Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) (10 page)

“Kickboxing, not the tango.”

“Whatever. Gimme a rematch, I’ll take you down.”

Moore’s stance changed now, too, got more aggressive. “Friday night at The Deck? About eight o’clock?”

“Make it nine. I got plans before that.”

“You’re on.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Okay, okay. Rulers away, boys.” Pilar grabbed Connor’s arm and dragged him forward, around the building and to the driveway at the front of the station. “What are you doing here?”

“You banging that guy?”

“What?” The man who’d gone for pussy straight from her house was asking who she was fucking? Yeah, no.

“You two were rubbing all over each other. Do you fuck him?”

“First, who the fuck are you to ask? And second, what the fuck are you doing here?”

For enough seconds that she almost left him standing where he was and went back to deal with whatever shit her buddies were ready to ration out, he just stared down at her, his eyes shielded by his sunglasses. Then he shook himself a little and smiled. Watching his face, Pilar got the sense that the smile took effort. But once it was on, it was sincere—and smug.

“You look good, all sweaty and in that tiny shirt.”

He reached out, but she knocked his hand away. “What. The fuck. Do you want?”

The smile faded. “To see you. We never exchanged numbers. I was riding by and figured I’d see if you were around. You were. Doing basketball porn.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Give me your phone.” He pulled it out of a pocket and handed it to her, and she keyed in her number. Then she called herself. Her phone was in the barn, but it didn’t matter. “There.” She handed his phone back. “Now we’ve exchanged numbers and you’ve made a hot date with Kyle. Did you get what you want?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“What?”

“Dinner. Evening meal. Let’s go out to eat Friday.”

“You said you had plans. And you’ve already got a date to get your ass kicked on Friday.”

“That’s not how it’s going down. But a man’s gotta eat, doomed or not. The plans I have are with you. I figure we eat, I hand your buddy his balls, and then I take you back to your place and fuck you with all your interesting toys.”

Oh, that was a good plan. “I’m back here Saturday morning. We won’t have time to use all my toys.”

And the grin was back—the melty one he used when he was getting his way. “We’ll get a start. So you’re in, then?”

The thought of watching him in the ring was enough to make her want to jump him right there on the driveway. The thought of playing with him and her toys wasn’t making her any calmer. And she liked this jealousy thing he seemed to have. She shouldn’t like it; warning bells should have been going off like crazy, but they were strangely silent.

“You want to take me on a
date
?”

He shrugged. “Call it a date if you want. Eat, drink, fight, fuck—just sounds like a Friday night to me.”

Pilar laughed. It sounded like a great date to her. “Yeah, I’m in. Pick me up at seven. You know where I live.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll see you then.” He bent down and kissed her cheek, brushing his beard over her skin as he moved his mouth to her ear. “Wear something slutty.”

And then he turned and walked back to his bike.

Pilar watched him mount up and ride off. She had no choice; she felt cemented to the spot.

CHAPTER NINE

Cordero opened her front door as Connor walked up to it. She stood in the doorway with one hand on the jamb.

And damn, she looked fine. He’d told her to wear something slutty, but he had not been prepared for what she was wearing: a tiny black dress that looked like it had been painted on her skin. Short, the hem just a couple of inches below her perfect ass, and plain, just stretchy black fabric that clung to her like Saran wrap. It had longish sleeves, below her elbow, and the neckline was off her shoulders. Her hair was loose, her wild waves cascading darkly over her bare shoulders. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of thin gold hoop earrings and that little gold crucifix.

He didn’t know how the crucifix wasn’t burning itself right into her chest, because that dress was pure sin. The urge to just grab her and take her back to her bed right the fuck now was so strong that he stepped up onto the threshold.

Then his eyes traveled the length of her bare, bronze legs, shapely with muscle. And on her feet were a pair of bright pink fuck-me shoes with heels about five, maybe even six inches high.

He lifted his eyes back to hers to find her giving him a look full of laser-sharp derision. “You get your eyeful?”

“Hot damn, Cordero. You clean up right. It’s not even slutty. It’s just pure sex.”

She grinned, and he could see that he’d pleased her. “I don’t dress like this much.”

“You should. Every day.” He himself was dressed in good jeans, a white button-down shirt, and, currently, his kutte—though he wouldn’t wear it into the restaurant. This was about as dressed up as he knew how to be. “I was just going to take you to The Bunkhouse. They have the best steak. But you’re too fancy for that. We could go to Blue Sky instead.” He wasn’t much of a fan of Blue Sky, which was probably the nicest joint in Madrone. He’d been there once. The food was good, but it was the kind of place where the waiter wanted you to taste the wine first, and she’d probably want wine. He hated all that pomp and circumstance over some damn grape juice.

“I love The Bunkhouse. That sounds great.”

“Cool.” He felt ridiculously awkward, probably because he hadn’t been on a date in more than five years. Then he recognized another snag: her outfit. “I can’t have you on my bike like that. Too dangerous.”

“No problem. I’ll drive.” She turned to the side and picked her keys up out of a glazed ceramic bowl that sat on a nearby table. When she turned, he saw that the heels on those pink shoes were covered with faceted pink spikes, all over. They glittered in the light. Holy Christ.

“I don’t ride bitch. But I’ll drive your car.” He held out his hand, expecting her to hand him her keys.

She crossed her arms, keys firmly in her fist. “I don’t ride bitch, either. Not in my own fucking car.”

They stared at each other. Connor hadn’t ridden bitch with a woman behind the wheel since he was old enough to drive. Even his mother had handed over her keys as soon as he’d had a license.

His hand was still out, waiting for the keys. He pushed it forward a little. “C’mon, Cordero. It’s not that big a deal.”

“You’re right. No big deal. So I’ll drive. Or I’ll meet you there.” When he still hesitated, she huffed. “Dude, it’s like you don’t want this to happen. If you don’t, it’s cool. I’ll just see you at The Deck later and watch Moore serve you up your ass.”

Connor wanted the date. He wanted her on the back of his bike—and failing that, he wanted her at his side, with that little dress hiked up. Since that night in the storeroom at The Deck, he’d been thinking a lot about this demanding woman with the Ironman body.

He sighed. “Fine. Drive.”

She nodded and pushed him gently until he stepped down from the threshold. Then she followed and locked her door. As they walked to her Element, she said, “That was the first stupid he-man thing you’ve done with me. It knocks your hot score down. Just sayin’.” She pressed her fob, and the doors unlocked automatically.

As Connor opened the passenger door, he spoke over the roof of her Element. “I’m guessing my score can take a couple of hits. And I’m not used to a girl digging her heels in like you do.”

“You need to start spending time with more
women
, then.” As she put her foot in the car and prepared to slide in, she stopped. “Play your cards right, though, and I’ll dig these heels in deep later.”

Damn.

~oOo~

The Bunkhouse was Madrone’s best steakhouse. There were a couple others, but they were franchises of big chains, and neither their food nor their atmosphere was as good. This place was locally owned and had been in Madrone for decades. Its décor was consistent with its name and the Wild West heritage of Old Towne, where the restaurant had originally been located until an earthquake in the Nineties—which hadn’t done much more than knock things off shelves in most buildings—had put a huge crack straight through the restaurant. Restoration of the historical building had proved too expensive, so The Bunkhouse had moved to the commercial district of Madrone. But they’d kept the rustic feel at their new location.

The new site was near the Horde clubhouse. Thus, Connor knew the place well and had become friends with Rusty, the owner.

It was Rusty who greeted them and led them to a booth set back in a dark corner. They sat facing each other and opened their menus. Then Becky, a waitress Connor knew…well…came over with his usual glass of Shock Top. She had nothing for Cordero, not even a glass of water, and she didn’t even look at her. Great. He hadn’t calculated female drama of this kind into his night.

“Hey, Connor,” she said sweetly.

“Hey, puss. Becky, this is Pilar.”

Reluctantly, Becky turned to Cordero, who clearly had not missed the vibe. “Hi. Getcha anything?”

Cordero didn’t smile, but she wasn’t aggressive, either. “I’ll take a Shock Top, too, thanks.”

“Got it.” That was all. No assurance that she’d be back to take their order, no spiel about specials.

As she turned, Connor grabbed her wrist. “Sort yourself out, puss. Right now.”

She blinked at him and then pulled her wrist away. “I’ll be back with the drink and to take your order.”

“Good girl.”

When she left, Connor turned back to Cordero, who was staring at him like he’d grown a horn in his forehead. “What the fuck was that?”

“I know Becky.”

“Yeah, I got that. Sheesh, have you fucked your way through all the blondes in Madrone?”

He laughed. “I like redheads and brunettes, too. Even had a chick with a shaved head once.”

“You are a ho.”

Not the first time he’d been called that, so he wasn’t offended. He just lifted a shoulder. “I love sex. But most chicks bore me. So I just want sex. You dragged me into the storeroom five minutes after we met, so I’d be careful throwing that rock from your glass house.”

She frowned. “Maybe if you weren’t after girls barely more than half your age, you’d find women more interesting.”

Again, he gave a halfhearted shrug. “Interesting women are complicated.” A case in point was sitting across the table, looking at him like she regretted being here with him, all because little Becky, whom he’d fucked a total of twice, months ago, had decided to preen her feathers. He felt invested in this date they were getting off wrong at every turn, so he gave her a little more. “Look, I didn’t come to this way of being by accident. I’ve had girlfriends. I’ve even been in love before. Women who don’t bore me don’t want to live my life, but they don’t figure that out until they’re
in
my life, and then it fucking hurts when they leave. Little girls walking on the wild side for a night are easier. End of story.”

That look of contempt had left her face, and what had replaced it was softer. Compassion. “I’m sorry. But why did you ask me out, then?”

That was a good question, but he knew the answer. He hoped he did, anyway. “Because you
are
interesting, but you want what I want. Right? Just messing around, like you said.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” She didn’t look as comfortable with that answer as he’d been expecting. He needed her to be comfortable with that answer.

Seeing her the other day playing basketball with her buddies, he’d been jealous—and not just a twinge of it, either. He was looking forward to meeting that Kyle guy, whom he’d been calling Mortal Kombat since they’d fought before, in the ring. Because he wanted to Picasso his face.

Connor knew that he could get more attached to this girl—woman—than he should, if he let himself. He was relying on her reserve to keep himself in check. She didn’t want more than fun, and she routinely made that clear. Good. Neither did he. Because he could sense that things could get real complicated between them if they didn’t keep to their emotional corners.

Becky came back with Cordero’s beer, behaving now like a normal waitress, and they ordered. Connor was pleased that she ordered a filet, rare, with baked potato and salad. She ate like a human being. He got his usual T-bone and fries.

After Becky left again, Cordero took a drink of her beer and leaned in. “How’d you get into your life, anyway? Did you always want to be a biker?”

He took a drink, too, and wiped the foam from his beard. “I’ve never known anything else, so I guess so. I grew up this way. My dad’s the club President.”

“You always like it?”

“Sure. I’m close with my folks, my brothers. This is the way I know the world.”

Nodding like she thought that answer made perfect sense, she thought for a minute. And then she asked, “Can I ask if you’ve done time?”

His antennae twitched. “Can I ask why you’re asking?”

“Just curious.”

Believing her, he answered straight. “Not much, but yeah, I have. Did eleven months about thirteen years ago or so. Assault.”

She grinned; he liked that reaction. “Did the guy deserve it?”

He grinned back. “He did.” When she didn’t ask another question, Connor filled in the space with one of his own. “How’d you end up a firefighter? You said your dad was an Aztec, too, right? Doesn’t seem like the same straight line I had.”

“It’s straighter than you think. I grew up on Assassins turf. Until I was eleven, and my nana took us out of there, they were our family. Everybody I knew hated the cops. Even people like Nana look sideways at the law. They never helped make anything better. When they came at all, they just made more trouble. Or that was how I saw it, how everybody saw it.”

That was his take on law, too. “You see it differently now?”

She spun her glass on the table as she spoke. “Yes and no. I know a lot of cops. We work together on calls pretty often. And I like a lot of the cops I know. They’re just working stiffs like everybody else. But they’re working stiffs with guns, and there are enough power-drunk
hijos de putas
”—she stopped. “Sorry. That means—”

“I know that one. Sons of bitches.”

“Yeah. There are enough sons of bitches on the force that there’s reason to be suspicious if you live in a world like the one I grew up in.”

“What does that have to do with you being a firefighter, though?”

“I wanted to do something important. There was no money for real college. I got an Associate’s degree, but that doesn’t get you far. If you want to make a difference and don’t have any money, you can join the military or go into public service. Everybody loves firefighters. We’re not like cops. We’re heroes, straight up. We don’t judge, we don’t hurt. We just help. It’s about the most important work you can do when you can’t afford to be a scientist or whatever.”

Interesting women were complicated for Connor because they were interesting. A woman like this, who was strong and thoughtful, who did work like she did and had an answer like that for why? That lit a fire in him. She could have looked like the Elephant Man and still have been somebody he wanted to hang with. But Cordero did not look like the Elephant Man. She was fucking beautiful.