Love Ties (26 page)

She came apart in his control whether he’d commanded her to or not. Pleasure claimed her body, heart, and soul.

“Dammit, Ever. I said—” Then he was coming too, driving her up the bed with every plunge.

Knowing she’d stolen his control gave her a small amount of happiness to take away with her.

His breathing rasped in her ear, and he lowered her head to the mattress again but didn’t release her hair. He buried his face against her neck, drawing gulps of air. After a minute, he said, “You’re going to pay for that. I wasn’t ready to come.”

She kissed his temple where his hair waved. “Poor baby.”

He slapped her ass hard.

“Ahhh!” She bucked, but he held her down. A giggle boiled up her throat. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?” He snagged her earlobe between his teeth and let go of her hair. She missed his touch immediately.

“Maybe I’ll get Sarah in here to share you.”

He fell still. “You want that?”

“I want to give you pleasure.”

He rolled off her, and she found herself sitting atop him. Planting her hands on his hard chest, she stared down at the god of a man. From the start, their attraction had gotten her in trouble, and in the end, it would break her heart. After she went into the Raiders’ midst, the likelihood of her seeing Jamison again was slim.

Strother knew it, and he didn’t give a damn. He didn’t like her, anyway, and he would use her for his own ends. In the meantime, she’d find her answers about her mom and try like hell to get away with her life.

A ghost of what was to come snaked down her spine, and she shivered. Jamison rubbed her arms, careful to avoid the brand new ink that disguised the microchip. As she let her gaze skim his rugged features—straight nose, square jaw, shining eyes—the pain of loss began to seep in.

“I don’t need two women to give me pleasure, baby. I’ve got all I need right here.” He cradled her breasts. The light caress of rough thumbs to her aching nipples was completely opposite of the message his teeth had delivered minutes before.

She leaned over to kiss him with all the passion she felt. She’d come back to Alabama for revenge and found love. Now moving forward with the revenge business hurt. She wanted more time with Jamison, in this bed, on the back of his bike. More club celebrations and deeper friendships.

Even those “yo momma” jokes were growing on her. After listening to the guys volley them back and forth for weeks, she could jump in and compete if she wanted.

Tears pricked in her eyes, and she withdrew from the kiss before he tasted the saltiness. Quickly she took care of his condom and fitted his ever-present erection with a new one. All the while, his fingers traveled over her scalp, soothing the rougher sting from earlier.

“Let’s go to the fair tomorrow,” he said.

Her heart warmed to him more. A big biker hitting the fairgrounds, buying candy apples, and throwing darts at balloons?

“I’d love to.” It hurt to say those words and lead him on. Tomorrow she’d be nowhere to be found.

He grinned like a kid.

When she sank down on his cock, his eyes darkened. He held her to him as they rode the storm of passion.

Her anchor.

•●•

Burns handed Jamison a wad of cash in a crisp white envelope. “The usual change, boss.”

He nodded once. “I’ll have it to you tomorrow morning. How’s the new operation going?”

Burns gave his smile that looked like a grimace. “Good, boss, real good. The customers are happy. And the money’s flowing.”

“That’s what this club needs.” He clapped Burns on the back, and they man-hugged. “Keep up the good work. I’ve got somewhere to be. Ace!”

His brother looked up from the prime piece of pussy he had trapped against the outside wall of The Gearhead. He patted the brunette’s rounded ass and let her slide down the wall.

She smiled at him as if he was the most perfect man on Earth before going inside. Burns tracked her progress.

Yeah, she was a gorgeous girl, but she wasn’t Ever.

Jamison jerked his head toward their bikes. “Let’s ride.”

Ace fired up his V-twin engine. It purred like a sweet butt, but Jamison preferred the Shovelhead on his older bike. When they rolled out of the parking lot, Burns saluted him.

As soon as they hit the asphalt, Jamison’s mind zeroed in on their task. He would have taken care of this business last night if Ever hadn’t distracted him over and over again. Seeing that tattoo on her did things to his control.

This morning she’d been gone before he woke, but he’d find her after…

Well, after.

Franklin and Ace had been hot on Middleton’s trail for two days. Since Franklin confiscated the key of coke from the dealer here in Heller’s Gap, he’d taken the war against drugs personally. Especially knowing a sixteen-year-old daughter of a Hell’s Son had been dragged into the mess.

Word was that Middleton had been lying low lately. Probably because his dealers were getting the shit kicked out of them by Hell’s Sons. Or maybe the Dark Raiders had reined him in so things would quiet down.

No matter because the scumbag had resurfaced, and Jamison knew his location.

As he and Ace rounded a corner, more brothers fell into formation behind them until twenty bikes roared down the main drag of Heller’s Gap. Strother hadn’t come. This morning his old lady had taken too much codeine to numb a pain that couldn’t be touched, and Strother had her stomach pumped.

Trina was a tough woman, but she was cracking under the weight of her loss. Would Ever withstand it if such a tragedy befell them?

He shook off the thought. They were far from having a family, and he damn well would never lose one of his kids to drugs. That’s why he was taking this personally—cleaning up his streets for future generations.

They passed the police station. Two cops got into their cruiser but didn’t follow them. The Hell’s Sons had no beef with the authorities. Jamison suspected they knew more about their operations at The Gearhead and Tomfoolery than they let on, but since the Hell’s Sons worked against the drug lords, the cops steered clear.

He led his brothers to the south side of town. The streets grew more desolate and grungy, the buildings more rundown. A section had burned down, leaving gaps like broken teeth.

A group of guys strolled across the road in front of them, not bothering to hurry. The Hell’s Sons revved their engines, sending them scattering.

Ace raised an arm and pointed at a building. It was concrete with an old storefront. A market sign still hung over the door, and an old soda machine was rusted out front. The perfect place to set up commerce.

Word was that Middleton was living in the upstairs of this building and running drugs and pussy out of the ground level. That was part of the reason so many brothers had agreed to come along on this mission—if there were young women needing rides home, then the Sons were on top of it.

Jamison followed Ace’s direction. He stopped at the front door while his brothers surrounded the building. No matter what, Middleton wasn’t getting out of this alive. They believed he’d supplied Strother’s son with the drugs he’d OD’d on. He was going down.

A curtain twitched in an upstairs window. Jamison and everyone around him dismounted and pulled their weapons.

Ace was at Jamison’s side when he kicked open the door. “Middleton! Come out! Hell’s here for you!”

Women squealed, and bare bodies scurried. Jamison, Ace, Franklin, and O’Dovey raided the main space, standing shoulder-to-shoulder as the others poured into the building behind them.

One older lady with a cut on her cheekbone looked right at Jamison.

“You speak English?”

She nodded.

“Where’s your boss? Upstairs?”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Get out of here. Take them with you.” He jerked his head toward the group of women in various states of undress. Several men clients were busy jumping into their pants, trying to escape unseen.

“Look around for Sissy,” Jamison said to O’Dovey.

“She’d better not fucking be here,” he growled, storming off to the left with Franklin and Jimmy.

“Let’s go,” Jamison said to Ace.

They found the staircase and traversed it slowly, sticking to the wall with guns trained on the upstairs. Furious whispers sounded, and then silenced. Footsteps.

Jamison ran the last few stairs and hit the landing running. Ace encouraged the first door to open with help of his big shoulder, and Jamison’s gun led their way in.

He pointed at two guys in bed, naked and gripping each other in fear. Neither was Middleton. Ace had many photos of the man in action, and Jamison knew exactly who he was looking for.

Jamison stomped to the next room. This one appeared empty, but Ace did a sweep under the bed while Jamison checked the closet.

“Three is the magic number,” Jamison said.

The third door was locked. He leveled his weapon and shot it open. A strangled cry echoed inside. Jamison stormed the room.

“Middleton! Get down on the floor, hands behind your head!”

The man was slimier than his pictures revealed. Skinny from drug use, balding, and unwashed. His clothes were wrinkled and smelled. The real source of the stench in the room, though, was a puddle of vomit in the corner.

Middleton slowly got to his knees.

“Jesus, you stink. I’ll be glad to kill you.” Jamison shoved the man down hard. He grunted, and more puke bubbled from his lips.

Ace dug the barrel of his automatic into Middleton’s skull. “You’re dealing on our streets.”

“N-no, man.” His hands shook as he folded them behind his greasy head.

“Oh, yeah, you are. We’ve got witnesses—and dead bodies.”

“What bodies? I ain’t killed no one.”

“That shit you’re dealing does,” Jamison spat, weapon trained between Middleton’s eyes. He could let the guy walk away in cuffs and be put into the back of a police cruiser, but in a few years he’d be out and on the streets again. Killing more kids.

No, he had to do this.

“You sold to a young man. Eighteen years old. The son of our prez. The kid died, and that blood is on your hands.”

“O-on his! I just supply. I don’t force the needles into their arms.” His eyes rolled.

“Asshole.” Ace cracked him in the back of the head with his gun.

Middleton’s eyes slid back in his head, and his mouth opened.

Jamison lowered his weapon and arched a brow at Ace. “What the fuck did you knock him out for?”

Ace lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Guess I don’t know my strength.”

“I can’t kill an unconscious man. We’re gonna have to carry him outta here.” Jamison crouched before Middleton, who was breathing shallowly against the odor.

“You’ve got to be mad. You can’t lay a hand on him. You’ll stink for a week.”

Jamison shook his head. Honor was everything. “Got no choice.”

He shoved his hands under Middleton and hoisted him over his shoulder. The man stunk worse than he’d first believed.

“Check him for weapons,” he told Ace.

He patted the man down, and then sniffed his hand and cringed. “He’s clean of weapons, but he’d knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.”

“Tell me about it.” Jamison started down the stairs. He twitched his chin toward the room with the male lovers. “Threaten them a little, Ace.”

“You got it.” He grinned. A second later the men screamed as Ace shot a hole in the ceiling. “You two dealing?”

“No!”

“N-no.”

“Better fucking not be. Did you see your boss’s body being carried out? You guys won’t get that same treatment. We’ll just dump gasoline on you and burn your asses.”

A grin cut a path across Jamison’s face. It was good to have Ace at his back. Copilot sat a foot away from his master, always near, ready to fight.

The Hell’s Sons had cleared the girls from the rooms downstairs, and they huddled together, though some were eyeing the brothers with coy smiles.

When they spotted Middleton’s limp form, though, they sobered.

Jamison dumped him on the floor, and his head bounced. Middleton groaned. Before he’d opened his eyes, Jamison’s gun was between them. “Where are you getting your supply?”

Middleton’s expression was foggy. Jamison asked again, and it cleared. “Don’t kill me, man.”