Dirty Ties

A fist shot out from my left, slamming into Baldy’s jaw and dislodging the knife.

My hand went for my throat, the other for my gun, as he sprawled across the ground and cupped his nose. Blood spurted between his fingers, his wide-eyed glare locked on the blur lunging at him again. A blur of long, lean, enraged masculinity.

The owner of the unerring fist moved with lethal ferocity, black leather encasing the hard lines of his body. A body I’d recognize anywhere.

7

Kaci

I didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, afraid I’d miss the black helmet, black boots, and lightning-fast fist that was now pounding the ever-loving shit out of Baldy’s face. I was dreaming, and oh sweet Jesus, what an exquisite dream.

Wake up.

I shook myself from the paralyzed stupor and drew the .40 cal from my back, flicked off the safety, and strode toward the wrestling bodies.

Sirens screamed past the alley, the roar of motorcycles vibrating the ground and bellowing in my ears. Baldy lay on his back, swinging his fists and nailing shots on Evader’s stomach, ribs, and throat.

My pulse rushed past my ears, and the gun shook in my hands. I lined up the sights and aimed the barrel at Baldy’s bloody face. “Hands above your head.”

I cringed at my quivering voice, but I did know how to use a gun. Collin and I shot targets at the range a few times a year. And fuck, I wanted to apply what I’d practiced.

Baldy raised his arms and interlaced his fingers on his head. Yeah, he’d done this before.

Evader knelt over him, his strength visible in the stretch of the jacket over his back and shoulders. His helmet cocked, angled in my direction. “I had this.”

Oh my God, his voice. Okay, it was definitely synthesized, his timbre humming with an electronic overlay, but it was deep and gravelly and so goddamned sexy.

Pull yourself together, Kaci. He was far more dangerous than the man who just attacked me.

“Get out of here.” I nodded to the street behind me, and as if on cue, another squad car zoomed by. “I’ll hold him until you’re gone.”

What was I saying? I didn’t want him to leave.

I thought I heard a chuckle, but couldn’t be sure with the whine of sirens and exhaust pipes. He looked back at Baldy, swung an arm, and knocked him out. Damn. Okay, that worked too.

I lowered the gun. “You won the race?”

“Of course.” He rose and erased the distance between us in three strides.

My nerves shivered, overloaded and amped up, and oh God, he was just standing there, heating the air around me, staring at me. What did he want? I opened my mouth to spew a gushing thank you.

He snatched the gun from my hand.

What the? “Give that ba—”

He lifted my chin and stroked a gloved finger over the nicks on my throat. Each caress irritated the cuts, but I didn’t want him to stop. He raised the finger in front of my visor, blood soaking the leather tip. “Have you learned your lesson?”

His voice reverberated through me, and my knees weakened. Even with the electronic distortion, he sounded pissed.

My heart panted, and a throb swelled, hot and needy, between my legs. All because of a pissed-off synthesized voice? I might’ve just swallowed my self-respect, but I couldn't help it. My body had one mission, and that mission vibrated against me like he wanted to tear me in half. Damn me to hell, but my inner muscles clenched at the thought.

I touched my throat and flinched at the bite of pain. “It’s just a scratch.”

The reflection of my helmet in his visor wavered as he shook his head. He gazed down on me as if he were…considering something? God, I wished I could see his face, his eyes.

His finger returned to my throat, trailed a path beneath my chin, lifting it and catching on the edge of the helmet. He tugged it, like he wanted to rip off the shield and see my eyes, too. “Get on your bike, sweetheart.”

He flicked the safety on the gun and gripped my shoulders, turning my body to face the bike. Both bikes. His and mine side-by-side. Oh, how I loved the sight of that.

His fingers touched my hip, slipping beneath my jacket to stroke my bare skin. I trembled against the brush of his glove, until he opened his mouth. “This is your last race.”

The temperature in my helmet rose by ten degrees, and my cheeks inflamed. I glared at him over my shoulder. “Excuse me?”

Smack. A stinging jolt of fire rippled over my ass, and I shuffled forward. He fucking hit me! I placed my hands on the bike’s seat, and unbidden, a grin took hold of my face. He fucking spanked me.

His hands returned to my hips, lifting the hem of the jacket. Then he wriggled the gun beneath my waistband. “Go.”