Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
“Is it true that hot redhead is a Fed?”
Cass sat at the bar, his booted feet on the floor, his ass on the old stool, and a cold beer bottle gripped in his hand. At the low question, his head turned to the right.
A biker was beside him. Not MC affiliated. At least, not wearing any obvious signs or sporting obvious tats. Cass didn’t know the prick. Youngish, maybe early twenties, shaved hair on the right side. Dark hair. A patchy beard covering his jaw.
“Do I know you?” Cass asked bluntly.
The guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Name’s River. I, um, was here at The Bottomless Pit the other night. Saw you take out that SOB with the knife.” A low whistle. “You’re one hell of a fighter.”
Cass grunted. “Had to be. Either I kicked the shit out of my enemies when I was a kid, or I would have been in the ground.” Enough chit-chat. This River guy was a hanger-on. There for the fury. The second-hand adrenaline.
Hell, maybe River had picked up on the whispers. He’d heard that others were pissed at Cass because he’d screwed a Fed. Maybe River thought he was about to see a serious battle go down.
“Is it true…” The kid leaned closer. “That you took out your own uncle? Your father?”
Did it look like he had the patience for this bullshit? Cass reached out and grabbed the little prick by his collar. “Ask me another question,” Cass told him, “and I will put a knife in your heart. Sound fun?”
“OhmyGod.” A whimper.
“Get the hell out of here.” Cass shoved him back.
River jumped up from his stool and scuttled across the bar. He glanced back, twice, and almost tripped three times.
Cass took another swig of his beer. He did not have time to deal with idiots or wannabes. He had to get his head in the freaking game because the show was about to start.
Same bar, different night. Yep, he was back at his favorite crash site, The Bottomless Pit. The same bar he’d been inside when Agnes had first sashayed her sexy self into his world.
Come back to me, Agnes.
He was waiting for her. He hadn’t seen her since the showdown at the FBI office. A new day—and now, night—had dawned. The big scene was about to go down. He was so ready for this scene to be done.
Members of his MC were there. Other groups. Lots of watchful eyes. The perfect, public place. And it was about to be turned into utter chaos.
I just want Agnes. I want my hands on her. I want her to be mine.
Because she wouldn’t be safe, not until everyone knew that she didn’t have allegiance to the Feds any longer. That her only allegiance was to him.
He turned toward the bar. Time ticked slowly past.
How the hell did I wind up here?
Maybe he could have gone down a different path, a lifetime ago. But that ship had long since sailed.
Whispers. Mutters. The faint tap, tap, tap of heels. Because, sure, why wouldn’t she wear sexy heels again?
“Cass.” Her voice. Husky. Warm. Seductive.
He took another swig of the beer. He didn’t face her. Not yet.
“Cass.” Urgency. “You need to leave this place. Now. They’re coming.”
Taking his time, he put the beer down. Then he turned toward her.
Black top. Black pants. High heels. A cute little bag on her shoulder. She looked sexy and feminine. Not the hard-ass FBI agent. Her hair had been pulled back into some kind of twist. Her features were delicate, beautiful.
“Don’t think you should be here,” he said. The words weren’t rehearsed. There was no rehearsal. No script. He knew what was going down, yeah, but getting from point A to point B…
I’m gonna wing it.
He truly meant what he’d said, though. She shouldn’t be there. She still had a chance to end this game. Now. Before it was too late.
But she rushed toward him and closed those few feet that had been between their bodies. Her hands lifted. Her soft palms pressed against the stubble on his cheeks. “This bar is about to be raided.” A very clear announcement.
In response to her announcement, chairs scraped across the floor. Boots thudded for the exits.
He didn’t move.
Her lips pulled down. “You think we don’t know this bar is a front? That you own it, Cass?”
“Fuck,” came from the bartender behind the counter. He slapped down his cleaning rag and stomped for the kitchen.
“They are closing in,” she said as she stared straight into Cass’s eyes. “They are after you. They’ve been after you for a long time. I was supposed to take you down.”
He was still sitting on the bar stool. They were at eye level.
She leaned in and planted a fierce, passionate kiss on his lips. “I can’t,” she breathed. “I won’t.”
Uh, yeah. Right.
She grabbed his hand. “Come with me. Now.”
The place had cleared out. Not like there was anyone to see the rest of her performance. All because of that one magical word. Raid.
But Cass let her tug him outside. A light rain had begun to fall.
Most of the motorcycles were gone, no longer lined up near the entrance to The Bottomless Pit. But…
He felt the eyes. Knew that watchers lingered. He’d already caught sight of Javion across the street. Casually, Cass made a quick gesture with his open hand. A bare flutter of his fingers.
“What are you doing?” Agnes demanded. “Did you just tell him to come closer?”
No, quite the opposite, actually. He’d just signed for the guy to wait. Not like he wanted Javion to get caught in the crossfire—
“FBI!” A voice blasted. “Freeze, Cassius!”
Oh. So it was gonna be a bold outside show. Interesting.
“No!” Agnes’s shout. And she was suddenly between him and the FBI agent. The agent—a male wearing dark clothes and with his gun drawn. “Malik, no, don’t!”
“Get out of the way!” Malik yelled back at her. “We’re taking him in!”
Cass climbed onto his motorcycle. “I don’t think so.” He’d had maybe three swigs of beer. Cass had known he’d need to be sober for the events coming. Besides, he usually believed that a drunk leader was a fool just waiting to get taken out.
The sound of revving cycles filled the night.
So did a gunshot blast. One, another.
His head whipped toward the sound. Had that Fed—Malik—just shot at them?
In response, Agnes had her gun out. She aimed it toward Malik.
He ran for cover.
“Fuck.” Cass reached out a hand and curled it around her waist before she could start shooting. “On the motorcycle. Now.”
She got on the motorcycle. Dropped her bag. Kept the gun. And he got them the hell out of there.
Everyone was rushing off that street. Someone screamed. And when Cass looked back, he saw the Fed, rushing from his temporary hiding spot and trying to catch them.
Right. Good luck with that.
“I am dying to know…” Cass shut the motel room door behind him. He flipped the lock. A flimsy-as-hell lock that wouldn’t keep anyone out. “Did you take acting classes in high school? Maybe college? Or do they teach Drama 101 to all new FBI recruits at Quantico?”
Agnes perched on the bed. The lone bed in the no-tell, motel on the edge of Mississippi. They’d driven for hours and hours. Reached the motel just as the sun was rising. He’d traveled down winding back roads the whole time. Not like he wanted to make it easy for anyone trailing him.
Like the Feds.
Or his enemies.
His many, many enemies.
So he’d stuck to the less traveled routes. He’d been highly conscious of Agnes’s soft body pressed against him.
She kicked off her shoes. “I’ve done undercover work before.”
Really? “Do tell.”
“I was a prostitute for three months.”
He stiffened.
“Sorry. I pretended to be a prostitute. Received quite the number of offers, let me tell you…”
“I can imagine.” Was that jealousy coiling in him? Like a snake ready to strike? Sure felt that way.
“I eventually caught the serial who’d been abducting and murdering women along the South Carolina coast. Things got a little dicey when he tried to drug me, but I just turned that needle right back around on him.”
He could not breathe. “He’s dead.”
“No, but he is on death row. Is that close enough? I think it’s pretty close.
Anyway…” A bob of her head. “I was also an inmate at a women’s prison for two months.
Food was crap, by the way. Some guards there had been reported for taking advantage of the inmates.
Forcing them to perform sex acts.” Her expression hardened. “Rape.”
She’d faced off with a serial killer who drugged his victims and then she’d gone into a prison with bastard guards who’d hurt women? “Names.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Give me their names.” They’d be dead in days.
“Uh, I got evidence on all the guards involved.” She squared her shoulders. “I had them locked away. And let me tell you, other inmates don’t react very kindly to former guards who are now trapped in cells with them.”
No, he didn’t think kind would be a word that applied in that situation. “No one hurt you.” He needed to be clear.
“No one hurt me.” A pause. “But I appreciate you caring.”
And, sonofabitch, he did care. He cared that she’d nearly been drugged. He cared that she’d been locked up with monsters who hurt women. He cared that she’d ever been at risk for a single, solitary moment.
This was a clusterfuck.
Because he’d cared the entire time he’d been driving through the night, with her pressed to his back. All of those sweet, lush curves. He’d cared when the shots rang out back at The Bottomless Pitt, and he looked back, terrified for one, wild moment that she’d been hit.
Yeah, next time, he’d get a fucking script. “I thought Feds cared about innocent people getting hurt,” he growled.
Her brows climbed. “We do.”
“Then your FBI firing into a public street was…what? For shits and giggles?”
A shake of her head. “We made sure the street was secure. I had a transmitter in my ear. Malik did not fire those blanks until he was given the all-clear.”
She’d what?
She reached into the front pocket of her black pants and pulled out a small device. Looked like a super, super tiny ear bud. “Gray told us when everyone was clear. We had some Feds out there, dressed in plainclothes, but those were all people he trusts implicitly. The street was secure.”