4-Bound By Danger (2 page)

Tonight, he would push his luck. He had a promise to keep, and you couldn’t cheat death and then blatantly break a promise.

“You trying to tell me something, kid?” Tomcat growled, probably figuring Jace would back away.

He didn’t. “It’s good spending time with you. Makes me feel…grounded.”

Tomcat’s stance softened. “The party too much for you?”

“Yeah. I thought it would be all right, but it’s too soon,” Jace told him, knowing Tomcat would get that. The return from any kind of combat was tough—for a while, Jace always felt like he was living in some kind of alternate universe.

Just then, the woman who’d been hanging off Jace pushed out the door and called to him. He turned to her even as Tomcat observed, “She seems like she’d be good stress relief.”

Jace shook his head in the direction of the woman, who pouted and then disappeared, then told Tomcat, “Not my type.”

“You don’t like brunettes?”

He gave a quick glance to Tomcat’s hair—Tomcat would’ve missed it if Jace wanted him to, but Jace didn’t. “I like brunettes just fine.”

Tomcat’s mouth opened, then closed. Finally, he said, “Be careful what you wish for.”

“Being careful all the time doesn’t get you very far,” Jace countered, his hand grasping one end of the handlebar.

“This club—me—all of it is playing with fire,” Tomcat said.

“Did you come out here to lecture me?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“Tomcat—need to talk,” Cools called then, before Tomcat could answer Jace. The man didn’t glance back his way when he left, but somehow, Jace knew he’d won that round.

He also knew he needed to pretend he didn’t notice what was going on around him, but he did. Tomcat was getting orders.

Enforcers in the club were a new entity. Usually rogue MC members, they were brought back specifically to deal with major trouble, and then they were expected to disappear.

If this was an undercover job for him, did Tomcat actually kill people in the name of the job? According to Kenny, Tomcat had been here for two years, back and forth, after a long period of being rogue—and in the Army—but fulltime for the past six months because of major club business.

That business—the gun-running portion of it—was already in the hands of the Feds—it hadn’t taken much for Jace to uncover it. The MC trusted him way too much, or else they thought he was as stupid as Kenny. He’d never bothered to play it any differently, since being underestimated worked to his advantage in any and all situations.

In return, the Feds had given him some intel with the intention of helping to keep Kenny safe. Jace learned that a rival club was setting Cools up, and he knew that Tomcat could potentially be burned if involved.

Sometimes, fate was a bitch, but tonight she was Jace’s bitch.

Chapter Two

Clint Sommers had left Jace and the MC party behind an hour earlier and now waited in the alley in Norfolk, wishing he was there for a blowjob instead of a meeting where someone would no doubt try to kill him. It was the nature of the job he was currently working, the nature of the CIA he’d been a part of for ten years since he’d left the military.

For this undercover op, he was called Tomcat and had referred to himself as that constantly so he wouldn’t slip up and give his real name. He’d lived and breathed this character for years, and now he was an enforcer working for the Killers, a motorcycle club in league with the likes of the Hells Angels. Tonight, he’d been sent by his charter’s president in order to make a trade with another charter—information he’d been told little about, beyond the fact that it was most important.

The alley was behind the bar the Killers owned and operated for the public. Their main clubhouse was two blocks down, so it wasn’t unheard of for members to cut through here, but tonight it was deserted.

He was used to waiting in silence—his Delta Force days had trained him well. The CIA had honed his skills. The past two years working this MC gig had made him sharper. Angrier and lonelier, too, and that was getting harder to shove to the back of his mind.

It was technically still the DEA’s mission, but they’d failed miserably at infiltrating the Killers. Under the blanket of Homeland Security, all the agencies were now actively working together, and so the DEA had borrowed one of the best agents the CIA had for undercover work.

Tomcat was flattered by that, but he knew the dangers involved better than any of them. And he would be simply grateful to get out of this one alive, although retiring Tomcat would be tough. That was an alias he’d cultivated for years, from when he was first enlisted in the Army.

Contrary to popular belief, the CIA did work inside US borders when necessary—and the American public was usually better off not knowing such things, although it seemed that everyone who’d never even come close to working with the CIA liked to voice their opinion on that matter. He’d like to tell them that not everything they read on the Internet was true.

So yes, his role as Tomcat had a long and storied history through the years; he’d earned himself quite a reputation. It was why he’d been accepted relatively easily into the Killers; his made-up background had him in the Army as well, which explained the long absences from the club over the many years Tomcat had been in existence.

The MCs had been started for men—and by men—who’d been in the military, warriors returning home from missions who didn’t quite fit into their worlds. They were outsiders, and that was something Tomcat found quite attractive about the club.

But the violence for no reason, well, he couldn’t stomach that. Too much stupidity in one place wasn’t good for anyone.

Gun-running, he understood. Drug-running, no. He’d found his line a long time ago and wouldn’t toe over it except in the name of the law.

And in the name of the law, he’d been waiting for an hour—too long. Something was off, but he couldn’t act too sharp or they’d get suspicious. This MC didn’t like smartasses, and they were always really goddamned suspicious. Even after all this time, some members would still accuse him of being a rat just because it suited their needs.

They’d be right, of course, but they’d never prove it. He was too goddamned good, although now he was getting screwed as he stood here, and definitely not in the good way.

Fuck
. He hated being a pawn in their stupid war when lives were at stake because of their drug- and gun-running—and especially because of their connection to the Colombians.

That’s what was important—not dealing with their ego wars. Tomcat was here for justice, but this job had gone on too long, weighed on him more than previous ones had. It made him wonder if it was actually this job or the combination of one too many jobs over the course of a lifetime of escaping death once too often. Everyone’s luck ran out eventually, no matter how good or carefree you were.

He’d seen other undercover agents come and go, both within the Killers and in rival gangs, no doubt getting pulled off their jobs because they were taking up too much time and resources. Or maybe some burned out or had gotten killed—it was hard to keep track. All he knew was that right now, he was the only undercover who’d been buried this long on a full-time basis.

And he was stuck here. Dammit, working for himself was sounding better and better. Beyond this, he was worried about Styx and his situation—the man’s father had escaped from prison and was causing a major problem for all of them. Tomcat was on call for his friend and partner whenever Styx needed him.

Just then, a blond head flashed in his periphery. It was Jace, not bothering with stealth. The kid, who was twenty-five if he was a day, came right up to him with big brass ones and clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“Dude, what’s up? Let’s grab a beer.” Jace’s expression was innocent, his manner cocky, mainly because he could definitely back up what he was selling. Tomcat could only stare at him, his mind running all the possibilities and coming up with the only thing that mattered.

The kid walking into the middle of his job was no coincidence. Not after what had happened at the party tonight.

When Cools had called for him, Tomcat had never been more grateful in his life.

Truth be told, he didn’t know what he would’ve said to Jace.

It might’ve been the truth—and that could’ve ruined everything.

It’s good spending time with you. Makes me feel…grounded.
Jace’s mouth had quirked to the side as he’d spoken, his smile almost shy, and Tomcat’s cock had surged. If he could’ve, he would’ve bent the boy over the bike and taken him, but this would never be the time and place.

Would it be, one day, when he was Clint again?

By then, it might be too late.

For Jace to admit that to a rough-riding, tough-talking enforcer took guts. Meant Jace was comfortable with who he was and what he did, and he liked being around others who understood.

He’d met the kid months earlier. Once the young SEAL had come into the picture, Tomcat at least had someone to actively fantasize about—and fantasize only, although before tonight there had been times Tomcat swore the kid was giving him the once-over. And then he’d convinced himself that Jace was interested in his military background. Because Jace was active duty, too, and Tomcat had called in some favors to find out if the kid was also working undercover.

Jace had come back clean on that front, which didn’t mean anything. But being an active-duty SEAL these days didn’t leave time for much else, and black-ops jobs were a good way to get discharged. And after tonight’s encounter with the kid, Tomcat had no doubt that Jace was at least bisexual.

Tomcat had to play this carefully, the way he’d been up until this point. Sex was a big part of the MC lifestyle, and thankfully, the CIA provided an agent who slipped in and out to pose as his old lady, because being gay or bi would not fly here. That way, he didn’t have to worry about screwing women on the pool table and very few fucked with him. But he did get blown from time to time, because that was expected of him, and thanks to the size of his dick, he had developed quite the reputation. Legendary status, according to Cools, the charter president.

Inside, Tomcat was pretty sure he was dying. At least until this kid in particular had caught his eye and had given him something to look at.

“He’s a SEAL—rides with us,” one of the guys had said. “We gotta keep his nose clean, like they did with Jesse Ventura in the seventies.”

Granted, he
could
be living out some idiotic Jesse Ventura fantasy. And Jace was a hero—but out here, it was Tomcat’s gig, and he didn’t work with any partner except Styx.

But that didn’t stop Tomcat from getting hard every time he saw Jace. This time was no exception, but he willed his dick down, told Jace, “Get. The fuck. Out of here.”

“No. Come on, man—let’s go blow off some steam,” Jace insisted, acting way too innocent not to know he was fucking things up.

So yeah, Jace and his not-so-innocent innocence had been a thorn in his side—and a jerk-off fantasy—for the past few months. Thankfully for Tomcat’s sanity, the Navy called Jace back for missions more often than not, and more than once he’d thought about confessing his true profession in order to stop the boy from continuing to run with this dangerous crowd.

Jace’s cousin Kenny was involved in the MC—Tomcat assumed that’s why Jace was riding with them as well. He knew that other active-duty military had ridden with the Angels through the years—and the club had protected them and not gotten them involved in any illegal shit. It didn’t mean the kid was bulletproof.

But hey, if the boy had a death wish—and Tomcat had little doubt that Jace did—that was his own problem.

Except that Jace was in the middle of a potential deadly one. And even though Tomcat had found himself relieved to see the boy when he’d come to the party, because it meant the kid had returned from his current mission in one piece, he was pissed at himself for even thinking about Jace and his cock when he should be covering his ass.

Tomcat sensed the danger rather than saw it, grabbed Jace and pushed him down. At least the kid had enough sense to stay there and not try to be a hero. Shots rang out seconds later above their heads, and both men cursed as the bullets pinged off the metal dumpsters and ricocheted by their heads, far too close for comfort. Tomcat pulled his gun and fired back to let whomever it was know they weren’t going down without a fight.

But the shooting stopped. It had been a warning. Or maybe he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, it was time to get the hell out of this alley.

And he was way too aware of Jace’s body under his. The boy’s face was half-buried in his shoulder, and Tomcat leaned in and murmured, “Hey kid, do you see now that you’re gonna get yourself in trouble if you keep hanging out with us?”

“Not a kid,” was all Jace said.

Tomcat snorted. “Let’s go.”

He’d take the boy back to the safety of his place. The MC told Jace they would cover his ass in any way necessary, and taking him to safety constituted that in Tomcat’s mind.

It would also give him time to interrogate the little shit and figure out how he knew what was really going down. If Jace was working against him or trying to undermine him, Tomcat would have to fix that. He would have to put the attraction aside to get to the bottom of things.