Hunted (Dauntless MC Book 1) Page 3

  The best thing she could do was to keep her eyes open and her mouth shut just like Talon had directed her to do. Research was definitely a must. She was the type who learned by doing. Great… she’d have on the job training with a criminal who owned her. This was not good, not good at all. She never could have anticipated getting in this deep and she damn sure couldn’t anticipate what the future held for her now.

  Fuck yes! Talon thought to himself. It doesn’t get any better than this. Tiny didn’t know it yet but he had done him one hell of a favor when he gave him that fine ass little square of a lawyer lady. Visions of having Grace under his complete control just got a whole lot more realistic. His head jerked around when he heard one of the girls who had been hanging out at the club lately enter and close the door behind her.

  “I know you must be horny after being locked up in that hellhole.”

  “Get the fuck out my room. If I wanted my cock blown, I would have gotten one of the house whores to do it.”

  She slithered her way over to him, ignoring what he’d said which only served to piss him off. He slammed her into the wall, pinned her arms back with his hands, and viciously hissed, “You should know my reputation about confronting me. Nobody fucking touches me without my permission. I’m all about control, girl. If I were going to fuck somebody, it wouldn’t be a woman who didn’t know, or honor, what I’m about. Like I said, I’m all about control.” He grabbed her chin and squeezed until tears filled her eyes. “You and I both know all you’re doing is trying to move up the social ladder. You sealed your fate the day I figured out that’s all you wanted me for and now you’ll never be anything to me. Be happy with your lot in life. You should feel privileged to even be part of the family here. Now, get the fuck out of my room.” What she spit out next shocked him.

  “Do you think that high society bitch wants anything to do with a guy like you? I heard what Tiny said…that she was your property. Women like that aren’t happy being property; they’re independent professionals. She probably doesn’t even have time to date, much less fuck anybody.”

  He pushed her out of his room with one thought in mind. He needed to find out if his property was fucking another man.

  Scooter stood around the corner listening and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He’d had his eye on the girl they’d nicknamed Red since she had first started hanging around. As Sergeant of Arms, he was in charge of policing and keeping order at all the events so he had seen her the first night she came but it had always seemed like she wanted Talon. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe he should make his move. Anything was better than the jealousy he was feeling every time he saw one of the brothers talking to her. He needed to make a move before someone else did or, worse yet, before she got dubbed as the club slut. Yeah, she wanted the status of being an old lady but all the women wanted that. After all, it was an honor.

  Chapter Seven

  Grace tried to keep her thoughts from running amok by cooking, anything to keep her mind off the fact that a criminal now believed she was his property simply because his club president had told him so. No matter how she tried to convince herself these guys couldn’t be serious, she was still worried. The look on Talon’s face had been one of pure pleasure and it was pleasure at her expense.

  She knew nothing about motorcycle club customs but she knew the best way for her to arm herself was with information and who better to interview than Talon himself? She had full intentions of handling this like she would any other client’s interview—as a way to get information and build a case.

  She had to admit she was fascinated by the fact that the compound was run like a community. There were families, kids, and pets but it wasn’t just that. There was comradery—brotherhood. Though she didn’t know a lot about this culture yet, she instinctively knew that these people would stand by each other. A pang of sadness hit her because it was evident this group of people had a tight family bond, stronger than blood.

  She was well aware of the knowledge that society more than accepted those who met the typical suburban family status. Husband, wife, 2.3 kids, and a dog met most people’s mindset of what a family should be. She knew all too well what could go on behind closed doors and white picket fences though. She had been privy to more than one case of abuse, gambling, molestation, and drug habits in the lives of those who appeared perfect in public but were something totally different in private. She, of all people, knew that things were not always what they appeared to be.

  Image might be everything to some, but Grace knew it was nothing more than a façade. Society looked at the bikers who were in motorcycle clubs like they were nothing more than criminals and outcasts. She had grown up being raised by a single mother because her suburbanite dad left her mom for a younger woman. He had written them both off like they had never existed. He even went so far as to start a new family and act as if he had never had her as a daughter. He wasn’t a man who had any idea of what family really meant. She found it hard to believe someone in Talon’s club would do that to one of their own. She knew what she had witnessed that morning at the compound and those people were worthy of being called a true family.

  She left the spaghetti on to simmer and made her way upstairs to get a shower. She wanted to be dressed more appropriately for her guest and she was certain jeans would fit the bill much better than her business attire.

  Talon stripped out his clothes and jumped in the shower. He planned on bringing out the big guns for tonight. He wasn’t sure why, but this lawyer of his was already managing to get under his skin for reasons he didn’t fully understand. She didn’t know it yet, but Talon’s little piece of property would be attending her first biker event.

  He let his mind wander as he washed his long black hair that draped all the way down to his ass. He was the spitting image of the stereotypical American Indian you would see on the big screen and his hair was his trademark.

  He couldn’t help but wonder again why this uppity bitch would take on his case. It was obvious she had a heart for people or she wouldn’t be doing pro bono work for those less fortunate but he was the furthest thing from a charity case. He probably had more fucking money than she did. In the end, he was glad she had shown up and knew there were two reasons he let her take his case: he liked the way she looked, and he knew she felt the conviction to get him out of the bind he was in.

  He was going to have to watch over this girl because she was treading on very dangerous ground. Accusing a cop of being on the take wasn’t a very popular thing to do. She was putting herself in the line of fire of not only every cop in the Louisville, Kentucky area, but those in the United States of America as well. The guy he was dealing with was an ICE agent and he had federal jurisdiction. Talon also knew she would definitely need his help when she interviewed the convicts. He knew for a fact that his cellmate was scared of him so he could, and would, use it to their advantage. He had connections with more than one inmate at that jail and if she needed to question one of them, he could make it happen. Even outside of the case, Grace was going to need Talon to watch over her when she’s around his brothers at the club. This was just too good… The woman he had labeled lawyer lady was becoming more dependent on him by the hour and she didn’t even know it. Grace couldn’t have found a better protector though. When she went to bat for Talon, she had gained his allegiance. Loyalty went a long fucking way where he came from; it went a long way with his club too.

  He couldn’t shake the thought that dealing with this ICE agent was going to be a lot fucking harder than she seemed to anticipate it being. She would need his help for sure. Of anything that could be going on, this was a major fucking deal. Hell, if it was another club, they could just blow the motherfuckers up and be done with it but because it was a cop, an agent, it took things to a whole new level. Little Miss Sunshine might just find out she needed him more than she thought she did. He liked the thought of that. She was going to find out once he gets his talons in, he would be predator and she would be hi
s prey…

  Chapter Eight

  The ICE agent eyed the man with a look as cold and aloof as his job title implied. Finally, after what seemed like forever to the man behind the bars, the agent spoke. “Did you do as I instructed you?”

  The inmate looked down, unable to maintain eye contact with the imposing man outside the bars, and reached into his pocket. “It’s all there on tape.”

  Truth be told, the convict was impressed with the way Derrick had gotten a guard to slip him a recorder. He handed it to the agent but still wouldn’t look at him.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Look at me!” He was pissing the agent off acting like he was shocked by how easily he was able to get past the prison guards and protocol. He was a criminal and he, of all people, should know that for the right price, guards could be bought. Derrick was certain he was also confused about why he was doing surveillance on his own partner.

  This particular convict was a fucking serial killer and yet he was acting like he was scared shitless of the agent. Go figure. Derrick chuckled as the prisoner looked down at the combat boots he always wore; they both knew they were nothing but shit kicking boots. The agent was a sadistic motherfucker and had done more than his fair share of kicking heads in with them.

  “Give me the fucking recorder,” he demanded, jerking it from the inmate’s hand. He paused and grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it until he cried out. It was music to Derrick’s sadistic ears. “If you ever utter a fucking word to her about our arrangement, I’ll have all of your commissary and visiting privileges taken away and that’s after I have your face ground into hamburger meat.” Truth be told, the agent was completely fixated on his partner to the point of obsession.

  Derrick made certain the prisoner heard his sadistic laugh that echoed through the jailhouse corridor as he left. The jailed man had knowledge of the agent’s past handiwork and wanted nothing to do with it. If Derrick couldn’t get his hands on you, then he had connections who could. Serial killer or not, the guy didn’t want to fuck with this agent.

  Derrick made his way across the street and into his office where he had a major mind-fuck planned for his partner. She watched him as he made his way towards her and sat on her desk.

  “What is your problem, Derrick?”

  “Hmm, I’m not quite sure that I’m the one with a problem, little girl.”

  She brushed off the arm of her suit with an air of sophistication as she eyed him. “Unless you have business here, and I don’t think that you do, please remove yourself from my desk.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Little Miss Prim and Proper doesn’t have time for me unless its business.”

  “Derrick, I have never insinuated that I am any better than you.”

  “Oh no, you warrant much higher status than me because you come from money. I’m just a mere, middle class, ICE agent who deals with menial matters of national security. You know, small things like drug smuggling, child exploitation, human trafficking, and illegal arms.”

  “So, you’re sitting here on my desk to notify me of your job qualifications, Derrick? You’re my partner… I’m well aware of your credentials.”

  She never saw it coming. He leaned over and placed the recorder to her ear. The sadistic pleasure he found in her discomfort when he played it for her could be seen on his smug face. She got up and calmly walked outside but looked like she had just been sucker punched. Derrick wasted no time jumping from the desk and following her as he thought, I guess she needs air… I’m such a bastard. He wasn’t done with the mind-fuck yet, nowhere near fucking done. He wanted her in his bed and he didn’t care if he had to blackmail her ass to get her there.

  “What do you want? Money?” she hissed. “Money, is that what you want? You want a piece of the heiress pie? They cut me out of the fucking will when I became an agent so there’s no money to blackmail me for, Derrick!”

  “Oh no, sweetie. This is not about money. This is all about your little uptight ass. Oh, I do want a piece of the pie all right, a piece of that sweet, little pussy of yours. To put it bluntly, I have every intention of having your little haughty ass at my mercy.” He placed his hand around her neck and squeezed as his whiskey colored, brown eyes cut through her. “No more Mr. Nice Guy, Justine!”

  “What is it you think you have on me?”

  He took out the recorder, placed it by her ear, and pushed the button once again. The voice of a serial killer came through the speaker, thanking her for her letters and visits. He’d had the inmate taping their visits and forwarding their e-mail correspondence to him for six months. Derrick was the one who made sure the convict got computer privileges in the library. He had given his partner enough rope to see if she’d hang herself and she had. He retrieved the folded piece of paper he had in his pocket and shook it out before he started reading it to her. The horrified look on her face was priceless. “I think this letter that you wrote is my favorite.”

  It amazes me how idealistic I was as a recruit. I lived and breathed my training, right down to the rigorous workouts. I was going to make a difference, change the world, and leave my mark on it.

  That all changed when reality set in and I realized that I was in a boys’ club and would have to work twice as hard to gain half the respect that having a set of balls gives you.

  I have done everything right, followed every rule, right down to the letter of the law, and I still have to put up with this political bullshit!

  If I knew then what I know now, I never would have gotten into this line of work.

  “Poor, little, rich girl. Give me a fucking break, Justine. Why would you pour your heart out to a stone cold serial killer?” His hand squeezed tightly around her neck and he glared at her with an intensity that revealed just how angry he was. “The next time you feel the need to talk to somebody, it better be me. Don’t you know secrets have a way of resurrecting even when the serial killer who holds them is on death row?”

  The knock on the door caused Grace to jump and she braced herself for opening it to a man who intimidated the shit out of her. She made her way over to the front door and took a deep breath to steady herself.

  She opened it to see Talon dressed in black and smelling divine. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t so damn good looking. His tight t-shirt pulled across his massive chest and even the patch laden leather vest he wore over it didn’t hide his size.

  He raised a sardonic brow and then proceeded to horrify her with the first statement out of his mouth. “Do you like what you see?” He stalked in her direction and kicked the door shut with his biker boot. “Because I think that’s a good thing, being that I own you and all. I mean… I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be with a man you find loathsome.”

  It dawned on her that this man had a pretty extensive vocabulary. He was really quite articulate for a criminal. “Nobody owns me.” She turned to walk away from him but he swung her around to pull her to him, saying nothing as he stared down at her.

  She palmed his chest and he pulled her closer to grind into her. Oh fuck, this would be so much easier if the heat surging through her core would stop.

  “I can’t date you.”

  “That’s funny, Grace. Real. Fucking. Funny. Bikers don’t date. We take what we want just like I’m taking you. I own your ass, sweetie.”

  “That is ludicrous. People don’t own people.”

  “The fuck they don’t. You’re property now, my fucking property. I’m Dauntless MC, baby, and I take that shit real serious as do the rest of my brothers. If you’re dating anyone, as you so eloquently worded it, you should probably quit seeing him. You don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death now, do you?” By now, he had leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll consummate my ownership of you real soon.”

  “The spaghetti is burning. We need to eat before it’s too late.”

  “Liar,” he whispered but he let go of her arm anyway. She almost ran to the kitchen in her haste to put some distan
ce between them. Again, all she could think was… It would be a hell of a lot easier if this guy didn’t look so damn good.

  To Talon, watching her squirm was just pure fucking entertainment for him. He was certain that she had never dealt with a man as brash as he was. He followed her closely as she made her way to the stove. He pressed in behind her and moved her hair to the side so he could nibble up and down the sweet spot that ran from her ear down into her shoulder. Her body and her voice were trembling as she tried to gain control but it was futile. Control was something he would never let her have.

  “Mr. Talon, it’s imperative that I keep my relationship with you professional. You have to stop backing me into walls and…well, I don’t know… whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “Man, you smell so fucking good, girl. Mmm, and you look damn good in those tight ass jeans you’re wearing.” He resisted the urge to slide his fingers down into the top of her jeans and plunge his finger into her pussy. He’d wait until he had her in a situation where she couldn’t deny him. He’d be keeping an eye on her tonight; that was for damn sure. The boys in his club didn’t play and the only thing saving her ass from being at their mercy was the fact that Tiny had decreed she was Talon’s property. He knew how the president of the club thought and two things got her in the clubhouse doors: the fact that she helped him out, and the fact that he wants a lawyer who has a heart for the club. She showed that when she helped Talon. He jerked her around and forced her to look at him.