Enforcer's Price Read online

  I reached across them both and opened the door. I didn’t even think about it, just stuck my arm out, grabbed the door handle and pushed. I’d done this a hundred times with my sis when Brendan was a baby.

  I should have gotten out of the car like a fucking gentleman and opened the door, but no, I had just leaned over, and brought my face right up to Krista’s. Damn. Becky was still burrowed into her shoulder, wrapped in blankets and dreaming about her grandma’s house, so it was just Krista and me. I could feel her breath against my cheeks.

  My fingers closed around the cold metal door handle, but my hand burned to touch her face. Just a feathery kiss, that’s all it could be. She was the woman I wanted and the girl next door I had fantasized about. She wouldn’t betray me like Tina had. Krista had hopes and dreams of her own that I wanted to share.

  Krista wasn’t the kind of girl that would give me a blow job in the back alley and take her payment. She was the kind of girl who needed seduction. Love. Would I be able to live up to her needs? Was I even capable of that?

  I kissed her. Her lips were warm and soft against mine. She didn’t move away and then I felt her lips part, just a little. She kissed me back. That moment of just a tiny bit of trust, that’s all I needed. I wanted her, all of her. From her long sexy legs to her freckled nose. I just couldn’t ignore these fucking feelings.

  “Mommy?”

  Krista pushed at my shoulder. Dammit. I had forgotten about the kid. I sat up and threw myself out of the car. I had been kissing her with her daughter on her lap. Well, I probably just blew that all to hell. No woman was going to want a man who paws at them in front of their damn kid.

  Maybe I had been an asshole with Tina as well. Maybe I didn’t deserve to be happy. Maybe it wasn’t Tina who had fucked up, maybe it was me. I had chosen her, I had fucked her, then maybe I somehow drove her to betray me.

  Fuck. I had to stop reliving my shit with Tina. I crossed around the front of the car and pulled the door open wide. After helping them out of the truck, they followed me up the stairs.

  The wreckage from last night was still on the porch. Plastic was everywhere, a broken pot in the corner. The note taped to the door was new. There was an insignia printed on the front of the envelope: City of Tacoma Police Department.

  Dear Resident,

  A disturbance was reported at this address. Please contact us immediately.

  Shit. I ripped it off and handed it to Krista. “Stay out here, I’m going to check your apartment.”

  It was a small apartment. Two bedrooms, one bathroom. Everything looked normal. I checked the dark corners, the closets. All clear. I waved her and Becky inside.

  “I wanna watch Peter Pan,” Becky mumbled from Krista’s arms.

  Krista turned to face me, still carrying the kid. “Hey, can you stick around for a minute? I’m going to put her down and then I think we should talk.”

  I nodded and she disappeared to the back of the apartment. I’d been out of the game for a lot of years, but I knew what was coming. The big brush-off. Her apartment held all of the usual things, couch, table, television. But it was a home. Curtains and toys, the clutter of life. And I didn’t belong. I was just the asshole biker who lived for his club.

  The room was stifling, so I stepped out onto the porch. I felt more comfortable in the middle of all the wreckage, in the cold night air.

  I should have left. But I needed to hear her reject me. I wanted to get angry. I was used to being angry. Angry at the court system, angry at Tina, angry at myself. Love was hard. Love would be taking a chance and I didn’t know if I could live up to those expectations.

  The door clicked as Krista stepped out onto the porch. “Thanks for waiting.”

  Damn, she was a thing of beauty. Her hair was streaked with blond, her blue eyes were dark in the porch light. But she was a tornado of beauty in the middle of the desolate calm of the destroyed porch.

  I shrugged and waited for her to say something.

  “So, um, thanks for your help today. You didn’t need to pick me up or take us by Grandma’s place. It’s not like you know me. But I really appreciate it.”

  “I know you.”

  I wanted to say more. I needed to say more, to fight for her. Anger and nothingness might be what I was used to, but it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted her.

  I crossed over to where she was standing and leaned down. “I know you patch up the guys in your club, the way you patched me up last night. I know you love your daughter. I know that whatever life throws your way, you deal with it. You survive, you succeed. I may have only met you last night, I may not know your favorite color, but I know you.”

  I could smell her hair, feel the heat from her body.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I work for the Storm Kings. I can’t just go around messing with one of the guys. This is my income, my independence. It’s not that I don’t want to, I just can’t. I would lose too much.”

  I ran my thumb across her chin. “Open your eyes, Krista. I’ve had my eyes closed until just recently, and I know how easy and comforting it is. I want your eyes open for what I’m about to say.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and met my gaze. This was what I wanted, the two of us, no hiding. No pretending.

  “I grew up in the life. I know what it means to be a woman working for a club like the Storm Kings. I don’t expect you to want to move in with me tomorrow, but I want to give whatever is between us a try. I want to hear your laugh. I want to take you to dinner. I want to feel you against my back on a ride. I want to get buzzed and lick your clit until you scream my name. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t serious.”

  Chapter Six

  Krista

  “Colt.”

  I didn’t scream his name, it was just a breath, but it was all I could muster. His lips were warm against mine. A little touch. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been kissed. A few times I let guys kiss me for an extra tip, but I soon learned that wasn’t worth it. The last thing you ever want to do with a john is get emotionally close. A kiss brought them teetering on that edge of intimacy. From a practical perspective, kisses smeared my lipstick.

  I stopped thinking. I had to. If I didn’t switch off my brain, Colt was gonna turn into just another john. While I couldn’t date him, I wanted just this little moment.

  His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me to him. He was hard all over, the leather of his vest warm against my skin. I gasped and his tongue slipped between my lips. I could feel the heat gather between my legs. Arousal. I wanted him.

  I touched his tongue with mine and heard him groan. He pulled me even closer and his hand slid down my waist. God, I wanted what he was offering. I wanted to forget about everything and just sink against him, into the safety, into the lust.

  Sure, we would have a few days of bliss. A few days of maddening sex, hurried love and romance, and in my most pathetic of dreams, we’d pretend to be a family. After pizza and The Brady Bunch, Becky was already in love with him. But when Bear and the other guys came back, the world would come rushing in and our bubble would pop. And I would be left shattered. My rules, my heart, my careful little life. It would resemble my patio furniture. Broken.

  He’d be gone and I’d go back to working the guys at the club. If he stuck around, I would always be watching him, waiting, hoping he would call me. He’d probably move on. Maybe he’d come to town for a party and the Kings would call the girls in from the local strip club. I’d see him with another woman draped half-naked over his lap. He’d ignore me and tell them the words he just told me. They weren’t sweet words, they weren’t poetic, but they were mine. And he would say them to other women.

  I turned my head and broke the kiss. “No.”

  His arms were gone and the cold air snaked around me, stung my lip
s. That warmth, support, love, it was gone. He moved to the side of the porch and leaned against the stairs.

  “Okay, that’s fine. I’m sorry to have bothered you. It won’t happen again.”

  This was good. I could handle this. This was safer, right? No one would get hurt. Not me, not Becky, not even him.

  So, why did I feel like my heart was shattered?

  “I’ll come by at three thirty Wednesday. I promised Becky.” He shrugged. “This is over, though—I won’t touch you.”

  He stomped down the stairs without a goodbye. The only clue that he was feeling anything were the heavy footfalls on the concrete steps. Louder than they should have been. I was glad. Glad that he’d at least felt a little something. Maybe I wouldn’t have been just another fuck.

  Sleep was hard that night. I rolled over, punched my pillow, checked on Becky, everything I could think of to sleep. Around two in the morning, I gave up and grabbed a flashlight and gardening gloves and went down to my car.

  Auto glass doesn’t really shatter in the same way a drinking glass does. Anyone who has ever been in a car accident knows it fractures into a million little nuggets. Buried somewhere under those nuggets was Becky’s dance outfit and my accounting book. No amount of washing would make me feel safe about letting Becky wear that leotard again—we’d have to buy a new one. My book for school was a different story. I’d slaved over that book, slept on it a few times, held it up as the key to my future. While I worked nights, I put Becky in preschool a little early and had gone to the junior college. I was done now, four months done. I should have a new job by now. But it was easy work at the club. I knew the guys, and it paid well. It just wasn’t a future.

  After moving around some glass and fast food wrappers someone had dumped in my car, I uncovered the book. Despite the glass piled on the cover, it was in pretty good condition. It had been dry these last few days, a rarity for Washington. I carried it upstairs and set it on the kitchen table. It was weird not having anything to study, not having anything to focus on.

  I needed a new job. My boobs were only going to be perky for so long and my ass was going to start to fall very soon. I was only twenty-four, but the club wasn’t going to keep me around until I retired. The only thing worse than being a whore was being an old whore who couldn’t support herself or her kid.

  Accounting had been good to me. The numbers didn’t argue or hurt, they just were. There were clear rules on how to put everything together. Debits and credits. Hell, I even started to organize my life into debits and credits. Credits—positive things coming in—were Becky, my volunteer work at her school, sometimes even the guys at the club. Debits—charges that depleted my soul just a little every time—were my ex-husband and, well, myself.

  I opened my old textbook and tried a few exercises. Soon, I was lost in the math.

  Someone knocked on my door. The clock said half past four. Probably Janice, my neighbor. Janice was the bar manager at Jiggles and was always up late. We often got together after I came home from the MC.

  I checked my peephole, just to make sure it wasn’t Robby. The gigantic blond hair on the other side of the door meant it definitely wasn’t him.

  Janice breezed past me and settled on the couch. “Krista, honey, is the baby asleep? I think you could use a drink.”

  Always prepared, Janice brought a pitcher of something frozen and two glasses. She poured the drinks as I sat down next to her.

  “What happened with Robby? Jesus, he was banging loud enough to raise the dead last night. I called Tate because I knew the cops wouldn’t get here fast enough.”

  I figured she had been the one to call my boss. She was the one who told me about the job in the first place. Tate had contacted Janice looking for a new whore because, well, Janice knew all the girls. She never said, but I think she even brokered services like a madam.

  “Robby just needed money.” I took a drink and immediately spit it back into the glass. “What is in this?”

  “Spinach, egg white, kale and carrots. I’ve decided to cut out all sugars, even whole fruit. Just fiber and protein. Well, I’m considering blueberries. Antioxidants, you know.” She took a long sip. “Ahh, nectar of the gods. So tell me about the hunk who beat the shit outta Robby last night. Business or pleasure?”

  I shrugged. “Business. He’s just one of the guys at the club.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’re getting broody. I don’t think he’s just another guy at the club. Spill now.”

  “There’s nothing to spill. He’s just a guy.”

  She took a sip of her green concoction. “Because you fuck guys for a living, you’ve made up one of your little rules that says you’re not allowed to have a relationship?”

  Shit. Leave it to Janice to hit right to the heart of my problem immediately. That talent is what had made her a fantastic hooker back in the day. She could pinpoint what guys wanted and what they were thinking and use it to get them off. She knew when they wanted it long or quick. She also knew my deepest darkest thoughts by just looking at me.

  “What if I admitted that you’re right?”

  Once I said it, the rest just came tumbling out. I told her about the sweet kiss in the car, and then the moment on the porch that made my stomach flip. Then I told her about what he said to me. He’d wanted to try, and I turned him down.

  “I have no idea why he wants me. He knows I’m a whore, Janice. He knows. But he still wants to try a relationship. It didn’t seem to be about just the sex. I don’t know why he wants me.”

  I flopped back against the couch and threw my arm over my eyes. If only I were fifteen again and living in my upstairs bedroom in my grandma’s house.

  Janice grabbed my arm and tugged me back into a sitting position. “Drink up, Krista, honey—you need your strength. Egg whites have eight grams of protein in each one. Time to put on your big girl heels and stop hiding behind those rules. You are a strong, beautiful woman—it’s time to start acting that way.

  “He may be interested in your tits, but he’s still hanging around, so he’s more interested in what’s between them. Your heart. And that is worth more than a hundred johns. There are men out there who can be with a woman while she’s earning on her back—and I’m not talking about pimps. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who realizes that turning tricks and making love are two different things. One is exercise and the other is earth-shattering.”

  “Maybe I don’t want that kind of guy. Maybe I just want a guy who wants me and only me and who wants me to be with him and only him. What if I want vanilla?”

  Janice downed the rest of her spinach shake and crossed her legs on the couch. “Krista, honey, you can never have vanilla. For one, it has way too much sugar. Besides that, you are mint and chip, Neapolitan and rainbow sherbet all rolled into one. You can never go back to plain old vanilla, and you need to realize that. What you need is a guy who doesn’t try to make you vanilla. What you need is a guy who is whipped cream and a maraschino cherry.”

  I laughed. “I think you need to eat a dessert, Janice. Your thighs will survive.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Be serious. What I mean is that you need a guy who won’t change your flavors. This guy will make them better.”

  There was nothing left to do except nod. She was right. I could never have a normal guy.

  We chatted until the sun came up about politics over at Jiggles. She went to bed and I applied for some jobs online. After the third job posting, I had to quit. My concentration was gone. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if he showed up to take Becky to dance.

  I’d tried to make friends with some of the other moms at Becky’s dance class. For a while, I fit in pretty well. We chatted while setting up the next round of crafts. Once a couple of other moms invited me to lunch. The pizza had been crappy, but the kids loved the ball pit and the moms wer
e able to have a real conversation. It was great until the inevitable question.

  “So, Krista, what do you do? Are you married?”

  Nope, not married. I’m single. But I have a job. I fuck guys in a motorcycle club to pay my rent. Blow jobs, regular sex. Threesomes are extra.

  “I’m a bartender.”

  The moms had all nodded in sympathy. They assured me that someday I’d meet someone and that I could be a stay-at-home mom like them. Or maybe a part-time receptionist like Marcie. Then I could join their yoga classes or go for mojitos when their husbands were babysitting.

  I didn’t want that kind of life. I didn’t need a man to take care of me. I was going to do it myself.

  I didn’t need a man. I wanted a man. And not just any man. I wanted Colt. I wanted to watch him on the couch snuggling my kid while watching reruns. I wanted to dress up for him when we were going out. I wanted to make him breakfast after a night of lovemaking.

  Lovemaking. Not sex. Not a trick. Not a quick blow job for grocery money. Not an anonymous quickie in the back hall while a party raged all around me. I wanted to make slow, passionate love to him and I wanted him to make slow, passionate love to me.

  I threw my pencil down and pushed my accounting text away. My answer wasn’t matching what was in the back of the book. I couldn’t keep my mind on the problem—I had to stop thinking about making love to Colt.

  Did he have an old lady? He’d asked me if I was attached, but I never asked him. I couldn’t sleep with him if he did. It wasn’t my moral compass calling that shot, it was self-preservation. The second he kissed me, I fell hard like a full keg onto a bare toe—blunt and painful. If I was just someone on the side, I would be devastated. I wanted to be more than that.

  When I first started working for the Storm Kings, I assumed that I would never be able to date or have a relationship. No man wants a woman who’s slept with so many others she’s lost count. Or who goes and gets a full STD and pregnancy workup monthly, and then bills it to her employer.