Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (53 page)

W
ith Doyle in jail
, the police are reeling from lack of support up top. The rest of the club that was arrested gets released along with me, given that Doyle’s entire operations in Bayonne were invalidated in light of his corruption. Besides, pressing charges now for the stuff they might actually have on the club would only bring more heat down on them. They want to take care of this as quietly as possible.

I get news from Mikhail that Marty Chandler died silently around the same time Doyle was smugly arresting me in the warehouse office. By all rights, it looked like a car accident, and neither Doyle nor the county sheriffs knew anything about it as it pertained to us. With that information, we don’t waste any time in busting up all the illicit rings Doyle spent so long raking in profits from.

We start where it all began, at the dockyards in Bayonne. While the police who’ve been on the take for years watching their superior officers get away with murder get to finally arrest all the dock bosses who’ve been taking part in the human trafficking ring, the club and I team up with some medical personnel to free the immigrants locked up in the freighter.

Me, Cherry, and the rest of the club personally help unload them all as the medical staff on hand start tending to their injuries—the healthiest of them are dehydrated, but catching this when we did has saved a lot of lives, one of the paramedics informs us.

A few hours into the rescue, Cherry makes her way over to me as Genn and I help lift an older man onto a gurney with one of the paramedics.

“One of the nurses who speaks Spanish was able to talk to one of the victims,” she explains as we finish and turn to her. “Between the two of us, we were able to interpret that Doyle’s had a hand in facilitating these operations all up and down the seaboard. There’s a ton of operations like this one taking place.”

“Shit,” Genn says, “so what, there’s a string of Agent Doyles keeping these rings up and running?”

“On the contrary,” Cherry says, and I see a spark of investigative fire in her eyes that makes me want to kiss her, “with Doyle’s arrest, any other corrupt federal support is going to go into hiding, fast. This could be the one moment in a long time all those trafficking rings are vulnerable to being busted, hard.”

A smile crosses my face, and I fold my arms, looking out over the Bayonne public servants working together with the club to make a real difference in these people’s lives. I exchange glances with Genn, whose expression tells me he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“If that’s the case,” I say to Cherry, “then there’s no time to lose, is there?”

“Think you’re right, Prez,” Genn answers with a grin. “I’ll go look for Eva and get the club riled up. Think it might be time for us to expand out?”

“We’re not the only town that’s been hurting because of Doyle’s trafficking, and without the club, this would’ve been a lot worse. I think it’s time.”

Cherry watches him go with a satisfied look in her eye at the prospect of the club taking action again, but there’s something in that gorgeous face of hers that’s bothering her.

“What’s the matter, something up?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” she gives her head a shake. “I mean...if you and the Union are headed out to ride, that means ‘goodbye’ again, doesn’t it?”

I laugh out loud, throwing my arm around her and yanking her into my side to her surprise before pressing a deep kiss into her. She yelps, but then her body relaxes and gives a soft moan at my kiss.

“Are you kidding?” I finally whisper when we break apart, but I keep her in my grip. “You’ve done more investigative work for us than anyone has been able to in all the years we’ve been protecting this town. We’ll
need
you to help us bust up these fuckers. And besides,” I add with a wink, “I think it’s about time you really saw the States from the back of a motorcycle anyway, and I don’t have any intention of letting you leave my side. And hey, should make one hell of a story: reporter travels up and down the coast, busting human trafficking rings and rallying the underdogs.”

Her mouth starts to spread into a smile as I speak, and she bites her lip to try and hold it back, but by the end of it, she just puts her hands on my face and pulls herself up into another deep kiss while Genn explains the situation to the rest of the club not far from us.

* * *

W
e ride
the very next day.

The wind whips across my face, my knuckles are bitten by the dust of the road, and my kutte flaps around me as I lead our pack of bikes down the interstate, heading south. Men and women I can trust with my life are behind me, the open road is ahead of me, and if that weren’t enough, the most brilliant and gorgeous woman I’ve ever met has her arms wrapped around my waist, her heart beating furiously at the first taste of real freedom out here.

We carve a path from city to city, county to county, state to state, starting south in Delaware and Maryland before whipping around north across New York and onward to Connecticut. With each stop, Cherry gets more shrewd at gathering information for the club to use, identifying crooked cops, bought judges, and fat-cat bosses after each lead.

The immigrants rescued from Bayonne didn’t know much, but a laptop Mikhail confiscated from Marty Chandler’s house provided more than a few leads for us to go on. The nearest connection the slimeball had was just a few towns over, and that proved to be only the beginning of a long string of rings. Every local crime lord had tangential connections nearby just like Marty, and once Cherry was able to establish a pattern to fill in the blanks left by Mikhail’s evidence, the rest was just a matter of the Union Club doing what it does best.

The first bust goes down just a few towns south of Bayonne. After Cherry’s secured a solid lead to a warehouse down by the docks, our bikes roar out to the site on a night a shipment’s supposed to be made, according to a dock worker with a conscience. The moment our headlights shine on the armed men bringing in living cargo around midnight, shots start going off.

As it turns out, most of the goons hired to ship the immigrants in aren’t paid well enough to stick around once we’ve turned up the heat. Our club knows how to handle itself in a firefight, and it isn’t long before most of the creeps go running for the hills, leaving us to take the law into our own hands with the dock owners who make it all happen. But not before we put down a few of their men, and they give us a few injuries in return. Anya’s going to have her work cut out for her over the next few weeks.

The situation is dealt with, and just as expected, when we call the hospital in to tend to the immigrants, there’s no voice up top telling them to hold back; the feds are in hiding, and we’ve struck while the iron is hot.

One of the locals tips us off about a brothel a few towns further south, and we’re off again. It’s an even simpler job—our bikes come roaring off the interstate, surround the house where the sex slavery ring is operating, and before the pimps know what’s pulled up on their front porch, we’re kicking down the doors and taking over the place.

It doesn’t take long for us to get a reputation. After a few more towns, bosses and crime lords alike start getting nervous at the news of our kutte being spotted on the roads nearby. The sounds of our engines tearing into a dock or a warehouse district sends the slavers running, and the ones that put up a tough fight quickly find themselves outmatched.

Part of that is because as news of our work starts to spread, other bikers start paying attention. A few trustworthy guns for hire start snowballing into our ragtag pack of ex-dock workers, and as we fan out north, we’ve nearly doubled our numbers.

The whole ride takes over a month. By the end of it, we have a reputation as one of the most feared clubs on the eastern seaboard, but the only ones cowering are the human traffickers. Just like the crooked opportunists took advantage of the FBI’s presence in town, word of our vigilantism emboldens the workers from town to town, and before long, we start hearing about miners and factory laborers and dock workers organizing themselves and pushing out internal corruption on their own, before we even hit the town.

But after a long and hard streak across New England, the time comes for us to head back to where it all got started—back to Bayonne, where the townspeople greet our ride into the city with a celebration.

Eva heads off to lead one of the branches of the Union Club that’s cropped up in upstate New York, and I give her all the best as she does. Genn sticks by my side, despite having the chance to do the same, but he just laughs the offer off and says his place is right here in Bayonne. Since Eva will take up the rank of President at her own branch, I give Genn her old spot as Vice-Prez, and Vasily takes his place as my Sergeant. Anya will have an officer’s rank with her name on it too, if she can keep her hands off Officer Samuels long enough. Well, it isn’t ‘officer’ anymore since he quit the force to join the Club, but the boys seem to like it as a nickname for him.

But I’m most impressed of all with Cherry. She’s a natural at this, to the point that she loses herself talking about leads and new connections even during our downtime. Now that we’re back in Bayonne, though, I’m forcing all of us to take a little downtime in our own ways.

And my downtime with Cherry is what I’m looking forward to more than anything.

H
e pushes
me through the door to his room with his ravenous kisses, his hungry, powerful arms gripping me all over my body as he explores me with utter abandon. All of our restraint has long been gone, but now that the storm is past us, it feels all the more thrilling.

Even as we stumble through his room to the bed, his mouth is at my neck, and I’m rolling my head back with a breathy gasp as his hand works itself down my pants, expertly finding my slit and starting to rub it voraciously. Behind me, his other hand squeezes my ass. He wants me so badly, and I couldn't stand not to have him inside me for another minute.

He tears my clothes off urgently. His need for me is just as bad as mine for him, even if it is a little more disorganized, more animalistic. I can hear it in his grunts, his breaths, and of course, I can feel it in the hardness between his legs.

The steady, untamed hum of a motorcycle under me has become comfortable over the past few weeks. I thought the thrill of it would wear off after a while, but it’s become only more exciting over time, the vibration only more arousing, especially with Leon in front of me.

Leon. God, I never saw any of this coming, I realize. A few weeks ago, I was just another journalist doing puff pieces, and then we storm into each other’s lives. I feel a laughing smile sneak up across my face as I think about the two of us as a pair of investigative vigilantes, and Leon breaks away from my face after laying me down on the bed and grins back at me.

“What’s that for?”

“I was just thinking how weird it is, how this all worked out,” I say, reaching up and letting my hand brush across his rough stubble. “You were just some vagrant I thought was beating up shopkeepers when I came back to town.”

“You’re not completely wrong,” he answers, and I give him a playful push while we laughs, but it only teases him on, and in another moment, his hands are on my breasts, savoring their feel as he grinds his hips up into me. I close my eyes and let myself revel in the sensation, in the feeling of this fiery rebel claiming me and every part of my body. Then I gasp as he takes a handful of my hair, holding me with a strong grip as he leans in to whisper into my ear.

“We did a hell of a lot before you got here,” he growls in a low tone, “but fuck, Cherry. Everything I really want to remember happened after you got back into my life.”

Now my hips are pushing back up against the stiff bulge in his pants, and my breaths are coming hot and heavy, I realize. Even without my conscious willing, my body wants him. I need him, and now.

My bra is already halfway across the room as he works off my pants. He’s not gentle, and I love it. Living this life on the road, rough and dirty, tracking down criminals and putting our lives on the line for the greater good every day, it’s awakened something in me I never knew I had. I feel more alive coming home from a day tracking down traffickers and getting my clothes ripped off roughly by Leon than I ever did in a cozy apartment in New York.

He works his own pants off next, one hand holding my hair while the other pushes up the small of my back, and he isn’t wasting any time in pressing his bare cock up against me. I look down and see his dark crown, bulging in need before me as he presses it against the surface of my cunt, and I gasp.

We’ve had so little privacy over the past few weeks, sharing motel rooms with the club and riding from sunrise to sunset. How many times have I seen him, gun out and blazing with a fierce glint to his eye, knowing he’s fighting for people who can’t fight for themselves? How often have I seen him putting his life on the line to bring justice to people who’ve bought their way out of the law’s justice their whole lives?

Each and every time made my desire for him grow all the stronger, fanning my lust into something beyond my control. I’d grip him as we rode the day after, letting my hands trail to his cock and rub up against him, and all that tension felt so fucking good to finally
let go
.

I let out a scream of all that release when his cock impales me.

Immediately, his hips are like a piston in my slick insides. My cunt has been ready for him all afternoon, knowing we’d be back in town and in private again. Finally.

His cock feels bigger than ever, swollen with desire for me, precum mixing with my honey as he bucks into me, and I thrust my hips up in rhythm with him.

He reaches up and grips the backboard of the bed, pounding up into me more and more fiercely, and my hands slide up to his rock-hard abs, feeling every muscle and ripple in his hardened body.

This man is a killer. You’ve seen him kill in front of your very eyes, and he used to do it for money. What the hell are you doing, Cherry?

I’m doing something better for myself than I’ve ever done before, I realize as I clench my cunt tightly around his shaft, stars in my eyes as he bucks wildly into me.

“I’m all yours, Leon,” I moan, “fuck, I’ve wanted you to ride me like this from the moment I saw you!”

He doesn’t respond with words, animalistically pounding into me all the more fiercely, and he looks down at me with those piercing eyes of his. Through all the fire, all the passion, I can see something more behind that gaze.

“I love you, Cherry,” he says at last, slowing his pumping just enough to bend down and kiss me deeply, and my hand reaches up to meet his face and pull it into me.

As he does, I arch my back up into him, and while we kiss, I feel my orgasm boil up within me, and I moan loudly into his kiss, my cunt tightening and my honey flooding his shaft. I never want the kiss to break. I want to stay here, with him inside me, and I want him to fill me up entirely.

The harsh bucking he responds to my tightness with tells me he can pick up on my desire, like a musk in the air. I’m his. He’s mine. And I never want that to change.

“I love you, Leon,” I gasp, each word punctuated by a breath as he rams into me, the tip of his dark, purple crown striking the inner depths of my cunt, harder and fiercer than ever before. As his balls slap against me, they start to tighten, and his cock swells up within me even more.

“Fuck,” he groans, and as I open my eyes to look at him, he isn’t closing his eyes to revel in his impending orgasm — he’s looking straight into my eyes.

As I look into the face of that untamed man from my past, I feel my own cunt starting to tighten again, and my mouth hangs open involuntarily as everything within me starts to come to a great, disjointed rise.

His hot, dominant seed shoots up into me, and I feel a body-wracking orgasm shake every nerve in my body, my eyes rolling up into my head as all of my senses are overwhelmed under him. He lets out a throaty groan, and I can tell that every part of him is just as ecstatic as he pours himself into me, and I can feel all my insides getting filled up by him as he puts his hands on my hips, pulling me further up onto his spear as we come together.

As the last of his seed spills into me, he stays hard, gently rocking back and forth as we just kind of look into each other’s eyes, stillness descending like a spell all around the simple room. All we can focus on is each other, and it’s wholly and utterly satisfying.

“You know,” I whisper to him after who knows how long, his cock pulsing within me softly, “I was wrong about you, Leon.”

“How’s that?” he asks with a small, cocky smile.

“For the longest time, I thought you were just a bandit under another name.”

“You were right,” he says, pressing into me a little further, still hard as a rock, and I gasp involuntarily. “Only difference is, I do it for a better cause.”

A long pause passes between us as I just smile up at him, then I give his hand a light squeeze. “I want to stay with you, Leon. I really do. There’s a lot of good to be done, good that
needs
to be done where the law only holds it back. I want to be a part of that. And I want you.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says in a husky tone, bending down and pressing his lips to mine for a long, passionate kiss. “I want you to ride with me, Cherry. Be my girl. My ‘old lady’. Official.”

“When the law won’t do what it takes,” I answer, holding his face lovingly, “we will, Leon. Together.”