Raw and Dirty(20)

“I will.”

I let Sully out and then turn around, putting my back against the door and sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor.

Brent has—had?—an informant? Who … was the vice president? The vice president that isn't the Vice President anymore?

I feel sick to my stomach.

What the hell have I done?



Before I even fully understand what I'm doing or why, I've shed my boring black dress and slipped into a pair of blue jeans and a black tank top, tossing on an old denim jacket against the chilly night air that's rolling off the ocean and coating everything in a thick layer of fog.

I want to see Royal. No, I need to see him.

It's such a ridiculous thought that I end up rolling my eyes at myself, but even my own awareness that I'm being stupid doesn't get me to leave my car and go back inside. I should be curled up on my couch searching for a movie to watch to take my mind off things.

Instead, I'm heading to the most dangerous place in town—at least for me.

Not only did I let down my barriers and sleep with the MC's president, but I also brought down the feds on top of them. It wasn't on purpose, not really, but I saw the look in Royal's eyes when he questioned me about it. He was dead serious.

Oh, God, please let this go okay.

At this point, I'm not even sure what I'm going to tell him when I get there, but I'll come up with something.

The road follows the curve of the ocean, a sheer drop to my right, the earth plunging away into darkness. I crack my windows for fresh air and the scent of salt and sea teases my nostrils, clearing my senses enough that by the time I pull up to the Alpha Wolves Compound, I've got my head on straight.

I can't tell Royal anything.

Nothing at all.

If they found out what Brent was up to then I could literally be signing his death warrant. They wouldn't be stupid enough to kill an FBI agent, would they? I wonder, my heart pounding as I roll to a stop outside of the gates and consider backing right up and heading home the way I came.

A knock at my window makes me jump, and I glance up to find a guy in a leather jacket glaring down at me.

“Y-yes?” I ask as he looks me over with no small amount of suspicion in his gaze. “Is something wrong? My name's Lyric Rentz. I'm with the mayor's office.” Nothing from this guy. “I'm actually looking for Royal McBride?” The man narrows his eyes at me and I feel a trickle of sweat drip down my spine. What the hell was I thinking in coming out here? These guys are criminals, freaking criminals. Just because I lost my mind today and got down and dirty with their president doesn't mean I'm safe here. I am far from fucking safe.

“Hey, prospect!” My heart skips a beat like it's been jumped. That accent … it can't be anyone but. Both the man and I look out towards the front of the car at a pair of approaching figures. They emerge from the darkness into a pool of light from the street lamp above their heads, two dogs trotting by their sides—Royal's wolves. “Step off a little, would you?”

He approaches the car with a cigarette in his fingers and a smug smile curling his lips.

When he leans down, leather jacket rustling, and folds his tattooed arms on the edge of my window, I breathe a small sigh of relief. It's stupid, I know, to think this man is anything but trouble, but I can't help it. At least he's not glaring at me like I'm the enemy.

“Fucking prospects, always trying to prove themselves.” Royal turns that half-lidded gaze on me and my stomach muscles clench with the memory of his body moving against mine, inside of mine. And his mouth … I suck in a sharp breath that he takes note of, his smile growing wider as the bearded man from earlier pauses behind him and sends the prospect scurrying away. “Couldn't stay away, could you, Pint-Size?”

“I … was in the neighborhood.” Wow. Good one, Lyric. In the “neighborhood” meant being in the middle of goddamn nowhere with the California coast as a buffer on one side and a sea of trees climbing the mountain on the other. There's Trinidad State Beach to the north and a fairly long drive south into the city. Maybe I should just head over to College Cove and leap off the edge?

“You're lucky you caught me, babe. I was actually on my way out.”

“Out?” I ask, sliding my fingers down the sides of the steering wheel. Royal laughs at me, the smell of leather and wild things drifting into the open window and making my nipples hard beneath the thin fabric of my tank top.

My mind refuses to believe that this man and I … did anything at all this afternoon. Maybe it was a dream? A deluded fantasy brought on by stress? I mean, I didn't even take my clothes off, didn't get to see whatever tattoos are hiding underneath that tight T-shirt of his.

“I don't live here, you know,” he says, voice thick with amusement. “I have my own place; we all do. Some of us even have wives and kids.” Royal raises his brows at me in mock surprise at this revelation. “We've all got to have somewhere to store our naughty red lingerie.”