“You’re fucking amazing,” he murmured.
I could feel the warmth of his breath and the gentle thump thump of his heart against mine, and emotion like nothing I’d ever known bloomed in my chest. I closed my eyes, sinking further into my contentment, intoxicated with it.
I’m falling for him.
My eyes flicked open.
Wait. No. What the fuck am I doing?
I shifted beneath him and he rolled off me with a satisfied sigh.
But with the heat of our passion gone, the stark cold winter of my reality slipped in, bringing all the bad, uneasy feelings with it.
Needing a moment, I slipped from the bed and made my way to the bathroom, Bull’s cum now sticky on my thighs.
After taking care of business, I stood at the sink and stared at myself in the mirror and asked myself again…what the fuck was I doing?
BULL
With Taylor finally in my bed, the sexual tension and pent-up frustration was gone. Replaced with the most amazing sex of my life. It also gave me a brief but blissful reprieve in the relentless pursuit for my arch nemesis.
The latest intel on Gimmel Martel suggested he had set up a secret distribution vein for a new supply of cocaine. It was possible he had found a new supplier while hiding in the murky depths of his exile. Anything was possible when you had cash. That was another good reason to dry up each and every one of his income streams.
According to our source, Martel had a truck passing through our county once a month, heading to various locations throughout the country.
We found one of the trucks on a quiet stretch of road between Destiny and Humphrey, heading toward the I-55 highway.
At first the driver took a little convincing to stop. Riding in front of him and forcing him to slow wasn’t going to work. He showed us that when he nudged the back of Cool Hand’s bike and almost sent him off the road into a ditch.
Same with Tully and Hawke when they tried the same maneuver.
He was prepared to rundown anyone who got in his way.
Which told me he didn’t want us getting our hands on that truck at any cost.
So Yale and I pulled over to the side of the road, and Yale climbed on my bike before we took off in a plume of dust and rocks to catch up to the others.
We roared past the other Kings until we were lined up beside the passenger door. I had no fucking idea if this was going to work. And if I was a betting man, I would probably hate our odds. But Yale was crazy enough to try, and because I was more determined than ever to stop that fucking truck, I was willing to let him.
The trick was to get my bike close enough to the truck and keep it there. Of course, the driver tried swerving us off the road a few times, but he had so many Kings buzzing around him on their bikes, he spread himself too thin trying to keep us all away from him.
While he was preoccupied with Cade and Ruger on the other side, I lined us up and a seven-foot Yale was able to grip onto the door handle and get himself onto the step.
Once he was inside the truck, the driver didn’t stand a chance, and the truck came to a shaky, screeching halt.
I pulled up behind it and unlatched the back doors, swinging them open with the help of Maverick. Inside, there were crates stacked from floor to ceiling with the words Coffee Beans stamped on the outside. I hauled myself up, and using a tire iron I found secured to the wall, cracked open one of the crates. They were jammed full of plastic bags. Taking my knife from the sheath on my hip, I stabbed several of them open, and watched little brown coffee beans spill from the wounds.
Fuck!
The last time we hijacked one of Martel’s trucks, he’d hidden his coke in a secret compartment of the crate. But a thorough search of these crates revealed nothing.
Motherfucker!
I carved my hand through my hair and thought about our next move. There was something on this truck. There had to be.
Ruger joined me in the back and we started to unload the crates, handing them to the others.
“Let’s get every one of these crates out and split them open. There’s something in here, and we’re going to tear this truck apart until we find it.”
It turned out we didn’t need to search for long. We were only a few crates in when we saw it.
The black abyss behind the wall-to-ceiling crates of coffee.
“Fucking hell.” I looked over at Ruger. “You better call Bucky.”
There were sixteen of them chained to the walls, their ages ranging from early teens to mid-twenties. They were dirty, dehydrated and very, very frightened. A few were unconscious, passed out from exhaustion and starvation. I knelt down next to one of them, a girl who couldn’t have been any more than sixteen. Her skin was bruised and scratched, her wrists and ankles purple and green from being bound for God knows how long. Christ, what has happened to these girls? She woke up and stiffened with fear when she saw me.