said damn the consequences if I’d found out that they were mistreating women. That’s my hard line. You can rip off the tax man, you can kill a racist but do not hurt a woman.

My priorities are messed up. Sometimes I wonder what I might have become if I’d worn the white hat in the courtroom and not the black one. But my path was set the moment my uncle died in prison, serving a life sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. Too poor to have decent representation, he took the fall for some rich guy with enough money to hire a raft of lawyers when my Uncle Dale couldn’t afford even one. He had to make do with a wet-behind-the ears public defender whose law degree was so fresh you could still smell the ink on it when you walked into his shabby, cubicle of an office.

I huddle in the bathroom, bottle of hairspray in hand. The stupid thing isn’t one of those big aerosol cans everyone used to use before aerosol was deemed to be dangerous for our ozone layer. My hairspray is a pump action thing with a fine mist that probably can’t shoot a spray farther than a few inches.

But I can imagine what Flint would say if he came in here and I didn’t have something in my hand.
Amy goddammit I told you to grab a bottle of hairspray. You think this is a game? Maybe you need a spanking to remind you who’s in charge.

Just thinking about his commanding voice sends a shiver of need down my back. A scuffling noise from downstairs reminds me that my thoughts are completely inappropriate but then I’m sore, sticky and draped in a blanket while there’s at least one armed man running around my house.

I don’t know what the protocol is for this particular situation.

“Who the fuck are you?” Flint’s voice rises through the grate in the bathroom floor.

There’s a muffled response and then the sound of flesh hitting flesh. I wince, hoping Flint isn’t on the receiving end of that punch.

“Nice patch there. You think that’s going to protect you? Think again because I don’t give a fuck who your president is. If you’re acting on his orders, then you just went to war with the Death Lords.”

“You Death Lords are pussies,” the intruder spits back.

“And you’re dumb as shit because I’m the one with the gun at your temple and you’re the one kneeling at my feet with your hands taped behind your back. Your little friend is out cold. I think he fell on his own knife.”

There’s another sound, a violent one, followed by a grunt of pain.

“I’m only asking one more time,” Flint says. “Who are you?”

“Go…to…hell.” The other man chokes out.

“Amy, I can hear you breathing through the vent,” Flint calls up to me. “Go on and put those clothes on I left at the end of the bed. When you’re done dressing, come down with the bag. It’s by the door.”

I do as he says because I want to live. On the floor, near the foot of the bed, is a pile of leather and cotton. The items must have fallen off the bed while we were having sex. I pull on the leather pants, marveling at how comfortable they are and how well they fit. I’ve never even thought about leather in pants before. That seemed to be a material better suited to purses, shoes, and jackets. It’s as I’m pulling the t-shirt over my head that I heart it—a sharp, muffled, but unmistakable boom.

Moments later I hear footsteps on the stairs. “Just me, Amy,” Flint announces as he climbs the stairs. I hurriedly dress, throwing on the jacket I find on the floor without even looking at it.

Flint stops in the doorway. “You’re a picture, sweetheart. A real picture.” He stalks forward and circles me, taking in the tight fit of the pants, the nipped in waist of the leather jacket and the way that the cotton t-shirt hugs my nearly non-existent curves.

“Beautiful,” he says. His hand cups my jaw and the smell of gunpowder is unmistakeable.

“Is there a mess downstairs?” I ask, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. Now’s not the time for me to breakdown.

“Yeah, but someone will be here to clean it up.” Flint replies absently and with zero concern that he’s left at least two dead men in my kitchen. “You have a pair of boots?” He looks around.

“Downstairs by the back door.”

He strides to the corner of the room where the case holding my things and who knows what else is packed away sits. He flings it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

My bare feet don’t move. I’m not sure what I’m getting into and I need to know. I need to have a lot more information than the few crumbs he’s dropping.

“Is my house secure?” I ask.

“It is for the next couple of hours but after that, no, which is why you and I are taking a ride to Fortune for the night. I’ll bring you back to the cities tomorrow so you can pack up anything else you need and then we’re taking a vacation. You been to Wyoming, Amy?” He tilts his head to the side wearing a curious and bland expression.

That doesn’t fly with me. Yes, Flint can wring the most exquisite orgasms from my body. Yes, I have had mad lust for him for years, ever since I started representing the Death Lords member on that murder charge. Yes, having him boss me around in the bedroom was the most exciting sexual experience I ever had but I’m a grown woman, with a successful legal practice, and I’ve lived on my own for over a decade. I’ve been taking care of myself for even longer.

I’m my own person and if Flint wants to be part of my life, he’s going to have to accept that.

“No. I haven’t been Wyoming but I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on, starting with why you showed up at the restaurant today and ending with why I need a clean up team at my house.”

Flint scratches under his chin thoughtfully. “Those assholes downstairs didn’t come for me. They came for you.”

“Me?” I can’t stop the shocked squeak that comes out. “I thought they were from a rival MC. Isn’t that why you’ve been watching me all these years?”

Flint frowns. “The MC we’re keeping our eyes on is a skinhead group out west. We’re looking out for you because you did us a solid representing Wrecker, not because we thought you’d be the target of some other club.”

Wrecker’s sentence rankles. The Fortune Chief of Police is dirty but I couldn’t pin anything on him. Ultimately I’d been able to talk the prosecutor down to a three year plea agreement. “I’m sorry he had to do any time.”

“Course you are.” Flint cups my face with one free hand. “He’d have gotten the full ten year sentence, or more, if it hadn’t been for you.”

I’m not certain if I’m warm because of his words or the fact his body is so close to mine.

“Thank you but that doesn’t really explain the mess downstairs.”

“True.” His hand drops to my wrist. “Come on down and see if you can shed some light on the subject because the boys downstairs aren’t part of any skinhead group.”

“How can you say that?” I protest but follow him anyway. I need to get to the bottom of this. But when I waltz into the kitchen and see the three guys tied and duct taped, I understand immediately why Flint assumed my intruders were not skinheads.

Because this particular group of bad guys looked suspiciously like the crowd that Isamu runs with.

“Want to tell me how you got caught up with them?”

I bristle at what feels like an implicit accusation that I allowed this to happen. “Gosh, Flint, I asked around for the worst criminals in Minneapolis and then walked right up to this one,” I nudge the nearest one with my toe, “and asked him to take me as his next victim. He said I was too old, but I swore I could be full of tears and pretty begging just like the teenagers.”

He snorts. “You have a smart mouth.”

“I’m a lawyer. Did you see the degree in my office? It says Bachelor of smart assery.”

“I’ve never been to your office,” he replies. “Never got that particular invitation.”

“Didn’t realize you Death Lords waited for invitations. I thought you just strolled in, took what you wanted, and left.”

“Only if what we want it taking way too long to make up her mind about us,” he smirks.

I decide not answering is my best response. I turn toward the trussed up males. “These look like associates of a client of mine. He’s just gotten out of jail and is trying to keep his nose clean. My guess is that he told them he wasn’t going to work with them anymore and they got mad. What are you doing with them?”

“I’ve got a few guys coming to pick them up,” he says evasively. And do I really want to know the details? Not really. If they are away from Isamu and his family, that’s what I care about. Flint walks to the back door, grabs my boots and then kneels at my feet. “We need to get going before it get’s too late. I don’t like riding in the dark with important cargo in the bitch seat.”

Therein lies the dichotomy of Flint. He tells me what to do in my own house while kneeling at my feet. “I hope you don’t think that because I’m in the bitch seat, you can refer to me with that word.”

“Only in bed, Amy.” He grins at me wickedly.

I cuff the top of his head while he laces one boot up and then the other. Once dressed, he rolls one of the males onto his back. I see now that he’s conscious but too taped up and subdued to do much more than blink sullenly up at Flint.

Flint holds out the side of his leather jacket and taps the patch over the breast pocket. It’s got a flaming skull in the center with Death Lords curved around the bottom and the letters VP on the top. There’s a larger version on the back of his vest that he has on under the jacket. He also has a replica of it emblazoned upon his back.

I’m not much for tattoos but I’ll admit that Flint’s ink is sexy as hell.

“See this?” he asks.

When the male on the floor doesn’t respond, Flint nudges him again with his foot. Hard.

The male grunts and nods. Flint spins me around and taps my back. “And this? It says ‘Property of’. You got that?”

I swivel around to see the guy give another nod.

“Good. You may not have heard of the Death Lords, but I took three of you down without getting a scratch. Tonight, a few of my friends are coming and taking care of you.” The male blanches and Flint gives him an ugly smile. “One of you will get to go back to your crew but here’s the thing. You even breathe in Amy’s direction and we’re salting the city with your blood.” The careless way Flint says this belies his seriousness. I suck in a breath. “My guess is you thought my Amy here was weak and alone but this patch says she belongs to the Death Lords. When she’s in her office, when she’s at the courthouse, when she’s home, we’re always watching. She’s under our umbrella and if she so much as stubs her toe, I’m blaming you.”

It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong, but all of the things that Flint says fills me with a curious elation. He’s threatening this thug but he’s also claiming me in a way I’ve never been claimed. My parents had been disinterested in my existence. The only person I’d ever really connected to went to prison for ten years for a crime he didn’t commit and when he came out, he was a totally different person.

“Come on Amy,” Flint says and cups my elbow.

He leads me outside into the dark night and I go all too willingly. Climbing on to the back of the dark black motorcycle is about the riskiest thing I’ve done to date.

I clutch him tight for the forty-five minutes it takes to get to Fortune. In the chill of the night, I lay my cheek between his shoulder blades and soak in the warmth of Flint’s big frame. My body is sore and aching. Even now I can still feel his huge shaft dragging along my sensitive tissues.

Even though I’m not bound, I feel like I’m under Flint’s control and command. In my house, he had moved me around as if I weighed nothing and then he’d taken me. And taken me. And taken me again.

He slows and then turns into a wooded lane.

“What is this place?” I ask. It’s hard to see because it’s dark but I make out the outline of towering evergreens.

“It’s home,” he says simply.

“I thought you lived at the club.”

He brings the bike to a halt and kicks the stand down. He swings a leg over the seat and then pulls me off. Somehow he knows that the bike ride did me in and just carries me toward the house. A few lights pop on almost immediately as we near.

“I used to but there are times all that togetherness can get to me and that’s when I hit the road. I bought this place a few years ago.”

“How many?” I hold my breath.

“About three.” He places a hand against the door and I hear the bolt unlock.

“Fancy for a cabin.”

“We got a new guy in the club. He’s a tech wizard. I like the convenience of it. The motion sensors, the hand print access. It’d be good if we installed that shit on your house.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t done it already.” And then I realize what’s going on. “Tell me you didn’t bring me all to Fortune so you could install new security in my place.”