Wrecker’s sentence rankles. The Fortune Chief of Police is dirty, but I couldn’t pin anything on him. Ultimately, I’d been able to talk the prosecutor down to a three-year plea agreement. “I’m sorry he had to do any time.”
“’Course you are.” Flint cups my face with one free hand. “He’d have gotten the full ten-year sentence or more if it hadn’t been for you.”
I’m not certain if I’m warm because of his words or the fact his body is so close to mine.
“Thank you, but that doesn’t really explain the mess downstairs.”
“True.” His hand drops to my wrist. “Come on down and see if you can shed some light on the subject, because the boys downstairs aren’t part of any skinhead group.”
“How can you say that?” I protest, but follow him anyway. I need to get to the bottom of this. But when I waltz into the kitchen and see the three guys tied and duct taped, I understand immediately why Flint assumed my intruders were not skinheads.
Because this particular group of bad guys look suspiciously like the crowd that Isamu runs with.
“Want to tell me how you got caught up with them?”
I bristle at what feels like an implicit accusation that I allowed this to happen. “Gosh, Flint, I asked around for the worst criminals in Minneapolis and then walked right up to this one,” I nudge the nearest one with my toe, “and asked him to take me as his next victim. He said I was too old, but I swore I could be full of tears and pretty begging just like the teenagers.”
He snorts. “You have a smart mouth.”
“I’m a lawyer. Did you see the degree in my office? It says Bachelor of Smart Assery.”
“I’ve never been to your office,” he replies. “Never got that particular invitation.”
“Didn’t realize you Death Lords waited for invitations. I thought you just strolled in, took what you wanted, and left.”
“Only if what we want is taking way too long to make up her mind about us,” he smirks.
I decide not answering is my best response. I turn toward the trussed-up males. “These look like associates of a client of mine. He’s just gotten out of jail and is trying to keep his nose clean. My guess is that he told them he wasn’t going to work with them anymore and they got mad. What are you doing with them?”
“I’ve got a few guys coming to pick them up,” he says evasively. And do I care want to know the details? Not really. If they are away from Isamu and his family, that’s what I care about. Flint walks to the back door, grabs my boots, and then kneels at my feet. “We need to get going before it gets too late. I don’t like riding in the dark with important cargo in the bitch seat.”
Therein lies the dichotomy of Flint. He tells me what to do in my own house while kneeling at my feet. “I hope you don’t think that because I’m in the bitch seat, you can refer to me with that word.”
“Only in bed, Amy.” He grins at me wickedly.
I cuff the top of his head while he laces up one boot and then the other. Once dressed, he rolls one of the males onto his back. I see now that he’s conscious but too taped up and subdued to do much more than blink sullenly up at Flint.
Flint holds out the side of his leather jacket and taps the patch over the breast pocket. It’s got a flaming skull in the center with ‘Death Lords’ curved around the bottom and the letters ‘VP’ on the top. There’s a larger version on the back of his vest that he has on under the jacket. He also has a replica of it emblazoned upon his back.
I’m not much for tattoos, but I’ll admit that Flint’s ink is sexy as hell.
“See this?” he asks.
When the male on the floor doesn’t respond, Flint nudges him again with his foot. Hard.
The male grunts and nods. Flint spins me around and taps my back. “And this? It says ‘Property of.’ You got that?”
I swivel around to see the guy give another nod.
“Good. You may not have heard of the Death Lords, but I took three of you down without getting a scratch. Tonight, a few of my friends are coming and taking care of you.” The male blanches, and Flint gives him an ugly smile. “One of you will get to go back to your crew, but here’s the thing. You even breathe in Amy’s direction and we’re salting the city with your blood.” The careless way Flint says this belies his seriousness. I suck in a breath. “My guess is you thought my Amy here was weak and alone, but this patch says she belongs to the Death Lords. When she’s in her office, when she’s at the courthouse, when she’s home, we’re always watching. She’s under our umbrella, and if she so much as stubs her toe, I’m blaming you.”
It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong, but all of the things Flint says fill me with a curious elation. He’s threatening this thug, but he’s also claiming me in a way I’ve never been claimed. My parents had been disinterested in my existence. The only person I’d ever really connected to went to prison for ten years for a crime he didn’t commit, and when he came out, he was a totally different person.
“Come on, Amy,” Flint says, and cups my elbow.
He leads me outside into the dark night, and I go all too willingly. Climbing on to the back of the motorcycle is about the riskiest thing I’ve done to date.
I clutch him tightly for the forty-five minutes it takes to get to Fortune. In the chill of the night, I lay my cheek between his shoulder blades and soak in the warmth of Flint’s big frame. My body is sore and aching. Even now I can still feel his huge shaft dragging along my sensitive tissues.
Even though I’m not bound, I feel like I’m under Flint’s control and command. In my house, he had moved me around as if I weighed nothing, and then he’d taken me. And taken me. And taken me again.
He slows and then turns in to a wooded lane.
“What is this place?” I ask. It’s hard to see because it’s dark, but I make out the outline of towering evergreens.
“It’s home,” he says simply.
“I thought you lived at the club.”
He brings the bike to a halt and kicks the stand down. He swings a leg over the seat and then pulls me off. Somehow he knows that the bike ride did me in and just carries me toward the house. A few lights pop on almost immediately as we near.
“I used to, but there are times all that togetherness can get to me, and that’s when I hit the road. I bought this place a few years ago.”
“How many?” I hold my breath.
“About three.” He places a hand against the door, and I hear the bolt unlock.
“Fancy for a cabin.”
“We got a new guy in the club. He’s a tech wizard. I like the convenience of it. The motion sensors, the handprint access. It’d be good if we installed that shit on your house.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t done it already.” And then I realize what’s going on. “Tell me you didn’t bring me all to Fortune so you could install new security in my place.”
Flint drops me onto the sofa. “If your house had been made of gingerbread instead of wood and plaster, it wouldn’t have been much easier to get into.”
“I had locks,” I say, affronted. “Not everyone needs biometric hand scans and eye sensors.”
“Sure, not everyone does, but not everyone defends criminals and thugs.”
“Alleged, Flint. They are alleged criminals and thugs.”
Flint rubs his hands briskly on the outside of my legs. “Doesn’t matter if they did it. Someone believed they were in the wrong or they wouldn’t be coming to you for help, yes?”
“That’s fair.”
“Which means there are people who are going to be angry with you no matter what the outcome is. No matter if your client is innocent or guilty. If the guy goes away for three years, someone is going to be mad he’s serving time at all. Other folks are going to be pissed off that he only did three years, and someone is going to make their anger known to you in a real way. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.”
He cups my face. “After all this time you’ve spent around the Death Lords, y
ou should know that once we decide on something, it’s done. No wavering. No second guessing. No going backward. And once you have our loyalty, it’s yours forever.”
“Are you saying you feel that way about me?” I ask cautiously. Only years of training myself to show no reaction in the courtroom no matter what the outcome allows me to keep my joy at bay.
But somehow he knows. His smile is slow, slightly crooked, and utterly welcoming. “You know it. I’ve wanted you for a long time, but I knew you weren’t ready. A few years ago, if I’d tied you up and spanked your pretty ass, you would have turned me out on my ear.”
“So you waited?” This time I cup his face, running my fingers over his closely trimmed beard and then into his scalp. His eyes flutter shut, enjoying the caress.
“I waited.”
Those two words are more persuasive than any argument I’ve ever heard in court. He waited. This man who could have all kinds of women with a snap of his fingers had waited for me to be ready for him.
“I didn’t even know you were what I wanted,” I admit breathlessly. My fingers find their way down to the hem of his shirt. He helps me lift the garment over his head and then starts to dispose of my clothes. My nipples tighten behind the thin t-shirt as his hungry gaze takes in every inch of bare skin as we hurriedly undress.
“That’s okay. I’ve got lots to teach you,” he informs me. Again, his light words belie his serious intent.
When we are both naked, he presses me against the cushions, his heavy, rough body scraping deliciously at my soft skin. A large hand cradles my head while the other parts my legs. He gives a grunt of satisfaction when his fingers discover how wet I already am.
I close my eyes then as his mouth lowers over mine. He enters me with both his tongue and cock simultaneously, as if to punctuate the verbal claims he’d made earlier.