Storm: (Blood Legion MC) (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 3) (4 page)

Her cool reply made me all hot inside. I groaned, mashing my hand to my forehead.

I needed a fucking cigarette.

And for this bird to land.

Sandwiching myself back against the window, I relented. “So, what’s our cover?”

“I’m your old lady.”

I swung my head around and almost had to throttle my cock. “You mean—”

“We’re a couple. Lovers.”

Oh. Shit.

So I spent the remainder of the flight fidgeting in my seat. Fantasizing. Wondering how much
role play
would be necessary to convince the crew our relationship was real.

I was pretty sure during that last hour wicked thoughts showed on my face, unveiled and very fucking real.

Blaize didn’t know what she was in for.

I couldn’t wait to show her.

Safe As Houses . . . Riiiight

IT WAS NIGHTTIME BY the time we landed in New Orleans. Blaize had arranged a safe house in the Faubourg Lafayette division we quickly took a taxi to. She kept our location central and totally locked down.

Inside the secured house, our supplies waited for us. I checked the premises in case we’d been tagged, tapped, or made while she ensured all the window blinds were drawn tight.

Then we went to work, unearthing our secret resources. Two burner cells hidden beneath the loose floorboards to be used only in cases of
we’re about to die, come collect our corpses
emergencies. Extra firepower in the form of semi-auto machine guns, smoke canisters, grenades, and prewired explosives, in case extreme measures were needed. Extensive first aid kits including skin glue, IV fluids, cauterized medical instruments, gauze, tape, morphine pills—everything needed for a field triage.

All of these were in place because there was no contingency plan.

Blaize and I had to get this right, and we had to make sure we didn’t get played in the process.

We took our duffels to separate rooms. Inside the canvas bags were our disguises, although mine was more like an authentic coming home. Leathers. Motorcycle boots. My cut. Sleeveless shirts. Jeans.

I couldn’t wait to see what Blaize had brought.

Fucking hell.
She was gonna pose as my old lady, and there was no telling how long this mission would last.

If I didn’t get to fuck her, my nads were definitely gonna turn purple. Unless I found some other broad to get me off.

I dressed quickly in the leather pants, a muscle shirt, and shoved my feet into the boots. Holstering one Sig at my hip, tucking the other at the back of my pants, I sheathed a knife at my thigh and the other inside my boot.

After raking my fingers through my hair, I stomped out into the main room of our safe haven.

Blaize was already waiting.

I almost stopped breathing, and the sawed off shotgun in my hand nosedived until it went muzzle to the floor.

Hot shock at seeing her dressed as an MC babe travelled down to the balls of my feet and straight back up to the balls in my pants.

Swiping a hand over my face, I shook my head.

Yup. Blue balls. Coming right this way.

Blaize. Blaize. Blaize.

Fuckity-fuck.

Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders, framing her face. Glints of gold worked through the thick red mane that rippled in waves. She hadn’t rimmed her eyes in black rings, as was motorcycle-babe trend 101. In fact, it looked like all she’d done was gloss her lush lips in deep shiny lickable red. Sex-red. Fuck-red. To go with the hair, no doubt.

Her tight leather skirt was short enough I could probably see right up it if she bent over. Hoped I got that chance. Black boots with big silver buckles and super high heels encased her legs all the way to her knees—above that? Bare skin. A whole luscious landscape of naked thighs. On top she wore a leather vest that cinched in at the waist, plunged low between her tits, and was all held together with suede laces.

By the time my lust-stunned gaze traveled back to her big blue eyes, she’d completed her own inspection of me. My body tingled wherever her gaze had landed—my shoulders bulging with big muscles, my groin snug in the obscenely tight leathers, the black stubble on my chin and cheeks.

Seconds passed while we stood rooted to the floor only a few steps away from one another.

I tore my eyes away.

“Well”—I rubbed a hand over my mouth—“that certainly ain’t a power suit.”

Fuck. Me. Hard.

“I take it I pass muster.” Blaize ran her fingers through her hair.

I nodded.
Uh huh. Uh huh. Uh huh.
More than passed muster. She was well on her way to getting fucked with that vest ripped open and the skirt rucked up to her hips.

I swallowed.

Sauntering to me, Blaize leaned up and placed her hand on my cheek. “You ready for this, Storm?”

I wanted to kiss the glossy lipstick clean off of her mouth.

Leaning back, I let my eyes rove all over her again.

Grabbing her hand—instead of her ass—I said, “Oh yeah. I’m ready.”

Hell yeah.
I was starting to get into this whole role reversal cover story. Me the dominant. Blaize the subordinate. She had no idea what she was in for.

Outside, my bike waited, fine-tuned, fuckin’ hot, and ready.

“Where’s mine?” Blaize pulled her hand from me.

I chuckled, sitting on the Harley chopper night train with the massive ape hanger handlebars. “Hey, lady. You’re the one who organized this op. You forget one of the details?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

Nice.

Push those ripe puppies out a little bit more for me.

I nearly leaned forward to grab some of her tit flesh between my teeth. I wanted to run my tongue from her collarbone to her cleavage—and then inside.

“Seems there’s no bike for you.” I shrugged. “Your bad. So unless you wanna walk a bunch of city blocks, you probably oughtta hop on.”

She started marching off, the heels snicking on pavement, her hips swinging in the sinful skirt.

I caught up in two long strides, reaching an arm around her waist.

She whipped her head back. “I’m still carrying a weapon.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“I’m
still
your boss.”

“Well, not in this scenario.”

“I want my own ride.”

A smirk sliding up my lips, I pumped my hips forward. “Got one for you right here.”

“A motorcycle!” But her eyes skimmed down my body.

“Oh no. For the purposes of this mission you’re a road hummer.
My
road hummer. Got it?”

She was getting ready to go off on me with that famous smart mouth of hers.

I towed her back to the Harley and stuck a brain bucket on her head. “But we can probably secure you a car if you want.”

“I’m going to write you up on so many levels of insubordination once this is over.” Blaize fumed.

Laughing with my head thrown back, I straddled the bike. “
Cher
. You’re the one who wanted in on this. Remember? Get on and hold tight.”

She mounted the beefy chopper. I gripped the ape hangers. She curled her arms around my waist, slinging complaints the whole damn time.

Thunder Road

I SPED THROUGH THE streets, dodging drunk fucks stumbling from side to side nursing tall plastic glasses of 100 percent proof neon green alcohol. Beaded necklaces rained down from wrought iron galleries, caught by pedestrians tanked up to their eyeballs. Chicks lifted their shirts and shook their braless tits. Blues music and rock-a-billy tunes overflowed from bars that
overflowed
with folks onto the sidewalks.

In certain areas of the Crescent City, Mardi Gras took place three hundred and sixty-five days a years.

Blaize stayed alert, but she hugged me around the waist. Her thighs rode up against mine and her breasts pressed against my back. Her breath hit my neck—hot and ragged.

NOLA nightlife. This area was garish. A tourist destination that showcased the good and the bad. It wasn’t exactly my Cajun heritage. But it
was
alive. It vibed.

It made me hammer down and throttle through the streets.

The closer we got to Central City, the rougher the element became.

Fistfights spilled onto the streets from dive bars.

Cagey characters stood in half shadows at the mouths of alleyways, selling drugs, titty shows, hookers.

Gunshots sounded in the distance. Police sirens wailed through the night. Storefronts closed for the day with black iron cages locked down over cracked windows. In other areas there were no windows, just boarded up plywood to cover empty holes in buildings.

“When we get in there you let me do the talkin’. Hear?” I shouted back to Blaize.

She nodded.

But I wondered how fucking long that would last.

The woman who was used to giving the orders was about to step into testosterone central and macho overdrive.

Pulling up in front of Thunder Road Bar, I slid my chopper into a spot sandwiched in a long line of lean, mean, black Harleys. I took off my helmet, unstraddled, and helped Blaize from my ride. She took my hand, squeezing it once, ultimately sending new forbidden sensations ricocheting through my body.

Too aware of how snug my leather pants were around that one area of my anatomy that needed no further encouragement from her to plump up—trying to get my head in the game and out of the gutter—I flashed Blaize an insolent grin before hanging our helmets on the handlebars.

The ramshackle palace built of sandstone that rose three-stories high had seen better days—back in the grand old brass band era. The structure housing the Thunder Road Bar, a semi-legit biz fronting the Blood Legion’s illegal activities, was only a tiny bit improved from the surrounding ’hood.

Outside, an old man, as dark as tar with a shock of white hair on his head, stepped from his sidewalk barbeque pit.

“We got dem ribs. Dis here be da gumbo. Corn pone and special rice, dem’s da specials
too-night
.” He started his spiel then stopped with an eye-widening look at me. “Sto—”

I walked quickly up to him. “
Shhh.
” With a hand on the back of his neck, I steered him to a dark corner. “I’m a
fantôme
.”

“I don’ see you?” He blinked up at me before looking around me at Blaize.

“Not yet. But you save us some of that there barbeque, yeah?”

He nodded. A second later he was back at the pit, calling out, “Solomon got dem best ribs in da Delta! Come an’ git some. Smack yo lips like dat!”

Reasonably sure Blaize and I were still flying under the radar, I guided her into the building. I inhaled the once-familiar smells. Cigarette and pot smoke. Easy pussy. Cheap liquor. I kept my arm around Blaize’s waist, navigating into the smoke-clouded barroom done up in velvet reds and dark purples and shards of broken beer bottles underfoot from one or more earlier brawls.

Suffice to say the Legion didn’t kowtow to the municipal code of ordinances.

The place was packed. Music pounded from speakers. Women dressed to draw attention draped themselves over Legion denizens who sharpened shiny knife blades, counted machine gun mags on tabletops, and threw back shots by the bottle.

As soon as the door banged closed behind us all eyes swung in our direction.

Reaching into my pocket, I drew out my cigs. I lit up, blew a couple rings, squinted through the haze.

“Can I get a beer?” I looked at the babe behind the bar.

Her half shirt barely covered the undersides of her tits. I added a wink to my order, and she hurried to comply.

A man stood from one of the back tables. His face, illuminated beneath the dim overhead light choked by cigarette smoke, looked like a Freddy Krueger mask.

Burn, here and accounted for.

The bar chick hipped over and handed me the beer. She swept her fingers across my lips, clearly sending me the
come fuck me later
message.

Blaize pushed her shoulders back, going tit for tit. She looked like she wanted to chew through the babe’s fingers.

Good.

She’d need that attitude in order to make it out of here alive.

I took a good swallow before passing the longneck to Blaize. She drank in deep draughts before handing the beer back.

Holding the bottle between two loose fingers, I dragged Blaize to me. Her eyes hit mine and lowered. Her hand massaged my chest, and she parted her lips.

I took her mouth completely, wrapping her in my arms.

Part of me was on mission. Part of me was completely bound up in savage passion for this woman. I teased her cool tongue into my mouth, warming it with mine.

She moaned, eating at my mouth, drawing me closer with her hands at my neck.

“Made that bitch step off.” Blaize drew back, glancing at the swinging hips of the retreating bar chick.

“
Cher
, you can get possessive over me any time you like.” I bent for another taste of her lips, but Burn centered himself in front of us.

In fact, when I looked up, the whole fucking rotten-to-the-core-crew encircled us, watching us—the intruders in their midst.

Only the bald dude called Venom held back—the prez. He stroked a Super Blackhawk with his palm, the long barrel pointed loosely in my direction.

Burn ranged closer. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t Nash LaFontaine. Come home to roost and with his very own bird.”

And so I’d been made. That time on purpose. As a former ranking member of the Blood Legion, I was about to get shaken down. Blaize looked appropriately shocked, but she already knew the score. My past time served with the Blood Legion MC was our ticket in. Or our black tag out.

Kouto pulled himself from a nearby stool. All six foot six of him cast a dark shadow across me.

His deep voice thundered out. “And who this be?”

“My old lady, Blaize.”

The men in the bar checked her out, whistling between their teeth, making crude comments. A few even dared to step close enough to lay hands on her. Snaking a finger to her waist, playing with her hair, reaching toward the laces of her vest.

Tossing her hair back, Blaize met each creep with a slight curl to her lips.

“You wanna lose that hand, asshole?” I addressed the nearest dickwad, my eyes narrow slits of blue menace.

Even more of a warning than my low tone was the KA-BAR I reached for at my thigh. “Won’t be no good on a bike with only one hand. Fuckin’ one-grip wonder, but I’d be happy to oblige.”

The closest losers backed slightly off, but that didn’t mean they were gonna let it die. Lion’s Den? Fuck that. Blaize and I had just stepped into the
real
Viper Pit, and I knew from past experience our minutes could be numbered.

Without doubt, coming back into the MC was a massive risk. Life threatening. These cold-hearted killers had lost all respect for me.

“Blaize. ’Cause of that hair, right,
cous
? Does the rug match the curtains?” Venom sauntered to the forefront, tucking his revolver into the back of his pants.

The gathered dudes chuckled at his remark.

“Where’d you pick up a sweet piece like her?” As Venom advanced, the others fell in behind him.

“Sent out a bunch of love letters from the cage. She wrote back. Worked better than eHarmony.” I flashed a grin.

More laughter surrounded us until Venom slowly clapped his hands. “Always were a smartass.”

The prez distinguished himself from the other marauders by keeping his head clean-shaved—a shiny skull tatted with the MC emblem. A skeletal face with the bloody bullet hole instead of an empty eye socket. Gold rings—chunky and solid—circled his fingers, and every visible stretch of his skin was covered in ink. In his late forties, Venom seemed to have kept up the weight-lifting regime because his body was muscle overload.

He looked exactly like what he was. A man itching for a fight, preferably one ending in a bloodbath.

I cinched Blaize closer to my side, taking a last drag of my cigarette before dropping it and crushing it underfoot.

“No need to get territorial on her,
brah
. Not until you’ve proved you got the right.” Venom smiled like a cobra waiting to strike.

“I already proved that. With her.”

The circle got closer, including hard-faced women who tossed insults at Blaize:

Cherry-whore.

Blowrider.

Sissy bar bitch.

Drawing herself up beside me, Blaize unsheathed a dagger. “You think? I ain’t here to do sleepovers or braid hair, you ignorant cocksluts. I’m here for one reason only.
My man.
So shut the fuck up and get outta my face before I peel the fake eyelashes of y’all with my friendly knife here.”

I got an instant boner, watching Blaize run all over the legendary Legion women.

She waved the blade around before pointing it at a cake-faced, streaked-hair, long-nailed lady. “By the way, Nine Inch Nails is a band, baby. Not the latest trend for manicures.”

The men roared with laughter. The chicks looked around, confused by the balls Blaize had shown. It was then I noticed one person in particular was missing from the crowd.

But not for long.

A high-pitched shriek sent shivers down my spine, and the hair at the back of my neck stood up on end.

And here we go.

I braced myself.

In three. Two. One . . .

“Nash LaFontaine is
MY MAN!
”

Ahhh, Christ.

Nikki hadn’t changed one single bit. That mouth on her had only been good for one thing. Some serious blowjobs.

She struck forward from the back of the room on high heels that pounded the floor. Everyone parted in front of her, opening a lane that led right to me.

And Blaize.

Halting in front of us, Nikki pulled her hand back and smacked me across the face with a blow that had two years worth of
You Fucking Dickhead
behind it.

My ears rang a little, which was a good thing because she laid right in with the jabbing of her finger on my chest and the jabbering from her mouth.

Nikki
. My number one Legion broad. Used to be. Back then. At the time she’d been useable, disposable, and pretty good in the sack.

Apparently she thought I was gonna marry her or something.

At least that was the gist I got when I tuned back into her caterwaulin’. Not my fault hearts got broken; it’d just been part of the job.

When her shout got so loud I thought my ears were gonna bleed, I grabbed the back of her neck. “You about done yet, Nik?”

“You left me!”

“Not how I remember it.” I surveyed her quickly while she fumed in front of me.

She was still a hot piece with her long blonde hair and petite figure, but something in her had turned brittle. And she was nothing but the faint flicker of a burned-down candle compared to Blaize.

Nikki coiled back, hissing, “You replaced me.”

“Two years is a long time. Don’t tell me you’ve been a friggin’ nun.”

“But I loved you.”

Fucking sigh.

The backlash of UC work—other people getting too involved. That was why I wholeheartedly supported the WITSEC program. Get what you needed from folks, pack ’em off to the government handlers, never hear from them again.

Amen.

Meanwhile, Blaize watched the entire scene with one eyebrow arched.

I released Nikki. “Those days are over. Time for a new era.”

“A new era? Is that what you call your new pussy?” she screamed.

“Enough!” Venom stomped forward and backhanded Nikki without so much as a warning.

Fuck
.

A muscle clamped tight in my jaw. My fists balled. I wanted to lay Venom out flat for putting his hands on a woman. Any woman. But I couldn’t.