Warrant (Righteous Outlaws #1)(15)

When I got to Cash's bike, I stopped and spun toward him. He strolled up  to me with easy confidence a freshly lit cigarette dangling from his  lips.

My phone buzzed in my bag, and I retrieved it. Amaya's name flashed  across the screen. I had countless text messages from both her and  William. I totally ditched them back there, and didn't even let them  know.

They were probably worried about me and afraid something happened. I  waited until the call ended, and then sent a quick text, assuring my  best friend I was okay and that I had to take care of something. After  telling her I'd fill her in later, I shoved my phone back into my bag.

"Everything okay?" Cash asked, taking one last drag off his cigarette before flicking to the street.

My knees became weak at the sparkle in his green eyes. "Everything is fine. So, where are we going?" I asked.

"Wherever the road takes us," he said, as he placed the helmet on my  head and tightened the strap beneath my chin. His finger skimmed my  skin, and excitement shot through me.

Being with him was against everything my parents wanted for me. It was  stupid. It was reckless, and I might have officially lost my mind. But I  didn't care. My addiction was back full-fledged, and I would do  anything and go anywhere to satisfy my craving.                       
       
           



       

"Hop on," he commanded, and I did as he asked without a moment  hesitation. . I kicked my leg over the thick seat, and wrapped my body  snug against Cash. The scent of tobacco was strong, mixing with the warm  masculine scent of leather and spice. I inhaled it deeply, burning it  to my memory.

The engine revved, and the bike roared to life, as Cash whizzed out into  the traffic. He drove faster than I was used to, and I held on tight,  digging my fingers into his sides, and pulling my body flush against  his.

The sun began its descent into the horizon, as the sky turned grey and a  light rain began to fall. The droplets were cold against my skin, and a  shiver ran through my body as the wind whipped through us.

Cash dodged in and out of cars, disregarding all traffic laws. I felt  like we were in a game, or a movie, and not real life. Eventually, the  buildings became more widespread and the industrial landscape changes to  residential houses and parks.

I saw a sign for Black Hills, and remembered the patch on his leather  vest that said exactly that. He was bringing me home, and I didn't know  if I should feel honored or if I was just another notch on his bedpost.

The bike slowed as Cash made a right into a driveway. The house was  small, but quaint, with green shudders and tan vinyl siding. There was a  small wraparound porch that stopped just short of a two-car garage.

Cash got off the bike, and held his hand out to me. I took it and let  him help me off. "Watch your step. The driveway is a little uneven  here," he said, pointing down to a crack in the cement. "Wouldn't want  you to get your heel caught in it."

"Thanks," I said, and looked to the house. "So, is this your place?"

"Nah. I thought I'd pick a random house with no cars in the driveway,  and see if I could break in without being caught," he said and my heart  stopped. Suddenly, I was looking around the area to make sure no one was  outside and able to see us. Cash laughed. "Kidding."

"Oh. I knew that," I said, feeling a bit stupid, but pretending like I wasn't.

"You should have seen your face."

"I'm sure it was hilarious," I finally said.

"It was, but just so you know. I wouldn't drag you into my shit. I  wouldn't want to taint your clean record," he said, walking toward the  house.

I caught up to him, my heels clicking loudly on the concrete path. "How  do you know my record is clean?" I asked. Granted it was, not even a  single speeding ticket, but he didn't know that.

"I would bet my life your record is as clean as the white panties you're  wearing now," he said, sticking a key into the door and then pushing  inside.

I followed him inside. "Wait a minute. How do you know my panties are  white?" I demanded. He might have had his hands under my dress in the  restaurant, but he didn't see them, so why would he assume they were  white?

He came up beside me and lifted the hem of my skirt, revealing the white  cotton boy shorts that I was wearing. "Like I said, white panties."

"I do own other color underwear, you know. It just happens that, every  time you see them, it's because I'm wearing a dress and want full  coverage."

"Why don't you just go without any?"

I gasped. "I couldn't. I wouldn't want to pull a Paris Hilton."

"A who?" he asked, and I realized that I wasn't in Kansas anymore. Paris  Hilton might not have been relevant in the news as much as she was a  decade ago, but who didn't know who she was?

"The socialite? The heir to the hotel chain? How do you not know who she is?"

He shook his head, his eyes unamused. "And she's relevant because … ?"

"Well she's not. But she's famous for not wearing underwear and getting  her bits plastered across the tabloids every time she got out of a car."

"Her bits?" Cash laughed. "Did you really just call her pussy, her bits?"

"Not all of us are as vulgar as you are."

"You love it and you know it," he said, grabbing my ass and pulling me  against him. "That's why you can't resist me, admit it." It was one of  the reasons. I loved how he said what he was thinking, and how he didn't  care what others thought. But, I would resist the urge currently  crashing through me because there was a game still at stake, and I  wasn't about to give up so easily.

"That's where you're wrong." I pushed off of him, and spun toward the  row of pictures hanging on the wall. They were slightly yellowed with  discolorations and sun faded, making it obvious they were older photos.                       
       
           



       

The wood frames had a layer of dust on them, and it was obvious he  didn't like to clean. "Who is this?" I asked, pointing to a picture of a  young man in military garb. From my guess, it was at least a few  decades old. There was a pin pushed into the wood and hanging from it a  purple ribbon with two bordering white stripes and a medal of gold  surrounding a purple heart and a silhouette.

"My old man," Cash said, swiping my hair off my back, and pressing kisses to my neck.

"What war was he in?" I asked, recognizing the medal as the Purple  Heart, the same my grandfather had from fighting and getting wounded in  the Korean War.

"Vietnam," he said against my skin, swiping his tongue across my earlobe and causing sparks to shoot through my body.

"He's handsome," I said, noticing Cash had a lot of his features, from the light green eyes to the strong lines of his jaw.

"Ladies loved him." Cash spun me toward him, pressing my back against the wall, and pushing his hardness into my center.

"Loved? Did he?" I didn't finish the sentence mostly because I didn't  know how to ask without being too blunt, but also because the way he  nipped at my neck made any words disappear. Still, he was telling me  things and I wanted to know more. "When?" I asked, because he didn't  need to answer the other question.

"Two years ago," Cash said, dragging his tongue down my neck and cupping my breast.

"How?" I muttered, trying to keep my focus and not let the path of fiery kisses derail me.

He molded my breast between his hand; only a few pieces of material  keeping his bare touch away. "It's not important," he growled hot  against my ear.

"Cancer?" I guessed, considering if he was eighteen in the Vietnam War  as he looked in his picture he'd have to be in his sixties …  way too  young to die by today's standards.

"No," he said harshly, and shoved his knee in between my legs parting  them. He reached under my dress, and grabbed my ass, digging his fingers  deep into the soft flesh. Pain mixed with pleasure, and a moan rose in  my throat until it poured from my lips.

His mouth ran down my shoulder and I grabbed his face, pulling him back  to me. I captured his lips with mine, and plunged my tongue into his  mouth, relishing in his taste. I slid my tongue against his, absorbing  every mind numbing thrust.

He tore my hands from his face, and pinned them up against the wall. "I  think you're losing," I managed. "Your restraint is waning."

"Fuck restraint," he grumbled before smashing his mouth back to mine.  Our lips moved as one, our tongues syncing as we slid back and forth  against each other. My body quivered with need, but I wouldn't lose.  Besides, I wasn't done asking questions.