Saving Grace (Serve and Protect Series) (26 page)

He’d already killed two shots of vodka and sat nursing a third. Not that he’d imbibed much. He’d long ago learned how to throw the hard stuff back, then spit it into the beer ‘chaser’. His breath would reek of vodka and no one would be the wiser.

When one of Landis’s key henchmen finally went to take a leak, Ray slid out of the booth and followed him.

So secure was Vladimir Rusakevitch, he didn’t spare more than a glance when Ray entered the washroom behind him. A quick check of the stalls confirmed what Ray already knew‌—‌he and the big Russian were alone, and there were no security cameras.

Drawing his weapon, he strode up behind Rusakevitch. Pressing the barrel of his pistol to the base of Rusakevitch’s skull, he shoved the man into the wall.

“Hey! What the hell?”

“Shut up. You’re job is to listen. You got me?”

The other man dragged in a breath, seeming to grow in girth and height, but he responded appropriately. “Got it.”

“Okay, turn around.”

“Do you mind if I....?” The Russian gestured to his pants, which were still undone.

“Yes, I do mind. In fact, I want you to drop them around your ankles. Then I want you to turn, keeping your hands on top of your head where I can see them.”

Rusakevitch cursed fluently, in a mixture of Russian and English, but complied, his dark eyes spitting hatred. “You’ll die for this, dirt bag.”

Ray brought the barrel of his gun around and pressed it into the goon’s lips. “I think I said your job is to listen. Understand? Or do you need to suck on this a while?”

A slight tremor passed through the big man. “Understood.”

“Okay, tell your boss Landis to keep his hands off the illegal drug trade. No smack, no crack, no blow, no nothing. Nada. Not a single, sorry goddamn-skinny reefer. Got that?”

Rusakevitch roared.

“Shut up.” Ray held the man’s chin and pressed the barrel of the gun against his now clenched teeth.

“He’ll kill you,” the Russian ground out.

“I really don’t like to repeat myself.” Ray applied the barrel of the gun to his captive’s teeth more forcefully. “From now on, you red fellas are gonna stay away from the drug trade. Keep your underfed whores, keep your illegal cigarettes, keep all your other scams. Hell, make a buck any way you can. Knock yourselves out. But stay away from the drugs. That’s
our
territory. Got it?”

“Got it,” Rusakevitch muttered though closed teeth.

“Good.”

Giving Rusakevitch a good, hard shove, Ray turned and left. Counting on the other man having to recover his balance and yank his pants up before raising the alarm, Ray strode through the bar. He encountered no opposition.

Once outside, he broke and ran. He leapt onto the Harley, which started on the first try. God bless Quigg for his devotion to the old relic. Revving the engine, Ray waited until a knot of men burst out of the club’s door. Then, he peeled out. Giving them a good look at him, he roared past the club, blew the red light to the accompaniment of blaring horns and disappeared into the night.

Fifteen minutes later, he rolled into the parking lot of an apartment building on Greenfield Drive, parked the bike then set off on foot toward the Fredericton Inn. Five minutes later, he spotted the Toyota. A minute after that, he raised his hand to rap on the door of unit 116, but Grace opened it before he could knock.

“Oh, thank God!”

She closed the door again to throw the chain, then ripped it open and pulled him into the room.

“You’re okay?” Her hands moved over his arms, his shoulders, his chest, as though to assure herself he was intact. “Omigod, you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“What took you so long?”

He checked his watch. “Hell, there’s still twenty minutes to spare‌—”

She launched herself at him, the force of her momentum knocking him back a step. A split second later, he was crushing her against his chest, devouring her mouth with his.

As they kissed, she dragged him deeper into the room until he felt his legs collide with the edge of the bed. They both went down, hands streaking everywhere, mouths seeking. Desire ripped through him, fierce and hot and wild.

Man, he had to get a grip. Grasping her arms, he pushed her away.

“No, don’t stop. Oh, please, Ray, don’t tame it. I want you like this.”

Her plea fogged his brain with fresh lust, but he beat it back.

“No, it’s not that. I have to call Quigg. If I don’t set things in motion, we’ll have a
real
gang war on our hands, not just a potential one.”

He sat up and grabbed the phone from the nightstand, punching in Quigg’s number at the station.

She came to her knees beside him, her eyes worried. “Gang war? Ray, what did you do?”

Before he could respond, John Quigley answered.

“Quigley here.”

“Sergeant Quigley, this is your lucky day. I’ve got an anonymous tip for you.”

“Anonymous, eh?”

Ray grinned. Quigg’s tone told him he knew just who he was talking to. “Yeah, just call me Deep Throat. Here’s the scoop, Sergeant. The Red Fellas are girding for a battle with the Disciples tonight.”

A short pause.

“Landis’s boys making war on our local motorcycle gang? You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I’d say it’s a good bet. Seems like a lone rider went into Landis’s nightclub a short while ago and warned him in pretty explicit terms away from the illegal drug trade.”

“That so? And this rider walked away in one piece after delivering a message like that?”

Ray’s grin widened. “The rider was very careful.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Anyway, I’m thinking if you were to stake out the Disciple’s den real quick-like, you might just net yourself some highly illegal automatic weapons among Landis’s crew when they show. Maybe even some incendiary devices,” he added, thinking about his own house. “Enough to put some folks away for a very long time. A fella could even get deported over something like that, I would imagine.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could describe this lone rider?”

Ray almost choked. “Um, let me see. Mean-looking white guy, about six feet tall, maybe one-ninety. Lots of leather, a tattoo or two, wearing one of those do-rags over his hair.”

“Gee, we should be able to pick him out of a crowd of bikers, no problem.”

“You know how it is. These dirtballs all look alike.”

“I s’pose he was riding a Harley?”

“You got it.”

“Well, thanks for the tip. We’ll get right on it.”

“Good. And Sergeant? Tell your boys to be careful.”

“My boys are always careful.”

Ray heard Quigg break the connection and hung up the phone. Beside him, Grace’s laugh rang out.

“Brilliant! Landis’s men get caught with a cache of illegal weapons and agree to rat their boss out to avoid deportation.”

“Simple but elegant,” he said smugly.

Her smile dimmed. “But what if Landis’s men try to shoot their way out when they realize they’re being pinched?”

“They’re pros. When they realize what’s happened, they’ll cut their losses.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as I can be.” He put the phone back. “But even if it doesn’t go down that way, without a shot being fired, the guys know the score. Believe me, Grace, they’ll welcome a chance to break Landis’s back once and for all. They’re trained for this, equipped for it. Hell, they’ve been dying for a chance like this.”

The last of her smile faded. He knew she was contemplating the things he was trained to do, the risks he assumed every day.

“Ray.”

She said his name on an exhalation of breath. To Ray, it sounded like a plea, or maybe a prayer. She leaned toward him and he met her. As soon as their bodies touched, the moment their mouths fused, that elemental need blossomed again.

He pulled her down. Over and over they tumbled on the queen-sized bed, hands sliding under clothing, bodies straining together, mouths ravenous. A few moments later, she reared up.

“Get this off!” she demanded, tugging on his leather jacket.

Ray sat up, shrugged out of the jacket, dragging his holster off with it. While he was at it, he tore his t-shirt over his head.

Grace pulled at her own clothing. Skimpy, navel-baring shirt, those athletic pants he’d come to find so sexy, bra, panties‌—‌it all hit the floor.

Breathing like he’d just run a 10k race, he tore off the leather chaps and shucked out of his jeans. He barely had time to kick free of his underwear before Grace fell on him. Then her hands were everywhere, small, fierce, gloriously demanding. And her mouth.

He closed his eyes.
Oh, God, her mouth
. It was burning a hot, wet path of fire along his neck, down his chest, across his belly. Her breath against his skin the most erotic caress he’d ever experienced. For a wild second, he allowed himself to imagine what it would feel like for her to kiss him intimately, to close her mouth around him and....

“Grace!”

At his cry, she glanced up.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the erotic picture she made at his groin. “Yes! No.”

“Am I hurting you?”

Oh, Lord, she was killing him. “God, no.”

“I’m too clumsy?”

Clumsy? Her untutored mouth was just about the sexist thing he’d ever felt.
Ever
. “No.”

“Then what?”

What, indeed? “Grace, you don’t have to do this.”

“What if I want to do it?”

His erection jerked beneath her hands, but evidently she didn’t think that was answer enough.

“What if I told you I’ve fantasized about doing this for a long time? What if I told you how often I wished I dared suggest it? How my insides just sort of liquify thinking about it? How my breath catches in my lungs and....”

“Grace!”

She stroked his member lightly. “Is that a yes?”

God help him, yes. He guided her back to him.

For the next minutes, his world narrowed to the wet warmth of her mouth, the teasing play of her tongue. When he could stand no more of the torment, he dragged her up beside him.

Her breath came in ragged pants through flared nostrils.

“I wasn’t finished.”

“Well, you almost finished me, sweetheart. And that, my love, I don’t think you’re quite ready for.”

“Oh. Oh!”

She laughed, and Ray grinned at the sound. This was new, this easiness, an unexpected product of laying himself bare, letting her in. Lord God, he loved her.

Suddenly, the humor was gone. There was nothing left now but need.

“I hope you’re ready for me,” he rasped, rolling her under him, “’cuz in about five seconds, I’m gonna be inside you.”

“Ray Morgan, I was born ready for you,” she breathed against his ear, even as she guided him to her entrance.

He slid home with one strong thrust. Both of them froze.

“Ray?”

“Yes?”

“Do that again. Pull out all the way and do it again.”

Her words excited him. Words she never would have dared say a month ago, a week ago.

It struck him then, what he’d deprived her of. The right to express her sexuality, explore it. He’d rectify that, he vowed, even if it killed him. Starting now.

He pulled out of her body, then buried himself in her slick heat again. She stifled a sob. Bracing himself on his arms, he looked down at her. Her face was flushed, her eyelashes lying sooty against her white skin, her lush lips parted.

“Open your eyes, Grace. Look at me.”

She lifted her lids, her blue gaze meeting his, and the sheer desire reflected there jolted him to the bone.
Grace, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to take this from you.

“What’s it feel like?” he managed to say.

“Good.” The word came out on a sob.

“No,
tell
me. What’s it feel like when I’m inside you?”

Her fingernails bit into his shoulders. “Ray....”

“Talk to me. Tell me how it feels. Tell me everything. Tell me what you want.”

He felt the shudder that rippled through her. Once more, his arms trembling, he pulled almost completely out, then thrust strongly into her again, sheathing himself to the hilt.

She moaned. “It feels like ... oh, God, like I’m being impaled. Like if you were any bigger, I’d be able to taste you in my throat.”

He surged into her again, unable to control his response to her words.

She picked up his urgency. “It feels like you’re never going to fit, but then you do.”

He withdrew and plunged into her again.

“Oh, God, Ray, you fit so good.”

He felt her words slam into him.
Slow down, Morgan. Slow down.
“What do you want, Gracie?”

“Everything. Anything.” She clutched at him with her hands, digging her fingernails in. “As long as you’re right here with me, like this.”

“I want what you want.” He thrust into her again. “Just tell me, Gracie. Anything. Whatever you want.”

She whimpered.

“Grace?”

“Fast. I want it fast, Ray. Hard.”

He looked into her eyes. The need he saw there electrified him, but he made one last grab for control. “The baby....”

“The baby’s safe. The doctor said.” Her words emerged on short, pants breaths. “Please, Ray.”