The Edge of Courage (Red Team) (26 page)

“Do it,” he rasped. “Take me in your mouth. Now.” She turned slightly, mouthing only a portion of him, flicking her tongue back and forth over the engorged vein at the base of his cock.

“Jesus, Mandy. You’re going to fucking kill me. Take me now.”

She smiled and moved her mouth leisurely upward until she wrapped her lips around the crown. He groaned and thrust forward, pushing himself as deeply as she could take him. “Yeah, like that.” Every time he pulled out, her tongue caressed the hard length of him. He’d wanted this to go on forever. She sucked and stroked and pleasured him. She gripped his balls and gently massaged, even as she squeezed the base of his cock. He pushed into her mouth, feeling as if he was fucking her throat. His balls tightened, his only warning before semen shot like fire into her mouth.

He knelt before her as she lifted her face to the shower, rinsing her mouth with the streams of water that were growing cooler. He kissed her throat, her chin.

His eyes looked sad again. She touched his cheek. “What is it?”

“You’re looking at a man without a heart. It belongs to you now. Keep it or throw it away—do what you will with it. I can never take it back.”

She shook her head. “How is it that I feel as if I’ve known you my whole life, not just these past few weeks?” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, buried her face in his neck. “I’ve been alone for so long. Most of my life.”

“But you’re not alone, now. You have my heart.” His arms tightened around her. “You give me a reason to live, to want to come back.”

She took hold of his face. “I’m counting on it.”

* * *

It was just before 11:00 p.m. when Ty parked in the side lot at Winchester’s. The place was packed. The band’s bass throbbed across the parking lot. Inside, the noise was almost deafening. It was odd, Ty thought, how disproportionate the number of men to women there were. The men were large and poorly groomed. Many had shaved heads. Some sported beards and moustaches. Most of them wore leather vests over wife-beaters, maximizing their display of ink. Not what he would have expected for a Western bar’s clientele.

Three women sat alone at one long table—two of them looked like Jersey Shore transplants complete with big hair, heavy make-up, and form-fitting clothes. The other few females in the place were on the dance floor or in crowded booths. Every table and booth was occupied, leaving nowhere for the group to sit together.

Val looked the situation over, spotted the table with the three women, then grinned at Ty. “Get me a Fat Tire. I’ll get us a table.”

Ty and Kit got their drinks first, then paused at a half-wall separating the bar from the booths, waiting for the others. Val was now sitting at the table with one of the women on his lap. Across from them was the other Jersey Shore princess. A third woman sat at the far end of the table, her nose buried in her phone. Wearing a T-shirt, jeans and hiking boots, she seemed an odd companion for the others. While Ty watched, she made short work of a guy who approached her. No one spoke to the other two women, which, given their come-fuck-me attire, surprised him.

Val waved them over.

“The guy’s a man-whore, but he got us a table,” Greer grumbled.

“You don’t hear me complaining,” Kelan commented, following him. They pushed their way through the crowd. Ty handed Val his beer, then sat between him and the hiker chick. Kit sat at the end near Ty, and the other guys filled in around the table. The brown-haired girl looked up at him. Her lips were compressed in a tight line. She offered no welcome but simply went back to her phone.

Ty leaned toward her. “If you don’t want to be here, why are you?” he asked, honestly curious about her answer. Again, she looked up at him. She wasn’t wearing any make-up. She didn’t need any. She looked like she’d come here right from a lengthy hike outside. What color would her smoky topaz eyes be in the sunlight? Her hair was wavy and looked unbearably soft. She was like a draft of fresh air someone had let into the thick, crowded room.

“I had no choice. They needed a D.D.”

Ty set his cane against the table and leaned back, absently rubbing his thigh. “Same here. I’m unstable enough as it is with this. Figured I didn’t need to be stumbling around in a drunken stupor.”

The girl’s smoky eyes studied his. “What happened?”

“War injury.”

She frowned at his thigh, lost to her thoughts. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“That you’re hurt.”

“Wasn’t your fault. You didn’t do this to me.” Ty wondered, as he said it, if he wouldn’t have voluntarily taken a bullet just so that he could sit here with this girl and have this conversation. He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Ty Bladen.”

Her eyes widened then narrowed. “Bladen?” She shook her head. “We got no further need to chat. No offense intended, Bladen.” She returned her focus to her phone.

Ty frowned. What was that about? He’d been gone for more than a decade. He’d done nothing to earn her frosty attitude. He could only think of one reason why she’d had that reaction. “Did you know my father?”

“No,” she said without looking up.

“Eddie! Get your nose out of your phone. We have visitors, honey,” the Jersey Shore girl cuddling with Greer leaned forward to call down the table. “Be nice to the man.”

Eddie flashed the woman a look, but stayed silent. “S’all good,” Ty spoke up, deflecting the woman’s attention. “The two D.D.s’ll just sit here and keep tabs on you guys.”

Ty sat silently for all of a minute before leaning over to Eddie and asking, “So—what’re you reading?”

The girl looked up at him with the hardest, ball-busting glare she could summon. “Listen, Bladen. This is how it’s going to go. You’re going sit in your chair and talk to your boys and leave me alone. Otherwise, someone’s going to get hurt.”

Ty couldn’t help but grin. God, she was hot. “Right. No talking.” He crossed his arms and slumped farther in his chair, his legs spread wide to ease the tension in his groin that his interest in the girl had caused. He tried to think of something other than the spitfire sitting next to him, but all he came up with were more questions about her. Why had she shut him down when she discovered his name? What had his bastard of a father done to her to cause such a reaction?

Val smiled as a waitress set a margarita in front of him. He paid her with a hundred dollar bill and asked her to keep drinks coming for him and his friends. The woman on his lap snuggled tighter while he spoke to the waitress. Val felt his body heating up. She was all curves—big breasts, narrow waist, plump ass. He didn’t care that her assets were medically enhanced. The very fact that she wanted to look sexy
was
sexy. He grinned up at her as she rubbed those assets against his chest.

God, he loved women. They were delectably different from men, soft and cuddly and sweet smelling. It didn’t matter if they were thin or heavy, small- or big-breasted, young or older. All of them equally fascinated him. They were truly a gift to mankind, and he intended to spend his life showing his appreciation.

She wiggled on his lap. His dick responded in kind. She giggled. “You know you have a girl’s name.” He drew her down for a kiss, putting her mouth to a different use than talking. He savored the sweet, chemical flavor of her lipstick, imagining the sticky, pink imprints she’d leave on his body as she kissed her way down to his cock.

“Do I kiss like a girl?” he asked, his voice rough.

“I don’t know. I’ve never kissed a girl,” she said, wrapping both arms about his neck.

“You’re lying.” More wiggling. Christ, he was going to lose it. Right here.

“Well, there was one time…”

“Did you like it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He gripped her hair, positioning her face where he wanted it. “Yes, I would.” He tilted his head and took her mouth with a force and authority that was all male. While she was distracted with the kiss, he lowered his hand to her thigh, bared for his consumption by the short skirt she wore. He stroked her skin from her knee up until his fingers brushed the hem of her skirt.

She didn’t protest. She drew back from the kiss and watched his hand on her leg. He lifted the margarita glass and held it to her lips, then turned the glass and sipped where she’d sipped.

“How is it that such a beautiful woman is here alone?” he asked, resuming his slow stroking.

She made a lovely pout. “We weren’t alone when we came here, but they took off a while ago. I’m so glad you showed up.”

He pulled her ass a little closer. “Just left you, did they?” He made another pass up her leg, his hand now fully beneath her skirt. Would she let him get her off here? Now? Would she quietly peak, her pleasure a secret between the two of them? Or would she go all wild on him with a screaming orgasm? He couldn’t decide which he’d prefer. Both, maybe.

Her phone beeped with an incoming text message. She huffed, but got off his lap to answer it. A quick look at the text had her sending a dark glare toward the woman at the end of the table. “Not funny, Eddie.”

She sat back down on Val’s lap, this time facing the other way—effectively blocking his advances since he was right-handed. He leaned in to kiss her neck and caught sight of the tattoo she wore below her left ear. A crescent moon and star.

I had them branded so we’d know them when we saw them
, Rocco had said during the briefing two days ago. Val pressed his lips to the mark of his enemy and sent a surreptitious look around the room, searching for men with the same mark.

Ty looked between Eddie and the floozy warming Val’s lap, wondering what she’d texted. Probably a warning about the audience they were attracting. Man, he couldn’t even live vicariously. He decided to get up and move around. “I’m going to get another Coke. Want one?” he asked the girl next to him. Their waitress was being plenty attentive, thanks to Val, but his leg was stiffening up—he wanted to stretch it out.

Eddie kept her eyes on her phone. “No.”

“Hungry?” he asked, wishing he could get her to look at him one more time.

She did—and caught the sight of his grin. Her eyes narrowed. “No, thank you.”

Ty grabbed his cane and walked through the crush to the bar. He shouldered his way in and leaned an elbow on the counter. The man currently waiting for his drink was one of the many gangbangers clustered about the place. Ty’s gaze wandered over his tats, curious to see if he knew any of the images the guy sported. He followed an unimaginative hate message up the guy’s neck, where it terminated with a crescent moon and star.

A cold feeling started at Ty’s neck and worked its way down his spine. He sent a look around the crowded bar area, seeing the same mark on several men. The man at the bar must have felt his curiosity, for he turned and glared at Ty.

“Nice ink,” Ty tapped his neck. “What does it mean?”

The man’s brows lowered. “Why the fuck are you talking to me?”

Ty laughed. “Just makin’ nice conversation. Got some social anxiety there, big guy?” The gangbanger grunted for an answer and reached for Ty’s throat with his free hand—the other still held his money and was resting on the bar. Ty grabbed two of his fingers and bent them backward as he pushed the hand away. The man should have caved instantly to avoid the pain, but he kept up his forward momentum. He either didn’t feel the pain or didn’t need those two fingers.

Before the situation escalated, the barkeep slammed a baseball bat down on the counter. He looked at the skinhead. “You know the rules. No fighting.” The immediate area around the two of them got quiet, but Ty doubted anyone beyond a few feet from them heard the bang. He eased his hold on the guy’s hand, ready for anything. The man took his drink and paid, glaring a warning at Ty before he stepped away.

Ty looked at the frustrated bartender. “They part of your regular clientele?”

“No. Once a month or so, they come into town and take the place over. I made an agreement with their leader, Pete Conlin, to keep the place open longer when they’re here in exchange for no property destruction. Still, it’s a battle every time.” He eyed Ty. “You’re with the Feds who came into town earlier this week.” Ty didn’t bother correcting him. The less he knew about Owen’s team, the better. The bartender shook his head, grinning as he rubbed the counter down. “You picked a helluva night to come here.”

“Why’s that?”

“They aren’t normal biker dudes. They’re WKBers and they hate government employees.”

Ty took his drink and returned to the table. He tapped Kit on the shoulder. “We’ve got a problem. And not a three girls and six guys kind of problem.”

“What is it?” Kit asked as he stood up next to Ty.

“It’s a six guys and fifty WKBers kind of problem.”

Kit mouthed a curse as he glanced around at the clientele, his gaze snagging on man after man bearing the mark of Ghalib Halim. Val caught his look, and Ty could tell he’d figured out the problem as well. Kelan noticed the loaded glances. He hit Greer and Angel on the shoulders. They both stood up.

“I’m sorry to cut our time short, sweetheart, but it looks as if we’re heading out.” Val stood up, his arm still around the woman he’d been fondling.

She arched against him like a cat stretching, her hands kneading the contours of his chest. “Why do you have to go? Stay and keep me company.”

As Val leaned in for a good-bye kiss, the woman was yanked out of his arms. A fist connected hard with his jaw instead. Stunned by the abrupt change in his circumstances, Val barely had time to focus on the bearded, bald man in front of him before Kelan intercepted the next blow. His friend grabbed the skinhead’s throat in a hold so tight, the man could neither breathe nor pull away. It stopped the others who’d come forward in a close circle.

“Take it down a notch.” Kelan glared at the guy. “I’m going to let you go so we can have some nice convo about what’s got you freaked out.” The guy held his hands up. Kelan eased his hold.

“The bastard was touching my woman. I’ll be doing my talking with this—” He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and popped the blade. He swiped at Kelan. It was the only strike he managed to make. Kelan hit his throat with the edge of his hand, then kicked out his knees.