“I’m guessing whoever we’re meeting will arrive in a four-wheel drive,” Logan said, acting nervous.
“Whatever they’re driving, you need to tell them this spot won’t work in the future.” Jake didn’t feel good about this. The large circle at the top of that ridge overlooked Beech Creek, but there was only one easy way in and one way out. “Unless we’re hoofing it back down, we need to get outta here. I don’t feel good about this, fellas.”
“You don’t feel good about anything unless it’s a new broad between your legs or one riding your face,” Tigger said, chuckling.
“I’m not going there with you,” Jake said, far from convinced that Tigger was happy with Summer. He always took his jabs and while Jake tried to take them all in stride, he had a feeling Tigger would never forgive him for being the dude with his cock in the trap when the Tigger-Cara gig abruptly ended.
Devon Kardashian, the Heroes and Rogues club president, pointed. “That’s our shipment.”
About that time, five black Escalades topped the hill, each of them creeping over the last stretch of terrain like a short train of dark reminders. There were plenty of dangers represented there. While they’d tried to keep their business dealings clean, the Heroes and Rogues always found themselves right back in the heart of illegal activity.
Maybe it was just in them. Some fellows loved the adrenaline rush. Legal gigs didn’t always give hardcore bikers the fix they wanted.
Before the bikes were cranked, the vehicles surrounded the MC.
“Fuck,” Logan muttered, jamming his kickstand down and leaving his bike.
Mr. Badass never showed fear, and most of the time, Jake would’ve been standing right next to him. In this case, however, Jake had a feeling he was safer staying right where he was—aboard his transportation. If need be, he’d use it to take him to the other side of the closest SUV and then ditch the bike and high tail it out of there on foot.
Hopefully things wouldn’t come down to that. Then again when bikers conducted business with arms dealers, anything was possible.
“Now what?” Tigger asked, rubbing his lower jaw.
“Don’t act alarmed,” Devon coached them. “They’re sizing us up.”
If anyone looked like he’d seen a ghost, Devon did. He had recently proposed to Victory and was mere days away from his wedding. Jake couldn’t help but wonder if his upcoming nuptials had something to do with his sudden need to see the club show a profit. In the last five days, the club had discussed their bleak financial situation, hired some girls and put them back to work, started moving suspicious shipments through their trucking company, and now here they were meeting with the mob and discussing reentry into the gun business.
“How’d you hear about these people again?” Jake asked.
“Old acquaintances,” Devon said, his left eye twitching.
Jake turned his attention to Logan. He walked up to the first vehicle and wasted no time pecking on the glass with his forefinger.
Slowly, the glass glided down and the driver said, “We have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Logan asked.
“Nothing we can’t handle from here. Give us five minutes. Miss Lake is taking a call.”
“All right,” Logan said, stretching his neck in an apparent effort to steal a good look at the passenger. “We’ll wait over here.” He thumbed the wooded area behind the circle of vehicles.
“Suits us,” the burly older fellow said.
“Let’s move!” Logan boarded his bike again.
One of the prospects asked, “Don’t you think it’s disrespectful to move to the trees when they surrounded us for a reason?”
“I don’t give a damn about their reasons,” Logan said, tilting his head at Jake. “How about you?”
“I’d feel safer in the shade.”
“Of course you would,” Tigger muttered. “And I’d feel better if Summer was riding me about right now but we don’t always get what we want. Do we, kid?”
Jake snarled. “I do. If you don’t, maybe you should ask yourself why that is.”
“Knock it off,” Devon said.
“Yeah, save it for after the sun goes down,” Logan added.
A few minutes later, they were still waiting on the sloped embankment. “Those vehicles are loaded down with guns and we’re sitting here like a bunch of dummies twiddling our thumbs.”
“I’ll agree with the kid there,” Tigger said.
Jake didn’t unload a series of smartass comments, but if he’d been on his mark, he might have said, “We agree on a lot more than you think—women, guns, Cara, Cara, Cara.” He snickered at the thought. Tigger could deny he still had feelings for Cara but if that were true, he’d learn to get along. Tigger didn’t like Jake and he made no bones about it.
“Here we go boys.” Devon pushed away from the ground and the rest of the club followed him.
A feisty brunette wearing dark jeans, a solid red fitted v-neck shirt, and high heels to match, hurried across the rough ground without a single wobble. “You must be Devon.” She took his hand. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. My stepmother is very ill and I needed to take a call regarding her treatment plan.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Devon said, releasing her hand. “I hope everything works out okay.”
“Psht,” Tigger said, rolling his eyes. “Bad news or not, lady, I’m assuming your vehicles are loaded down with enough ammo to blow Beech Creek off the map and never mind the weaponry you’re hauling. We’re sitting ducks here and a wait like that could’ve cost us.”
“And you are?” She went to greet him with her arm extended again.
“Tigger,” he snapped, ignoring her hand. “I’m the club VP.”
“Well, Mr. VP, it’s nice to meet you.” She grabbed the hand at his thigh and shook quickly.
Jake laughed. The expression on Tigger’s face was priceless.
“And who do we have here?” She then turned to Jake, offering semi-formal courtesies with a flirty bent.
Good gracious and sweet mercy! Those tits jiggled a bit, just enough to demand a man’s hand.
“Jake.” One of the prospects nudged him. “The lady wants your name.”
“Jake Covington.” He nearly salivated when he closed the distance between them. A waft of her perfume filled his senses, but it wasn’t the rich fragrance initiating his undoing.
As soon as she wrapped his hand with hers, he nearly cursed aloud. Forced to look in those mesmerizing emerald-colored eyes, he saw why this woman did her family’s bidding. Not only was she a looker, gorgeous in fact, but she was also sharp. He could see the intelligence, the awareness, in her eyes. Any man in his right mind would want to strip her down and have her for dinner and dessert.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he said, realizing then she had walked around their group picking and choosing who she wanted to meet, perhaps who she felt was interesting enough to know.
“I didn’t offer it, Mr. Covington,” she said, flicking a smile. She inched closer and whispered at his ear. “I’m a firm believer you only give a man your name when you think he’ll have a specific cause to later use it.”
“Are ya now?” He stared down the bridge of his nose just eating up her very presence. He shot her a lopsided smile and before she could get away he crooked his finger back and forth, summoning her, using that male attitude some of the club broads accused him of having.
She glanced over her shoulder and shook her head. Her guys came to a sudden halt, apparently following a cue.
The little vixen leaned forward, cocked her head, and cupped her small ear. “Well?”
“Your name?”
“I told you. I only give a man my name when I’m certain he’ll need it later.”
“I’ll use it now if you don’t mind a little exhibitionism.” He rolled his tongue over his bottom lip. God help him, he was ready to grab hold of her and just drag her off to the bushes. Maybe he was tired of the easy scores. Given the fact his body was rigid, maybe a challenge was in order. He winked. “What d'you say good-lookin’?”
She purred as if she’d practiced the vocal expression a thousand times. “Ah now that’s what I’m looking for.” She waved her forefinger in the air. “A man who knows how to mix business with pleasure. I bet most women can’t resist those charms.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Oh?” She was playing him.
He was letting her. “Nope.”
“Why is that, Mr. Covington?”
“I don’t have a woman,” he informed her, indulging his inner male by looking her over again. “Damn good thing I don’t.”
A few of the prospects chuckled. Devon cleared his throat. Tigger grunted. Logan groaned.
“Nice to know,” she said, enunciating every syllable. “In that case my name is one you may want to remember. Autumn. Autumn Lake. And I have every confidence you’ll find a reason to whisper it. If we’re lucky and you’re as good as you are handsome, you’ll be screaming it before the sun comes up tomorrow.”
Chapter Three
“It’s me. I’m in.” Three hours had passed since she’d met the Heroes and Rogues.
“Do they suspect anything?”
“How would I know?”
“It’s your job to know, Autumn.”
“It may be my job, but you sort of put a damper on things when you sent me to a meet without the guns. They weren’t too happy about that.”
“I wish I could’ve been there to see the look on Kardashian’s face.”
“He wasn’t the one who seemed most upset,” Autumn said.
“Tigger.”
“How’d you know?” Autumn asked.
“Because I’m your father and maybe when you remember who provided years of comfort for you and your mother, you’ll begin to appreciate what I’ve learned from our friends as much as our adversaries.”
“And you consider the Heroes and Rogues your friends?”
“I consider them indispensable at the moment. As long as someone is very important to my business, they can count on me as an ally.”
In other words, her father was stepping in between the biker wars. He’d chosen a side. His reasons for involvement were likely varied. She wouldn’t ask about those. He would tell her in his own time.
“Tigger is the brains behind the illegal operations,” he continued. “He has a good ole boy attitude and can pull it off with the best of them. In fact, the one they say is a cop—what’s his name—Marcs? Anyway, he and Tigger are close. My guess is Mr. Marcs probably sees him as the only good guy in the clubhouse.”
“Marcs didn’t say much and I’m not so sure he’s a cop.”
“Gaylord Martin and the Devil’s Angels seem to think he is.”
“And the Heroes and Rogues boys say Gaylord is the one reporting to the Feds.”
“What do you think, Autumn?”
She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. Her dad had no idea who she was, what she’d become. He’d been an absentee father and when Autumn decided to pursue a career with the Feds, her mother had advised her against telling him.
“Are you still there?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Well while you’re thinking, consider this. Make friends with one of them. Consider it a way to protect our investment.”
“You mean like befriend one of their old ladies?”
“I think you know what I mean, Autumn. As your father, I expect you to take one for the team but to keep some details to yourself. I don’t need to know everything.”
“Thank God,” she muttered.
“Pick one of the guys you can trust and make a move on him.”
“That shouldn’t be hard to do.”
“Why?”
“Because one of them asked me out.”
“Who?”
“Jake Covington.”
“I don’t know the name.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. There are two types down there in Beech Creek. The smart and dangerous ones and those who think they are. The latter are cops and I could care less about having a pig in my pocket.”
“Maybe there’s a third group you’ve overlooked.”
“You’re right—the inconsequential. And for future reference, so you know? Those are the men who are expendable.”
They soon said their goodbyes and Autumn hurriedly cleaned up the clutter—paperwork, photographs, notes, and the small pizza box. She trashed the leftovers she’d forgotten to freeze and stuffed everything else in the coat closet.
Noting the time on the grandfather clock, she hurried off to the bedroom, stripping as she made her way to the shower. Once there, she hurriedly bathed, brushed her teeth, put on some makeup, and then finished off in the walk-in closet where she eagerly chose her poison.
An hour later, she stood in front of the full length mirror admiring her clothes—a short denim skirt, skimpy top, and sandals. She’d just tucked her black lace bra straps under her top when a couple of hard thuds landed on her door.
“Just a minute!”
She glanced around her apartment. From the outside, the place was nondescript, but on the inside, her place was decked out to the nines with posh décor including expensive art and overpriced furniture.
“It’s probably too much,” she muttered, thinking she should’ve listened to the chief and kept things simple. If she hadn’t resented her father and everything he stood for then perhaps she wouldn’t have been so eager to spend his money on material things. Now, it seemed like a waste. Jake was a biker. He probably lived at the clubhouse or maybe in one of the nearby subdivisions overcrowded with small cottage-style homes, many of them with white picket fences, lawn gates, and antique hand-me-downs.
She couldn’t help but smile. She loved small town USA for the homes just like those she’d imagined, something simple and charming.
He knocked again.
“Coming!”
She hurried across her living room, unlatched her door, and swung it open without thinking. “Hiya, Mr. Covington.”
“I was beginning to wonder if you had a backdoor.”
“A backdoor?” She laughed. “Why? Were you planning to knock there, too?”
“It crossed my mind. Then I thought it might be a dangerous act. If I’d peeked around the side of the building and caught the competition trying to make a clean escape, it might have turned into a real brawl.”
“I like a man who’ll fight for what he wants.” She laughed and moved aside. “Would you like to come in?”
“Yes I will. And yes I do.” His royal blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he entered her apartment. “I’m assuming it’s safe now?”