Page 23 of Loving Smoke

My father had arranged for me to use her house in Tijuana in case anyone asked questions about where I lived. Or like tonight when an outlaw biker insisted on taking me home.

Smoke’s overall concern floored me. A reaction I hadn’t expected from a biker, no less someone I was supposed to hate—someone I did hate.

As expected my phone lit up with my father’s number and I swiped at it.

“I understand the night was a success.” My father didn’t believe in cordial openings.

“Everything went as planned although you might want to check on the guy who grabbed me. He ended up leaving with two gunshot wounds.”

“Not an issue. Those men were expendable that’s why I sent them.”

I’d been dealing directly with my father setting up this scheme soon after my mother was shot. The original plan was to infiltrate the Bastards at their San Diego clubhouse, but then the plan changed. Smoke’s clubhouse was raided by an undercover DEA agent and him and Blood were banished to Tijuana. My father called it a stroke of luck and God’s will. How the man could invoke the supreme being after all his transgressions was beyond me, but somehow my father always thought he was in the right. Narcissism at its finest.

The Royal Bastards in Tijuana meant Rico could come from a position of power on his home turf with an army of people at his disposal.

“What I really want to know is what happened afterward?”

“After the gunfight on the sidewalk, Smoke came to my rescue. He insisted on taking me home. Even walking me to the door which of course I didn’t allow. I told him I lived with my very strict father.”

“Perfect. This is coming along exactly as expected.”

I left out the part how Smoke’s strong muscled arms made me feel safe and protected. A feeling I’d rarely experienced since my mother’s death. A sensation I missed desperately and needed to shut down if I was to do this job correctly.

I even got to play the Romeo and Juliet theme. What was more desirable than a woman who was forbidden. Knowing Smoke’s reputation with women would make me impossible to resist. The unattainable fruit like in the Garden of Eden. Only in this parable Adam was an outlaw biker who Eve would deceive and the snake was a cartel chieftain.

When I entered the club through the back door it was quiet, too quiet for one a.m. The place should’ve vibrated with people and pounding music, not closed up.

Ricky and some of the bouncers were cleaning up the broken bottles of booze, but the whole thing was bullshit. Since we emptied the registers every hour they didn’t get away with much and the damage being cleaned up didn’t amount to anything. Typical smash and grab of desperate junkies or a setup by Sandoval to rattle us. A pussy move in an effort to show us who’s boss. Little did Sandoval know, it would take way more to mess with us.

I stood outside the closed door of my office and weighed my options. Go upstairs and deal with Blood in the morning or barge into the office full of fuckin’ attitude and back him down about any bullshit he’d throw my way. And there would be bullshit, for sure. First he’d rag on me for taking Marisol home or even getting involved in the first place and then—Ahhh, fuck it.

When I shouldered through the door, Blood turned to face me. His features were tight, his jaw and the vein in his neck ticking in time with each other.

Spreading my arms wide I opened myself up for his wrath, both mentally and physically. Not what I wanted to do after a gunfight on the street and denying my cock what it really wanted.

“So, is little Miss Marisol home safely?”

I absolutely hated when Blood did passive-aggressive—a term I learned from a shrink in the joint. I would’ve rather he punched me in the gut. That I understood, that I could repay.

“Just say what you wanna say.” I was right the first time. Should’ve just gone up to my room and locked the fuckin’ door.

“You don’t really wanna hear what I have to say. Cause you don’t listen anyway.”

“For shit’s sake, she’s twenty-two years old and she was held at gunpoint. I hadda do something for her. And while we’re on that subject, how the fuck did you let four guys toting guns get the jump on you?”

Best defense was a fucked up offense, right?

“Cause they did everything right. They showed the bouncers their IDs, bought drinks, threw some cash at the dancers, then it all fell to shit.”

“So, it wasn’t a smash and grab by spun out tweakers. It was organized.”

“Absolutely. Too organized.”

“Sandoval’s guys.”

“Most likely.” Blood cocked his head. “Did you fuck her?”

“Shiit, man, stay on topic.” Of course, Blood would go there. I’d just calmed my angry cock down and now those words alone got the damn thing riled up again.

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