12. Fight to Win
Chapter 12
Fight to Win
Mensa
Crime techs were all over the place from the glimpses Mensa got every so often when the door to Whitney’s apartment would open.
He texted Monica to let her know what was happening. Overkill, according to Whitney, but if he was with the Corrupt Chrome MC, he’d have done more than just fuck up her shit if he’d broken into her place. This was a prime opportunity to leave something there.
Possibly something to help frame her…and maybe him, too.
Last night, he thought she’d been pulled into this as a coincidence – wrong place, wrong time. Now, he had a feeling she’d have been targeted regardless.
He shared that with her.
She crinkled her nose. “That seems far-fetched.”
“Do you have any ideas?” he asked.
“I figure there isn’t a reason. They did it because they could, not to frame me.”
Mensa’s lips twisted as he considered it. “You still have an FBI badge or gun in there? Any sort of credentials?”
Her patient smile made his breath catch for a moment. “The Bureau has my badge and my weapon. I have a personal gun, but it’s in a safe.”
“Key cards?” he asked.
“Access is revoked electronically, but those were returned also.”
“Okay.”
She kept quiet much longer than he expected, given the firm press of her lips. “Mensa, it’s not as far-reaching as you think it is.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t think they took the risk of ransacking your apartment for the hell of it, either. They want you to know they can get to you.”
With a throaty hum, she nodded. “That’s fair.”
He dipped his chin at her. “You’re staying at the clubhouse.”
She shook her head. “I’ll go to Aunt Nadia’s.”
He bit back a sigh. “We’ve done this song and dance, Whitney. I’m sticking by your side.”
“Fine.”
His phone chimed with a text. It was from Har.
Church. Noon. Tomorrow.
That worked.
He caught Whitney’s gaze. “You at Nadia’s shop tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll be there too, but you’re coming with me at eleven-forty-five to the clubhouse.”
Her nostrils flared with her inhale. “Mensa, I’ve already—”
“No arguments or I’ll call Nadia and convince her you need the day off.”
Her blue eyes widened. “You fight dirty.”
He grinned. “No, I fight to win.”
She scowled. “For the record, I’m letting you win… this time.”
He smiled knowingly. “Whatever you say, Blume.”
Whitney stood in front of his bed at the clubhouse, glancing around his room. “Wow. I can see why you’d give up an apartment. You got a full bar out there, someone apparently cooks, and your room is much bigger than I expected.”
Mensa cocked a brow at her. “It’s the exact same size as that hotel room.”
She threw her head back with laughter. “Far from it.”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind, inhaling her intoxicating floral perfume. “Very same square footage, woman.”
She settled her hands on his forearms. “Well, this is much better than a hotel room from what I can see.”
He unfastened the button on her shorts and made fast work of the zipper. “So much better because nobody here slams their fuckin’ doors at three-forty-five in the morning.”
She twisted in his hold before he could shove her shorts down. “I don’t know why you sound bitter about that.”
“I like my sleep,” he lied.
In truth, he owed that person huge. If it weren’t for that door waking them up, they’d never have admitted to wanting each other, they’d have gone their separate ways, and then… he shut down that line of thought.
They were here now, and he’d never felt such strong feelings about a woman.
He couldn’t tell her any time soon, but he was falling for her.
It wasn’t just the physical attraction between them, either. He loved how she didn’t take his shit, even when they both claimed to despise each other. The backbone and spunk she showed appealed to him. She surprised him at every turn, and he admired how calm she was when shit hit the fan. Riley would have lost it if she came home to a ransacked apartment, but Whitney kept it together while her home was full of crime techs.
She slid her hands up his chest, cutting into his thoughts. “I’ve yet to meet anyone over twenty-five who doesn’t like their sleep, but that look on your face tells me there’s more to it.”
He schooled his expression. “Nope. Nothing else to it, Blume. You gonna let me kiss you, or what?”
The glint in her eye captured his attention a split-second before she went up on her toes and kissed him. Much like when they were on her couch and when they were at the beach, it escalated fast.
He slid his hands around her waist and down to her ass. She arched into his hands making him hum his approval. A woman could say she liked what he did to her, but responding and showing him she liked it said so much more.
Whitney broke the kiss and nuzzled his neck. “How do you make me lose control?”
Stepping back from her, he yanked his shirt over his head. “I need to figure that out, so I can do it all the time.”
She grinned and took off her shirt.
He blinked at the sight of her pink lace bra. Her hands went behind her back, and he stopped her progress. “Don’t take this off yet. Your tits look fantastic in this bra.”
He traced his fingers along the edge of one cup. It was faint, but he saw her nipple harden beneath the lace. He circled it with his thumb.
She bit her lip. “Mensa… you’re driving me crazy.”
His eyes met hers. “Welcome to the club, Blume. You do that to me all the time.”
“Not intentionally,” she whispered.
He pulled down the cup of her bra, lowered his head, and sucked on her nipple. She drove a hand into his hair – another way he knew she loved what he did to her.
Her body wriggled, she arched her hips, and she tossed her panties on the floor.
Her cool fingers skimmed along his abs as she went for his jeans. He straightened, and took his pants off.
She pulled the sheets back on his bed and laid down. He never thought he’d have her in his bed, here at the clubhouse. Yet, everything about her being there felt exactly right.
Shit .
Seemed he had it wrong. He wasn’t falling for her… he’d already fallen.
“What are you waiting for, Kenneth?”
His hands grabbed her ankles, and he spread her legs before he climbed onto the bed. “Not a damn thing, Blume.”
He dragged two fingers through her folds and found her as wet as he expected.
Her hips jerked. “Are you teasing me?”
He lined himself up and drove inside her. “What do you think?”
Her eyes danced over his face. “I think it could go either way with you.”
He kissed her. Their tongues danced a gentle duel and Mensa’s hips moved in a steady rhythm. He made love to Whitney, even if he didn’t tell her how deep his feelings ran.
After she cleaned up, she came back to the bed, got under the covers, cuddled up next to him.
He thought she’d dozed off, and was on the verge of doing the same when she slung a leg over his thigh. “Have you extracted your head yet?”
He shot her a questioning look. “What?”
She arched a brow. “Am I annoying all the time?”
His eyes danced over her face while he grinned. “So annoying.”
She twisted and climbed on top of him. “Really? Anything else?”
He smirked while trailing his hands from her breasts down her body and around to her ass. “Not sure… think I need more data.”
She smiled. “What kind of data?”
He felt her sultry tone in his hardening cock and he licked his lower lip. “Physical data.”
With a kiss to his shoulder, she murmured, “How physical?”
“Very physical,” he said, thrusting his hips.
She reached down, lined him up, and sunk down. “I do like collecting data.”
Two minutes after twelve the next day, the brothers fell silent to listen to Har recount the shooting at Twisted Talons.
“We need to let the cops handle this,” Brute said.
Fire burned through Mensa’s torso. “Did I hear you right, Brute? We’re gonna let the Corrupt Chrome MC come into our bar and open fire? The way my questioning went yesterday, shit’s getting pointed in my direction. We have to retaliate against that, and it’s wrong that they’ve been threatening Dontrell for so long.”
Brute locked eyes with Mensa. “We’ll draw a shitload of heat if we lash out at them. As for Dontrell’s problem, we can’t police shit like that. We don’t have anything to do with that restaurant,” Brute said.
Mensa tilted his head. “No, but how long before they go for Bayou Moon Pizza? Or Tiny’s meat market?”
“Or even Twisted Talons?” Cynic chimed in. “Hell, they could be behind those vagrants who’ve been setting off our alarms.”
Brute sat back. “Fine. Point taken.”
Har wobbled his head. “Brute’s caution is well-intentioned. This will get ugly, and none of us are going to jail.”
Block tapped a pen on the table absentmindedly. “What are we gonna do? Not like we’re gonna ask for a sit-down after a direct attack.”
Cynic shook his head. “Word at Bike Week was that they’re more vicious than the Devil Lancers.”
Roman, Gamble, and Tiny nodded their heads.
Cynic continued. “Hate to mention this, but I also heard they make in-roads with street gangs. Though the idea of the Miscreants giving them an assist is ludicrous.”
Block tossed the pen onto the table. “That won’t factor. Inch will stay out of a beef between two MCs – especially since we have nothing to do with drugs any more.”
Mensa ran a hand through his hair. “Might be just the angle for us to use with Inch. He helps us, it could help him.”
Har’s lip curled up in disgust. “I don’t want to owe the Miscreants in any way if we can help it.”
Brute caught Mensa’s gaze. “You said the asshole who opened fire had the road name, Rod. We got nothing on the asshole who came after you on his bike though, right?”
“Right.”
“And the cops didn’t recover any security footage before the fire at Dontrell’s?”
Mensa shook his head. “Not to my knowledge, but I spoke to Dontrell yesterday afternoon. He’s got a security service, and he’s going to see what they can give him.”
Brute’s lips tipped up and a mischievous gleam hit his eyes. “Can your new girlfriend find out what the cops have?”
A few brothers chuckled and Mensa blew out a quiet sigh. “Not likely, but I’ll ask. She resigned, so she doesn’t have pull like she used to. I first thought she was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but my gut’s telling me she might have been targeted no matter what.”
Brute’s brows shot up. “Why would you think that?”
“Rod offered to help her find her stolen car before all hell broke loose.”
“What does Corrupt Chrome gain from targeting her? Seems like bad timing if you ask me,” Cynic said.
“Somebody tossed her apartment, but it doesn’t appear as though anything was taken. My gut says they might have done the opposite and instead planted something to frame her. And, if they did that, it could even implicate me depending on what their end goal is.”
Har stared at Mensa. “Do the detectives suspect you or her still?”
“Not to my knowledge, but I’m supposed to stay in town.”
“Do you have a plan?” Har asked.
Mensa grimaced. “I’d love to do unto them what they did to Twisted Talons and Dontrell’s restaurant, but I’m planning to approach Rod.”
Cynic’s eyes went wide. “You’re taking a brother with you, right?”
Mensa tipped his head in agreement. “My gut says Corrupt Chrome must have something to hold over Dontrell, though.”
“Or they’re threatening his weak spot,” Block suggested.
“What do you mean?”
Block looked at Mensa. “I’ve been to the location on Pass Road. There was a kid behind the counter every evening and weekend who’s Dontrell’s spitting image. You know if that’s his kid? Or maybe a nephew?”
Hollowness invaded Mensa’s chest. “Yeah, that’s his son. And if they got connections with street gangs… maybe that’s the protection Dontrell’s supposed to pay for – they’ll keep the Miscreants from luring his boy into their gang.”
Har sighed. “You don’t know that for sure, and we aren’t operating on speculation. Does this tie back to Whitney being in the FBI? Did she investigate another Corrupt Chrome MC chapter? Or possibly piss off a street gang?”
“She was assigned to a public-corruption squad, not organized crime,” Mensa said.
“It’s unlikely they’d know who she is, being undercover,” Block added.
Brute shook his head. “Seems to me we got two separate issues here. We got a club-owned business that’s shut down because of these assholes—”
Cynic pointed at Brute. “We got a tentative go-ahead to reopen tomorrow afternoon.”
Brute’s twisted his hands up. “That’s tentative, though. I agree Corrupt Chrome needs to fuckin’ pay for what they did. But all this talk about Dontrell – that’s outside of our skill set.”
Mensa twisted his hands up. “Maybe so, but if Block’s suspicion is true about Dontrell’s kid being threatened, he’s gonna need some help.”
“What about Scrap?” Block asked.
Scrap was the street name, and unofficial road name, of a kid who Tiny had taken under his wing and was now prospecting with the Riot MC.
“What about him?” Tiny asked, protectiveness threading his tone.
Block raised his hands. “He wanted to join the Miscreants not too long ago.”
Tiny’s eyes widened. “And they know he’s prospecting with us.”
Block’s tone became patient. “Yeah, but he may still have connections he could reach out to about Dontrell and his son.”
“Even if there’s a threat, what can we do about it?” Tiny asked.
Mensa shifted in his seat. “We make it known we’re Dontrell’s protection.”
“Cops ought to be his protection,” Two-Times said.
Mensa fought rolling his eyes. “That’s worked out real well so far.”
“Did he report the other confrontations?” Two-Times pushed.
Mensa sighed. “Didn’t ask.”
Block snatched up his pen and tapped it against the table. “Not sure it matters, Two-Times. If he didn’t, he probably doesn’t trust the police to take him seriously. If he did report it, he’s got every reason to wonder if the cops took him seriously. It’s a catch twenty-two all around.”
Two-Times didn’t exactly frown, but the set of his lips made it clear he wasn’t happy with Block’s response.
Mensa shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Two. It’s not like I’m asking you to stake out any of Dontrell’s properties. We all know you got kids at home, and I wouldn’t ask you to put yourself at risk like this.”
“Yeah, but if you drop shifts at Twisted Talons it’ll be me who has to carry your load.”
“You don’t know that yet,” Cynic said.
Har cleared his throat. “Before you put word on the street that we’re protecting Dontrell, have Scrap check with people he used to hang with – if they’ll even talk to him. Give that a day or two. Also gives us more time to find out what’s going on. A couple of men who worked with my Dad haven’t retired from the fire department, I’ll see if they’ll share any details about the arson investigation. We’ll meet again in two days.”