Unbridled and Unjustified [The Double Rider Men's Club 11] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (28 page)

He shook his head, spattering her with even more water, but then stopped and kissed her hard on the lips. “I love you, Ava. I have since the first moment we met. And I fought the urge, trust me. But the truth is, I fell in love with you the first time I heard your voice.”

“Oh, yeah? What did I say?”

He laughed. “You said that if I was selling something you weren’t interested.”

She grinned, remembering exactly that moment. “You should probably know that after hearing your sexy, deep voice, I would have bought everything you had to sell and asked for more.”

He kissed her again. “Meanwhile, after inhaling the scent of fried chicken on you, I would have given it all away to you for free.”

“You like my fried chicken?”

“I love pretty much everything about you. And your fried chicken is just a bonus.”

Moment later, her men shed their clothing and joined her in the tub for a more relaxing soak. And then some sex, too.

Several weeks later

Clay strode down the hall to his operations center at his security bunker with an ever-present sense of pride. The borders of the DRMC property were safe, secure, and protected. The latest chaos he and Jake had instigated involving Ava, Troy, and Declan was now resolved. Plus, Ava had decided to stay and try out the lifestyle. Also, she was a contender for manager of the small bed-and-breakfast that he wanted to turn the southern property’s ranch house into very soon.

Each time he thought of Ava, he smiled at the thought of Protection being his middle name. Perhaps he would have it changed. Although Clayton Damian Protection Forrester was quite a mouthful.

The recent fiasco was over and done. The assassin was hopefully jailed somewhere in squalor. Clay looked forward to things settling down for a change. On the horizon, he and Jake were slated to continue their search for a woman who’d want to live a ménage lifestyle here at the DRMC.

He couldn’t wait. Building a future was the only thing on his agenda.

Clay was so busy congratulating himself on the outcome of recent events that he almost missed something completely out of the ordinary.

The door to his private office was ajar.
Shit
. Who was here to bother him now?

He’d only been gone for ten minutes to check something on the second floor.

As he approached, he heard voices. One was Jake’s, and they all sounded ominously sober.

He rounded the corner and stepped into his usually large office, made small by the crowd inside. Jake was there, arms crossed, a concerned look on his face. He stood next to Dalton Rourke, also sporting a grimmer-than-usual expression.

The surprise was in fact Zachary Barrett, lawyer extraordinaire, standing among them. Usually Clay called him for help and legal advice for others, not the other way around.

Also two other men he’d known since joining the DRMC were present, Chet and Randall. They’d all been close friends for a long time, although he hadn’t seen them in months. Their wife Brianna had the distinction of being the first woman ever to perform in a live ménage onstage for their club. Beyond them being his oldest friends at the DRMC, Clay couldn’t fathom a reason for the assembled group.

“What gives?”

Jake uncrossed his arms and straightened. “Clay. You’re back.”

He looked at their serious faces once more. “Is this an intervention or something? Because I’m not giving up sex, money, or booze. I don’t care what you do to me.” He allowed a half grin to surface before tucking it away. However, his unusually light attitude was not reflected in the faces of the crowd round him.
Fuck
. That couldn’t be good.

No one looked at him. But they all exchanged worried glances amongst themselves.
Must be really bad news.
Clay braced himself and said, “Okay, you all have my attention. Tell me who died, or get lost, and I’ll figure it out for myself.”

Dalton stepped forward. “I have some information for you, Clay.”

“What information?” Clay had never seen Dalton so reluctant to speak. He opened his mouth then closed it and glanced at Jake.

Clay huffed. “Spit it out, Dalton.”

“The assassin we arrested in conjunction with Ava Campbell’s case is in custody, about to be transferred to a supermax facility.”

“He talked?” Clay had heard the man refused to speak. Not even the word “lawyer” had crossed his lips the entire time he’d been in custody.

“No. He hasn’t said anything.”

“Funny. Troy and Declan said he didn’t shut up when he was with them in Kansas.”

Dalton shrugged. “That’s probably because he expected them all to die.”

“True. So Demetrius Barkova doesn’t want to rat out any of the clients he’s worked for over the past three decades because no prison on earth would be safe for him, right?” Clay figured this was not exactly a news flash.

Dalton nodded. “The information I want to talk to you about has to do with the analysis of the bomb residue from the Kansas property owned by Declan Westfall.”

“Yeah.” Clay shrugged. “What about it?”

“The comparison shows that the same bomb materials were used in quite a few other assassinations.”

“And?”

“And one of them is connected to you. Actually, it’s connected to your past.”

He bobbed his head wondering,
What the fuck
? He said, “Me? Really? Huh. Interesting.”

No one said anything. The room went completely silent. He was about to ask the obvious question.
What the fuck is connected to my past that has made all of you so fucking somber?
He inhaled a deep breath, ready to put a stop to this foolish drama and kick everyone out.

Then it hit him.

He figured it out.

He suddenly knew exactly what all these men, his good friends,
his oldest friends
were doing in his office.

Why they were all dancing around the subject at hand.

What they were desperately trying
not
to say.

Because that particular past moment was the most painful in his entire life.

This was about his wife Larissa. And the pain slammed him like it usually did.

He broke the gaze with Dalton and put a hand to his chest. His heart thudded so hard and so fast all of a sudden it was a wonder he didn’t go into cardiac arrest as he stood.

Larissa’s death had been caused by a bomb. A bomb wired to the brakes of his car, but driven by her and also carrying his former partner Mark. They’d both died because someone had tried to kill Clay long ago.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

Dalton cleared his throat. “It’s a match. The bomb residue found in your car after your wife’s death, and also in your home eight years ago, matches the exact composition and structure of the bombs at Declan’s ranch in Kansas and also at Ava Campbell’s home in Arkansas. I’ve had it verified three times and from three different sources.”

“He was there. You are telling me that my wife’s killer was within kicking distance of my size twelve and a half boots and that I missed my chance.” Clay stepped back.
Fuck me running.

The one man in the world who could tell him who tried to have him killed all those years ago had been two steps away. But his mind finally churned through all of that and something else registered.

“Dalton.”

The dawning realization must have shown on his face because Dalton said, “I have no pull here.”

“I demand to see him.”

“Can’t do it. And he won’t talk anyway.”

“Give me five minutes, and
I’ll
get him to talk.” Clay moved closer to Dalton.

He took half a step back from Clay’s advance. “Even if you had five years, the guy hasn’t said a word. Not a single syllable. He won’t talk.”

“Give me a chance, Dalton. I need it. I damn well deserve it.”

“I know you do. But I already tried more than once. I was turned down several times from several different places.”

“Where is he?” Clay asked.

Dalton made a face. “I wasn’t told. I have no doubt the members above me in my chain of command knew that whatever they told me I’d tell you.” He pushed out a sigh and stared straight into Clay’s eyes. “And I would have, Clay. I promise you, but I have no play here. I have no way to help you get near him.”

Clay nodded. His mind whirled. “I appreciate that, Dalton.” What could he do? How could he get access?

“However, if you can think of a way, I’ll do everything to help make it happen.”

Clay nodded again. He paced left several steps. He paced right to the place that he started from. “Who did you turn him over to?”

Declan shrugged. “The head of the counterterrorism task force, but I’m sure that wasn’t his final stop along the way to wherever he is now.”

“Right. You’re right.” He paced back and forth one more time, his mind working furiously. “Okay. Are you sure it’s a supermax prison he’s headed to?”

“Yes. Everyone’s afraid to keep him anywhere but there. He’ll be thrust into solitary and forgotten. And before you ask, I
don’t
know which facility.”

Clay allowed a half smile to caress his lips. “Well, there aren’t that many of them, are there? I can work with that.”

Declan nodded. His expression was still grim but a little less constipated.

Jake cleared his throat. “What are you going to say to him? When you see this killer? What do you want him to tell you?”

Clay took pause when his gaze found Jake’s apprehensive expression. “I want him to tell me who tried to have me killed all those years ago. I want to know who inadvertently killed Larissa and Mark.”

“What will change once you find out?”

Clay swallowed hard and pondered his question for a few seconds. He understood what Jake was trying to say. They’d made a pact, the two of them, to press forward. To forge a life together in this men’s club ménage lifestyle. A lifestyle that they both loved and wanted to spend the rest of their lives enjoying.

If Clay pursued this avenue of discovery, it might jeopardize his newfound relationship with Jake. Hard to go forward when his head was busy dealing with a past vendetta.

“You didn’t know Larissa.”

Jake sighed. “No. But I heard she was perfect.”

Clay nodded. She had been perfect. And if she and Mark had lived, Clay knew they would have had a marvelous life together. But that life had been so long ago.

He’d irrevocably changed and then a lot of time had gone by.

Clay said quietly, “She was perfect for the man I was back then. I’m truthfully not so sure about now, but what I do know is that her life ending the way it did was completely unjustified. I owe it to her to discover the person’s identity. The person who had her killed by mistake instead of me is still out there.”

“And will you kill this person if you ever find him?”

“I don’t know.”
Fuck
. “I know that I’d really want to.”

Jake nodded and looked away. He moved as if to leave the room. Clay stopped him. “Everything I do right now in my life involves you. I’m not changing anything about our future. So I need to know. Do you want me to stop this pursuit? Are you asking me to ignore this information?”

All eyes in the room went to Jake. He looked a little surprised, but said, “No. I’m not.”

“Then tell me what I can expect. Tell me what you want me to do.”

His oldest and best friend in the world turned to him and said, “You can expect that I’ll be the one driving when we go out to find the bastard. And that I want to do whatever needs to be done, but that we’ll do it together. And then we’ll go on, just like we’d planned. Right, buddy?”

“Right.” His eyes closed in relief.

Jake wasn’t someone who hugged, but he passed by and slapped Clay on the back once as a show of solidarity.

Clay relaxed, knowing he could move forward and appease his lust for justified vengeance in this long-ago matter. Whatever form that retribution took, Jake had his back.

THE END

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There are rumors that Elle Saint James used to live in Intercourse, PA, where she devoured gothic novels filled with seductive heroes seeking redemption from feisty heroines. This was where her erotic writing imagination was developed.

Others are convinced Elle Saint James spends her afternoons supervising the cleaning of her personal dungeon and her nights directing the delicious torture that goes on there. Fortunately, her slaves take dictation, enabling her to write while otherwise engaged.

However, neither of these scenarios are entirely true.

The majesty of the Rocky Mountains, as well as her gorgeous husband, serves to inspire Elle Saint James’s dark and deliciously sexy novels. She writes for those who are not afraid to take a walk on the wild side and explore more erotically charged sexual adventures in reading.