When he guards, p.9
When He Guards, page 9
“Agnes.” A long sigh of her name from Gray. “Come inside. Shut the door. Have a seat.” He walked behind his desk and heaved down in his own chair.
Taking her time, Agnes came inside. She softly shut the door. She strolled casually across the small room. Took her seat. Even crossed her legs. One foot swung lazily.
Cass remained standing.
His hands did clench into fists, though. Rage still burned inside of him. She’d been targeted. She could have died before I got to her. He’d forced Bayne to give up Judas. Bayne had called the bastard. After Cass had delivered some brutal punches. And when the phone had been answered, Cass had been surprised as hell to hear Agnes’s voice. Surprised—and relieved.
Agnes tilted her head toward him. “Stop fretting.”
What?
“I didn’t even get a scratch.” She winked at him. “But I did leave a few, new bruises on that perp.”
“You also put a gun to his head, Agnes,” Gray groused. “And your partner had to pull you back.”
She’d done what now?
Her shoulders lifted, then fell. “I wasn’t going to pull the trigger.”
Cass’s gaze sharpened on her.
That left foot of hers kept casually swinging. He thought that might be her only sign of nerves.
“You have a choice to make,” Gray announced.
The hell she did. Her choice had already been made. She was going to belong to Cass. End of story.
“What choice would that be?” Agnes inquired sweetly.
Gray opened his mouth to speak.
“You have to turn your back on the Feds,” Cass said as he took a hard step forward. “Publicly. Very, very clearly. A fuck-you that all can understand. And then you swear allegiance to me. You can’t be a Fed and be mine at the same time. So you choose.”
A little furrow appeared between her brows as she glanced over at Gray.
“Undercover mission,” Gray said.
Her hands gripped the armrests on either side of her. Hard. As if…as if she was trying to keep herself from jumping out of the chair. That bright, bright blue gaze of hers swung right back to Cass. “You’re undercover.”
He didn’t say a word.
“You’re undercover. You’re not an MC leader—”
“Oh, I assure you, I am one hundred percent an MC leader. I bled for the title. I killed for it.”
“Cass.” A warning note in Gray’s voice.
What was new? Gray always liked to warn. And toe the line. And follow every rule in the book. Boring. So very, very boring. Cass could not help it, he had to flash his own smile at Agnes and his cousin as he said, “My world is shades of gray.”
“That is not funny,” Gray told him.
Cass thought it was a little funny.
“I’m not undercover,” Cass stated, voice flat. “What you see is who I am.”
“He is an MC leader. Cass just…ah, happens to be doing some work for me at the same time,” Gray allowed.
Her tight grip remained on the armrests. “Undercover.”
She did seem to like that word.
Agnes nodded. “And I’m going to be undercover, too.” Now her stare lingered on Cass. “As your lover?”
“As the woman who is so obsessed with me that she threw away her badge, betrayed her fellow Feds, and went all in with a criminal. Yes.” She’d be undercover. “Think you can handle that?”
Their gazes held. Tension thickened. He had a sudden flash of her as she’d been during that long, hot night with him. Tousled hair. Swollen lips. His hands tight on her waist as he heaved her against him and her warm, tight—
“Sounds like a dream job.” She nodded and flashed that slow smile of hers again. “Pretty sure I could do it in my sleep.”
Uh, say again?
“Consider me obsessed,” Agnes told him. “When does the job begin?”
She was shaking on the inside. Her stomach was in so many knots that she ached, but Agnes kept her bright and shiny veneer in place until Cass left the FBI building.
They’d come up with a game plan. A dramatic one, granted, but desperate situations could often call for dramatic measures. She was aware that wasn’t exactly how the old saying went, but, in this particular instance, she thought her version worked better.
“You’ll have to trust him.”
Gray’s low, rumbling voice. Because she was still in Gray’s office. Cass had vanished, but she still had her boss to handle.
Gray’s expression was hard. His eyes intent. No emotion entered his voice, and that was a bad sign. Gray was quietly furious. She could feel his rage in the air around her.
“If you trust him, I trust him,” she said.
“Cass says you believe we’re family.”
“Uh, you are family.” That would be why she believed it.
“And how did you reach that conclusion?”
“Bone structure. Plus, the fact that I haven’t heard a denial from either of you so far so, yeah…family.”
He leaned forward. His chair squeaked. “Did you think he was an undercover Fed when you fucked him?”
She actually…had, yes.
“Because he’s not.” A muscle tightened along his jaw. “He is not following some secret rulebook. Cass is not going to make the good-guy choices when you are in the field with him. He is the leader of the Night Strikers. He has done things that will give you nightmares.”
Those knots in her stomach got worse. “You don’t know what my nightmares are like.” She shouldn’t have said that. She should have kept her mouth shut.
Because sympathy flashed in his eyes, only to be blinked away. “And is that the reason you went to him? Did you think that he was an undercover Fed who could help you get the revenge that you’ve wanted for so very long?”
Yes. “I hate when you profile me.”
“I hate when you make profiling you so easy.” An immediate return. “You’ve lived and breathed for revenge—you’ve done that for years, but, Agent Quinn, you just stepped straight into the fire. Where you are going…” A shake of his head. “I can’t be your backup. Malik won’t be your backup. It will be you and Cass against the world, and you are going to learn fast that he plays dirty and hard.”
Yes, she was getting that impression. “I can play that way, too.”
“Tell him about your past.”
She had already told Cass some about her past. Filling him in fully on all the dark and twisted details was on the agenda. She just wasn’t completely sure how he would react to everything.
Slowly, she rose to her feet. “Guess I have to get busy. Dramatic scenes to enact. New allegiances to swear. Busy, busy, busy.” She turned for the door. Agnes exhaled slowly. Her words were flippant, but when she reached out to touch the doorknob, her fingers trembled.
Don’t show fear. Do not hesitate. You are going to get what you want. Finally.
“If you go off the rails, if you cross the line while you are out there, you won’t be able to come back to the FBI. You understand that, don’t you?”
She stiffened.
“There are things that you cannot do. And one of those things? It’s commit premeditated murder.”
Gray…always profiling. And always…right.
Agnes glanced back at him. She used her bright and sunny smile on him. Most people never looked past that particular smile. Gray wasn’t most people. “I have no intention of committing premeditated murder.”
No, she’d make sure it never, ever looked that way…
“Agnes.”
“I learned a great deal working with you, Agent Stone.” True story. She had. “Thank you for the opportunity.” But it was time for her to take the next step.
And the next step?
That was to sever all ties with the FBI. Because she had to choose…
And the world would believe she was choosing Cass.
Time to burn bridges. The fire would need to be very, very bright. Good thing she had a pocketful of matches.
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?”
