Long Ride The Slayers MC #3) (14 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ANGEL

Bed rest.

Who would have ever thought two words can fuck up your world so much?

I’ll tell you who never thought it. Me. That’s who.

I mean… I’m young. I’m healthy. I’m vibrant.

More than that, though. I’m
stubborn
. If I tell myself that I can kick this, then I know I will. Too bad the doctor doesn’t agree will me.

Dawson took the news almost as hard as I did. For a second. Then, he picked himself up, along with me, and started figuring out how the hell we’re gonna make this work.

I mean, I’ve got like seven more months to go, even though the doctor said there’s a chance she’ll lift the restriction once my blood pressure stabilizes.

How the
hell
is everything gonna get done around here in the meantime?

How the hell am I
not
going to go insane and drive myself mad worrying about all the little things that need to get done every day?

Waking Sasha up for school.

Making her breakfast and taking her to preschool.

Handling the books down at the club.

Training the new girl behind the bar.

Going with Mom to her doctor’s appointments.

Laundry.

Cooking.

Cleaning.

I exhale deep and long, knowing that thinking like this is only adding to the stress and I can feel my blood pressure climb.

“Here ya go, babe.” Dawson carries my laptop into the bedroom, with the charger dangling from his fingers. “This should keep you busy for a while so I can take Sasha to school.”

My eyes roll. “Wow. Something to do for twenty minutes. I only have a million more to fill after that.”

Dawson lays the computer down next to me. “Well, we could fill tons of those minutes with sex. Blow jobs. Hand jobs. Think of all the stuff we can do.”

He’s trying to be funny. Well, serious
and
funny, but it’s not working.

“This isn’t gonna work Dawson. You can’t do everything on your own. We need help. I think we need to hire someone.” I can’t think of another solution.

Sure, Cat will help out but she’s got classes and Chase to keep her busy so I know I can’t add more to her own pile of stress right now. Baby has Lu to take care of, and her own house. I can’t expect her to come here and take care of my man, family and home while taking time away from her own.

“I’m working on something. I think I found someone who can help out until you’re on your feet. I gotta just work out the details,” he informs me.

This is new.

“Oh? Who is it? Do I know them?” I want details. If I’m going to let someone in my home, around my family, then I want to know who the hell it is. A background check couldn’t hurt, either.

Dawson leans down to kiss me. “You know them. At least, you used to know her although she’s changed a little since then. We’ll talk about it later, okay? I’ve got a meeting. Be back late. Your mom’s gonna pick Sasha up from school and take care of dinner. Call me if you need anything.”

“Wai—” I don’t even have a chance to ask him another question before he dashes out.

I punch an innocent pillow to take out my frustrations.

This blows.

I have no idea how the hell I’m gonna get through the next however many weeks. This person that Dawson has in mind had better be up to the task. Because I have a feeling this is gonna be a long ride….

~*~

DAWSON

This asshole doesn’t know when the fuck to quit, does he?

First, he shows up at my club, breaking all kinds of rules, practically
threatening
me. Who the
fuck
does he think he is?

He runs
his
club,
his
town the way
he
wants and
I’ll
run
my
club and
my
town the way
I
want to.

I get he’s all worked up into a tizzy. I also told him we’d talk it all through at the Council meeting next week. Why the fuck he feels the need to pull some shit like calling this last minute meeting is beyond me.

The man must have a death wish.

I mean, I don’t care that we have a truce. It’s a fucking fragile truce and pulling shit like this is enough to cause it to unravel.

With everything going on at my house between my Ol’ lady being laid up, her bat-shit crazy sister, Tina, refusing to skip town, insisting she can help and make everything right with her family now that they need her, and not to mention the Cartel trying to pressure me to accept more shipment and inventory than we can possible move, it’s a fucking recipe for a nervous breakdown.

A weaker man would have already snapped under the pressure. But me? Nah. I’m still taking a beating and comin’ back for more.

But, I don’t need to add unnecessary shit to my plate right now, and, as far as I’m concerned, this bullshit meeting is as unnecessary as shit gets.

Vince called this meeting, one on one. Man to man. That doesn’t happen often and is almost never a good thing. By the time I turn my bike into the empty parking lot, he’s already here, parked right where he said he’d be.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” I joke. “People might think you got a hard on for me.”

He doesn’t laugh. “Sorry. You’re not my type.”

“What’s this about? I got shit to get back to.” I let my annoyance be known.

It doesn’t faze him though.

“We got a problem. A big problem,” Vince states.

Yeah, I got a problem.
Him
. “Well, you gonna fuckin’ tell me what it is or we gonna play charades so I can guess?”

He stares at his finger nail as if it’s bothering him. “We had a truce. One that’s worked for a while.”

It isn’t lost on me that he used the word
had
, as in past tense, when describing our agreement.

“You do whatever shit you want in your town. You wanna poison your own people and sell drugs that’s killing them? Go right ahead. But, your shit stays outta Chisolm. My town stays clean,” Vince gives me an unnecessary synopsis of the peace treaty.

I don’t need a refresher course in it. I helped put it together.

“And?” I’m getting bored.

He’s getting pissed. “And?
And
you have a fucking drug cartel move in. One that’s pushing their shit closer and closer to my borders. I told you last week I wasn’t gonna stand for it. But, I gave you the benefit of the doubt to allow you time to clean up your shit.”

Once again he gives me an unsolicited recap of something that I was present for.

“I told you I was working on it. Still am,” I remind him.

Vince shakes his head. “Well, time’s up. I was gonna sit back and watch but now shit’s changed. Your drugs came into my town. I got two dealers,
your
dealers, making regular trips into my territory to sell their shit.”

I have no idea what the fuck he’s talking about.

My guys know better than to set up shop in Chisolm. That’s not to stop the good people of Chisolm from seeking out their products outside of Chisolm, though.

Vince elaborates some more. “Your guys were selling their junk a block away from an elementary school. That was the last straw, and we took a vote.”

I don’t show any emotion, although, inside I’m fucking livid. If what he says is true and any of my dealers were selling near a school, regardless of what town, they’re fucking dead.

“Vote was unanimous. I’m not waiting for the Council to give approval. Truce is over, Dawson. Seems it’s back to how it used to be in the old days. Just came here to warn you.”

I read between the lines. I remember how it
used
to be. I remember better than most. Probably better than him, even. The shit that went down back then between our two clubs cost me more than it cost him. It cost me my brother’s life.

He was a casualty.

A casualty of war.

I guess that’s where we’re at again….

We’re. At. War.

TO BE CONTINUED IN A BRAND NEW EXTENDED LENGTH NOVEL THAT WILL CROSS OVER BETWEEN TWO SERIES

IN…

KINGSMEN VS. SLAYERS

LATE SUMMER 2016

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CHAPTER ONE

JESS

“Deny, deny, deny.”

I listen to myself and can’t help but cringe a bit at my very cliché response. I mean… isn’t that the very core, the essence, of politics? Deny until you’re backed into a corner with no other option?

Kristen, the brand-new intern, is having a pretty interesting first day, if I say so myself.

“The Senator has not now, nor has he ever, engaged in mudslinging or underhanded attacks against an opponent. We will continue to run our campaign with the utmost respect for those who run against us, and make better use of our time discussing the core issues rather than attack another candidate.”

I dictate the perfect, politically correct response for Kristen to forward to the media on dad’s behalf. I feel like this is all I do lately, put out one fire after another. I know elections can get ugly. I remember the last one, even though it was six years ago and I was still in high school.

I remember the security, I remember the reports, and I remember the glamour of it all. That’s how it looked from the outside — glamorous. Now, dad’s reelection campaign is in full swing and I’m currently on the other side of things as one of his campaign advisors, I know the truth.

It’s far from glamorous. It’s far from pretty. It’s downright ugly.

And dangerous.

Only those of us closest to dad know how truly dangerous a political campaign can be. We’ve been handling the current dilemma as best we could— until now. The only viable option left is to get the FBI involved.

Cooper had been against the suggestion. He thinks we can just play along and give the blackmailers what they want without bringing in any unnecessary involvement. I know better. We pay them off today, and they’ll be back tomorrow with even bigger demands.

No. We needed help. We
need
help. This is my dad’s career, his
life
we’re talking about. There is only one person I trusted enough to ask for help.

God help me.

~*~

“He’s here, Miss Leary. Shall I send him in?”

My stomach plummets and my heart stops, literally
stops
.

He’s here. Of course he’s here, I’ve only been dreading this moment for the past two days and it had to come ...
eventually
. I swallow hard and do my best to appear busy, straightening some loose papers, anything to mask the nerves that cause my hands to tremble.

“Uh-huh, yes. Please. Send him in, Roger.”

Shit!

I have no more than two minutes before the two of them return. I jump up and run to the full-length mirror behind the closet door, then smooth out the creases in my tailored skirt and pull down firmly on the matching jacket.

Fuck! It’s just not right! I look like a damn librarian! He hasn’t seen me in over six months, and I will
not
have him thinking that I’ve turned into a spinster! I can hear their voices down the hall and know my time is growing short.

I move at warp speed, kicking off the sensible leather flats that serve me well darting around between press conferences and media events, hearing them thud against the wall. I keep a pair of four inch, black patent leather stacked heels here in case I need to make a quick change for the occasional dinner meeting, and they are just what I need. I wiggle my feet into them as my hands furiously attack the large clip that’s been keeping my unruly hair at bay all morning.

I use my fingers as a comb, sifting through the waves until they fall right where I want them, in a sexy Brigitte Bardot kind of way.

“Right this way,” Roger’s voice is just on the other side of the office door.

One last look in the mirror at the thin, white, collared shirt tucked snuggly into the navy blue skirt and I’ve got just what I was going for. Buh-bye drab, boring librarian.
Hello
sexy schoolteacher. One last thing… I undo another button, showing just a bit more skin to sweeten the pot, turning around just in time to kick the closet door shut behind me.

“Miss Leary? Agent Gibson.”

Roger, my dad’s head of security, ushers in the federal agent.

My eyes lift slowly, as if in slow motion and they land on him for the first time in months. Oh. My. God. He looks delicious in sleek, black dress shoes, perfectly hemmed black trousers, and a modern black blazer that doesn’t even attempt to hide the powerful muscles hidden beneath that white shirt. My mouth grows dry as I catch a hint of the familiar ripples under the material.

The tanned, smooth, skin of his neck is like chiseled perfection as it melds into the sharpness of his jaw.

I stifle the urge to moan, and quickly bite my lip to suppress whatever very unladylike sounds are begging to escape. All this, everything that I’ve seen so far, is enough to knock me over like a tidal wave … but I haven’t even gotten to the worst part, yet.

His eyes.

I slowly blink, hard, preparing for what I’m about to see.

Those dark pools of liquid brown are just as intense as I remember. They have a well-rehearsed shield of protection over them, one that hides all traces of emotion — one that keeps you guessing, never knowing what he’s actually thinking.

He’s a true professional in that respect, playing his cards close to the vest, no matter the situation. I don’t waste any time trying to decipher those cool, steel-hardened eyes. Been there, done that. All it ever did was drive me mad when I tried.

His long, thick, lashes move slowly as his eyes scan me from head to toe, taking me in.

“Chris. Thank you so much for coming.” I avert my eyes to Roger, who’s patiently waiting for some instruction. “Thank you Roger. I’ll take it from here.”

The thirty-something, ebony-skinned man nods before taking his leave, abandoning my guest and I to our awkwardness. I rethink that. Nothing about agent Christopher Gibson could
ever
be confused with awkward. That part’s all me.

“I told you, all you’d ever have to do is call, Princess.”

His deep, velvety, tone serves like a backhanded reminder of too much of our past — first and foremost, his nickname for me.

“
Jessica
,” I correct him. “Or, Miss Leary, if you prefer.”

He smirks, his dark eyes finally leaving mine to wander down as slowly as possible, causing my body temperature to rise.

“Whatever you say,
Princess
.”

His disregard is sobering. It reminds me just how inflexible this man is. It’s his way or the highway. Well, I’m not the same naïve little college girl that he can lead by the nose, or boss around in his sexy, domineering way.

A lot has changed in the past few months.

He’s about to understand just how much.

“Miss Leary will be
just
fine. Please,” I gesture to the chair opposite my shiny mahogany desk. “Have a seat. Let’s begin.”

I love the extra height the high-heeled shoes provide as they help me stand tall against his imposing form. The artificial height isn’t enough, though, as he still towers several inches over me.

I like the role reversal, of him doing as
I
say for once, and taking my instruction to sit. He unbuttons his jacket first, letting it fall open so can be seated comfortably.

The light shining through my office window causes the shiny golden tin of the badge on his belt to wink at me. The dark brown leather of his holster can also be seen, just barely, deep under his arm, and I know it doesn’t sit empty.

The first of his three guns can be found in that holster; and I know there’s another on his ankle and his opposite hip. He’s like a walking fortress; instead of brick and stone, he’s made of rock-hard muscle and determination. All that firepower is just the icing on the cake.

I decide against my usual seat behind the desk, instead taking advantage of the situation to gain some leverage over him. I lean my left hip onto the corner of my desk and slide up so that I’m perched in front of him, forcing him to raise his head and look up at me for a change.

I know it’s not much, but it’s a subtle little tactic to gain just a bit of control over him, even though I secretly feel anything but in control. I can’t let him see that, though. Can’t let him know what this little reunion is doing to me.

A sturdy knock at the door draws my attention, but not his. I feel his heavy gaze inspecting my pantyhose-clad legs, dangling in front of him.

“Jess?” Kristen is hesitant to enter, so she only pokes her head in. “Can I get you both some coffee? Tea?”

“Miss Leary doesn’t drink coffee,” the baritone answer comes from his lips, not mine.

He thinks he’s so smug, that he knows
everything
.

I laugh to myself. “Black,” I begin my drink order while the shy intern shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Two sugars in mine, please. Agent Gibson will have a little hazelnut creamer in his.”

His eyebrow shoots up at my hidden challenge. He thinks he knows me. He thinks he knows me
so
well.

Kristen shuts the door carefully.

“A lot’s changed, Chris.” I make the claim confidently, crossing my legs high at the thigh and my arms over my chest.

He unexpectedly rises, and his broad shoulders tower directly over me. He strategically places each of his large hands on either side of me, closing me in.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Princess. I don’t think all that much’s really changed. For instance, I know you’re holding your breath right now, holding it, afraid you might pant because I’m this close to you. I know you
still
don’t like coffee and that you
will
take a sip of it, just to prove me wrong. And most importantly, I know that you’re crossing your legs tighter than a vice right now, afraid of what will leak out if you don’t.”

His lower lip twitches, amused with himself.

I open my mouth to speak, to deny what he thinks he knows, but he leans closer. The stiff material of his jacket skims the top of my thighs when he moves in, placing his full lips just millimeters from my ear.

His hot breath tickles the baby-fine hairs near my neck, and he growls, “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He’s challenging me, knowing I always rise to the occasion. I remind myself once more. That was then. This is now.

“Here... I-I’m sorry!” Kristen walks in with a Styrofoam cup in each hand, looking like a child who’s just walked in her parents screwing.

I push Chris away forcefully, my whole hand splayed against his rock-hard chest. He laughs, knowing I might as well be pushing against a steel door; but he cooperates and moves aside.

“Kristen, it’s fine. Agent Gibson was just reminding me what a gentleman he can be.” My words drip with sarcasm.

Chris takes the cup my intern extends to him and I take mine.

“Why don’t we make this a group meeting? Kristen, could you please show Agent Gibson to the conference room and let my father know he’s arrived? I’m sure Cooper and Roger will also want to be in on this one.”

“Sure. Agent Gibson? This way, please.” The perky little brunette with cat-eyed glasses steps aside to allow Chris to exit first.

Chris and I played chess once, kind of like people play strip poker. I beat him every round because, while he’s busy looking at the move right in front of him and making sure it goes off just as he plans, I know how to sacrifice a pawn to distract him while I swoop in from the side.

Did I just turn the tables upside down, kick him out of my office, and send him right to my dad? I sure did; and that’s checkmate, bitch. I’m not sure who dislikes the other, more… my dad, or Chris.

He sips from the disposable cup, winking at me, like a son-of-a-bitch. A
sexy
son of a bitch, but that doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.

Once I have my office to myself, with the door safely shut, I finally release the breath I’ve been holding, my shoulders drooping from the weight of my pretense.

I lift myself from my seat on the desk and take a second to ensure I’m steady, taking measured breaths until the lightheadedness passes. I did a lot better than I thought I would, facing him for the first time after all these months ... since he broke my heart.

The heavy aroma wafting from the cup o’ Joe in my hands turns my stomach and I drop it in the wastebasket closest to my desk. Taking a cleansing breath, I dive back into the small coat closet — I keep a mini wardrobe’s worth of clothes in there for last minute changes after all-night strategy meetings.

I unzip the black bag of underthings and remove a fresh,
dry,
pair of panties.

Damn him
, I curse under my breath.

Damn him for always being right.

~*~

The carpeted hall leading to the conference room is narrow and I have to dodge more than one volunteer along the way, nearly tripping in the heels I’m unaccustomed to wearing this time of day.