Riding Dirty (7 page)

He loitered in the shade for a few minutes, keeping his eye on the exit to the office building. She came out alone, glancing around the parking lot the way women did before they got into their cars. Keys clutched in her hand, she approached a sand-colored Prius and disengaged the alarm. Seconds later, she was gone.

He stared after her, lost in thought. She’d told him that she was a murder witness living under an assumed identity. That was unwise. He could follow her home and demonstrate how easy it was for a criminal to take advantage of that information. But he wouldn’t. His ankle monitor was tracking his locations, and she’d never counsel him again if he showed up at her house. Besides, he wanted to fuck her, not stalk her.

He could control his impulses. Sometimes.

It occurred to him that she might be playing some kind of game. Maybe she had a rough-sex fantasy, and she actually wanted him to follow her home. Or grab her in the stairwell and shove her up against the wall.

Damn. That would be hot.

He couldn’t just spring that sort of thing on her and hope she liked it, though. Her sexy lingerie and soft touch wasn’t an invitation for a mauling.

Shaking his head, he drove away from the office buildings and considered his options for the evening. He could go back to the club and hit up Tiffany again. Or he could head to one of those upscale bars on El Paseo and find another classy piece of ass, like Mia. There were rich women in this area. Trophy wives, divorcees and casino daughters. If they wanted to go slumming, he was ready.

But he was dog-tired, and he had to get up early. Drinking and carousing didn’t appeal to him as much as it used to. Working with a hangover was no picnic. Instead of seeking female companionship, he went to the hotel alone.

He opened the door to the jailhouse suite, noticing a dark-haired man in the pool with Cole’s little cousin Skye. Cole walked over to the fence and gripped the iron bars, smiling at the sound of her giggles.

Aaron “Ace” Clemmons, a former member of Dirty Eleven, was cruising Skye around the pool. She had her hands around his neck. He was grinning at her in delight. Cole had been friends with Ace almost twenty years. They’d met in Slab City when Cole was thirteen. Ace had grown up in the Slabs, so he’d shown Cole the ropes. Years of hard living had roughened Ace’s appearance. But right now he looked like a family man. A dad.

Although Cole didn’t want to interrupt the visit, Ace saw him and nodded. Skye waved at him, so Cole waved back. Her rabbit was sitting in a chair near the edge of the pool, its single eye staring off into the distance. Shawnee emerged from the office in short shorts and high heels, carrying a beach towel. Cole opened the pool gate for her and followed her in.

“Time to get out,” Shawnee said, flapping the towel.

Skye didn’t protest. Ace set her on the coping and she scampered into Shawnee’s terry cloth embrace.

“We ordered pizza if you want to eat,” Shawnee said to Cole.

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

Shawnee didn’t extend the offer to Ace. Rubbing the towel over Skye’s damp hair, she lifted the girl up and started to walk away.

“Wait,” Cole said, grabbing the bunny off the chair.

Skye’s eyes brightened at the gesture. Cole handed it to her carefully.

“Say thank you,” Shawnee ordered.

Skye just stared at him.

With a flip of her long hair, Shawnee left with Skye in her arms. Her shorts barely covered her behind. Cole returned his attention to Ace, whose gaze had been in the same place. Ace was the only person Cole had told about his slipup with Shawnee. The secret hung between them, adding to the layers of tension.

Cole had a few bones to pick with Ace. The first was Ace’s bad romance with Courtney, who’d been like a little sister to Cole. While Cole was in prison, Ace had done drugs with her and knocked her up. Now she was dead, no thanks to him.

That was enough to put him on Cole’s shit list, but Ace had also left Dirty Eleven by choice. Quitting the club before retirement age was against the rules, and it meant that Ace was subject to random beat-downs by current members. Cole wasn’t going to fight him, though. Not in front of his child or anywhere else. Ace was a scary motherfucker, cut or no cut, and they had a long history of friendship.

Ace climbed out of the pool. He was wearing cargo shorts instead of swim trunks, and he had as many jailhouse tattoos as Cole, if not more. “I don’t want any trouble,” Ace said, draping a towel around his shoulders.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Here?”

“Somewhere private. I’ll meet you at the liquor store down the street.”

Ace nodded his agreement, and they headed in separate directions. Cole walked into his room and left through the back entrance. Climbing over the balcony, he jogged away from the hotel. Ace picked him up at the liquor store in an old work truck. They drove to a dilapidated trailer at the edge of town.

“Nice place,” Cole said.

“Reminds me of home.”

There were two lawn chairs by the front door. Cole took a seat while Ace went inside, returning with two frosty bottles.

“It’s nonalcoholic,” Ace said.

“What the fuck do you drink that for?”

Ace didn’t answer. He wasn’t a big talker. Maybe he’d passed that on to Skye. When they were kids, Ace’s favorite thing to do was stalk prey. He’d used these primitive hunting tools to kill rabbits. Not just for fun, either. He’d eaten them.

Cole accepted the bottle of near beer and took a swig. It was okay. Ace collapsed in the other lawn chair, still wearing his wet shorts and no shoes. When Ace lifted his bottle to toast, they clinked the necks together.

“Cheers to your freedom,” Ace said.

Cole smiled at his sarcasm.

“How did you celebrate?”

“I went to Vixen with the guys.”

“You get lucky?”

“Yeah.”

“With who?”

“One of the dancers.”

“Which one?”

Cole was surprised Ace cared enough to ask. “Have you been there?”

“Just tell me which one.”

“Tiffany.”

Ace’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh. Her.”

“Do you have a new old lady or what?”

Ace tilted up his bottle. “Nope.”

Cole didn’t press him for details. Ace was even more tight-lipped about women than other subjects. If Ace was dating one of the strippers, that was none of Cole’s business. “Why’d you leave Dirty E?”

“I want custody of Skye.”

Cole imagined Ace would have a hard time convincing the courts that he was a fit parent. Being an active member of an outlaw club wouldn’t help. Neither would this run-down trailer. “Does Shawnee know that?”

“Yes.”

Cole didn’t envy Ace this battle. Shawnee resented Ace for taking her only daughter away. She’d fight tooth and nail to keep Skye, and she’d probably win. Unless his uncle Bill got arrested and Shawnee was implicated in the crime.

Ace rose to grab a pack of cigarettes from his truck.

“Are those non-nicotine?” Cole asked.

“They’re the real deal.”

“Give me one. I haven’t smoked in years.”

Ace handed him a cigarette and a lighter before he sat down. “Knock yourself out.”

Cole set the beer aside and lit up. His lungs filled with smoke and he coughed, expelling the noxious cloud.

Ace smirked at his rookie move. “How’s it taste?”

“Like ass.”

“Ass tastes pretty nice, if I remember correctly.”

“You don’t.”

“It’s been a while,” Ace said.

For Cole also. What he really missed was the taste of pussy, but he wasn’t averse to ass. There was no place on the female body he wouldn’t kiss. His slam-bam with Tiffany hadn’t even put a dent in his desires. He thought about Mia again, her ass bare except for lacy garters. Yeah, he’d eat that ass like a banquet.

“I have to ask you about Roach,” Cole said, passing the cigarette to Ace. It was making him light-headed.

Ace’s eyes became shuttered. “Okay.”

Cole suspected that Ace knew why Rylan, aka “Roach,” had been stabbed in the badlands. Ace, Cole and Rylan had always been thick as thieves. The other Dirty Eleven guys said they hadn’t been in on the job. Rylan wouldn’t have worked with the Aryan Brotherhood on his own, without backup he could trust.

Rising from the chair, Cole found a five-gallon bucket in the back of Ace’s truck. There was a water spigot across the street. He filled the bucket with water and set it down next to the lawn chair. Then he removed his right boot and sock, rolling his jeans up to the knee. Yesterday, he’d cut the leg off an old wetsuit he’d bought at a thrift shop. He pulled it tight over his ankle monitor to muffle any sounds. This quick fix was okay for casual conversations at the clubhouse, even his sessions with Mia. But what they were about to discuss might be life-in-prison shit.

Cole wanted answers for
himself
, not the cops. He stuck his foot in the bucket. Between the wetsuit fabric and the water, any sound would be insulated. “My uncle thinks the ankle monitor could have a listening device.”

“Can they do that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances.”

Ace pinched off his cigarette and stared into the distance. The trailer park was rustic, but it had a decent view of the Coachella Valley. “No good can come of this, Shank.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got no good left in me.”

“I have a daughter to consider.”

“And I have a dead brother.”

Ace finished his near beer and set it aside, reluctant.

“I won’t repeat anything you say. Especially not to my uncle.”

“How can I be sure?”

“You’ll just have to trust me, as a friend.”

“We’re not friends.”

Cole just stared at him. They’d had a falling out over Courtney before Cole’s second stint in prison. Cole had asked Ace to stay away from her, but Courtney usually got what she wanted, and she’d wanted Ace. She’d been a lot like her mother. Needy, demanding, prone to excess. Ace couldn’t keep her happy, but he couldn’t seem to cut her loose, either.

“Someone approached your uncle about the ransom job,” Ace said finally. “This guy already had a crew and everything planned. He wanted local facilitators who were familiar with the badlands. Roach and I were supposed to do a simple transfer. Pick up the cash from the kidnappers and deliver it to a third party.”

“What went wrong?”

“Wild Bill decided they needed a babysitter, so Roach joined the crew. It turned into a total clusterfuck. The girl they took had a kid with her, along with her bodyguard. Somehow they all got away. Roach had to follow them, and you know he was a good tracker. I think the bodyguard spotted him and doubled back to attack.”

Cole had seen the bodyguard’s picture in the news. He was former Aryan Brotherhood, a bad guy turned hero. Like the assassins in
The Dirty Dozen
. Cole couldn’t blame the bodyguard for acting in defense of a woman and a child, even if Rylan had meant them no harm. His brother had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Fuck,” Cole said, rubbing a hand down his face. “Why would my uncle get mixed up in that kind of crime?”

“The money was good.”

“Is that the reason you did it?”

“No,” Ace said, glancing away. “Bill promised he’d convince Shawnee to give up Skye. But he didn’t follow through.”

“He blamed you for Rylan?”

“Either that, or he’s just a fucking liar.”

“Do you know who was he collaborating with?”

Ace hesitated.

“Was it a member of AB?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Who else would it be?”

“I heard he was doing side jobs with another MC.”

It wasn’t unusual for two clubs to pair up for a common goal. There was power in alliances and money to be made. “Which one?”

Ace didn’t speak, but Cole read the answer in his friend’s cold blue eyes. They were the same eyes Ace shared with Skye, sort of eerie in contrast with his ink-black hair, and too fine for the rest of his weathered face.

There was only one group Cole hated more than the Aryan Brotherhood. They were bitter rivals of Dirty Eleven, known for hard drugs, home invasion robberies and human trafficking.

Cole had earned his nickname by shanking one of them.

White Lightning.

CHAPTER SIX

M
IA ARRIVED EARLY
to sabotage the air-conditioning.

She’d thought about Cole all weekend. Wondered how his rough, tattooed hands would feel on her. If she’d respond to his touch with enthusiasm or freeze, retreating inside herself. Would her body accept him, even while her mind stayed distant? Before meeting him in person, she’d imagined faking everything, from attraction to orgasm. She’d planned to use lube to mimic natural arousal, and rouge her nipples. Now that they’d interacted, she wasn’t sure the deception would be necessary.

Since Philip died, she’d been numb. Not just emotionally, but sexually. She’d masturbated once, about a week after his murder, lost in a haze of crushing grief and insomnia. Seeking comfort, any kind of comfort, she’d climbed into bed with a shirt he’d worn. It smelled of citrus soap and shaving lotion. She’d spent hours with the fabric pressed to her face and her hand between her legs. When she couldn’t orgasm anymore, she’d cried. Deep, raw, gut-wrenching tears.

The next day, she’d washed his shirt and tucked it away. She’d been allowed to pack a suitcase full of belongings from their home, mostly her own clothing. The items she had to remember him by were photographs, his favorite wristwatch and a small sculpture of Aphrodite he’d meant to give her for their fifth anniversary. He’d always called her
his
Aphrodite. His titian-haired goddess.

She kept those things in a drawer, along with hisshirt. And she might as well have placed her sexuality in there, too. Set it aside, under wraps, like an object to mourn and weep over when she was feeling weak.

She hadn’t opened that drawer this weekend. Instead she’d gone shopping to fill another drawer—a naughty one. She’d stocked up on provocative lingerie and sexual aids. While browsing for new outfits, she’d caught a glimpse of a black leather corset. She’d bought it on impulse and donned the garment at home. Stomach fluttering with excitement, she’d touched herself in front of the mirror. Fantasizing about Cole. At the moment of climax, she’d pictured him in the motorcycle mask, taking her by force. Her sharp cry of pleasure made her tremble with shame. Was she facing her fears, or getting off on them?