Damned: Seven Tribesmen MC (6 page)

From a yard and a half away, Agent Holmes spun on her heel. Her eyes widened as she took note of Bishop's aggressive posture, his clenched fist, and Stan's body on the ground. No one moved. It seemed like everything, from the garage to the police radios, went on mute.

“What happened?” she demanded, storming over to the two men.

Bishop threw her a detached glance that slid immediately off her. He absolutely couldn't care what Stella said or did at this point. She got two of his men arrested. He shrugged a single shoulder and listed his head toward Stan, “Your buddy here got stung by a bee.”

“On his jaw?” Stella's tone deadpanned, unable to swallow the biker's story.

“You heard me, this man got stung by a bee,” Bishop nodded, but didn't bring his gaze to Stella's face. He nodded to a nearby officer, “Ain't that right, officer?”

The young woman seemed to be a bundle of nervous energy. Sweat slicked her face as she glanced from the biker to the female agent. Finally, after a forceful swallow and a setting of her shoulders, she brought her eyes to Stella's questioning leer. With a curt nod, the woman said, “Mr. Bishop is telling the truth. Stung by a bee, ma'am.”

Stella's eyebrows crept up her forehead. Incredulity was tickling her thoughts. Not even a police officer would stand up to a man who had just assaulted a federal agent. Either terror was in the air or the thick blanket of community was suffocating the witnesses. “So,
no one
saw Mr. Bishop strike Agent Jackson?”

Variations of “no, ma'am” lilted from both cops and civilians. Stan's murderous glare didn't go unnoticed by Stella nor did Bishop's blatant act of the cold shoulder toward other man. She had no doubt the biker had struck her fellow agent. No one, not even Stan, moved to corroborate the presumption, though.

Pursuing the issue would only cause headaches. No one wanted to talk, and she couldn’t pressure them. Stella sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, “Agent Jackson, go get an ice pack on that,” she paused, lips pursing unhappily, “Bee sting.”

The man scrabbled to his feet, his gaze never parting from Bishop. Grudgingly, he stormed off toward the cruiser, where a first aid kit would offer assistance. Stella watched the man stomp off for a beat, before she turned to Bishop. The man couldn't bring his eyes to face her, either.

Painfully aware of all the curious eyes, Stella bit down the urge to touch the man. Even placing her hand on his shoulder could stir up unsavory rumors, especially if anyone was present at the bar last night. Coupled with the fact the man had driven her home last night and was possibly seen leaving her room this morning, Stella could be ran ragged through the rumor mill.

Instead, the woman shifted her footing and withdrew a card from her breast pocket. She held it out to Bishop and said, “Mr. Bishop, I will be in touch. Until then, here's my contact information.”

The man's grey gaze gave her a side-long glare. He reached out and plucked the card from between her forefinger and middle finger. As soon as the transaction occurred, Stella nodded and climbed back into her cruiser as officers swarmed over the repair garage. Bishop watched her drive off, a sour taste poisoning his tongue. He glanced down at the business card, before crumpling it in a fist and shoving it into his pocket.

CHAPTER TEN

Stella paused outside the questioning room. It was the same room she had met Arthur Bishop in. This time, she would be facing Richard “Howler” Halloway. After Stan suffered through a knuckle sandwich, Stella decided to take the more rambunctious of the two detainees. Steeling herself for a loud, unhappy greeting, the woman pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The man inside appeared a few years younger than Bishop. Minor scars dotted his jawline, and one particularly bad one sliced from the corner of his lip. He hunched in his chair, arms crossed, and prepared for anything. When Stella entered, his blue eyes simmered with quiet rage.

She strode further into the room, her heels clicking on the tiles. As she neared the table, she set down Halloway's file along with miscellaneous papers pertaining to the cocaine found. She glanced back up at him, deciding the best play was cutting right to the point. Halloway didn't look like a man who enjoyed beating around any metaphorical bushes. “How long have you been involved in drug running, Mr. Halloway?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he snapped instantly, and his lips twisted into a scowl.

Stella sifted through the papers, pulling out a print-out of the photos taken of the substances, “Then why were these vials found on your motorcycle?”

Halloway leaned forward, eyebrow cocked. The pictures provided also showed his unrolled bedroll with a pair of black gloves beside them. His eyebrows furrowed angrily as his gaze returned to Stella's face, “They must've been planted.”

“Right. Well, they were in
your
bedroll.” Stella tapped one of the images with his hunter green blanket. “So you see why I have a hard time believing that, I'm sure.”

“Not really.” The man's gaze never faltered and his tone never shuddered. He leaned back in his chair, moving his hands behind his head, “I just got back from near the New Mex border. I leave my shit on my hog when I go about my business. Plenty of time for someone to shove 'em into my bedroll.”

Stella pursed her lips, “And who would want to do that, Mr. Halloway?”

Halloway eyeballed her for a breath. He weighed his options carefully. Instead of answering, the man decided upon a segue. Leaning forward again, he tapped a finger against the pictures, “Do you got my fingerprints on that shit?”

“The results haven't come back yet,” Stella lied. The vials had been dusted, repeatedly. Nothing on them. They were clean as a whistle, probably wiped down after each touch. “Although, the gloves lead to reasonable belief that you still handled them.”

“Having gloves isn't illegal,” Halloway countered.

“Yes, when they're not wrapped up with cocaine,” Stella sighed. Forensics hadn't even found cocaine on the gloves, but they looked rather new. Possibly, bought recently. The woman flipped open Halloway's folder. Inside, a much younger Halloway leered at a camera as he got his mug shot taken. “Plus, you have past drug charges.”

The man snorted, his lips quirking into a smirk, “For weed.”

“Marijuana is still a drug, Mr. Halloway,” breathed Stella, holding tight to her professionalism as if it were a security blanket.

“It's been legalized here, sweet cheeks.”

“But it wasn't legal in Oklahoma at the time of your charge,” Stella countered, firmly.

“That's in the past, honey,” Halloway sighed, exasperated. “Weed is nothing like crack, so you're stretching to tie me to this investigation.”

Silence fell over the interrogation room. The man had a point, and Stella had to admit that. Everything was circumstantial, other than the cocaine being found inside Halloway's bedroll. And, as he said, it could have been put there by someone else. Halloway was part of a well-known motorcycle club. All it took was one rival gang member or even someone with a beef. Time to change tactics again. Stella sat down and crossed her legs. “How about you tell me why you went to Fairview?”

“The tits and ass,” grunted Halloway. Stella rolled her eyes as the man's grin took on a lecherous curve.

“Was it related to the 7T?” She pressed on with her questions. The longer the interrogation, the more information she'd get out of him. Hopefully.

“Look, lady, you know Bishop isn't going to let drugs run through Grand River. We were just asking our brothers to keep an eye out for anything and give us a head's up. That's all I'm going to say.”

Stella pursed her lips, putting a slight edge to her tone, “You're
obstructing an investigation, Mr. Halloway.”

“And you're questioning me without my lawyer present.” The man spoke slowly, pointedly. His glare had tripled in heat. Shoving his chair away from the table, Halloway set his jaw and crossed his arms again. “I won't say another fuckin' word 'til my lawyer gets here.”

Stella's jaw clenched and an ache raced along her cheek. Irritation stewed in her gut as she flipped through her mental files for another tactic. Halloway wouldn't talk; she knew that. Most people, once they wised up – or clamped their mouth shut – wouldn't reopen it again for an officer or agent of the law.

A flicker of movement caught her eye near the doorway. Stan stood there, waiting for Stella to exit. Turning back to Halloway, the woman mentally deflated. He still glared at her with fiery blue eyes, lips screwed tightly shut. The man was ornery and obstinate. She was lucky to get any words out of him to begin with. With a nod of her head and a scripted farewell, Stella gathered her papers and marched to the door.

In the hallway, Stan immediately began walking. Judging from his soured expression, he fared no better than Stella. She followed him, and once they rounded the corner, Stan muttered his report, “Williams said he knew nothing of the cocaine. Said they went south to visit some friends and claimed someone had to plant the vials.”

“That's pretty much Halloway's story,” Stella sighed as she shifted her footing. The two were career criminals. It was highly likely they had cobbled a story together before the cops even caught hint of their trail.

“I think we should switch off,” Stan growled. The bruise along his jaw had begun to turn a dark purple with a reddish outline. “I'll take Halloway, you take Williams. We'll say the other told us some interesting stuff. The scumbags would crack.”

“I don't know. Grand River is pretty tight-knit, including the Seven Tribesmen,” whispered Stella, refusing to meet Stan's gaze. She knew what the man would think. She was giving the Seven Tribesmen preferential treatment thanks to a one-night stand. As the man opened his mouth to voice dissent, Stella glanced up, her tone turning icy, “Plus, Halloway is rowdy. I think you had enough bee stings for one day.”

Stan snapped his mouth shut, an indignant flush biting at his cheeks.

“Let them get their lawyers. We got possession, but neither has a record with crack, and no prints have been found on the vials.” Stella shook her head. It wasn't unlikely that the men would get hung out to dry for possession. If they got a good lawyer, the charges could be dropped. If they were innocent, Stella hoped they had the cash for a good lawyer. More to herself than Stan, the woman muttered, “They could have been set-up.”

Regardless, Stan heard her. His expression pinched, and his tone became sharp, “Why are you defending these thugs?”

“Stan,” Stella warned, turning her gaze to the man. He stood stiffly, lips puckered and eyebrows creasing his forehead.

“Come on, Stella! Just the other day you were about ready to bring them all in for rapid fire questioning.” Stan leaned heavily against the wall, his shoulders smacking it loudly. His tone took on a hard, bitter edge, “Ever since the lead monkey took you hom‒”

The loud smack cut Stan off. Stella surprised herself as her hand flew through the air and landed with tingling impact. Barely contained anger roiled inside of the woman as her hand lowered. Indignant thoughts ricocheted around her head. What right did he have to talk to her like that? She wasn't compromised, especially over
one
night with Arthur Bishop! Even if it had been some of the best sex she ever had.

Her fellow agent stared at her with wide eyes.

“Get your ass off my personal life, Stan,” snarled Stella, pointing a finger at his nose. “I told you nothing happened. Accept that and move on.”

The woman snatched Nathaniel Williams's folder from her partner. He still stared at her with wide eyes and a burning, mortified flush on his cheeks. A few of the local officers whispered and watched. Without another word exchanged, Stella started for her office. The sudden urge to seclude herself stormed through her thoughts. Her fingers trembled, and angry adrenaline pinched at her guts. If she stayed in the vicinity of the others, especially Stan, she couldn't guarantee another physical strike wouldn't happen.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stepping into her office, Stella breathed a little easier. Until she realized Bishop lounged at her desk. The man leaned back in her chair, his boots propped on the desk, an open file in his hands. Her adrenaline spiked just before the blush crept over her face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

When Bishop turned his grey eyes to her, she suppressed a shudder. His gaze was hot and angry, sending chilly tingles over her skin. Even his lips didn't quirk in their usual, amused smirk. “Hello, Miss Holmes.”

On auto pilot, Stella turned to her door and locked it, before shutting the privacy blinds. She didn't want rumors to run rampant, despite the fact one of the local rubes had to let the biker in. With her back turned to him, she tried to calm herself. Their dalliance last night was over. It was back to business, now. A tinge of disappointment peppered over her thoughts, but she shoved it aside. Turning back to Bishop, the woman steeled herself for intimidation.

That's when she realized a curvaceous redhead perched on the edge of her desk. A fire lit in Stella's gut as she eyed the woman suspiciously. The redhead was gorgeous with deep red ringlets and warm brown eyes. Her body seemed to be inspired by an hourglass. A small flit of self-consciousness edged into Stella's thoughts.

“Miss Holmes, this is Ms. Delilah Sampson. She wants to make a statement.” Bishop's voice floated through the office, clear and cold.

Stella glanced to Bishop, before turning her gaze back to the redhead, “What about?”

“First, I want protection.” The woman held up one long finger, tipped in a manicured nail. She smacked her gum loudly and sat a little straighter as she spoke, “This is high-risk shit, and I don't wanna end up in a ditch with my throat slit.”

“All right. You'll be taken to a separate room to ensure your statement is given willingly and isn't a result of coercion,” Stella informed, her eyes swinging from Delilah to Bishop. Her gaze hardened as she continued to speak to the potential witness, “However, Mr. Bishop cannot stay in my office.”

“I'm not going anywhere.” His own stare hardened, his lips fixed into a deep scowl. Electricity cracked between Stella and Bishop, neither willing to budge in their claims.

“Well, considering I'm the only one available to question Ms. Sampso‒”

A hesitant knock cracked against her door. Stella's stomach flipped unhappily as the doorknob rattled. She already knew who it was before the voice floated through the door, “Stella? I'm sorry for what I said. It was out of line.”

The woman watched as Bishop's scowl slowly turned to a smug smile. His head listed to the side as if to say “Only one, really?” Her blush bit savagely at her cheeks as she spun on her heel. Unlocking the door, Stella opened it a crack, “Do you have time to take a witness statement?”

“Yes.” Stan pulled back a little, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Why?”

“One second,” Stella answered, closing the door. She motioned the redhead toward the door. After a quick glance to Bishop, who gave her one nod, Delilah edged off the desk and swayed to Stella. The agent cracked the door open again, ushering the redhead through the marginal space. “This is Miss Delilah Sampson. She says she has information on the cocaine distribution. Could you question her for me?”

The man's gaze flicked to the woman as she shyly scuttled forward at Stella's prompting. His concerned expression switched back to his partner, “Sure, but is something wrong, Stella?”

“Thanks, Stan. You're a lifesaver!” With that, Stella firmly shut the door. On the other side, Stan muttered something under his breath. However, once Delilah spoke up, he turned into sugar and molasses. Stella rolled her eyes, but counted to six when she heard their footsteps echo down the corridor. By her count, they would be rounding the corner.

She breathed a sigh of relief, her stiff shoulders relaxing with Stan gone. Turning back to her desk, she realized the tension in the room had easily quadrupled. Bishop still sat at her desk, his lips in a resting frown and eyebrow cocked. All teasing amusement seemed long gone from his gaze.

Instant irritation burst out of Stella, “Where'd you get this fake witness?”

“Why do you think she's fake?”

“She shows up right after we take your men into custody?” Stella raised her eyebrows and snorted. Bishop's gaze darkened. Stella didn't notice her companion's expression. “Yeah, unlikely.”

“Howler and Crow picked her up on their trip.” Bishop languidly stood from the chair. Something inside his head wanted to be closer to the agent, despite his irritation with her. Stella's body shuddered, imagining how his muscles shifted. The woman swallowed her hormones as Bishop neared. “She has some handy information about your crack pushers.”

Stella pressed her hands to her hips, her lips set into a firm frown. “And I'm just supposed to believe her?”

Bishop stopped right in front of her and leaned forward. He restrained from leaning too far, into her personal bubble. The man didn't want the wrong message to transpire. Her hormones quivered as his musk wrapped around her. “She's a witness, Miss Holmes.”

Stella covered up her pleasurable reactions with a hard glare. “How do I know she's not lying?”

Bishop gave a nonchalant shrug, but didn't lean away. Something in his eyes sparked with challenge, “That's your job. Not mine.”

“What's this really about, Bishop?” The look he gave her stirred the hormones deep within her core. At the same time, Stella felt an itch of indignity as he tested her.

“What do you mean?” Bishop's head listed to the side, his eyebrows cocked with mock surprise. Deep in his thoughts, he couldn't help but feel drawn to Stella. The urge to touch her, kiss her, make her moan, and writhe saturated his mind. The only thing suppressing his desires was his immense annoyance at her for arresting his men with such flimsy evidence.

“You sneak into my office, with a woman who
allegedly
has information I need,” hissed Stella. Her eyes narrowed while her heart fluttered with heat. The close proximity to the man coupled with memories from last night was making her blood boil with shameful excitement. She covered up her hormonal frenzy with thick skepticism. “And you expect me to think you have no motive.”

“I didn't sneak. I walked right in.” Bishop grinned, broadly. He knew that mere fact would fluff Stella's proverbial feathers.

Stella snorted, rolling her eyes, “Obviously. Security here is lacking.”

“Or they're better judges of character than you.”

“There was cocaine on their motorcycles, Bishop,” Stella snapped, becoming fed up with his constant jabs. She tossed her hands in the air with an exasperated huff, “What did you expect me to do?”

“Use that brain of yours and realize it was planted,” retorted Bishop. Watching Stella slowly become so agitated, so unguarded, teased at something inside of him. His annoyance at her subsided, replaced with the prickly heat of desire

“There's no proof of sabotage, and they still possessed it, Bishop,” the woman sighed, vaguely wondering how Stan was getting on with Delilah. “Logically, they knew they had it.”

Bishop narrowed his eyes, as if the answer wasn't good enough for him. Stella braced herself for his next comment. Crossing his arms, the biker president cocked an eyebrow, “And where is the crack now?”

The federal agent pursed her lips, seeing where the man was going with this inquiry. “The evidence locker.”

“Then Grand River PD is now in possession of cocaine,” the man replied, a smirk twitching at his lips. He held out an open hand to her, fingers wiggling, “Got some handcuffs I can borrow?”

The image of him cuffing her brought a hot thrill to Stella's thoughts. Restrained beneath his skilled hands and talented tongue. Her lower tummy began to clench with delight. She shook her head and forced her body to take a step away from the man.

“How did you even get a warrant for that? Pretty weak reason.” Bishop took a step closer, grinning as he peered into her face. The heat on Stella's cheeks, the slight red tinge, played havoc with his hormones. Mentally, he painted her cheeks a darker shade of red and heard her breathy moans in his ears. His pants tightened from the thought of getting Stella on her back.

“We've been working on the warrant for a while,” admitted Stella. The heat mounting in Bishop's gaze was getting to her. She averted her gaze, lips pursed tightly. “We got an anonymous tip about the cocaine.”

“Convenient, like my witness.” Bishop's hand caught Stella beneath the chin. He forced her gaze up to his. A rush of hormones exploded in Stella's thoughts. A tingling blush bled over her cheeks. The man's voice dropped to a murmur as he teasingly leaned forward. Despite the sarcasm in his voice, his tone was flirty and soft, “That doesn't sound suspicious at all.”

“Shove it, Bishop,” grumbled Stella, averting her gaze but unable to turn her face away.

A broad smirk sliced across Bishop's face. He couldn't help himself. Pheromones in the air sizzled as he muttered, “Where you want it?”

The woman narrowed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. Her body tensed, her fingers itched, and her temperature climbed. She wanted nothing more than to grab Bishop by his collar and kiss him, pulling him flush against her and let him take the wheel. However, they were at the PD. She couldn't just throw professionalism out the window for the sake of the hormones stirring up tingles inside her.

Bishop didn't wait for Stella's reaction. The blush on her face and the glazed look of desire indicated enough. His palm grazed up her jawline, fingers curving around the back of her head. He swooped down, closed his eyes, and caught her lips.

Almost instantly, heat exploded inside them both. The woman's eyes fluttered closed, all propriety drowned out by pleasure. Bishop's free hand slid to Stella's back, migrating south to grope her lusciously round ass. A groan of pleasure left her lips. Stella's arms wrapped around his neck, electrified desire skipping along all her nerves. She moaned gently against the biker's mouth as he deepened the kiss. All Bishop could think of was the woman under his hands and how her body shifted so enticingly against him.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, Bishop breathed against Stella's lips, “Quiet, don't want your co-workers to hear.”

“Shut up,” Stella swallowed, narrowing her eyes. The man's warning dampened her passion slightly. They did have to be careful and, more importantly, silent. Regardless, Stella's hand threaded through the back of his hair and tugged the biker down for another kiss.

Her legs came up, wrapping around his waist. Warmth flooded her lower belly as his rock-hard torso pressed against her thighs. Bishop grunted and readjusted his hold on the woman, his other hand drifting southward to grasp her ass. His cock throbbed through his jeans, sensing an eager and hot pussy just a few clothing layers away. Bishop groaned lowly against the woman's mouth as he made his way to the desk.

Stella gasped as he dropped her roughly to the surface. The pain arched up along her ass with pleasurable tinges. Bishop broke the kiss and leered down at the woman, her puffy red lips and flushed face driving his senses wild. Stella sighed as their intimate affection broke, but returned the biker's heated stares through her lashes.

Suddenly, the man grabbed her by the hips and flipped her over, so her breasts pressed against the desk. He jerked her skirt upward, his hands stroking over her ass, over the tights she wore. Bishop's hand jerked, his palm landing with a rough slap. Stella gasped, swallowing down a moan as she clapped a hand over her mouth. She could hear Bishop's grin as he chuckled.

The man's amusement only doubled when his fingers registered something. Leaning over the federal agent, the biker purred, “Why, Agent Holmes, I didn't know you were also a commando.”

Stella's cheeks burned with annoyed heat. She had totally forgotten; in her rush to get to work, she had opted out of panties today. She never would have imagined this scenario, though.

“That makes this easier,” Bishop's amusement seemed to mount with every word. Stella waited for his joking jab at her naughtiness, for another spank to rain on her ass. Instead, the sound of thin rayon ripping whispered through the air. She gasped as a chill kissed her swollen sex. It took Stella a moment to realize Bishop had hooked his finger into her stockings, tearing a convenient hole right along her slit.