Take Me, Outlaw(55)

Kong had meekly said he'd cooperate, and had asked for a pen to sign his statement. Once he'd been handed the pen, he'd driven it through the detective's hand without hesitation, pinning it to the top of the table. After enduring a thoroughly savage beating from six other cops, Kong was indicted, tried, convicted, and sentenced to three years in the singularly hellish penal institution known as Joliet.



Outwardly, Nic had loudly cheered Kong's act of defiance, along with the rest of the Reapers. But inwardly, I could see that he had blamed himself for Kong's imprisonment—and that blame had magnified upon the realization that those three years incarcerated were Kong's last years on earth.



Now, the way he was looking at me, I could see that this girl—whoever she was—might represent some peace and happiness for Nic. She was a way to escape these grim realities and self-recriminations, if only for one night.



And if anyone deserves that, it's Nic.



“Very well,” I said. “If it—she—means that much to you, I won't say no.”



Relief spread across Nic's face, making him look even younger. “Thanks, Bard. I really appreciate it.”



“Well, don't appreciate it too much. I'm sending Growler with you.”



Nic stole a nervous glance over his shoulder at the girl. “Um, Bard, I don't really think she's into a whole group thing. I'm not either, actually...”



“Heaven forfend,” I replied. “That's why she won't even know that he's there. I'll have him go out a few minutes after you do so she won't see him, and I'll ask him to hang around outside and keep an eye out for trouble. Trust me, you'll be completely undisturbed, and meanwhile, you'll be safe from any would-be interlopers.”



Nic nodded, smiling. “This really means a lot to me, Bard.”



“I know,” I answered, nodding. “Now go on, get out of here. Give her a kiss from me.”



Nic clapped me on the shoulder affectionately, then strode back to the bar. I heard him say, “Come on, baby, let's head back to my place,” and she stood and followed him to the door.



Once they were gone, I waved Growler over. “Choose someone else to tend bar,” I said. “I want you to go to Nic's place, stand outside, and keep an eye out for Giovanni's guys in case they decide to start anything.”



Growler grunted sullenly. “Jesus, Bard, it's, like, twenty below outside! You're tellin' me I gotta go stand out there and freeze my fuckin' ass off, just so Nic can get his pecker wet? Are you fuckin' kidding me?”



“No, I'm not,” I answered levelly. “And don't forget to take your burner with you, so you can call for back-up in case of trouble.”



“But...but...”



“But what, my esteemed Vice President?”



“But I fuckin' outrank him!”



“Yes, indeed,” I conceded gravely, “just as I outrank you.”



“But it's Christmas!” he practically bawled.



“Ah-ah-ah, remember: 'No Christmas crap in the Nest. Not now, not ever.' I can't recall who said those words, but I was struck mightily by their profundity, and I intend to embrace the sentiment wholeheartedly. So, unless you have any further objections...”



“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Growler growled, stomping away and grabbing his heavy coat from a hook behind the bar. He socked another Reaper named Ditch in the shoulder. “Hey, Ditch, take over the bar for me. I gotta go freeze my cock off in the frozen goddamn tundra 'cause Nic needs some strange, apparently. Hooray for fuckin' me.” And with that, he disappeared into the cold night air.



I wish I'd known then that it was the last time we'd see Growler in one piece. But I hadn't.



None of us had.





Chapter Six



Lauren



Nic led me out front to the motorcycles standing in a row, singling out a beautiful-looking red bike. I didn't know anything about these machines, but I instantly knew that this one was my favorite, and not just because it was clearly his.



“Lauren, this is Lola,” he said. “Lola, this is Lauren.”



“Well, hello Lola,” I said, running my fingertips over the handlebars sensually. “Such a pretty name for such a pretty bike. You know, I'm not usually into threesomes, but...”



Nic laughed. “By the way, my name's Nic.”



“I know, 'Sergeant Nic,'” I smiled, pointing to his patch.



He nodded. “Yeah. I sometimes wonder why we wear our names on our cuts. I mean, it's not like we're working at Wal-Mart. Fuck whether people know our names. They just need to know we're Reapers. I said that to Bard a few times...”



“Was he the one you were talking to? With the glasses?”



“Yeah,” Nic answered. “He's our club president.”



“So, what does the Sergeant-at-Arms do?” I asked, shivering slightly against the chilly air. “Like, 'Arms,' does that mean you control the gang's, um...guns, or something...?”



Nic's smile tightened for a brief moment, and I felt like I'd committed some rudeness without realizing it.



“Well, first of all, we're not a gang, we're a club,” Nic explained. “That probably seems like a weird distinction to people who aren't members, but...”



“No, I totally get it,” I assured him, remembering how understanding he was about the whole actor/actress thing. “Gangs are for criminals and thugs, right? And it's obvious that you guys are about more than that. Like, clearly you have a code and traditions—like the patches and the ranks—that mean a lot to you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you.”



Nic's eyes narrowed for a moment, as though he were trying to ascertain whether I was being sarcastic. My eyes must have demonstrated my sincerity, though, because he nodded. “Yeah, see, you get it. Most people wouldn't. Anyway, as Sergeant-at-Arms, I'm the guy whose job it is to keep the other guys in line, on behalf of the president. Like if a Reaper violates any of the club's bylaws, he gets a visit from me. Or if someone retires or does something that would forfeit his patches, I'm the one who's sent to collect them.”





Again, I thought about the room full of bikers—most of them twice Nic's size—and considered what it said about him, that his job was to keep them in line. I tried to picture Nic disciplining a mountain of a man like Growler, and shuddered.



Nic straddled the bike, handing me his helmet and gesturing for me to get on behind him. I hiked up my dress so high that my black lace panties were briefly exposed, eliciting a nod of appreciation from him. The machine roared to life between my legs and I instantly felt myself become wet from the raw power I felt throbbing through it. Nic revved the engine once, twice, and then roared away from the bar, down the street.



# # #



After a few minutes, Nic pulled the bike over to the side of the street in front of a condemned-looking grey stone apartment building. It would have been easy enough to walk there from the Devil's Nest, and I briefly wondered why we hadn't. Then I realized that he'd meant the ride as foreplay, and I got so turned on that I felt dizzy.



“This way, darlin',” Nic said, leading me to the door of the building. We stepped into the darkened hallway together. The round white light fixtures above us were dead, with ragged-looking cords hanging down from them like jellyfish tendrils. There were several holes in the cheap plaster walls, and the floorboards were full of scuffs and splinters. I knew that I should have been appalled by such squalor, but instead, it excited me even more. I'd walked past plenty of condemned buildings like this, but it had never occurred to me to actually enter one. Just being there felt dangerous and exhilarating.



Nic pushed open a door at the end of the hall, beckoning me to walk in. I stepped in carefully, my high heels clicking and echoing in the nearly-empty space. There were a couple of well-worn cardboard boxes bulging with books and clothes. A small TV sat in the middle of the floor, and a mattress and box spring had been shoved into a corner, but that was it in terms of furniture.



The television was connected to a power strip, which was plugged into a series of mismatched extension cords that snaked out through the door, but the only source of illumination came from the street lights outside the window. As my eyes naturally drifted toward the light, I saw that it had started to snow outside. Fat, white flakes seemed to create a strobe effect as they fell into the glare of the yellow glow of the sodium lamps on the street.



While I looked at the snow, I felt Nic's hands slide over my body from behind me. He cupped my left breast with one hand and wrapped his other around my waist, his breath hot against the back of my neck. I felt a soft moan escape my throat, and he held me even more tightly, kissing my shoulder hungrily. I slipped out of my stilettos, sighing happily as I settled back against his firm body. I pressed my buttocks against his crotch and wiggled suggestively, feeling him stiffen. His hands continued to move restlessly over my body, pressing hard, exploring every inch of my torso.



Suddenly, he spun me around to face him and grabbed the back of my neck roughly, pulling me in for a kiss. I succumbed immediately, gratefully, parting my lips to welcome his tongue as it boldly quested for my own. Our breath mingled, and his grip on my neck tightened, kneading it with iron-hard fingertips that seemed to release years' worth of tension.