Page 13 of Pulse

He shut that shit down fast.

“Oh, Max, we’ve known exactly where you’ve been every second of every day since you betrayed your country.”

He snorted. “I didn’t betray my country. I quit my low-paying government job after a traumatic undercover role. I won’t be the last to do that, and I certainly wasn’t the first.” He tilted his head and smirked. “Did it hurt your feelings? When I left, that is. I know you had a little thing for me.”

Annoyance flashed in her gaze, and Pulse bit his lip to keep from cheering. He might have left law enforcement behind him, but he still knew how to ask a question that would get under someone’s skin. After the shitty past hour, it felt good to have a few seconds of power in this fucked-up situation.

“You’re kidding yourself if you think I—”

“What the hell does the DEA want with a beat-up hooker?”

As though he’d hit her with a happiness wand, her annoyance transformed into glee. “Absolutely nothing,” she said, her grin so wide he could practically see her molars. Had she been a child, she’d have bounced in the seat and squealed in delight.

Fuck.

“But we are very interested in outlaw motorcycle clubs, Max. So interested, we now have a task force dedicated to taking all you criminals down. You’ll meet the agent in charge soon enough, but I wanted to be the one to deliver the news.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, you’ve wasted a shitload of your time dragging your ass here. We don’t traffic drugs. If you’d done five seconds of research, you’d have learned that. Guess you better crawl on back to DC and disappoint the agent in charge.”

Good riddance.

“Not so fast, Max. This is a joint task force across alphabet agencies. I’m just the lucky one who got to pick the team.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’d like to make you an offer.”

“No.”

She plowed on as though he hadn’t spoken. “Funnel us information on your club, the mother charter in Tennessee, and other clubs yours works with, and we’ll—”

“Fuck off.”

Her eyes narrowed, the first crack in her arrogant armor. “Okay, fine. It’s not an offer. You give us what we need, or you spend the next chunk of your life in prison for beating Alicia Minor near to death. Poor thing. She’s just trying to make a living in any way she can. Did you know she’s a mother?” Dixon tsked. “Juries do not look kindly on men who violently assault young mothers.”

What a fucking monster.

He’d been away from federal law enforcement long enough to have forgotten how dirty they were willing to play. But not long enough to ever be willing to participate in this charade.

He stood, pressing his cuffed hands to the table. “Fuck. Off.”

Dixon grinned. “I’ll give you a little time to think. Imagine how your club will feel when they discover you were a DEA agent for a decade. If a big dude named Bubba doesn’t take you out in prison, I imagine your club’s president will. He sure seems to have a dislike of law enforcement.”

If they were anywhere else, he’d reach across the table and wrap his hands around her scrawny throat, squeezing until her face turned purple and her eyes bugged. But the camera winking at him from the corner kept him from losing his shit.

“I’ll say it one more time,” he announced in as threatening a voice as he could muster. “Fuck. Off.”

Dixon opened her mouth to speak again, but the door opened.

“Sit the fuck down!” McGee shouted as he rushed in, making Pulse shift his focus from Dixon.

The detective stood in the open doorway with his weapon drawn. A woman stood next to him, frowning.

For fuck’s sake.

Wallace appeared, shoving past her partner. “You heard the detective,” she added in a sharp tone. “Sit your ass back down.”

Pulse shifted his gaze to the woman he didn’t know. His gut tightened when their gazes met. Goddamn, she was a stunner. Call him a cliché, but a pretty woman all buttoned up in a professional outfit was sexy as hell. He’d love to mess her the fuck up, starting with that long, slick ponytail.

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