Captive Ride(16)
That doesn’t fly with me. Yes, Flint can wring the most exquisite orgasms from my body. Yes, I have had mad lust for him for years, ever since I started representing the Death Lords member on that murder charge. Yes, having him boss me around in the bedroom was the most exciting sexual experience I ever had but I’m a grown woman, with a successful legal practice, and I’ve lived on my own for over a decade. I’ve been taking care of myself for even longer.
I’m my own person and if Flint wants to be part of my life, he’s going to have to accept that.
“No. I haven’t been Wyoming but I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s going on, starting with why you showed up at the restaurant today and ending with why I need a clean up team at my house.”
Flint scratches under his chin thoughtfully. “Those assholes downstairs didn’t come for me. They came for you.”
“Me?” I can’t stop the shocked squeak that comes out. “I thought they were from a rival MC. Isn’t that why you’ve been watching me all these years?”
Flint frowns. “The MC we’re keeping our eyes on is a skinhead group out west. We’re looking out for you because you did us a solid representing Wrecker, not because we thought you’d be the target of some other club.”
Wrecker’s sentence rankles. The Fortune Chief of Police is dirty but I couldn’t pin anything on him. Ultimately I’d been able to talk the prosecutor down to a three year plea agreement. “I’m sorry he had to do any time.”
“Course you are.” Flint cups my face with one free hand. “He’d have gotten the full ten year sentence, or more, if it hadn’t been for you.”
I’m not certain if I’m warm because of his words or the fact his body is so close to mine.
“Thank you but that doesn’t really explain the mess downstairs.”
“True.” His hand drops to my wrist. “Come on down and see if you can shed some light on the subject because the boys downstairs aren’t part of any skinhead group.”
“How can you say that?” I protest but follow him anyway. I need to get to the bottom of this. But when I waltz into the kitchen and see the three guys tied and duct taped, I understand immediately why Flint assumed my intruders were not skinheads.
Because this particular group of bad guys looked suspiciously like the crowd that Isamu runs with.
“Want to tell me how you got caught up with them?”
I bristle at what feels like an implicit accusation that I allowed this to happen. “Gosh, Flint, I asked around for the worst criminals in Minneapolis and then walked right up to this one,” I nudge the nearest one with my toe, “and asked him to take me as his next victim. He said I was too old, but I swore I could be full of tears and pretty begging just like the teenagers.”
He snorts. “You have a smart mouth.”
“I’m a lawyer. Did you see the degree in my office? It says Bachelor of smart assery.”
“I’ve never been to your office,” he replies. “Never got that particular invitation.”
“Didn’t realize you Death Lords waited for invitations. I thought you just strolled in, took what you wanted, and left.”
“Only if what we want it taking way too long to make up her mind about us,” he smirks.
I decide not answering is my best response. I turn toward the trussed up males. “These look like associates of a client of mine. He’s just gotten out of jail and is trying to keep his nose clean. My guess is that he told them he wasn’t going to work with them anymore and they got mad. What are you doing with them?”
“I’ve got a few guys coming to pick them up,” he says evasively. And do I really want to know the details? Not really. If they are away from Isamu and his family, that’s what I care about. Flint walks to the back door, grabs my boots and then kneels at my feet. “We need to get going before it get’s too late. I don’t like riding in the dark with important cargo in the bitch seat.”
Therein lies the dichotomy of Flint. He tells me what to do in my own house while kneeling at my feet. “I hope you don’t think that because I’m in the bitch seat, you can refer to me with that word.”
“Only in bed, Amy.” He grins at me wickedly.
I cuff the top of his head while he laces one boot up and then the other. Once dressed, he rolls one of the males onto his back. I see now that he’s conscious but too taped up and subdued to do much more than blink sullenly up at Flint.
Flint holds out the side of his leather jacket and taps the patch over the breast pocket. It’s got a flaming skull in the center with Death Lords curved around the bottom and the letters VP on the top. There’s a larger version on the back of his vest that he has on under the jacket. He also has a replica of it emblazoned upon his back.