Riding Dirty (16 page)

Cole dismounted the bike and climbed into the passenger seat of Ace’s truck. Ace didn’t complain about Cole making himself at home. He smoked his cigarette and kept an eye on the employee entrance.

“You going in?” Cole asked.

“No.”

“Have you gone in before?”

“Once.”

“Did you get a lap dance?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

Ace crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “Unsatisfying.”

Cole smiled at this answer, agreeing with him. “I need to talk to you again.”

“I’m busy.”

“I can wait.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then an old car rattled into the parking lot, taking an open space several rows down from Ace’s truck. One of the windows on the driver’s side of the car was broken, covered with clear plastic that rippled in the wind. Ace straightened at the sight of the woman who exited this sorry excuse for an automobile.

She was petite and brown-haired. She wore cowboy boots and a cowboy hat with a long, fringed T-shirt that was falling off one shoulder. Cole remembered her. She was the best dancer in the club, and she had a hot little body. He glanced at Ace, whose cold blue eyes warned Cole to keep these observations to himself.

Ace got out of his truck as soon as the woman entered the building. “Come on,” he said. “You can help me.”

Cole followed Ace across the parking lot. “What are we doing?”

“Replacing the window.”

It wasn’t really a two-man job, so Cole just stood around and acted as lookout while Ace removed the door panel. Cole held the screws for him. Then Ace retrieved the new window from his truck and they slid it into place. Sweat gathered at Ace’s temple as he reattached the door panel. He completed the task in a hurry, as if he was worried about getting caught by the vehicle’s owner. Ace Clemmons, lifelong criminal and possible paid assassin, was afraid of a little gal who took off her clothes for a living.

When it was done, Ace shut the door and strode away. He didn’t leave a note. “Where do you want to talk?”

“Wherever. Do you still have that bucket?”

“You and your fucking bucket.”

There was a gas station down the street, so Ace drove there and waited while Cole filled the bucket. Then they sat on the curb in the shade. Cole rolled up his pant leg and submerged his foot. Screw Vargas.

“This is very refreshing,” Cole said. “You should try it.”

Ace grunted and lit another cigarette.

“So you like that cowgirl.”

“I didn’t say I liked her.”

“Do you?”

“I’m just doing her a favor.”

“Because you want to bang her.”

Ace took a thoughtful drag. “I killed her son’s father.”

Cole was startled by the confession. “She’s got a kid?”

“A boy. He’s twelve.”

“Does she know what you did?”

“She was there.”

“Jesus, man.”

“It gets worse.”

“How could it get worse?”

Ace sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Trust me, it does.”

“So she’s the last woman on earth who would go out with you.”

“Probably.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“I fixed her window. It’s nothing.”

Cole didn’t believe him. Ace might feel guilty and protective of that brunette, but he’d also staked some sort of claim on her. A claim that defied logic and didn’t care about whatever tangled past they had. Cole recognized it, because he felt the same way about Mia. It didn’t matter that she’d been his psychologist, or that she was still hung up on her dead husband. No other woman would do.

“Was the lap dance nothing, too?”

Ace tossed his cigarette into Cole’s bucket, where it extinguished with a hiss. “Just state your fucking business, Shank.”

“I ran into Dimebag Arno at the Hairy Palms the other night.”

Ace studied Cole’s face. “He give you those bruises?”

“I gave him some, too,” Cole said. He’d been thinking about his scuffle with Dimebag, wondering about his brother’s connections to White Lightning. “Was it Roach’s idea to sling meth with them?”

“Let’s not speak ill of the dead.”

“I have to know.”

“He was strung out. So was Courtney. They were both high all the time.”

“What about you?”

Ace inclined his head. “I was drunk most nights and amped up on the weekends. I thought I had it under control, but I was kidding myself. Before I knew it, Roach was in debt to Dimebag. He’d been scoring for Courtney and selling on the side to support his habit. Your uncle stepped in to clean up the mess.”

“This is clean?”

Ace didn’t answer. There was no such thing as clean in the meth business, or any other criminal enterprise.

“My uncle said the cartels were moving in.”

“They were.”

“He also told me you were doing wet work.”

Ace flinched at the charge. “Did he tell you who for?”

“AB.”

Ace glanced across the gas station, not denying it. Damn him.

Cole’s chest tightened with unease and disappointment and another feeling he didn’t want to recognize. Sadness. “How’s that going to help you get Skye back?”

“It’s not,” Ace said shortly.

“If they hired you to—”

“No.”

“I wasn’t finished.”

“I wouldn’t do it.”

“What if you had to?”

Ace mulled the question over. “I’d kill you to save Skye, if that was my only option. I wish I didn’t have to kill anyone, ever, but I made a deal with the devil. Does that answer suit you better?”

It did. Cole appreciated his honesty. “I’m an informant.”

Ace’s mouth dropped open. He had a silver incisor on the top row, courtesy of some back-alley dentistry. He collected himself and squinted at their surroundings, as if searching the area for undercover officers.

“No one’s watching us, as far as I know.”

His gaze returned to Cole, burning with animosity. “How dare you bring the heat on me?”

“I’m not. I won’t tell them anything you said.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m warning you that shit’s about to go down.”

“And asking if I’d take you out.”

“That, too.”

“I said I wouldn’t.”

“You might not have a choice.”

“There’s only one person with the power to make me choose between killing you and never seeing Skye again.”

His uncle. Cole nodded a confirmation.

Ace’s expression became grim. He understood that Cole was collecting information to use against Bill. “You’re digging your own grave. And mine.”

“Stand with me.”

“Hell no. He has too much dirt on me. I’ll lose Skye.”

“You could get immunity.”

“Gunmen don’t get immunity.”

Cole weighed his options. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Ace, who had to play nice with Bill because he was Skye’s guardian. Shawnee was another question mark. His aunt had always looked out for number one. If she knew what Cole was planning, she might go straight to Bill and tell him about their affair.

Christ. What a clusterfuck of family dysfunction.

“Have you ever considered...warming up to Shawnee?” Cole asked.

“I’d rather stick my dick in a vice.”

Cole grimaced at the mental picture. “Do you think she manipulated me into attacking Jester Arno?”

“Yes.”

“What about the time she...”

“Fucked you?”

Cole felt a flush rise up his neck.

“I assume she did that to get back at Bill.”

“Not to keep me in line?”

“Has she ever threatened to tell him?”

“No, but I wouldn’t put it past her.”

“Neither would I.”

Cole shifted his leg in the bucket, uncomfortable with the conversation. He didn’t want to view himself as a victim of Shawnee’s wiles. It made him feel like a sucker and a fool. He preferred being in control with women. With everyone.

“Where have you been lately?” Ace asked. “I haven’t seen you at the Palms.”

“I’ve been out and about.”

“With who?”

“I met someone.”

Ace gave him a skeptical look. “And you’ve been with her more than once?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“You’re more of a fuck-and-run type.”

Cole fished the floating cigarette out of the bucket and tossed it aside. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to get involved with Mia. He had too many enemies who might be a threat to her. “I can’t run forever.”

Ace didn’t argue.

“What’s it like, living clean?” Cole asked.

“You think I’m clean?”

“Sober,” he amended. “Independent.”

An independent rider had no MC affiliation. Ace was still a criminal, but he wasn’t an outlaw. He had no band of brothers to carouse with, no biker babes to plunder. He might as well be old and retired.

“It’s lonely,” Ace said. “I have a lot of time to sit and think about the things I’ve done.”

“Sounds like prison.”

“Yes.”

“How do you stand it?”

“Skye.”

Cole wondered if his uncle had sold Ace’s services in exchange for visits with Skye. Cole couldn’t think of any other reason Ace would do that kind of work. It was clear that Skye meant the world to him. There was nothing Ace wouldn’t do for her, even kill. Cole didn’t have anyone like that in his life. Except Mia. Maybe.

He removed his foot from the bucket to dry it out. “I’d love to sit on this curb all night, but I have a date.”

“Where you going?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Cole remembered the joke he’d made about her going down on him in the theater. He wouldn’t mind that, but he’d rather go somewhere quiet. Just the two of them. No distracting sounds. He put on his sock and motorcycle boot, dumping the water into the bushes. Then he threw the bucket into the back of Ace’s truck.

“Good luck,” Cole said, extending his hand.

Ace rose to his feet and gave Cole a hug, as if they were bros again. The bad blood between them didn’t matter. Rylan might be gone, and Courtney, too. But they still had each other’s backs.

“Don’t fuck up.”

That was Ace’s way of saying “take care.”

Cole released him and cleared his throat. His eyes were burning. “Fucking up is my signature move.”

“People change.”

They did. Usually not for the better, though.

Cole returned to his bike and drove away from Coachella, feeling melancholy. Ace was stuck in this life as much as Cole was. If Wild Bill and White Lightning went down, Ace would go with them. Cole resented the damp neoprene around his ankle and the tracking device it covered. He resented the Aryan Brotherhood, and Investigator Vargas, and everyone else who wanted a piece of him.

By the time he reached the Starplex, he’d thought of a place to take Mia. It was more private than she might like. He considered her intriguing sexual proclivities and wondered if she was afraid of being alone in a room with him. Or afraid of intimacy, which meant letting go of her dead husband and moving on.

Jesus. Two weeks with a shrink and he was getting philosophical.

He found her in the parking lot, leaning against the hood of her car. She was wearing skintight jeans, sexy boots and a stylish jacket. He slowed to a stop in the empty space next to her, his mood lifting. She had smoky eyes tonight, and she looked extra-hot. The sight of her face made his heart ping like a pinball inside his chest.

She perused his body with interest. “Looking for a date, handsome?”

He smiled at her game. “Are you available?”

“Always.”

“How much?”

“Depends on what part of me you want.”

He wanted all of her. His gaze traveled along the length of her legs, lingering on her breasts and settling on her pursed lips. “Your mouth.”

“Two hundred.”

He arched a brow, aware that she didn’t have any idea what a street blow job cost. “That’s a little pricey.”

“I’m worth it.”

“Hop on.”

She donned his helmet and a pair of sunglasses. Then she straddled the bike and slipped her arms around his waist, clinging to him like wet paint. He could feel her breasts against his back and her taut thighs hugging his hips. She was a natural rider. A perfect fit for him in more ways than one. He left the parking lot and headed toward the highway. He wanted to go fast enough to warm up that beautiful pussy. He pictured her tight jeans tugging at her clit, adding to the sensation.

She clutched his T-shirt with one hand and let the other wander down his fly. His cock swelled against her palm. Smothering a groan, he made a turn quick enough to dissuade her. She jerked her hand away from his crotch and held on for dear life. He drove about five more miles. When they arrived at their destination, he parked in an empty gravel lot underneath a big sign advertising the place of business. There was a closed gift shop, an empty fruit stand and several acres of date palm trees.

Mia took off the helmet, fluffing her hair. “Burt’s Date Farm?”

“It’s where people go for dates.”

She wrinkled her nose at his corny joke. “My price just went up to two-fifty.”

Laughing, he left the helmet with the bike and draped his arm around her shoulders, steering her toward the grove. Date trees were a type of tall palm, with clusters of fruit hanging near the top. It was harvest time, so the fruit was protected from birds and other scavengers by sacks of brown muslin.

“They look like balls,” Mia said.

“The fruit sacks, or the dates themselves?”

“Both.”

“Maybe you just have balls on the brain.”

“I’d rather have them somewhere else.”

He slid his hand down the curve of her ass, wanting to smack it. She might let him. “How much to spank you?”

“That’s free.”

Christ. He wasn’t sure if she meant the suggestive things she said, or if she was leading him around by his cock. Did she really fantasize about sleeping with another woman? That was too good to be true. But she’d also said that the thought of being watched turned her on, and she’d been dripping wet at the lake. The proof was in the pussy.

He’d planned to take her to the nature trail on the other side of the grove, but they came upon a convenient garden bench in front of a stone fountain. He didn’t see any farm workers in the rows of trees. It was early evening; all of the employees had gone home. His hard-on demanded they stop here.