Sinfully Scarred (Reckless Bastards MC 2)

“On what,” he asked, lips curled into a smug grin. He was so sure I wanted him, and the fact that I did only made his smile annoy me more.

“Whether or not you eat like a farm animal.” He laughed and tossed a warm tortilla chip at me, which I promptly caught in my mouth. “Thanks.”

“Neat trick.”

“Jealous?”

Cash leaned back in his chair and slung one arm across the empty space beside him as he took a sip of his beer, his eyes never left mine. “Never been jealous of a tortilla chip a day in my life. Until now.”

I pressed my thighs together under the table to stop the building, swelling ache between them and bit back a groan.

Then the gorgeous bastard laughed.

Damn him.

Chapter Two

Cash

Fucking Wagman had been burning up the road between Brently and Tacapeo for the past few days, and I knew he was up to no good. I watched that fucker slip across the border and back at least six times in the past three days, and every time his saddlebags were full to bursting. To anybody paying attention it would look as though a member of CAOS was doing the transporting, and I knew that shit was intentional. But I couldn’t do a damn thing about it because he wore an all-black leather vest with no club insignia.

I followed on my Ducati just in case I found myself in a sticky situation and needed a fast getaway. Hogs were nice, reliable, All-American bikes. But this bad boy was built for speed and precision. It was a perfect stakeout vehicle. I kept a distance between us because I knew I could catch up if I needed to—for now I just wanted to observe. And I did. I watched him bypass the unmarked entrance to one of Lazarus’ stash houses and drive another twenty miles to another stash house used by the Mexican Devils. This house was situated on the border of Ozo and Clarity, which meant he had technically broken the rules.

But watching him take cash from a young Devil I’d never seen before, I knew he was still doing dirty shit. Those packages were almost certainly drugs because the Devils were deep into heroine and coke. Legal weed across the country had put them out of the green business, and there were whispers of sex trafficking, but not even the Feds had been able to prove it. Not yet, anyway.

I hopped back on my bike and drove toward Brently, pulling over at a truck stop to update Mick. “Yeah, Wagman was by himself, but he went over the border to pick up the packages he dropped off in Clarity.”

“Shit! All right, good going, Cash. Now get your ass back here, and be careful.”

“Got it.” I shoved the phone in my pocket and pulled back onto the road, eating up the cement that would carry me home at dangerous speeds. Driving the Ducati meant I had to travel light, only two pieces, but it also gave me tremendous speed.

In my rearview I could see two bikes gaining on me, one of them belonged to Wagman. Shit. I hoped they hadn’t made me, but just in case I pressed hard on the gas and put a lot more distance between us. I was strapped, always was as a former soldier, but why risk it when it was safer to outrun them?

This time.

But Wagman and his buddy had the fires of hell powering their bikes and caught up to me, crisscrossing behind me and in front of me in an attempt to disorient me. But I’d been in worse situations with worse odds and unlike these old bastards, I was fresh from years as a SEAL and had youth on my side.

In front of me, Wagman looked back with a sneer and pulled out that weak ass black pistol he was always twirling around his fingers. With less than a second to make a decision, I pressed the gas and knocked against his back tire just as he got two shots off and skidded to a stop after about a quarter mile.

The asshole kept shooting, but lucky for me, Wagman was a shitty shot. Always had been and now when he needed to be better. He wasn’t.

The other guy slowed to a stop beside Wagman, and I finally caught a glimpse of the devil horns tattooed on his forehead identifying him as a member of the Mexican Devils. He didn’t even glance my way, so I turned the bike around and took off like a motherfuckin’ rocket. Brently here I come.

The last thing I felt like was hanging around a bunch of men, but I needed to stop at the clubhouse to debrief with Roddick and Mick. It amazed me how, in just a few short months, Mick had taken his VP role and made it mean something. Like the debriefing, it took us all back to what we’d been trained to do by the U.S. government. Though we all had our own reasons for leaving the service, Mick made us all realize we should take the good we learned and apply it.

It took ten minutes for the full debrief which included a map from memory of the drop house location in Ozo. “There was a Mexican Devil with him. Asshole didn’t draw his weapon or even look my way.”

Roddick grinned. “Good. They’re just using him as transport which means he and Rocky are on their own. No back up from the cartel. Thanks, Cash, good job.”

I accepted the clap on the back and a CAOS handshake from both men before I booked it out of the clubhouse. I loved that place, but sometimes a man just wanted to be alone. Or mostly alone, I amended after I stopped by Black Betty’s for two dinners, picked up a bottle of Jameson, and headed toward the little cottage in town Minx rented. She might be furious. I never knew what would piss off the little firecracker, but tonight I willingly risked it.

She pulled open the door and frowned. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t seem upset just confused.

But goddamn she looked so fucking sexy in tight red shorts and a matching tank that highlighted every single one of her dangerous curves. Her toes were painted silver with two rings on one toe, and fuck me she smelled like she’d showered with rose petals. Everything about her was soft and smooth and delicate. Sharp contrast considering her sharp tongue. “I came to see you,” I told her with the smile that made most women swoon. When that didn’t happen, I held up my loot. “And I brought dinner.”

She took a step back and grinned. “Next time lead with the food.” Walking down the short hall that looked to be the living room, she looked over her shoulder. “Take off your shoes.”

My eyes were glued to the round shape of her ass, looking like a question mark in profile, and I couldn’t stop staring. I knew she’d said something, but had no idea what. “Were you getting ready for bed?”