Chaos Bound (19 page)

She leaned closer, and he inhaled her perfume, sharp, bold, intoxicating. “I like the strong, silent type. The ones who sit back and watch. The ones who talk little and feel deep. The ones who see things other people don’t see, who know when their friend is alive even when no one believes them.”

Holy shit. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? What had started out as a bad night had just taken a turn for the better. “How do you know no one believes me?”

“It’s my job to read between the lines. It’s what makes the difference between a good reporter and a great one.” She nudged his beer toward him. “Drink up. You don’t want it to go to waste.”

Tank finished his beer and closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness threatened to topple him off the stool. Damn. It had been a long time since he’d had so much to drink. “Yeah, well it doesn’t matter what people think. I’m going to find him on my own.”

“Sounds to me like you need a friend. My offer is still open. No strings attached.” She finished her drink, licked a drop of Patrón off the corner of her mouth. Tank’s gaze rested on her lips where the drop had been, and he wished he’d been the one to lick it off.

Tank gave her an apologetic smile. “That’s nice of you, but like I said, it’s biker business. We don’t involve reporters.”

Ella’s cheeks reddened, and she dropped her gaze, her voice wavering. “You seemed so sad. I just wanted to help because I know how it feels, and if something comes of it that makes a good story and doesn’t get you in trouble with the MC, then that’s a bonus for me. If not, maybe we’ll just get to know each other better, and I’ll get to indulge my secret love for investigative journalism and maybe get you the happy ending I never had.”

Longing gripped him so hard he could barely breathe. He’d sell his soul to see T-Rex again. And yet he’d be stupid not to heed Banks’ warning—the same warning T-Rex had given him so long ago. Tank wasn’t stupid—T-Rex had cured him of that belief—but he was picking up some signals that Ella might be interested in taking their conversation out of the bar, maybe even to bed. And that’s what he needed right now. A little distraction. He could play along, pretend he was considering her offer, and after they’d had their fun, he would gently turn her down.

“So what could you do to help?”

Ella squeezed his hand and leaned in close. “Why don’t we go to my place and talk about it some more?”

Hell, yes. He was going to score.

Tank’s gaze dropped to her chest where her current position gave him a perfect view of her ample cleavage, the crescents of her creamy breasts, and the edge of her red-lace bra. His cock hardened, and he growled deep in his throat. He must not have had that much to drink because performance clearly wasn’t going to be an issue. Oh, yeah. He could play this game.

“Does that growl mean yes?” she whispered, her lips brushing over his ear.

“Let’s go.” He stood, staggered a step, and then righted himself when she grabbed his hand.

Something about her hand triggered a memory from earlier in the evening, a painful memory, but damned if he could remember what it was.

THIRTEEN

Holt knew there was trouble the moment he walked in the door.

And it wasn’t just because of the black sedan parked outside, or the fact Rick’s Bar and Grill was unnaturally quiet given the rough crowd. No, it was the stench of law enforcement; the pungent odor of power that created an invisible barrier around the undercover cop that only those who lived on the wrong side of the law could detect. Which, from the looks of it, was pretty much everyone in the bar.

Except Naiya.

As quickly as he had stepped in, he stepped out again. He wouldn’t be able to do any good if he gave that damn cop even the slightest reason to suspect them of Leo’s death—and he was damn sure that’s why he was talking to Naiya. After three months in Viper’s dungeon, Holt was off his game, or he would have ditched the damn Bolton Beaver shirts right away. Thanks to the pimp’s clothes, he was safe, but the cop was sniffing too damn close to his girl and he had to get her out of there.

But first he had to ditch the weapons and the bike. No doubt the cops had taken the CCTV tapes from the gas station in Still Water and run the plates. Even if they hadn’t, the bike was conspicuous for both its size and the fact there weren’t many like it on the road.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
He’d killed Leo in a public place and stopped too close to the scene of the crime. But that was Leo’s fault for running the bike down to empty.

He glanced through the window at Naiya and the cop. She didn’t appear to be distressed. In fact, it looked like they were just having a friendly chat, like two people who’d just met in a bar. But after years living on the wrong side of the law, Holt knew just how tricky cops could be, and this guy was after Naiya. No doubt about it.

“Fuck.” He didn’t want to leave her, but the bike would give them away, and the money and weapons would put them in jail for a very long time even if the cops couldn’t pin Leo’s death on Holt. Could Naiya hold out until he got back? She was sharp and savvy, and so far she’d managed to keep it together. The minute he walked into the bar, the cop would be on the hunt. He had to get rid of any evidence that could tie him and Naiya to Leo’s death.

He drove the bike out of town and dumped the weapons, clothes, and money in the woods fifty yards off a turn-off. Then he drove the bike in the opposite direction and into the middle of a field. He wiped it down with a rag, dipped the rag in the gas tank, then set the rag on fire, brushed his footprints away while the rag smoldered, and took off as fast as he could go.

When he was two hundred yards away, the gas tank exploded with a loud boom, consuming the bike in a ball of flames. Hopefully, by the time someone reported the fire, there would be nothing left of the bike and no prints on the ground. He jogged down the road and flagged a ride to the bar with a trucker who was passing through. At most, he’d been away twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes. If the cop had taken Naiya, Holt would give himself up and make sure they knew she wasn’t involved.

Steeling himself for the worst, he slammed open the door to the bar and walked in as if he had every right to be there. As if he was looking for his woman, and he was damned pissed she’d run away.

Naiya turned at the noise and her eyes widened. She shook her head and mouthed at him to run. Damn woman was trying to save him when it was his job to save her. He was the man. The protector. And she was in this position because of him.

“Babe.” He sat on the seat beside her, threw his arm over her shoulder, ignoring the cop who was no doubt salivating at the thought of getting his hands on Holt. “Gettin’ damn tired of you running away every time we have an argument.”

She froze for only half a second, and then she pressed her lips together and glared. “Me run? You’re the one who pushed me away.”

“Needed some space, babe. A man needs a little peace and quiet after a day on the road, especially after you crashed the vehicle.”

He hoped she got the message and could let him know what her plan had been if it was something she’d shared with the highly attentive prick seated beside her.

“I wouldn’t have crashed if you’d kept your hands out of my damn pants.”

Holt fought back a smile at her quick thinking. If they weren’t in so much danger, the banter would almost be fun. “You said you had an itch, and I wanted to be there for you.”

Naiya’s nostrils flared, and her face reddened. “You chose a bad time to scratch it.”

“You coulda said no.”

Her face turned three shades of red. “Maybe if I wasn’t so desperate I would have.” She narrowed her eyes and glared at the cop. “Seriously. Look at me. Do I look like the kind of woman who could survive only getting some once a week? That’s what he means when he says he’s there for me. Once a week. And even then it doesn’t always happen because he’s tired after work, or there’s a game on television, or he can’t get it up because of his problem.”

Holt sucked in a breath. Did she think she was going to get away with calling his masculinity into question? Even if it was a damn ruse, a man could only take so much.

“Maybe you should put a bit of effort in, babe. I mean that ratty old sweatshirt and ponytail don’t scream, ‘I want my man to do me bad’. How about you make an effort? Put on some lingerie, do your nails, brush your hair, maybe some makeup, shave your legs, and how about you trim the bush so a man can see where he’s going?”

Naiya spluttered and clutched her glass so hard her knuckles turned white. “I’m supposed to dress up for you when you get home? As if I haven’t put in a long day at work, too? You want your meal all cooked and served to you? A couple of cold ones waiting by your chair? A foot stool all ready so I can massage your feet while I suck you off all dressed up like the fifty dollar hookers you think I don’t know you go see?”

Ouch. Now that hit too close to home. He felt a stab of guilt, although he hadn’t done anything wrong. Holt shared a glance with the now totally engrossed cop and winked. The cop laughed. There were some things that bonded all men, regardless of which side of the law they were on.

“Every man’s dream, babe. And it’s sixty dollars for a blow in Missoula. You charge fifty and you’re underselling yourself. You give decent head. Not sixty dollars worth, but twenty for sure, maybe twenty-five.”

The cop spluttered his water, grabbed a napkin, and dabbed his lips.

“Pig,” she spat out, her tone and face so convincing he almost wondered if she was acting or incensed by what wasn’t really a joke. The image of her dressed in a skin-tight dress, kneeling at his feet with his cock in her mouth while he sipped a cold beer and watched the game held serious appeal.

“I’m going to get on that bus to Idaho Springs and bury my grandmother alone.”

Ah. Now he knew the plan. Damn she was smart. He just hoped he could keep up with her.

The bartender placed a drink on the counter in front of Naiya. Although Holt was pretty sure they’d thrown the cop off the scent, he didn’t want the moment to end. He had never seen this side of Naiya before. She was beautiful in her anger, her face flushed, eyes glittering. Her sharp mind and quick wit were almost as arousing as her heaving breasts and plump, moist lips.

“Babe.” He patted her stomach. “I told you. No drinking while you’re pregnant with my boy.”

How he managed to keep a straight face as she choked on her words, eyes wide and filled with the promise of retribution, he didn’t know.

“I didn’t buy it.” She gestured at the cop. “Michael did.”

Michael’s hands shot up, palms forward in a defensive gesture that made Holt want to fist pump with both fists. “I didn’t know she was pregnant. My mistake.”

Temptation curled inside him. Words he shouldn’t say. They’d played the game long enough and it was high time they got out. Now that he knew she hid a little spitfire inside, he had no doubt she would kill him the minute they left the bar. But how could he not? He’d never met a woman with this kind of fire. And maybe they could use it as an excuse to get away.

Digging his fingers into his left palm so he could play out the rest of the scene without dissolving in laughter, he patted her stomach and scowled at Michael. “Seriously? You didn’t know? You think she got a belly like this from eating too many pizzas?”

“What?” Naiya shrieked and jumped up so quickly her stool toppled over. “I am getting on that bus, and you are not coming with me.”

“You’d better have that drink.” Michael pushed the glass over to Holt, his silver ring tapping on the glass. Something twigged at the back of Holt’s mind. A memory. Faint. Something about that ring. Many rings. But he couldn’t place it. He took a grateful sip of the drink. Although not a fan of girly drinks, right now any kind of alcohol was good.

“Appreciated.” Holt stood and gave Michael an apologetic shrug. “Sorry about this.” He leaned in and whispered loud enough for Naiya to hear. “It’s the pregnancy hormones. She was like this with the other four kids, too.”

“Four?” Michael’s eyes widened. “She doesn’t look
that
old.”

“She wears a lot of makeup to hide all the wrinkles.”

“Shoot him,” Naiya said to Michael. “Put me out of my misery.”

“Afraid I can only shoot criminals.” Michael stifled a laugh. “He doesn’t seem like a criminal to me.”

“He is a criminal,” Naiya muttered. “Criminally insane.” She stalked out of the bar and Holt threw a few bills on the counter. “Sorry about the trouble. Thanks for looking after her for me.”

He inspected the fed’s car as he exited the building. Typical black sedan with blacked-out windows and the usual oddities on the plates: non-random lettering, reflective sheeting and a hologram of an American eagle. Resisting the urge to slash the vehicle’s tires, he made his way to the side of the building where Naiya was waiting, but he didn’t get the welcome he’d expected.

“You said I was fat.” She slapped him on the chest. “I don’t care if it was all pretend. I hate it when men dismiss a woman’s anger as hormones. It’s … sexist.”

Slap.

“And demeaning.”

Slap.

“And patronizing.”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Fuck. All his life he’d gone for the loud women. Brash, confident and outgoing. Naiya was different. Quiet and gentle. Smart and quirky with a sense of humor that matched his own. But hell, when she was riled she had a fire inside that blew his mind. She needed protecting but she was no victim. She was broken but needed no glue. She’d held her own against that cop, and she’d planned to leave Holt and travel alone across the state. And now she was slapping him on the damn chest, pissed off at a fight they hadn’t really had, about something that wasn’t even true.

He’d never been so turned on in his life.

Holt grabbed her hands and pushed her up against the wall, pinning her wrists to the cold brick surface. “Fuck woman. It wasn’t real.”

“Oh it was real. I saw it in your face. But I’m so not the kind of woman who is going to dress up for you every night and cook your supper and blow you while you drink your beer.”