STRIKE: Storm Runners Motorcycle Club 2 (SRMC) (15 page)

“It fucked me up when Dad was killed. More than Mom dying, because at least that was natural and I could tell myself she knew and had a chance to make her peace. Dad didn’t have that.” He took a long swallow of the wine and wished it was something stronger. “This is heavy.”

“You said your friend’s wife has a friend who lives on the property?”

“Yeah, the Storm Runners own a lot of acreage outside the city and some people who founded the club built houses on it. We only rent out to club members and some people stay for free when they need to. It’s a good way to keep your friends close and your enemies far away.”

“That’s smart. My parents have some property above Sebastopol and the rent from the homes they acquired keeps them in champagne and RV gas now that they’re retired. I’ve always wanted to invest in property.”

“Have you?”

“No.” She shook her head and again he marveled at how lovely she was. She soft skin of her face had a light flush that rose up after she finished her second glass of wine. He wanted to trace that glowing line down her long, elegant neck until he pressed a kiss on her pulse point.

“Why not?”

“Cops don’t make that much money.” It was the first reference to her job she’d made. “Mom and Dad made it clear that when they go, I get their land. But the truth is, I want to make something for myself too.” She pushed the plate away. “I don’t think I can eat another bite.”

Dread settled in his stomach. He wanted to continue the easygoing, normal conversation as long as he could before he started pumping her for information. No matter how he framed it, Tom was going to screw up her investigation by relaying the information to the club—or using it to find Butch himself. He hindered it even more by refusing to share what he knew with her.

But loyalty to the Storm Runners came first. He looked over his shoulder at the jacket slung over the coat rack, at the emblem emblazoned on the back. It was what he’d wanted from the time he was old enough to understand what the club was.

If I’d met her first
… No, he’d always want the club. It was part of who he was. But god, he wished she wasn’t a cop so he could have something real with her.

“I guess we should get to the real work,” he said. “Why don’t we clean up in here, then go into the living room and you can give me a rundown of what you know?”

“Sounds good. This is the first time I’ve ever had a man offer to help me clean.” She picked up their plates and grinned at him when he picked up the napkins and cups.

“My mother taught me well. I did just as much in the kitchen as my little sister.”

“Is she as domestic as you?”

He shook his head. “She wasn’t when she left.”

“You miss her?” Grace missed her siblings every day and couldn’t imagine how she’d feel after her parents were gone and they were all that was left.

“Yeah. Some shit went down and she left town. Said she needed space. I talk to her now and then on the phone.”

“It must get lonely with so much of your family gone.” Some people made remarks like that in a way that was almost mocking, but he knew Grace wasn’t. So he reached around her and gently moved her away from the sink, taking over the dishes.

“I have my brothers in the club.”
And now I have you
. “It’s not so bad.”

“That kind of comradery sounds appealing,” Grace said, taking a plate from his hand and drying it. He smiled down at her while she reached up and put it in the cabinet.

“It is. You must know something about that, being a cop.”

“Not here. Maybe in some precincts, but here I’m the odd woman out. I’m not local. I’m not part of any legacies. I’m just the strange woman who moved to Detroit and likes it too much to leave.” She finished drying the silverware and placed it in the drawer, then took his hand. “But it’s good work. It’s helping people. Come on, pick my brain. Let’s see if we can figure something new out together.”

He followed her into the living room, trying and failing to keep his eyes off the subtle swing of her hips. For the past few weeks, Tom resisted the urge to bury himself in her—but it was stronger now. Something about knowing her made him ravenous to have her under him. All of her. The dancer and the cop. Her blazing eyes when she explained herself that night in her room.

Get information. Find Butch. Kill Butch.

There was nothing on his list about tumbling Grace into bed and making her come until her pupils dilated and her small hands were leaving furrows in his back.

But god, he wanted to.

“Ask me anything,” Grace said, settling down on the couch. He sat next to her, shaking his head to clear the scent of her jasmine and rose perfume. Everything about her was a distraction.

“How did you get the case?”

“A higher up in the department approached me and asked me to come to his office to discuss a workplace incident. I thought he was referring to an argument I’d had the week before with Jenkins.”

“Jenkins?”

“One of the officers downtown. He’d grabbed my ass while were out on patrol together.”

Add break Jenkins’ arm to the list
.

“He knew I was interested in the case. It was kind of my pet project. He said that it couldn’t be handled from inside the department, but if I was willing—I could make a difference from the outside.”

“That was Chief Anderson?” he asked, referring to his boss.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I’ve been working under him directly since the following week.”

She looked so forlorn that he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and laying a hand on her leg. “It’s not going to be forever.”

“I know.” She moved her body closer to his and the heat she always inspired flared.

“Tom…”

“Yes?”

“I was disappointed you weren’t there this morning, but not just because I like seeing you.”

“Why then?”

“I wanted to do this.” She rose to her knees and pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth. Tom knew he should resist—this wasn’t why he was with her again. Not officially. But deep down, he knew what he wanted from her was more than case files and access to police information.

So he leaned into the kiss, deepening it and pressing her back against the arm of the couch. Let his body cover hers so that her curves molded to his chest while her tongue slid out to caress his own.

“You feel so good,” she said. Her small hands slid under the fabric of his t-shirt and over his back, soothing and arousing him at once. When she pulled up her knees, he sank down deeper against her and kissed her again, harder, a predatory growl escaping.

Everything about her brought him right to the edge, even now when they were both fully dressed.

“I don’t want to wait anyone. Take me to the bedroom.”

Tom drew a deep breath, then stood, reaching for her hand. They walked into the bedroom and she ripped his shirt over his head, throwing it behind him. Her soft lips places kisses on his chest and he watched as she traveled lower, the gleam of the soft bedroom lights illuminating blues in her dark black hair.

“Don’t move.” Her quick, clever fingers undid his jeans and he kicked off his boots, helping her pull the jeans free. She knelt in front of him—he’d never seen a sexier woman. From his vantage point, he saw the ass that was proudly on display in the tight black leggings she wore. Her breasts pushed against the soft front of her t-shirt and he was desperate to see them again.

“Take your shirt off.”

She did, then leaned forward and kissed the bobbing head of his cock. Years of experience went down the drain and it was all he could do not to explode right there. She looked up at him and he shook at the predatory gleam in her eyes.

Then she took him deep in her mouth.

“Fuck, Grace. You’re so good.” The pressure on his shaft increased and he felt his balls tighten as she moved her mouth on and off him. When her soft hand cupped his balls and rubbed gently, he thought it as all over.

For long moments she stayed on her knees worshipping him. Showing him how much she wanted him with her mouth. He realized then that she was going to finish him—but he wanted inside her.

“Stop.” Tom placed a hand on her cheek. “I need to be inside you.” Her eyes widened and she gave his shaft one last loving lick as she pulled away. Rising, she shed her leggings and panties, giving him a view of the world class ass she walked around with.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and smacked it once. Hard.

She giggled, her eyes lighting up.

Fuck
.

She was so fucking beautiful and funny. Just a twist of her lips had him mad to be inside her and he didn’t think the feeling was going to disappear after he came. She sat on the bed and he straddled her, pushing her back so that her long, luxuriant hair spread over her white pillows.

Leaning up, she pursed her lips and kissed his neck, then the line of his jaw. He turned his head and captured her sweet lips, sinking into them as his body moved down on hers.

Tom used his hands to tease her between the thighs. She was already soaked, but he wanted more. Wanted her slick for him, so wet that she forgot every man who’d had her before. He wanted to be something more to her than anyone else that had seen her like this, wild and sexy and sweet.

His cock surged when it made contact with her thigh and she gasped at the heat.

“I want you.” Her eyes met his as the words left her beautiful mouth. “I have since the night you showed me the fireworks.” Those lights glinting in her gold eyes—he’d wanted her then too. “I just didn’t want to before you knew who I was.”

“You were going to tell me.”

“Eventually,” she said, pure truth gleaming from her as she smiled at him. Open. Free.

And now he was the one who wasn’t being honest.

Pushing those thoughts back, he shifted his hips, sliding his crowd against her parted center so that she gasped and dug her fingers into the sheets. “Oh, god, Tom.” Grace threw back her head and moaned. “Please.”

“Soon,” he said, sliding against her again. Her body bucked and he slipped right over the place he wanted to enter so bad, felt it and a shudder wracked his big body.

He dipped his head to capture a nipple with his mouth, swirling his tongue as she sighed and arched her back. When she was lost in the pleasure of his mouth, the heat of his body, he started to sink into her.

“Fuck,” he growled, edging deeper as she took measured breaths. “You’re so fucking tight.”

She smiled, moving her hips up to meet him as he pushed deeper and when he drew back a little, she hissed. “No, not yet.”

“I’m not taking it away, baby.” He thrust back in and almost came when her eyes went wide, her mouth opened on a moan. “Never taking this away from you.”

His body picked up a rhythm as he fucked her, finding the perfect spot that made her scream and clutch his body tight. Grace drew her knees up and worked her hips, driving him to the brink of madness as he drove his heated body in and out of hers.

When she came, it was on a moan that shook his entire body, making him clutch tight and drive into her faster while her sheath gripped him. “Fuck, Grace, I can’t stop.”

“Don’t.” Her voice was dazed. Her body kept moving under him. “Don’t stop.”

“I…” Tom looked down at her, pushed his hand between them and teased her to another climax. When her golden eyes went wide and sparked with fire, he followed her down, pushing deep and giving her everything he had.

_____

When their breathing returned to normal, Grace rolled over and draped herself across Tom’s chest, grinning at him and peppering his face with light kisses.

“I can’t wait to come home and do it again.” She stretched her arms, as if everything in her felt loose and relaxed.

“Baby, you drained me. I’m going to need at least five, ten days…” But his eyes gleamed.

She laughed. “I have this dress…”

Tom smiled and ran his hand up her back, pulling her closer for a kiss. “The night is young.”

CHAPTER 18

T
he next three nights that she wasn’t wrapped around a pole played out the same way. Grace would pull on a skin tight dress and follow Tom into a club where she’d always see at least three violations she could have called in a raid for. He’d talk to people and she’d pretend to be vapid, taking in everything around them.

But there wasn’t anything new to set them on a path. Though she appreciated his help, sometimes his eyes were so bleak as they left each useless place, devoid of leads. It didn’t add up that the case was already affecting him more than her, after ten days of real work on it.

She didn’t ask, though. At the end of the night, she’d just slide onto the back of his bike, trying to keep her legs closed until they were wrapped around him, feeling the leather of his jacket against her thighs. By the time they got back to her apartment, she’d be shaking and soaked.

“You want this now, don’t you?” he asked in the lobby, letting his hand slide down to cup her ass. “My girl can’t even wait until we get upstairs for me to play with her soaked pussy.”

“I…I do want it. You. Now.” Heat flooded her at the gruff sound of his voice, and she slid her hand down the tight muscles of his torso to feel his erection pulsing hard at the front of his jeans. “So much.”

“Let’s take the stairs then.” They’d gone up to the second flight before he’d pulled her down on top of him, unzipped his jeans and pushed her panties aside. Then it was fast and hot and bright. When she came, her teeth had clamped down on his shoulder, her hands barely pushing his jacket out of the way in time to muffle the sound with his flesh.

“I don’t mind being bitten,” Tom said after with a grin as he took her hand they continued to her apartment.

_____

So they went out. Came home. Failed to find the information they needed.

Until the following Thursday.

_____

Grace didn't understand why Tom seemed more restless with each hour that passed in the smoky bars. More than once, she'd look at him across the room while he talked to a random man, easing information out but making it look like conversation, and see the strain around his beautiful eyes. They were so clear when they looked into hers, but the rest of the time they were shadowed.

Hidden things always come to light, she reminded herself. It's not like he knew all the pieces of her puzzle yet—what they were was too new. Too tenuous.

But Tom was a man made up of twists and turns. A man whose secrets could drown her. She knew it instinctively.

Still, she didn't ask.

Maybe it was the guilt of not telling him what she was from the first time she kissed him. At night when she eased away from him and washed off the thick eye makeup and the grime of the evening in the shower, she could see him assess the woman beneath the artifice. Grace wondered if he found her wanting. If lively Dakota, who took off her clothes and made doe eyes at men, was more his speed. At the Ladies Night, he never took his eyes off her.

Before shift one night, he convinced her to go with him to eat ice cream.

“Do you like standard or variety?” He asked, lacing his fingers with hers and pulling her closer to him. The heat of his body and the spicy scent of his cologne pushed back the rush of fall that had greeted her when she'd stepped out the front door of the lobby.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my sister, she likes standard ice cream. Chocolate. Vanilla. Even coffee. I go for variety if the place offers it. Blends with caramelized ginger and carob.”

“Seriously?” Her lips twitched. Tom wasn't the kind of man she pictured eating carob.

“What, you think I'm dull enough to stock my freezer with vanilla?”

Grace pouted. “Vanilla is actually my favorite.”

“Oh shit.” His fingers tightened on hers and she pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “I'm sorry, baby. They make a real nice vanilla down near the stadium.”

“I'm just messing with you,” she said, bumping her hip into his. “I like almost anything. Take me to your favorite place. I'd love to try something weird.”

When he'd called for the date, Tom made Grace promise they wouldn't talk about the case at all that night. It had seemed strange at first, since it was the main thing they talked about lately, but as they strolled down the road hand in hand, she was glad he'd suggested it.

“What was your favorite class in school?” She asked, moving closer to him as a man on a bicycle sped past, his head braced down against the wind.

“Does gym count?” Tom laughed. “Just kidding. I liked math. It doesn't seem like that would figure into owning a bar, but I'm happier running the receipts in the morning than I am dealing with people at night.”

“Doesn't seem like you've been putting in many nights there lately.”

“I have more interesting things to keep my eye on,” Tom said. “Besides, the one benefit of owning the place is that you can choose what time you need to take off.”

“So bars aren't your main scene?”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I prefer a backyard cookout or anything outdoors, when it comes down to it. Maybe it's just how I was raised. The Storm Runners collectively owns several establishments now and I've spent more than my fair share of time getting them up and running—I was the only one with management experience going into it—but I'd still rather be drinking a Bud Light while Ace grills another of his not-so-famous burgers and Jack tells a tall tale about whatever he did the night before.”

She wanted to ask why he'd been in the Ladies Night the first day they'd met if he didn't prefer to frequent clubs in his spare time. Grace and her chief had both done plenty of research before she'd gone undercover there and she knew exactly who owned the club—it wasn't the Storm Runners. If he was looking for a place to fly under the radar, she supposed it would do well enough...but it was still odd.

She opened her mouth to ask him, then stopped. That was too close to talking about the case. So she settled on a different topic.

“Do you guys have barbecues and the like often?”

“Every couple weeks when the weather is good. It's one way to get to know the guys who have families.”

“Families?”

“A lot of our members are older and married with wives, children, careers. It's not like every member of a motorcycle club is some cliché meth head.” Tom grinned at her. She had the feeling he'd made this speech before. “We have plenty of club events where family members are welcome. When you're a Storm Runner, we know and care about the people in your life too. No one is alone.”

“That sounds really good,” she said. It did. Tom having a network of people to spend time with and depend upon made her more aware of the realities of her current situation at work. She was more alone than she'd been since coming to Detroit—and it wasn't like her narrow code of ethics had won her many friends on the force either.

“It is. What was your favorite subject?”

“History. I like knowing why things happen.”

For reasons she couldn't understand, Tom looked away as she spoke. When he brought his eyes back to meet hers, he smiled. But it seemed forced, unlike any smile he'd given her since she walked out the front door.

_____

Using her turned his stomach. Made it so sour that he couldn't even enjoy the cherry cola ice cream he chose because it was the monthly special, made with real cherries and the only one he hadn't tried before on the board. She grabbed the green tea ice cream with taro fruit, which he stole more than one bite from once he realized how much better a choice Grace made.

Each night made him hate himself a little more. She'd lied to him when he was a stranger, but now he was repaying the trust she'd placed in him with deceit. Even telling himself it was for the club wasn't enough to chase the sick feeling from his stomach.

At night when he was lost in her and she was open to him in every way, that sickness pressed down on him heavier and heavier. At times, he even found himself close to telling her the truth, like the words were pushing their way out of his throat by their own accord—but then he'd think of the club and the way his father's body had been brutalized. It would stop the words, help Tom bite down on his tongue until he swore he tasted blood.

She liked understanding things. He loved that about her. She'd scribble words on notepads in her house to look up later or make a note to look up the best way to make omelets when she found out it was his favorite breakfast food. Grace was a person who broke a concept down and then learned it from the ground up—and he wasn't offering her that.

But god, all he wanted sometimes was to offer her himself.

Everything of himself.

Then Tom would stop and assess the man he'd become. Maybe a year and a half ago, he was a man worth offering to a woman like her, back when he'd taken an active interest in the club and in his own business. Back when he lived for something more than swimming to the bottom of the next bottle and finding oblivion there. Finding ways to forget that he was useless. Unable to take care of the man who'd taken care of him.

The only times he didn't feel like losing himself in something was when Grace would pull him into her apartment and press her full lips to his, sparking heat to life in his torso. It was like coming back to life.

A year and a half ago, he'd have offered her everything.

Now all he could offer her was a long fall and a hard bottom.

She pulled away from him to look at a patch of flowers growing in the front garden of one of the nice townhomes they were walking by and he took the chance to admire the way her jeans clung to her ass. Looking at it made his body tighten as he remembered the way it felt in his hands, soft and smooth. He'd never been so affected by a woman's body—not to the point where it would distract him from something else. With Grace, though, he wanted her all the time. When she was dancing, he wanted to rip her off the stage and take her away so all the other men in the room couldn't keep staring at what was his.

Only his.

“I can't believe no one has taken these yet,” she said. “You hardly ever see people growing flowers this showy in open gardens in this part of the city.” She trailed her fingers over the petals and smiled with delight. “They're so soft. Come touch.”

He wanted to touch her—always wanted to touch her—but instead he reached out and traced his finger over the petals of the flower. “They're soft,” he said, then gave in and lifted his hand to her cheek, sliding his fingers over it. “You're softer.”

Her eyes widened and her lips curved in a smile. Her head lifted to his and he pressed his lips against hers. Such a slow, sweet kiss there in the twilight on the sidewalk. Another thing he'd never experienced with the many women he'd dated in the past. Sweetness.

The feeling that he wanted more from her than a few pleasant moments with her body.

Grace pulled back and lifted her hands to his face, leaving one on each of his cheeks to keep him looking directly at her.

“I love you,” she said, her words soft and sure. “Maybe it's too soon to say that, but I do.”

His mouth opened and, to his horror, he felt something wet behind his eyes. “I—Grace.”

“Don't say anything,” she said. If he'd seen disappointment in her eyes, he might have broken. All that shone back at him from the golden orbs was pride and joy. She was
proud
to love him. Him. And he couldn't even say it back.

“Grace...” He took her hands away from his face and held them tight. She went to her toes and gently pressed her lips to his again.

“I just want you to know where I stand. It's okay if you're not there yet.” She took one of her hands back and pulled Tom away from the flowers he'd never have noticed on his eyes. “We should stop at the bodega on the corner and get some wine,” she said. “I don't have any more at home.”

He let her guide him and wondered what her response would have been if he'd told her the truth.

I want to love you, but I'm a coward who let the man who ruined my family get away from me. You deserve a real man. Not a weak piece of booze-dependent shit like me.

He knew all she'd have to offer would be words of solace and sympathy. So he said nothing.

And that night in bed, he tried to show her with his hands and mouth what he'd been unable to say on the street.

_____

Grace woke up and stretched, basking in the sunlight pouring through the curtains Tom had parted when he'd climbed out of bed that morning. Again and again during the night, he'd woken her with ever-more-eager demands, and her body felt deliciously used and sore.

Pulling on a robe and cinching it tight, she wandered into the living room.

“There you are,” Tom said, in a tone she'd never heard before. It was soft and eager, but shot through with nerves at the same time. “I made you some coffee. You work tonight, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately.”

“It's not forever,” he reminded her. Maybe not, but it felt like it some days. The shifts were long and the clients were demanding. She wished it had yielded some useful information so that the time she spent there didn't feel like such a waste.