Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (74 page)

“Got you covered.” With a slash of his arm, Tanner indicated a cottonwood scrub at their one o-clock. Handicapped by his size, it took Crash six seconds to haul his size fifteens to the fucking tree, but the welcoming party was still shooting at a rock that couldn’t shoot back. Crash dropped to one knee. On his partner’s signal, Tanner burst from the tree line, about to commit a crime and grinning like a motherfucker anyway.

Ten minutes later, the pair of sentries writhed on the ground, hands bound at their backs by zip ties. Crash set his boot on the neck of the one he’d taken down, but looked to Tanner for orders.

Tanner liberated his Kabar from the sheath at his ankle. The moon obliged, peeking from the clouds long enough to send a gleam along the honed edge on the blackened steel. A wedding band circled the third finger of the man’s left hand.
He has more to lose.

Tanner hooked a toe under the ribs of the captive at his feet, flipping him to his back so the enemy got a good look at the honed edge of the knife.

“Hello. Nice to meet you, but I’m afraid we’re short on time. Can’t hang around and chat. So here’s the deal.” His conversational tone made the prisoner sneer. Despite the cloudy night, Tanner assessed the white dude at as he squatted. The tats on his prisoner’s muscular forearms were crossed rifles, clutched in the claws of an eagle. An America flag fluttered in the background.

“Nice ink. Philippines?”

The grin faded and the prisoner’s brows went up. Tanner got a sick feeling in his gut. This guy was former military, meaning what he’d committed to do was bad juju. To his left, he heard bones crack as Crash bore down on his bad guy. 

“Crash, I don’t want a witness.” The guy under his knife would talk, Tanner figured, if he could do so without his buddy knowing.

Crash obliged, removing his foot. He fell to his knees at his prisoner’s side and wrapped his massive forearm around the guy’s scrawny neck. Tanner played with the blade while waiting for the sleeper hold to take effect, watching his target’s eyes.

“He’s out.”

Hearing Crash’s assertion, he grinned at his prisoner.

“Okay, since you’re likely a former brother-in-arms, I’ll make this easy.” Lowering the knife to the dude’s groin, Tanner kept his tone polite. “I get info. You get to keep your balls.” Yanking down the zipper on the guy’s pants, he winced, but everything about this setup screamed “homegrown militia”. He had no time to de-program true believers. If there was one thing a man believed in more than his politics, it was his keeping his family jewels in the sac God provided.

“Fuck you.” The prisoner spat. “What are you, some kind of faggot?”

Tanner winced inside, but he removed the guy’s flaccid rod. Centering his blade on the sensitive spot just below the head, Tanner pressed the tip into the shrinking flesh. “I need a name. One name, and I don’t make calamari out of your Johnson.”

NatuLowe, the dumb ass tested him. Tanner lived by several principles. The one that applied here was, don’t make threats; make a plan. The plan was simple, press his advantage and be committed to making good on his threats. Worked on the Taliban, it would work here.

“I want the name of the head dude. Crash, get his wallet and take his ID.” Tanner leaned close enough to smell the fear coming off the bound sentry. “You lie to me, and so help me God, I’ll track down your woman.”

Three minutes into the plan, the man writhed, screaming, “Covington! The man you want is Dwayne Covington.”

“Where can I find him?”

“I don’t know,” the man cried. “Honest, I don’t know. I just got hired.”

He heard the ring of truth in the prisoner’s voice, but fuck, the name wasn’t enough. “Gotta give me more.” Tanner pressed the point into the shrinking shaft.

“His son! Heard someone say his kid just got sent to juvie up in North Carolina. Name’s Evel, like the motorcycle dude, but they call him Cotton.”

L
eading a few Spec Ops team gave Tanner some advantages, like the doctored resume and documentation that let him don a Junior Correctional Officer—JCO’s—uniform ASAP, once Human Resources scanned his curriculum vitae. He walked through the gates at Stonewall Jackson for his first shift the same day Cotton did, and was fortunate enough to be assigned to his subject’s cabin. Then, Tanner’s luck ran dry.

Cotton was closed-off, suspicious of everyone around him. His attitude was piss-poor, to boot. He was working his ass off to get close to the little prick, when all he wanted to do was strangle the kid. But Cotton’s pissy attitude wasn’t the worst of Tanner’s problems.

His primary pain in the ass was a tall, cool drink of water with light hair and eyes the color of desert shadows, Dr. Victoria Banks.

“He’s in a foul mood today, Doc. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take him outside. Not alone.”

Swiping her hair out of her eyes, the shrink lifted her chin and squared her shoulders.

“I think there’s some misunderstanding, JCO Martin. I’m Evel’s psychiatrist. If I want to take him outdoors for our session, it’s not your place to dissent.”

He’d tried getting close to Dr. Banks, thinking she’d be a good alternate source of information on Cotton. Yeah, that was why. Not because she was really cute in a wholesome, girl-next-door way, with an adorable nose, dusted with freckles, and eyes so big they practically swallowed her face. It couldn’t be because she had a slim figure crowned with small round breasts. It wasn’t because she always wore her hair knotted so tightly that he’d spent hours thinking about setting it free. No, it was because she was a good source of info. Sure. Cue the sarcastic laughter.

Tanner paced back on forth beside the door after Cotton and Dr. Banks left. The other inmates sensed it was no time to be loud, so when the shriek split the air, he was out the door before the shrink had time to draw breath for a second scream.

His heart hit his boots when he reached the gazebo where Dr. Banks usually took her patients. The stone structure was empty. If the little bastard had his hands on her—

Running flat out, he cut around the gazebo that anchored the central yard of the wire-fenced facility, and finally sighted the pair close to the tree line. His anger kindled as Evel kneed the Doc’s legs apart. The kid fell forward, using his upper body his to pin her hands. Tanner lengthened his stride.

Dr. Banks managed to free one arm. She struck a solid blow to the prick’s nose, using the base of her elbow. Cotton slapped her hard enough to knock her face to the side.

Tanner hurled his body into the air, driving his shoulder into the delinquent’s ribs. Rolling smoothly to his feet, he jerked Cotton upright by the collar of his dull yellow jumpsuit, now streaked by blood from the kid’s nose.

Shaking him like a rag doll, Tanner demanded, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Covington?” The adolescent was big for his age, but no match for Tanner, easily a foot taller and sixty pounds of solid muscle heavier.

“It’s a lie!” The kid’s pale blue eyes swam with tears. He aimed a wad of spit at the doctor. Tanner blocked that genius move by taking a step back, dragging Cotton along for the ride.

“You’re a goddamn bitch. It’s a lie!  I just made that up to fuck with that other head-shrinker!” The kid screamed at the psychiatrist as she lay stunned on the cold ground.

Rapid footsteps pounded behind him as another JCO arrived on scene. Tanner shoved Cotton into the other officer’s arms, dropping to his knees beside the woman. Maybe she’d be grateful he’d saved her and talk to him. Cold thought, but Tanner had a job to do.

“Lock his ass in solitary,” he ordered over the teen’s spew of profanities. The other guard shoved Evel’s left arm into an unnatural twist behind his back. “I’ll deal with him in a few,” Tanner promised the retreating pair. Turning his full attention to the woman, he gently pushed her back down as she struggled to rise.

“Hang on. Not so fast, Doc,” he murmured, switching to a crooning tone that’d worked magic with many a female. “Let’s just be sure you’re okay before you try to get up.”

“I’m the doctor,” she said. Cotton’s smack had knocked some of the frost off her, he noted, beginning to assess her injuries.

“Hush,” Tanner soothed, sliding his fingers through her soft hair. He gently probed the back of her head, searching for tenderness while his eyes roved her face. Her lower lip was swelling. She might develop a shiner under one of the pretty eyes that reminded him of twilight shadows in the desert. The print of Cotton’s hand was a livid red on her cheek, contrasting sharply with her creamy skin, tempting him to go beat the fuck out of the little bastard.

“Did he... hurt you... anywhere besides your face?” Her baggy shirt and pants were dirty but not torn.

Cotton landed in juvie for the brutal rape of an eight-year-old Mexican girl that had, in his words, ‘tainted his neighborhood’. He’d told Tanner with some satisfaction that after he raped the little girl, he’d pissed on her. Evel hadn’t fared as well with a grown woman.
Or hadn’t had the time he needed to succeed.
The ominous thought was accompanied by the squeeze of an unseen hand in his gut.

Tanner couldn’t afford a distraction like the psychiatrist. The clock was ticking on his illicit op, but something worse occurred to him. Cotton had already been in a few scrapes. If the kid actually hurt the shrink and she made a report about the incident, Evel could be returned to the higher security prison in the mountains. Time for damage control.

“He just struck out at me and then tackled me,” Dr. Banks said slowly. “I’m okay.” Her eyes were unfocused, he noted.
Christ, she has beautiful eyes.
She pulled away from his attempt to pluck a piece of grass from her hair, causing the mass to tumble free.  Spilling across the grass, the tousled state made Tanner think briefly that was how it would look after she’d been thoroughly loved.

Because, yeah, this was the perfect time to pop wood.

Jesus, Caldwell, get a grip. Your op’s going to hell in a hand basket and all you can think about is how to get her in bed.
Twenty-one days of motel living in a strange town had left him lots of free time on his hands. Time he’d spent thinking about two things. How to get Cotton to open up and how to melt the Ice Queen. Not necessarily in that order.

***

T
ori squinted through the pain blooming on the right side of her face, fighting for control as Max Martin probed her cheekbone. She wasn’t going to fall apart. Not here, and not while Mr. I’m-Gorgeous-So-Of-Course-I’m-Cocky was about to get his ‘I told you so’ in. She’d been involved with exactly two testosterone-oozing alpha males in her life. Both made sure to hurt her terribly on their way out the door.

Still, better to focus on his thick fringe of black lashes, somewhat hawkish nose, high cheekbones, and square jaw than to let the horror of being struck by another man, even a half-grown one, sink in. Better to wonder for the millionth time if the darkness of his skin stopped at some tan line than let fear control her.

In her fantasies JCO Martin was that fabulous bronze all over.

He leaned over her, close enough so she could feel the heat coming off the man. Broad shoulders blocked the apathetic winter sunlight. Huge hands swept her arms and legs. His clean, masculine scent surrounded her. A physical ache began in her clit.

Oh, hell, no. No more men like him.

What defect in her gene pool made her instantly attracted to this sort of man? She needed some sweet, funny guy, not some macho asshole who likely got offered a pussy buffet daily and probably gorged on it. Her thought put the starch back in her spine. Smacking his hand away, she forced herself to sit up.

“Get your hands off me.”

Despite her watering right eye, she couldn’t miss the mocking glint in his eyes. The look said he knew he could make her take that back if he wanted, but she ignored him and got to her feet. He didn’t want to, she didn’t want him to, and now she had a stack of paperwork to fill out on Cotton Covington before she could go home and finish packing.

“What the hell happened?” Martin sounded pissed, likely because His Royal Gorgeousness deigned to offer her his help and she hadn’t gone all weak in the knees. His voice was as rough as the ground, gravelly and deep, but she wanted to believe the February wind was sending the shiver down her spine.

Don’t you dare fucking wobble
, she silently ordered her legs, taking a step so she’d be up range of his spicy scent. That scent tempted her to fall into his arms, acting helpless and needy. He’d been making her feel needy since the day he’d been assigned to the residence hall closest to her office.

Since his arrival, she’d fallen in the habit of working late, hoping he’d bring his boys out after dinner for a quick game of basketball so she could ogle him from the safety of her office. The prison guards wore simple T-shirts, long sleeved this time of year. On occasion, he stripped off his shirt and joined the game, apparently impervious to the cold. Even through the cotton knit, she could see the definition in his arms. How long since a man had put his arms around her?

“I pushed him. He pushed back.” Tori snapped, alarmed by her unruly thoughts, “And I don’t answer to you.” She took another step away.

One dark brow lifted. “Does that mean you’re not gonna write him up?”

She stared at Max, holding her breath, torn between arousal, exasperation, fear, and curiosity. Why did he look so damned hopeful? Why was this man so interested in Cotton? She knew from talking to the kid that the new JCO had gone above and beyond to befriend a person who made it a habit to be as dislikeable as possible. Cotton responded well to Martin’s mix of no-bullshit discipline and teasing male banter. The rest of the staff had pretty much written the kid off already, but not this guy.

Forcing her gaze away, she dusted bits of leaves from her pants. “I most certainly am going to write him up. He has to learn physical violence is an unacceptable response when he feels emotionally threatened.” Her face hurt, but she refused to dash away the tears. She wasn’t weak.

So why was she staring at him again?