Shattered (5 page)

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Abigail felt tension
and fear drain from her as they motored away. She worried about the latest guests who’d come dragging up to the clubhouse—two girls from Denver looking to party. She’d tried to warn them away but they thought the biker life was exciting and wanted to give it a try. Neither looked older than sixteen, and had no clue there’d be no leaving the life. They’d have no part of Abigail’s caution.

“You can’t save them all,” St. John said as if he’d been reading her mind.

“I know, but why are people so desperate?”

“Everyone is seeking something that’s missing in their life. It usually boils down to acceptance,” St. John said. “I know that’s what’s driven me most of my life, and why I joined the agency in the first place.” He flushed as he said the words.

“I knew it. Why didn’t you tell me the truth instead of some stupid story about a washed up NFL career? Where’s your trust?” Abigail brought her fist down against the truck’s dashboard.

St. John smiled. “There’s a big difference between telling you I’m a former NFL linebacker versus a federal undercover agent. I do trust you, but there are other lives I have to consider before compromising my own cover. Besides, you said you had a death wish—I don’t.”

“Why are you smiling? I’m pissed.” She crossed her thin arms tight across her chest.

“Because I don’t have to hide it from you anymore. I’ve wanted to tell you but it’s not like sharing a family recipe. Once I realized you were the woman on the highway in Vegas, I had to tell you the truth—I’m so sorry.”

“I figured you were more than a has-been jock. You’re too special. I sensed it, even after I first got here and was so fucking confused, I’d almost started to enjoy the way they treated me. That ain’t the case no more—my mind’s mostly clear and ready to make them pay for what they did to my baby boy.” Anger fading, she slid across the bench-style seat to cozy up to him.

“Now that you know I’m on the case, I think it’d be best for you to escape the club and let my investigation put them away. I can have the US Marshals place you in a safe location until this is over.”

Abigail slumped and slid back across the seat to lean against the passenger’s side window. “How typical of you, my All-American. You have no faith in me at all do you?”

“I do, but how am I supposed to stay sane and watch someone I care about get fucked at any moment by any one of two hundred motherfucking scumbags?” St. John’s window rattling bellow created such force Abigail shuddered and hid her face behind her hands.

“You sound just like them.”

He punched the steering wheel. “I’m nothing like them,” he sneered.

“Please don’t take this wrong, but I watch you. You’re a lot like them. I see the look in your face and I know you want the freedom.” Abigail leaned in. “Besides, you’re not that good of an undercover actor.”

“Maybe not, but it kills a little part of me each time they abuse you.” He reached out to put his arm around her.

When they arrived near Hope Falls, St. John pulled into the express motel wordlessly.

“It’s what I’ve got to do to reclaim a reason to live,” Abigail said. “They’ll take my body but they won’t take my soul. Tonight, I want you to take both.” The iridescent glow of the motel sign flickered off and on, coloring her view of him. She’d not been this at peace in a very long time.

She wanted to make love—love, not just have sex.

T
he room was
small, but they were there to be close. It wasn’t the Ritz, as the saying went, but to be honest she’d never seen the Ritz. As far as she was concerned, it was clean and it was big enough. For all she cared, it could’ve been the alley behind her favorite Las Vegas strip casino. Finally, after all the hell she’d subjected herself to for a dose of revenge, she felt safe.

St. John peeked outside one last time before he shoved the thick curtains together. The vintage paisley designs looked like hell, but did their job of keeping the parking lot’s lighting out. Except for a thin stream that pierced the slight gap along the curtain rod, it was dark.

The crunch of his boots across the stiff industrial carpet caused her anticipation to explode—her body tingled at the sound of him coming closer. Abigail sought his shadowy figure, and wrapped her arms around him. They both stumbled against the door. Gently, he ran his hand down her left arm, over her wrist, and took her hand. He eased her against his muscled chest. Nerve endings in Abigail’s body sizzled as the sensation of his fingers easing along her shoulder and over her tousled mane shot bolts of lightning through her.

“Mmm… Umm, St. John…or Lou…I’m not sure what to call you.”

“Let’s stick to my cover name—for now.”

“I’m nervous.” Her voice was weak, but the emotional rush gave her an energy she’d not known in years.

“Me, too. Are you sure you’re okay? I’m totally fine with hanging out and spending time with you,” he said as he pulled back to look at her. “We don’t have to do anything.” His eyes narrowed but the kindness in his smile shone in the dim light.

Abigail gripped his wrist, pulled him close, and pressed her mouth to his. She heard him let out a slight chuckle. She pulled back to look suspiciously at him. “What’s funny?”

He glanced away then zeroed back on her. “Nothing. I just thought it was a nice icebreaker.”

“My kiss?”

“No. The way your other hand placed the pistol on the nightstand.”

Abigail nibbled on her bottom lip. She’d been trapped into playing the victim for so long but now felt empowered by St. John, and no longer by carrying the weapon.

“Maybe you should check me for other weapons,” she suggested playfully, raising her hands in a sign of surrender.

St. John fumbled with the four buttons on her jeans. The form-fitting denims opened to expose the tattoo Fury had inked on her as punishment for trying to kill herself. Her tummy jumped at his touch, but his hands softly roamed her waist and hips before moving up her torso. Her skin twitched at the tickle of his tender touch.

“So far, so good, lady,” he breathed as his palms rode over the smallish curves of her breasts.

“You sure? You better check some more.” Abigail’s confidence soared. She was determined to allow herself the connection of emotion mixed with physical pleasure.

St. John knelt before her—his dark eyes still connected to hers. The glow of the motel’s light outside shed enough light to see his mischievous grin as he pretended to frisk each thigh for concealed weapons. Abigail squirmed as his strong hands ran briskly against each leg. She sensed the warmth of her pussy and wondered if he felt it too. She grabbed handfuls of his hair to steady herself. He groaned at the aggressive connection.

“I think we’re going to have to confiscate these.” His voice sounded boyishly shy as he tugged at her pants.

“Yes sir, officer, but I want them back.” She teased him, but had no idea what she was really saying. It didn’t matter—ecstasy didn’t require words.

Lowering himself to his knees, St. John used the back of his right hand to slowly spread her legs apart. His fingers traced the letters of her tattoo. She felt embarrassed at first, but his tongue outlined the design before he kissed her directly on her belly button. For once, the tattoo didn’t disgust her.

His mouth continued to nip and bite at her hips and pelvis until he arrived at the slight patch of light-colored hair above her vagina. Weak-kneed, Abigail wanted to shove his mouth into her slippery folds, but resisted, enjoying his patient approach.

The Savages would fuck her without notice or warning, so her pussy had learned to become wet immediately to protect it from their harsh treatment. St. John’s caring approach had her wet and on the razor’s edge of an orgasm without ever actually being touched.

One long finger slipped between the lips of her vagina. It moved slowly from back near her ass to the front, and lingered until it mashed against her clit. It was way too much to bear. Abigail moaned. Her fingers dug into St. John’s strong shoulders as she bucked to and fro on wobbly knees.

She jerked slightly when the room’s air conditioning unit kicked on, but giggled and soon relaxed again.

Her lips parted in an odd ensemble of sound. She bucked as her womb and vagina clenched. A rush of electricity shot through her body, and a warm wash of liquid coated St. John’s fingers. She heard him laugh as though he’d accomplished something astonishing. He actually had—she’d cum without force or fear, and it was amazing.

“You okay?” he asked as if he was unaware of what he’d done to her.

“I think it’s a case of police brutality. Maybe I better lie down.” With warmth in her soul, her words reflected the safety her heart felt.

Abigail eased back onto the sheets of the queen-size bed. Her eyelids batted lazily with the slow pulse of pleasure. Her words slurred. She was, for this moment, a woman, comfortable and aroused. Her hands summoned him to come into her.

Her heartbeat quickened as St. John’s expression changed. He reached for her pistol.

“No,” she moaned, but instead he turned an ear to the door. “What is it?” she asked.

A finger pressed to his lips, and she nodded. He silently crept to the window, holding the pistol close to his side as he maneuvered a glance through the slit of the curtains.

“Maybe my imagination,” he said, shaking his head.

“Probably. Who’d know we’re here?” She yanked a blanket up to her neck.

“If the Savages followed us, they would. So would the task force if they were still covering or trying to arrest me.”

“Arrest you?”

“Something’s rotten within my agency’s enforcement group, I got a sinking feeling they’re out to get me. I’m officially classified as a rogue agent.” He teetered between the door’s peephole and the bed, weapon still at the ready.

“No wonder you’re paranoid, but this looks like a busy area where cars pass all the time. Come here and finish your police investigation of me.” Abigail’s tone reflected her arousal and a desire to surrender to him.

“I guess you’re right.” He placed the gun back on the stand.

Abigail rolled onto her side and ripped his jeans open to expose his semi-erect cock. She began to stroke him and he responded quickly. She spit into her palm to mix a slippery concoction with his pre-cum wetness. The slickness of her strong grip along his shaft caused his knees to buckle as he stiffened rock hard in her hand. His back caved against the paneled wall and his hips looked to come unhinged as she beat his dick at a fierce pace.

“Good officer,” she said, enjoying the freedom of mutually consensual sex. “You ready to surrender to me, baby?”

His head rocked side-to-side while his eyes fluttered back. “Yes, ma’am,” he mouthed.

Without releasing her firm hold on his manhood, Abigail led him onto the bed and between her quivering thighs. His once rigid physique now appeared relaxed as she spread her legs wide to receive him. She cried out in a loud moan as the head of his generous dick touched her saturated walls. She exploded with warmth before he fully entered into her.

His reaction to being with her aroused her. Her shoulders began to jerk, hinting at another orgasm, but she tried to resist.

He gathered her hair in a fist and pulled her head backward. “Cum for me. Let me feel you cum on my dick. I want to feel your pussy milk me dry.”

His words were too much. She couldn’t hold back. She whimpered lightly as her vaginal walls became engorged with blood, creating a soft, warm feeling she knew he’d noticed.

“Let me hear you, Abigail. Don’t hold back, baby, cum for me. Scream your pleasure for me.”

Her tongue licked at her sweat-covered lips and at him. She pressed her mouth against his, and then released moans deeper and more intense than she’d ever known existed.

“Good girl, don’t stop,” he panted as moisture dripped from his long, tangled hair.

His grip tightened in her hair while his hips slammed against hers. The meeting of flesh became rhythmic. She drove her hips into his. Hard and furious, she fucked him as if her life depended on it. It worked; she felt his already hefty cock pulse inside as it seemed to extend even longer. His impressive girth stretched her pussy beyond what she thought possible. She dug her nails into his shoulders at the intense burning pleasure.