Riding Dirty (30 page)

“Fuck,” he gasped, loving the way they fit together. She looked so sweet, stretched around the thick base of his shaft, her clit nestled against his pubic hair. He withdrew his shiny, dark-flushed cock and thrust inside again, water lapping at his balls. Christ. He was taut and ready to come.

She lifted her lips to his for a feverish kiss. Her hitched breaths and honeyed tongue drove him wild. She tore her mouth from his and dug her heels into his ass, urging him deeper. “God, yes. You fuck so good.”

He fucked her harder, watching her tits jiggle from the impact. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

She slipped her hand between them, strumming her clit with fast, jerky motions. He was surprised—and mesmerized—by how quickly she could get herself off. She cried out, her hips jerking, pussy squeezing him like a silken fist. He threw back his head and groaned, pumping into her, hot jets spurting from the tip of his cock.

He was light-headed for a few seconds, pleasure pounding at the base of his skull and throbbing in his balls.

“Let’s stay here forever,” she whispered, her wet body clinging to his.

If there was a heaven, this was it. Great view, invigorating mineral baths, red-hot fucking. He wouldn’t mind staying right here in this
position
forever. But he withdrew from her after he felt his cock soften. He rinsed the cum from her body, delving his fingers into her. Then he carried her inside and placed her on the bed, kissing her slack mouth. When he started to make love to her all over again, she pushed him away.

“You’re insatiable. I came twice already.”

He stretched out beside her, giving her a break. She stroked his wet hair. Sunshine poured in from the skylight, bathing her in its warm glow. “I like this,” he said, touching the red strip of hair above the lips of her sex.

“The color?”

“Yes.”

“I waxed for you.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you prefer it?”

He imagined her with a full bush, wet and parted. His cock felt a little heavier, excited by this mental picture, so he gave it a casual stroke. “I don’t know. Natural pussy is kind of hot. But soft and bare is hard to beat. I’m conflicted.”

She smiled at his answer, glancing down at his groin. “Your pubic hair is trimmed.”

He ran his hand over the close-cropped thatch. “I like to stay tidy.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said, her lips quirking.

“Are you calling me a neat freak?”

“No. I was just wondering if it’s because of the way you grew up, in Slab City.”

He’d never thought about it. “That might have made a difference. So did going to prison. Solo showers and privacy still feel like luxuries to me.”

They lay side by side for a few moments, watching hazy clouds drift across the blue sky. She reached out to him, lacing her fingers through his. “What would you do, if you could do anything?”

This question was easier to answer. “I’d fly.”

“Fly, like a bird?”

“Fly a plane.”

“What kind of plane?”

“A small one. I already have a private license.”

“Really?”

“My uncle paid for it. He had business in Stockton, and he wanted someone he could trust to take him back and forth.”

“Can convicts fly planes?”

“Sure. They can get commercial licenses and work as pilots, if anyone will hire them.”

“What kind of work would you do?”

“I don’t know. Charter trips, cargo delivery, crop dusting. Whatever.”

She turned toward him, her face troubled. “You should do that, Cole. It’s not like it’s a lofty goal.”

He had neither the money nor the freedom to become a commercial pilot by any legitimate means. WITSEC wouldn’t foot the bill. Neither would his uncle, unless Cole agreed to work security for him. If he went to Mexico, which had lax standards, he might be able to fly tourists around, unlicensed.

“Surviving is a lofty goal at this point.”

Her fingertips danced over his chest, tracing the birds in flight on his ribcage. She didn’t say anything more, but he could sense her pain. It pulsed within him, his heartbeat keeping time with hers. In the skylight above them, the sun drifted behind the clouds.

* * *

M
IA WOKE TO
the sound of a sharp rap at the door.

Cole leaped from the bed, naked and alert. She sat forward, holding the sheet over her pounding heart. He picked up his knife from the nightstand and held it ready as he advanced toward the door. “Who the fuck is it?”

“Room service,” a boy answered, his voice quaking. “Should I come back later?”

Mia collapsed against the pillows. False alarm. Jesus.

Cole set his knife aside and wrapped a towel around his waist. Then he unlocked the door, letting the boy in. He was about eighteen, dark-haired and brown-skinned. He placed a covered tray on the table and hurried back out, his gaze averted. The waiter had refused a tip at lunchtime, so Cole didn’t offer him one now. Nodding his thanks, Cole shut the door behind him and locked it.

“We slept all afternoon,” she said.

“You missed your chance to go nude.”

She threw back the sheet, revealing her naked body. “Hardly.”

He crawled across the bed and stretched out on top of her. His damp towel felt cool against her inner thighs, his chest warm and taut. Curling his hands under her shoulders, he brushed kisses along her collarbone. “You missed your chance to
swim
in the nude.”

“We can go skinny-dipping at midnight.”

“That’s against the rules,” he said, moving his mouth lower.

“So is harboring a fugitive.”

They’d spent the entire day in bed. The waiter had caught them in a similar state of undress at noon. Cole had made love to her all morning, bringing her to orgasm multiple times. He’d been inside her, above her, underneath her, behind her. She felt like a limp rag, wrung out and deliciously sore. After lunch, they’d taken another bath and fallen asleep. Now she was hungry again. Her tummy growled as he pressed his lips there.

He looked up at her, arching a brow.

“Haven’t you had enough of me?” she asked.

“I’ll never get enough.”

“I think you broke my vagina.”

Laughing, he rolled off her. “I’m pretty sure it’s still in working condition. I can’t say the same for my cock.”

“Good. Keep that monster away from me.”

“I’ll plunder you later, in the pool. We’ll do some deep diving.”

She groaned at the thought. “Your jokes are terrible.”

They rose from the bed and shared a meal of cold gazpacho, sliced salami and goat cheese pizza. There were grilled peaches for dessert. Alcohol and soda wasn’t allowed at the retreat, only sparkling water. Mia enjoyed the bubbly drink and light meal. Cole ate without complaint, but he frowned as if the flavors were foreign to him.

“Let’s go on a sunset hike,” Mia said, reading the brochure. “Bighorn trail leads to a peaceful summit.”

“Will we become one with nature?”

“As long as we don’t become one with each other.”

He ate the last peach slice with a smug expression, secure in the knowledge that he’d worn her out. “Whatever you like.”

Mia put on her gypsy skirt, ballet top and leather sandals. Cole wore his aqua polo with jeans and Birkenstocks. He looked so different, almost dorky, that she giggled. Hand in hand, they left the cottage and traversed the rocky path into the nearby hills. The trail was deserted, with pleasant views and a nice breeze. When they reached the summit, they settled down on a bench-sized rock to watch the sunset.

It was such a traditional vacation activity. Not the least bit adventurous, and borderline cheesy. No self-respecting outlaw would be caught dead doing this. And yet, they did it. They did it with relish. She soaked in the romantic moment, resting her head on his shoulder. He sat quietly next to her, seeming just as content. Her heart swelled with emotion and pressure built behind her eyes.

“Don’t cry again,” he said. “I can’t bear it.”

She took a deep breath, trying to pull herself together.

“What would you do, if you could do anything?”

“Any job?”

“You said you weren’t happy being a psychologist.”

“I’m not.”

“Were you happy before?”

“In my personal life, I was. I liked college, which was good because I had to study a lot. Professionally, I never really found my way.”

He studied her expression, waiting for her to say more.

“I didn’t want to go back to mental health counseling after the attack. I thought forensics might be a better fit, and I enjoyed the criminology classes. But I feel anxious in closed rooms and drained at the end of the day. I love the field of psychology, but I haven’t loved practicing it. Doing research was more fulfilling to me than working with people.”

“Can you switch jobs?”

“I could be a research psychologist. Or I could write.”

“Write?”

She moistened her lips, nodding. “I always wanted to write a true-crime novel with a focus on psychology. I’d love to bury myself in that kind of research.”

“I like true crime.”

“You do?”

“It’s very popular in prison.”

She laughed softly, studying the pink clouds in the distance.

“Writing a book isn’t an unattainable goal either,” he said. “You should do it.”

“I’ll follow my dream if you follow yours.”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t deserve to dream. She knew from experience how difficult it was to change self-destructive behavior, and how rare positive outcomes were for criminals. So rare that she’d found working with them depressing and demoralizing. But she still believed in rehabilitation. She believed in
him
.

“Promise me you’ll try,” she said. “Then we can both do something that makes us happy, even when we’re apart.”

“I’ll try,” he said finally.

She glanced away, tears flooding her eyes again. He didn’t tell her not to cry this time. Maybe he was having trouble keeping his own emotions under control. They held hands as the sun sank low, listening to the desert wind whip through the canyon.

“Well, isn’t this sweet,” a voice said behind them.

Mia had heard this sinister voice only once before, but she’d never forget it. Or his eyes.

She turned to see Gordon “Gonzo” Lowe standing there with two other men.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

C
OLE COULDN’T FUCKING
believe it.

His uncle was here with Gonzo Lowe, the president of White Lightning. Not only that, they’d brought Dimebag Arno. Cole wasn’t surprised to see his uncle. He’d anticipated a visit from Wild Bill, one that wouldn’t end well. But Cole had never expected his uncle to show up with Gonzo or Dimebag.

Cole knew what their presence indicated—that he was a goner. His uncle didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger himself. He’d always preferred to let others do his dirty work. Cole put his hand on Mia’s arm, urging her to stay seated. Then he rose to his feet and squared his shoulders, meeting his uncle’s gaze without flinching. He wasn’t going to fight three men, but he wasn’t going to cower like a little bitch, either.

“Long time no see,” Gonzo said, his stance wide with arrogance. Beside him, Dimebag wore an excited smirk. His left eye still bore the bruise from Cole’s fist. Dimebag couldn’t wait to get even. Cole’s uncle looked tired and displeased. Public confrontations weren’t his style, but Gonzo was clearly running the show.

Cole said nothing.

“You aren’t going to introduce me to your whore?” Gonzo asked. “I’m insulted.”

Mia stayed very still, her eyes downcast and her face partially obscured by hair. It was smart of her to keep her features hidden.

“Let’s take this somewhere else,” Cole said. “I’ll come with you.”

“You both will,” Gonzo said.

“What do you need her for?”

“To ensure your cooperation.”

Cole didn’t want Mia to witness his murder. Unfortunately, they were backed up against a steep slope that promised serious injury. Although the path leading away from the summit forked in two directions, the men blocked both escape routes. If Cole had been alone, he might have taken his chances on the slope.

“We’ll have a private conversation and drop her off in a safe place,” Gonzo said.

Cole wasn’t stupid. He knew better than to let these scumbags take them to a remote location for a quick, efficient assassination. Gonzo wouldn’t spare her after killing Cole. White Lightning had no compunctions about violence against women. One of its members had already tried to smother her. When Cole glanced down at Mia, he noticed that she was making a hand signal in her lap, with two fingers extended like bunny ears.

Two.

Two men had attacked her. Were they both here? Cole inhaled a sharp breath as the puzzle pieces fell into place. Rylan hadn’t been the only member of Dirty Eleven with the club name on his wrist—his uncle Bill had the same ink.

It hadn’t occurred to Cole that his uncle could be one of the perpetrators because he always stayed behind the scenes. Bill gave orders and kept his hands clean. He was also secretive, ruthless and precise. He’d known Gonzo for twenty years. They were former friends. And they were responsible, as a pair, for Mia’s attack. Cole was certain of it.

Mother. Fuckers.

Cole didn’t think Bill or Gonzo recognized Mia. If they did, Gonzo wouldn’t be trying to convince Cole that she wouldn’t be harmed. Cole brought Mia to her feet. He pressed two fingers into her palm, letting her know he got the message.

Gonzo gestured for Dimebag to lead the way. Mia and Cole followed, flanked by Gonzo. Bill took up the rear. The left fork of the trail led to Tranquility Springs. Dimebag veered right, ambling down a short path to the main road. There was a dusty black SUV parked at the base of the hill. Cole had to strike now, before they reached it. He had his knife strapped to his ankle. He just needed an opening.

“Watch your step,” Cole murmured to Mia.

Bless her superior, psychologist brain. She took the hint and tripped, going so far as to tumble headfirst into a sage bush. It didn’t look real, but it didn’t have to. She was out of the way and he had an opportunity to strike. Cole jumped on Dimebag, shoving him to the ground. They were on a decline, with loose rock underfoot and boulders on both sides. Dimebag grunted as they slammed into the sharp obstacles and rolled across the hard earth. Cole removed his knife from its sheathe. Before the dust cleared, Cole had Dimebag facedown in the dirt with a blade pressed to his throat.