Rogue (Sons of Sangue Book 4) (15 page)

“He’s your protection, Kimber. He’ll keep an eye on things while you’re gone.”

It was Kimber’s turn to laugh. “Some protection. Give him a good belly rub and he’s putty.”

“Let’s hope intruders won’t get close enough for him to roll over.”

“You expecting I might have visitors?”

Anton’s grin turned grim. “Let’s hope not. Your involvement with me could bring you trouble. And since I found out how secure your screens were, I thought maybe Diesel could watch over you while I’m not here.”

“You heading out already?” She tried hard to keep the anxiety from her tone, but failed miserably.

He gave her a quick nod. “As much as I’d like to stay, I have to head back to Santa Barbara in a few hours.”

Her heart ached. It shouldn’t hurt. She knew she hadn’t been promised more, but it stung regardless. “When will you return? You are coming back, aren’t you?”

Anton stepped closer, fisted the hair at her nape and lowered his head, sealing his lips to hers. Kimber gripped his black T-shirt, holding him flush against her. His drug-inducing kiss had a way of making her want it to go on forever. Unfortunately, it ended just as quickly. Her gaze locked with his. Kimber swore his pupils were about to swallow his irises whole.

Kimber drew her lower lip between her teeth, before asking, “You’re sure you have to go?”

“I wish I didn’t have to.” He winked at her as he cupped his jean-covered erection. “Trust me, me and my cock would much rather stay.”

His lips thinned as his expression sobered. He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “It can’t be helped,
tesoro
. I promise to return when I can.”

“Can I call?”

He shook his head. “It’s best that you don’t. I’d rather my MC brothers didn’t know about you. I’ll call you.”

A slice of ugly green jealousy sluiced through her. She really didn’t want to be
that
girl. The idea of Anton sleeping with someone else, though, had her feeling a bit possessive. If he intended on coming back to her bed, then he best keep his pants on.

“Another woman?”

A grin tipped his lips. He gripped her chin and raised her gaze. “No,
tesoro
. Just you. I’ll be back when I can. Until then, Diesel will keep you company.”

Patting the dog’s big head, he said, “You scare off anyone who doesn’t belong, Diesel. You hear?”

The dog nudged his hand with his muzzle, then walked over and sat at her feet, looking into the distance as if he actually meant to do Anton’s bidding.

Kimber smiled briefly at the dog. “I really do like him, Anton. Thank you. Where did you find him?”

“I rescued him from the Florence Humane Society. They said he had been abused and needed a good home. He was due to be euthanized in a couple of days. I couldn’t help but save his life after I looked into his big blue eyes.” A sheepish look crossed his face. Apparently, he didn’t feel comfortable showing his sweet side. “He’s housebroke, so he should be fine while you’re gone. I wouldn’t let him run loose, though, not until he gets used to your boundaries. Otherwise, you might come home from work to find him gone.”

He pointed a thumb behind him. “I have food, toys, a couple of bones, and a bed in the back of the truck. Everything you should need.”

“I love the dog and that you thought of me.”

“I hear a
but
in there.”

The dog trotted off to her nearest bush, raised its leg, and proceeded to mark her nearest azalea. Once finished, he bounded up the stairs and laid on the decking, placing his chin between his large paws, looking as if he had belonged there all along.

Kimber looked back at Anton. “Why do you continue running with men you obviously feel can be very bad?”

“It’s complicated,
tesoro
.”

“No, it’s not. Stay.”

“And do what?”

“You’re a motorcycle mechanic. You can get a job around here.”

Anton released a sigh. “I can’t change who I am.”

“You can if you want to.”

“Fuck.” He scratched his nape, mumbling something about getting involved with someone who didn’t deserve him and his baggage. “Kimber, if you want this, I’ll be back. I promise. If you want to cut your ties, and I advise that you do, tell me now. I’ll walk away.”

“I just wish—”

“Don’t.” He cupped her cheek. “Neither of us can change who we are. I’m not asking you to put on leathers and crawl on the back of my Harley, any more than you’re asking me to put on penny loafers and pullovers. We come from two different worlds.”

She nodded, not sure what to even say. They were from separate sides of the track, and knew the chances of this going any further than what they could do for each other in the sack were pretty slim.

“Look,” Anton continued, “how about we don’t try and figure this thing out. There’s plenty of time for that down the road. For now, we’ll just say it’s two people enjoying the fuck out of each other’s company.”

“And while we’re enjoying each other’s company, you won’t be keeping any other women company, right?” she couldn’t help but ask. Kimber not only didn’t want him entertaining others, she certainly didn’t want him bringing back diseases either. As it was, they had taken a heck of a chance the other night. She added quickly, so she didn’t sound like a jealous twit, “We didn’t use protection.”

“I don’t have any diseases.”

“I was tested after my last—”

“Boyfriend? Past tense?”

“I was going to say sexual encounter. The last guy wasn’t boyfriend material.” Her cheeks heated, hating the fact she was embarrassed for having casual sex when Anton probably did it with regularity. “I’m on the pill.”

“Good to know.” He smiled, though he hadn’t seemed overly concerned at having forgotten to use a condom. “Look, to ease your mind, I won’t be entertaining while I’m gone.”

“I know I said I didn’t do friends with benefits, but…”

Anton chuckled. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“No expectations.” Kimber thought she saw something akin to possession cross his gaze. Surely, she had merely imagined it. “Something you want to add?”

“No.” He knelt down and whistled to the dog. Diesel jumped up and trotted to Anton, earning him a scratch to his head. Anton stood back up. “Other than the fact I wish I could stick around for a bit longer.”

“That makes two of us.”

Anton stood, cupped her cheeks, then placed a quick kiss upon her lips. “Do not let anyone you don’t know into your house,
tesoro
. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He turned and headed for the old Ford, his ass looking damn fine in a pair of jeans. Anton pulled the cage filled with the dog supplies from the bed of the truck and walked them to her porch. When he returned to the cab, he winked at her before climbing behind the wheel.

Regret.

Damn, them regrets.

Kimber let out a sigh and headed for the porch, patting her thigh. “Come on, Diesel. Let’s get you something to eat.”

A very fierce looking Tank burst into the backroom of Hades’ Nest, an obvious mission in mind. Everything about him spoke determination, from the square set of his shoulders to the thinned line of his lips. Anton doubted the man did little without purpose. Relax was not part of his vocabulary. Maybe that was why he seemed to be the perfect fit for the head of an MC like the Devils. They needed a relentless leader. One who could handle the vulgar bunch of miscreants.

The crude conversation quickly came to a rest. Tank’s men not only respected his rank, they feared him. There was no doubt about it as Anton took in the room full of disreputable thugs. All eyes fell on Tank’s feral presence.

Spider, club VP, followed Tank through the door, winding his dirty blond hair into a messy top knot. It certainly didn’t do anything to help his looks. His long beard had seen cleaner days, making Anton wonder when the man’s last shower had been. Grease dirtied his nails and darkened his cuticles. Black smudged his forearms and elbows. His holey, stone-washed jeans looked as if he disrobed, they’d stand in the corner by themselves. Anton positioned himself to stand upwind from him during the day’s congregation.

A text had been sent out about an hour ago, calling the church meeting to a select few of the Devils. Not everyone in the MC was in attendance. Anton couldn’t help but wonder what Tank had in mind that the rest of the club could not be privy to. Even more curious, Draven sat toward the back of the room, making small talk with Stitch. The barkeep wasn’t a member of the MC, and most days, Tank acted as if he couldn’t stand the man.

So why invite him to a private club meeting?

Stitch chuckled under his breath at something Draven had said, rubbing his salt-and-pepper beard, unaware of the barkeep’s nervous ticks. Since Anton’s arrival, Draven had trouble looking him in the eye. Something definitely nettled him.

What the fuck had Draven so fidgety?

Anton made a mental note to ask the barkeep what had him so bugged following the meeting. Last thing Anton needed was the fool blowing his cover because he’d gotten a sudden case of the nerves. Anton prayed none of the other men noticed Draven’s jitters, especially Tank and Spider.

The fool needed to get his shit together before he got them both shot or killed. For sure as the day was long, if someone moved to take out Draven, Anton would be forced to save his dumb ass, thus blowing his own cover and the whole damn case.

Tank walked over to the bar, looked at Stitch and requested a whiskey, a very tall one. The club P jammed his hand through his black hair, clearly agitated by whatever had brought today’s call to arms. Not skittish in the way Draven was. No, Tank was more ill-tempered and they were all about to be on the receiving end of whatever had him exasperated enough to spit nails. While Stitch poured the amber booze, Tank took a quick glance around the room, no doubt assessing those in attendance. Once the glass was set at his right, Tank grabbed the nearly full tumbler and downed it. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, then slid the glass back to Stitch for a refill.

He cleared his throat in an attempt to gain attention. The action had been unneeded. Everyone in the room had given him the consideration the minute he cleared the door. “Bet you fucks are wondering why I called this meeting.”

Murmurs filled the room, but quickly quieted down when the man raised his beefy arm. “Raúl and I had a long conversation over the weekend. As some of you may know, I had made a little side trip to La Paz, Mexico. Raúl’s getting restless. Every day we don’t move his drugs, he loses money. Lots of it.”

Good. Let the bastard squirm.
Anton crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, one booted foot jacked up on the paneling. He doubted the kingpin made many mistakes, but a man desperate to get his operation back on track and income rolling in might. At least that was Anton’s hope. Finally, after over a year spent with these fucks, they were about to get a little action.

Draven shifted in his chair, his eyes briefly darting to Anton before locking gazes with Tank. Anton wanted to pummel the bonehead. He’d get them both at the end of a very sharp blade if he didn’t stop with whatever the hell had him so damn jumpy.

“As you all know, Raúl got a little nervous over the DEA’s unwanted attention we were getting last summer. His sources within the Mexican federal police have informed him it looks as if the DEA has lost interest. So, we’re to start moving some bonita. We’ll start by targeting high schools and college dorms.”

Anton grit his teeth. He’d rather they went after an older crowd.
Kids, for fuck sake
. He had a feeling he’d get vetoed on this one, but he needed to put it out there anyway. “I say we move it through the bars and raves. I’d rather stay away from the heat we’d get from selling to minors.”

Tank turned on Anton. His lips thinned. “You have a problem with the way I do business, Rogue?”

“Not at all. I just think those attending raves, like Draven’s, are more likely to buy the smack. Besides, Draven mentioned he already had distributors waiting. Why change the game plan now? I would think it would be safer to run the smack with those we already trust. Schools? We will no doubt piss off the feds and have them all up in our business again.”

“I understand what you are getting at, Rogue, but no one questions Raúl.” Tank’s jaw set, dismissing Anton. His gaze landed on Draven. “You have the kind of money I need to run the bonita through your bar and distributors?”

Draven nodded. And to his credit, he leaned back, squared his shoulders, and didn’t cower to Tank’s scrutiny. “My men have been waiting for my call, ready to hit the streets. I have about five-hundred K I can part with.”

“You make that kind of money in your club? Fuck me. I’m in the wrong goddamned business.”

“I’m a good business man,” Draven continued. “I made a good deal off the X I ran through my bar before the Sons stepped in and forced me out of business.”

One of Tank’s dark brows arched. “How do you plan to keep their noses out of your affairs this time?”

Draven cleared his throat.
Showtime.
If he didn’t convince Tank here and now, there would be no sting, the DEA would have to get another man, and his job protecting Draven would be over. No way in hell would they trust Anton with their smack if they didn’t trust Draven. They both had too close of ties with the Sons of Sangue. Either Tank decided to trust them both, or the case was over.