Heart Ties (Club Ties Book 2) (22 page)

As their orgasms ebbed away, their link grew.

Without a word, he rolled to the side, disconnecting their bodies. But he bracketed her face in her hands and wouldn’t let her look away.

It was everything.

She’d talked him into going back into The Gearhead with the Russian, and the only good thing about it was buying her a new dress for the occasion.

The dress was vixen red and hugged her curves like his new Knucklehead hugged the road. Her waist seemed impossibly small in it, her ass full and… goddamn, he was as hard as steel.

Standing behind her, he stared at her reflection as she held her eyes wide and applied another coat of mascara. “You don’t need it. Your lashes are going to enter the room before you do,” he said.

Surprise crossed her face then she grinned. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I dunno why. I’m sending my princess in to get information on fucking counterfeit money in an illegal gambling ring.”

“Don’t forget the Russian.” She set aside her mascara and drew her long hair over one shoulder. It was silk lying against her breast and down to her waist.

“What the hell’s a Russian doing in Alabama anyway? It’s like serving caviar at a hick wedding reception.” He folded his fingers into his hands. If he touched her now, they’d lose a night in bed and she’d never do this.

Maybe that was the best idea. He didn’t
want
her to do this.

She met his gaze in the cheap, yellowed motel mirror. “Do you want my thoughts on why a Russian is in Alabama?”

He swallowed hard. Her strength, directness…hell, she was shrewd as well as stunning. “Hit me with it.”

A laugh bubbled from her and she twitched her hot little ass a few steps toward him. “He wants a base in the South, a place to filter millionaires—hell, billionaires—through. Places like Toronto and New York City are known for big gambling crime.”

“He wants to put Alabama on the map—undercover.”

She raised a shoulder in a delicate shrug. “Just my take on it.”

He let his gaze skim her beautifully made-up eyes, full red lips, and glowing skin. The inky star at the corner of her eye only enhanced her beauty.

Reaching out, he settled a finger over the tattoo. “It suits you.”

Her face softened further, and she dropped her gaze with a shy smile. “Thank you for it. It means a lot to me.”

Chest tight, he nodded. To cover his internal war, he snaked an arm around her and patted her bottom. “If we don’t go now, I’ll have your skirt around your waist and bend you over that countertop.”

She melted against him, arms around his neck and fingers in his hair. Her touch tightened his chest more. He had no idea what was going on with him. When suppressed and ignored, terror felt a little like this. He wasn’t cooking up bombs daily and holding his breath for the moment one blew up his buddy, though.

Delta snuggled against his chest, cheek to his cut. He cupped the back of her head and inhaled her essence. In the mirror, their reflection was shocking.

Shocking because they looked like a fucking couple.

He held her tighter.

When she wiggled against him, rubbing her vixen red dress over his bulge, he groaned. “If we don’t go now, we never will.”

“Right.” As she pulled free of his arms, determination claimed her features. The way she strode to the grungy motel door on five-inch heels oozed confidence.

At the door, he caught her wrist and spun her around. “You make me fucking proud, Princess.”

Smiling, she dropped her gaze again. He threaded his fingers under her hair, pushing it off her face.

“I’ll keep you safe. I’ve got all the guys on it. And I’ll come into that room the minute I can. I won’t waste a heartbeat.”

She covered his hand with hers and met his gaze. “I trust you.”

Hell, why did her words create a choking lump in his throat?

Twisting away and opening the door, she said, “Let’s ride.”

Seeing her on the back of his bike, dress clinging to her parted thighs, threatened to kill him. To hell with war and drunk driving accidents—Delta would be his end.

He climbed on the bike and she wrapped herself around him. “I like this bike.”

“I do too.” It surprised him. Of course, owning a Knucklehead was any biker’s dream. But he’d believed himself attached to his old bike. After he’d retrieved their belongings from the saddle bags, the bike had been just a heap of parts.

The ride to The Gearhead didn’t take long.

As they passed through the bar, his guys looked up, hands on weapons. Delta breezed by, and they fell into step behind her. She paused at the door, allowed Burns to reach around and open the door for her. Without a backward glance, she disappeared inside.

Drake stuffed his earpiece into his ear and waited. She was wired like a fucking CIA agent, and he should be able to hear every breath she took.

Jamison appeared at his elbow, and he half-expected to see Ever with him. This business was too dangerous and dirty for her, but these sisters were tough negotiators. They opened their blue eyes wide and a guy couldn’t say no.

“Vasily’s been here for two days.”

“Winnings?”

“The guys estimate a hundred grand.”

“Not bad for a couple days’ work.”

Quiet noises filled his ear, and he threw up a hand to stop Jamison from saying more. A scraping of a chair, a soft “thank you.” Hell, he could hear Delta’s heart throbbing.

“I shoulda got Ace to hook us up with video surveillance.” He spun to stare at the monitor behind the bar. Split into four screens, it showed the front and rear of the bar. Also, one camera was on the till and the other on the card room. Still, the image didn’t reveal enough. Drake needed to see her damn eyes

“She’ll be okay.”

Drake bowed his head, listening, shoving out all the distractions of a working bar around him.

“What’s with the entourage?” The thick Russian accent raised the hair on Drake’s neck. He jerked his head, wanting to remove the voice from his ear.

From Delta’s ear.

Drake could learn more from her tone than any half-assed security camera, so he spun away.

“My guys make sure no one gets too close unless I want him to.” Her flirtatious tone drew a rumble in Drake’s chest, but he tamped it down. She was playing a role—she didn’t want this fucking Russian.

“Are you royalty or something?”

“Yeah, I am,” she responded without hesitation. She was—MC royalty. Her grandfather had founded the Raiders and her father had been an officer. “Do you have a cigarette?”

The click of a lighter and Delta’s exhalation. Drake’s balls clenched at the mental vision of her lips pursed around a cigarette, smoke curling from her mouth.

“Thank you.”

“What brings you back here?”

“I was intrigued.” A long pause, and Drake almost went mad, imagining her arched brow or her soft fingers on the Russian’s sleeve.

“Deal her in next hand,” the Russian told the dealer as if he owned him.

Hell, he probably believed he did. If Delta was right, Vasily planned to get take over Operation Riches and make it into Operation Russian Asshole.

The flip of cards. Someone folded. Delta inhaled and exhaled, and the Russian grunted.

“Where are you from?” Delta asked casually.

“Moscow is my home.”

“You’re far from home.” Just the right amount of compassion filled her tone.

“Yes, I am. I find good company in America, though.”

Her sharp draw of breath.

“Goddammit, I think he’s touching her,” Drake said. The camera wouldn’t show a hand on her smooth thigh under the table.

“She’s okay, bro.” Jamison squeezed his shoulder. “The guys are in there, and they’ll shoot the fucker dead if he tries anything.”

Drake’s heart was a war drum, but he nodded.

Another Russian voice sounded, and Drake stormed toward the door. Jamison’s grip locked around his arm. Their gazes clashed. Drake wouldn’t take orders from his VP if it cost Delta her safety.

“Wait. Just wait. Let her handle whatever it is you’re hearing.”

“Another fucking Russian is in there with her.”

“Two? The guys didn’t say there were two.”

“If he didn’t speak, no one would know. Dammit, abort!”

Jamison locked an arm around him. Their gazes clashed in a battle of wills.

“You wouldn’t put Ever in there,” Drake said through clenched jaw.

“No, but—”

“Shh!” Drake strained to hear.

“Are you as good a poker player as your friend?” she asked. “Your pile of money isn’t as big.”

A half laugh. “Not many are as good as Vasily, but I do well enough.”

Drake scrubbed a hand over his face.

“She’s okay. Trust her.” Jamison’s words slammed into Drake. Not long ago Delta had placed her trust in him. In his world the door never swung both ways, but that was war, not an affair of the heart.

Shit, what was he thinking?

“Pot goes to this player,” the dealer announced.

“Well done. I’m sure you can buy a lady a drink with that?” Delta cooed.

“Get her a glass of wine,” the Russian ordered.

A small bar was stocked in the back room, and they typically went through whiskey and vodka like babies went through milk. But apparently they had some wine as well, because a minute later he heard Delta sip.

Sweat broke out on Drake at the thought of tasting alcohol on her lips. Days and days without a drop. His hand shook, and he snapped it into a fist.

“A good red,” she said.

“From my private cellar in the motherland,” Vasily said.

“What the…?” Drake tried to make sense of his words. He’d brought his personal wine the whole way to Alabama and stocked The Gearhead’s bar with it? Burns was going to get an ass-kicking for not knowing or not telling Drake.

“It’s fruity, balanced.”

Jesus, Delta knew wines? Who the fuck was this woman?

“I like a woman who appreciates wine, especially one from my country.”

Another sharp inhalation.

“He’s fucking touching her,” Drake ground out.

“Calm, man. Let her handle it. Stick to the plan until you can’t stick to it anymore.”

Drake huffed out a breath and analyzed the situation. He could stick to it, but he wasn’t motherfucking liking it.

“You and your friend deal in wine? Is that what brings you to Alabama? It’s a strange place to play poker.”

“We have much poker in Moscow, but we like being…how do you say? Underground.”

“Under the detection of the authorities, you mean?”

No answer, just Delta’s breathing. Was the man nodding? Or did he suspect Delta was one of those authorities, trying to wring information from him?

A quiet noise from her, and Drake lost his mind for a long minute.

Whatever she’d done worked, though. “Yes, we like to play quietly,” Vasily said, amusement in his tone.

God, she’d touched him, hadn’t she? Kissed him maybe or slid her sultry little body into his lap. Drake flexed his hand, feeling the Russian’s greasy neck under his palm again. Craving it.

“Calm, bro.”

A few more noises from her. A gasp, a soft grunt.

The click of her gun.

Drake hit the door with his shoulder. It exploded inward, and Delta looked up, relief painted over her pretty face. She had her small pistol pulled from a thigh harness pointed right at the Russian’s crotch. Her “entourage” had the Russians pinned down with handguns.

Drake wasn’t so charitable—he wouldn’t shoot off Vasily’s balls. He aimed for his brain.

“You—biker scum.” Vasily’s eyes glittered with hate. He shoved to his feet, and Delta’s weapon tracked him.

So did Drake’s.

“Get the money, Princess.”

So help him God, she did the chin-nod toward the dealer, who produced a black duffle. As she scooped every dollar off the table into the bag, Drake swelled with pride.

She zipped it one-handed, her weapon still trained on Vasily.

“You won’t get far with my money.”

“No?” Drake lifted a brow.

“I have more friends than this man.” He nodded at his fellow Russian, who was getting shifty-eyed. Drake didn’t like it.

Vasily lunged. Drake lowered his weapon and fired at the same time Delta swung to the side and shot his partner. Both men crumpled, howling, and all hell broke loose in the room. Dealer on his feet, Hell’s Sons tensed to kill.

Drake grabbed Delta’s arm, and she grabbed the bag. They shoved through the outer door and into the night, running hell-bent for his bike. When she wrapped her warm thighs around him, his cock lengthened. It would have to wait.

She snaked a hand around him and palmed the hard ridge in his jeans. He rumbled a laugh, joy arcing through him and unraveling the knot in his chest.

“Hold on, Princess,” he said over the roar of the engine and the hum of tires. “For what I have in mind, we need some privacy.”

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