Shooting Dirty (20 page)

Rex came back a moment later. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t have to be asked twice. She followed him out the door, keeping her head down and her eyes averted. It sounded as if they were trying to rouse Pigpen. Dawn was beginning to break outside, bringing soft light to the edge of the horizon. Rex walked into the garage and selected a black motorcycle helmet. She accepted it awkwardly.

“Where do you live?”

“The El Dorado Apartments, in Coachella.”

“By the polo club?”

She nodded.

He straddled his motorcycle, waiting for her. She struggled into the helmet, which felt like a ten-pound weight on her shoulders. Then she threw her leg over the seat and put her arms around his lean waist. He started the engine and cruised out of the driveway. Ace’s truck was still parked down the street. She’d forgotten all about it.

Tiffany didn’t press her luck by asking Rex to stop. Ace’s truck was the least of her worries. She just wanted to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. She clung to Rex, shivering with fear, but glad to be alive.

Coachella was less than ten miles from Indio, so it was a short trip. After a few minutes she started to breathe easier. She enjoyed the feel of his body against hers and the memory of his weight on top of her. His bare chest, touching her breasts. The vibration between her legs was difficult to ignore. He was hot. He had nice muscles. He’d treated her like a lady and protected her from his crew.

If he wasn’t a member of White Lightning, she’d fuck him rotten.

Unfortunately, he was. It said so right on the back of his leather vest. Tiffany wasn’t a diehard groupie of Dirty Eleven, but she still considered herself a Dirty Girl. She’d slept with the president’s nephew more than once. She was loyal to her friends and her coworkers. There was no way she could date someone from the rival club. She didn’t even know if Janelle was okay.

Tiffany’s reservations about Rex didn’t stop her from becoming aroused, however. The taboo element might have added to her excitement. He was dangerous and off-limits. She was reckless and indiscriminate.

She wondered if he liked threesomes.

When they arrived at the El Dorado, the sun was rising over the verdant lawns of the polo club. She’d always resented the opulent sight, so incongruent with the cracked desert earth and burnt-orange rocks in the distance. Today the rhythmic click of the irrigation system seemed comforting and the calm green soothed her eyes.

Rex pulled over at the curb. Tiffany climbed off his bike and removed the helmet.

“Do you really live here?” he asked.

“No,” she said, although she did.

He studied her for a moment, seeming as disconcerted by the previous hour as she was. They’d had a strange night.

She moistened her lips. “I owe you.”

His gaze darkened as if he wanted to call in that favor, right here and now. But he didn’t ask to come up, much to her disappointment. “Forget about it,” he said, putting on the helmet. Then he drove away.

She watched him ride past the rainbow arch of sprinkler mist, her hands curled into fists. She didn’t think she would forget about it. Not for a long time.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Janelle spent the next hour scouring the dark confines of the tank.

She found two intact beer bottles, which she filled with dirt and debris to give them more striking power. There was a lot of broken glass in the rubble. She tucked a few pieces into her pockets to use for self-defense purposes. Then she got down on her hands and knees to peer through the drainage hole.

Her guard was sitting in a camp chair about twenty feet away. She straightened, pacing back and forth in the gloom. Jester would probably show up with the rest of his gang-rape goons. Well, they’d get a little more than they bargained for. She wasn’t coming out of this holding tank without a fight.

She heard an approaching vehicle and lowered herself to the floor to look through the drainage hole again. It was the same red truck she’d been brought here in. The driver parked closer than before and hopped out. Her stomach dropped when she saw his skeleton mask. He walked toward his partner, moving in purposeful strides. There was something strange about him, and it wasn’t the mask. His body radiated power and tension.

While Janelle watched, her heart in her throat, he raised a gun and pointed it as his partner.

The man in the chair startled, lifting his palms. They exchanged a few words, but she couldn’t hear their quiet voices at this distance. Then the man in the chair stood abruptly, reaching for his own gun.

Bad move.

His partner blew him away, firing twice in rapid succession. Both bullets appeared to hit the man in the chest. He fell down and didn’t get up.

Janelle clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a cry of distress. Maybe she was next. She scrambled away from the drainage hole and collected her bottles, moving to the darkest corner of the tank. She crouched there, quivering like a wild animal. Her vision went fuzzy and her mind started to fade.

No.

She shook off the urge to drift by biting down on her lower lip, hard. She couldn’t fight back if she didn’t stay alert. She wasn’t thirteen anymore, staring at the doorknob in her bedroom and praying it wouldn’t turn. She was still small, but she wasn’t weak or defenseless. She was a mother with a son. A strong survivor.

Jamie needed her. She’d live through this.

She could hear him climbing the ladder on the side of the tank. Then he was at the opening, looking in. She waited for him, gripping the bottle necks.

Come on
,
motherfucker.
Come and get me.

“Janelle?”

She couldn’t see his face, backlit by the starry night.

“Janelle? It’s me.”

It was Ace. His voice was calm and steady, as if he hadn’t just shot a man. She left the bottles in the dark and stepped forward. “Ace?”

“I’m here.”

Tears filled her eyes at the words. He was here. This wasn’t a drift-conjured dream or a figment of her imagination. He’d come for her. He’d killed for her.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said, smothering a sob. “Just scared.”

He hadn’t brought any rope with him, so he used his flannel shirt, extending it to her like a lifeline. She held on tight while he pulled her up. When she reached the opening, he readjusted his grip and helped her climb through. The surface of an old water tank wasn’t a safe place for a tearful reunion, so she restrained herself. Once they reached the ground, she threw her arms around him, weeping openly.

He allowed the embrace, but only for a few seconds. “We have to go.”

She wiped her cheeks and nodded, skirting around the dead body. He climbed behind the wheel of the pickup while she took the passenger side. Then they were driving away from Dos Cabezas like a bat out of hell. The demon eyes on the water tank seemed to follow them. She curled up into a little ball on the passenger side of the truck.

And everything faded.

She didn’t rouse until he grasped her shoulder, nudging her into a more alert state. “We have to get out now.”

He’d parked in some bushes behind a tattered billboard. Dawn painted the edge of the sky in a rosy hue, signaling the end of the longest night in her life. She exited the vehicle and took his hand. They strode toward the deserted highway, sharing his last cigarette.

“Did anyone touch you?” he asked.

She shook her head.

After about a mile, a trucker picked them up. They traveled along the 111, which flanked the west side of the Salton Sea. The trucker dropped them off in Bombay Beach, at Ace’s request. They walked another mile to a run-down hotel. He paid for a room with cash, writing down a fake name in the guestbook.

As soon as they were inside the room, Janelle used the phone to call Jamie. He was getting ready for school.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m with Ace.”

He made a long-suffering sound, as if Janelle stayed out all night often.

“Come straight home this afternoon, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied, and hung up.

She was glad to hear his voice, despite his cranky attitude. He was safe, and that was the only thing that mattered.

“Is there any chance they’ll go after him?” she asked Ace.

“I don’t think so. Jester’s never mentioned him, and MCs don’t target kids. It’s against the rules.”

Janelle wasn’t reassured by his answer. Jester didn’t play by the rules. He was a dangerous psychopath with no conscience. She planned to get home before school let out and watch Jamie like a hawk until this ordeal was over.

But when would it be over?

Ace stretched out on the bed and tucked his hands behind his head. His jaw was tense, mouth drawn. This would never be over for him. He’d killed at least one member of White Lightning. They would never let him walk away.

Janelle had no idea where he could go from here, but she knew they were done. His enemies had used her as a pawn. She wouldn’t risk her life, or her son’s life, to have a fling with a dangerous criminal. It didn’t matter how hot he was, or how good he made her feel. It didn’t even matter that she was falling for him.

She thought she’d loved Shane, and maybe she had. But they’d both been crazy teenagers, moody and volatile. Their relationship had been toxic. They’d brought out the worst in each other.

Ace wasn’t good for her, either. Janelle had to be honest with herself about his appeal. There was more between them than amazing chemistry and compatible dysfunctions. Being with him was exciting, but it also soothed her soul and helped knit some of the broken pieces inside her. She didn’t know why her heart had picked him, of all people. It wasn’t fair for something so wrong to feel so right.

“What were you going to say on the phone last night?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “That I’d miss you.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

She figured that he’d brought her here to say goodbye. This was it. Their last chance to be together before he disappeared.

“How did they get you?”

“I went to my trailer to pick up some things.”

“What things?”

“The cuffs.”

His eyes darkened with understanding. The cuffs were just a cheap novelty item, but they reminded her of him, and of their explosive sexual encounters.

She looked away, studying the hotel room. The décor was outdated, with sun-faded orange curtains and threadbare carpet. At least everything appeared clean, if not new. There was a mirror directly across from the large bed.

He followed her gaze, arching a brow.

“I need a shower,” she said.

“So do I.”

His hands were stained with blood. There were dried droplets in a spray across his tattooed knuckles. S-L-A-B on the right. C-I-T-Y on the left. She assumed the blood wasn’t gunshot spatter. He’d been busy.

“How did you find me?”

He told her about his visit with Pigpen.

“I have to call Tiffany,” she said, horrified by the tale.

“I already did.”

“When?”

“When I was driving. She’s home and she’s fine.”

Janelle relaxed at this news. She must have really been out of it. She’d missed the entire conversation.

“Have you two ever...”

“No,” she said, reading his mind.

“Why not?”

“Have you ever screwed one of your friends?”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“Your biker buddies, then?”

“No, I haven’t. But I like the idea of you with Tiffany after I’m gone.”

The suggestion that he wasn’t coming back brought tears to her eyes. His possessive male-fantasy scenario was sad, and a little sexist, but honest as always. “I don’t want Tiffany, so you’ll just have to stay.”

“I wish I could.”

She rose from the bed, hugging her arms around herself. She couldn’t bear to talk about him leaving. She’d been through enough in the past twenty-four hours. If he wasn’t going to stick around and be her man, he’d better fuck her like the world was ending. Because that’s how she felt. Like her world was ending.

She removed her clothes and turned on the shower. He joined her in the stall. At first his touch was caring, rather than sexual. He washed her hair and inspected her for bruises. She returned the favor, lathering his armpits, exploring his soap-slick chest. His penis thickened at her touch. She wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking.

He removed her hand and turned her around, facing away from him. Then he lifted both of her arms over her head, holding them trapped against the tile. She didn’t think he’d enter her without a condom, and he didn’t. He just rubbed his cock against her ass, sliding between her buttocks, nudging her there as if he wanted in. She wouldn’t let him—he was way too big for that—but the stimulation turned her on. She went up on tiptoe and tilted her hips, practically begging for his cock. He cupped her slippery breasts, toying with her pert nipples. Then he moved his hand down her belly and stroked her clit with soapy fingers. She groaned, widening her stance. He continued to drive her crazy with his cock and fingertips, teasing her ass and clit at the same time.

“If I had some lube, I’d fuck your ass,” he said.

She might have been tempted to try it. Even with lube, she imagined the act would be painful. They stayed in the shower until the water turned lukewarm and she started trembling. Not from cold, but from desire.

She wanted to get fucked. Hard.

They toweled off and headed to the bed. His cock bobbed up to his flat belly, stiff and ruddy. She moistened her lips at the sight, eager to suck him. Her nipples were pebbled, her pussy hot and wet.

“Do you need me to tie you up?” he asked.

“Yes.” God yes. That was exactly what she needed. For him to restrain her, to use her roughly, to consume her.

“I only have my belt.”

She put her arms in front of her body, wrists together. He wrapped the leather belt around them four times, fastening it tight. She couldn’t get out of this herself. Allowing him so much control required a huge leap of faith.

“Okay?” he asked.

She took a deep breath, nodding.

“Lay down. I have another idea.”

She sat on the edge of the mattress and then stretched out on her back with her arms over her head. The belt was snug, but it felt good against her skin. Her pulse pounded against the leather, strong and sure. He picked up her bra, which was made of stretchy black lace, and came forward. Grasping her ankle, he urged her left knee toward her chest. Then he looped one of the bra straps around her foot, hitching it up her thigh. He slid the fabric behind her neck and looped the other bra strap around her right leg.

Janelle couldn’t believe how simple, yet effective, the makeshift bondage was. She could squeeze her legs together but not straighten them. Her knees were bent, her pussy exposed for his pleasure.

She felt vulnerable and uneasy and aroused beyond belief. But she didn’t say cowboy. She just looked at him. He was staring at her pussy as if it was his pretty plaything, his prized possession. His gaze moved to her suspended legs and bound wrists before settling on her face. He trailed his fingertips down her cheek and she shivered with anticipation.

“Fuck me.”

He smiled, because he wouldn’t. Not yet. He was going to draw this out, to toy with her pussy and make her come. Enjoying her predicament, he leaned over her and kissed her lips. His tongue delved into her hungry mouth. Her pulse fluttered in her neck, her wrists. Every heartbeat pounded with the same need.

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

His fingers dipped into her pussy, sliding in and out. She was very wet, and his eyes blazed with approval. He licked her moisture from his fingertips and buried them deep again. Then he fed her his fingers. It wasn’t his cock, but she sucked just as greedily.

This game went on the same way the shower teasing had. He kissed her, admired her, finger-fucked her, pinched her stiff nipples. Her clit was a tight bead, throbbing for attention. Finally he lowered himself to the task, closing his mouth over her. A few hot licks would have finished her, so he focused his attention everywhere but her clit. His tongue dipped into her pussy and flicked over her ass.

She wept for release, reduced to begging.

He rose once again and positioned himself between her legs, with his hands on her bent knees. Holding her in place, he slid his cock back and forth over her slick pussy. She quivered and moaned, so close to coming, but so far away. His slippery cockhead wasn’t going to send her over the edge.

“I want to feel that hot pussy, squeezing my bare cock,” he panted. “I want to get my cock wet with you.”

She hadn’t engaged in unprotected sex since her teen pregnancy. It wasn’t a good idea, but she was at the end of her cycle, so the risk was minimal. She’d do anything to end this sweet torment. If he didn’t fuck her, she’d die.

“Yes,” she said, arching her spine. “Do it.”

He yanked the bra straps off her legs, his movements impatient. She was glad for his loss of control, and more than ready for him to fill her up. Instead of plunging into her, he moved the action to the edge of the bed. Sitting directly in front of the mirror, he brought her into his lap, reverse cowgirl style. Her legs were splayed wide, her knees draped over his. He raised her arms, hooking them around his head so she could cling to his neck. Then he lowered her onto his cock, inch by inch.