Teasing Her Seal

“You want me to see if I can detach Spokes’s arm candy?”

The fourth member of Gray’s undercover team, Ashley Dixon, wasn’t actually a SEAL—since the SEALs had yet to induct a female member. She’d been borrowed from the DEA to provide mission-critical cover, pretending to be Levi’s girlfriend. She perched on the man’s knee as if he were a chair, a skintight minidress skimming the tops of her thighs.

Gray’s phone vibrated before he could answer Ashley, and he automatically pulled it out, checking the screen. Around him, Levi and Mason did the same. Yeah. From the disbelieving looks on their faces, he knew their phones were also flashing the code word to pull out. What. The. Hell?

“You seeing what I’m seeing?” Maybe the alcohol fumes had finally done a number on his brain.

Levi nodded, looking pissed off. “We need to roll.”

Fine. He’d fall back, but first he had a detour to make. “Detach Spokes’s girlfriend. Get her out on the dance floor.”

Ashley slid off Levi’s lap. “I’ve got this.”

Busy pounding tequila shots, Spokes didn’t object when Ashley tugged the man’s lady out onto the dance floor. Ashley bumped and spun, the hem of her cocktail dress inching its way up her muscled thighs. She dipped and worked her hips in an exaggerated shimmy, and her companion flashed a smile and followed suit. Ashley looked happy, and Gray didn’t think it was an act. She enjoyed dancing and so she was seizing the moment. The awkward bump of her butt against her companion’s had them both laughing.

Levi watched the pair, a frown on his face. “Where do you think she learned to dance like that?”

“Not at Saturday ballet class.” She demonstrated a serious lack of rhythm and finesse, but her enthusiasm was contagious. Ashley had a life outside the DEA and her undercover work. He, on the other hand, was a SEAL. End of story. If he ever walked away from his team, he was nothing. A big, blank page of nothing. He didn’t have any family he’d stayed in contact with, which he could only partially blame on his work for the government. Sure, he couldn’t share the details—or anything much at all—about the covert missions, but he also hadn’t tried.

Since his inner shrink had apparently decided to work overtime, he could admit that he was hollow inside, carting around a crater-sized hole that couldn’t be filled by gunfights or the adrenaline rush of nailing a dangerous assignment. He’d tried the bar scene and the fight clubs, but the alcohol left him with a hangover, and the fight clubs gave him two broken ribs. Neither were long-term options, and at least he’d been smart enough to recognize that truth. Now he ran on empty. No love, no faith in anything but his guns and his guys, nothing to look forward to but the next time he shipped out and the next firefight.

Speaking of which, it was time to get this show on the road. Shoving to his feet, he headed toward the dance floor. His guys fell in behind him, ready to hump their asses onto a plane, fly down to Central America and take care of whatever it was that needed doing there. They were real fucking Musketeers, and that was the truth. They’d have his back, even on the dance floor, where way too many bodies did the bump and grind. Some of the dancers were pretty, others were not. He knew which category he fell into, although his face didn’t stop hands and thighs from touching him in a way that was pure invitation. He was big. He had money. And in the world of the motorcycle gang, that put him at the top of the food chain until someone else knocked him down.

“Ladies.” He inclined his head as he joined the dancing duo, and Ashley pulled him into her circle of two. Spokes’s girlfriend gave him a quick once-over, looking nervous, and darted a glance over her shoulder. Spokes must not have protested, because she stayed put. They danced silently for a moment, the music pulsing around them and vibrating through the soles of his boots, and he almost got why Ashley liked this.

The bruises on the blonde’s arms, however, were even more disturbing close-up. His own relationships might not last longer than a night, and he might need his sex raw and gritty, but hurting his partner was off-limits. No exceptions. Whether or not the US Government had enough to put the scumbag away for a few decades, the lady needed a breather. Unfortunately, while her tired eyes flitted between him and the man waiting for her at the bar, she showed no signs of heading for the door.

He put his mouth right up by her ear, making sure she had no excuse to not hear him over the pounding beat of the bar music. “Emily, you need to pick up and get the hell away from Spokes.”

Maybe she tweaked or maybe Spokes’s cash spoke louder than the man’s charming personality. Either way, breaking Spokes’s nose wouldn’t get her to the door if she didn’t want to leave. A woman had to want to walk, and she also had to be ready. He’d learned that firsthand when he’d been six. The trailer park where he’d grown up hadn’t been big on personal space or privacy. When a man and a woman fought, the neighbors heard every word, every grunt, every slap of flesh on flesh. He slipped Emily a wad of cash. Money wasn’t enough, but it was a start. She’d have to do the rest of the work herself. After a moment, she nodded and laid in a new course for the side door. With the cash, she’d have a chance, but only if she kept on walking and didn’t return home where Spokes could find her.