Page 56 of Ridin' True
But in the middle of a warm afternoon at the garage—he was downright sinful.
His coveralls only covered half of him, the top half worn with the sleeves tied around his hips. He had on a white tank, smudged with grease and sweat, exposing his tattoo-covered arms and broad shoulders. As he came toward me, he pulled a rag out of his back pocket and wiped at his hands.
I hadn’t seen him in four days. I knew I missed him. At least, I thought I knew, until he was two feet in front of me—and then Ireallyknew.
I’d missed him terribly.
“I shouldn’t have worn white,” I breathed.
He grinned, my insides defied gravity, and he kept coming toward me until his hand was clasped around the back of my neck.
“I’ll foot the dry-cleaning bill,” he insisted before he pressed his mouth firmly against mine.
As I fell a little harder, I parted my lips in invitation, forgetting entirely that we weren’t alone. He kissed me like he always did, and I pressed my hands against his abdomen, leaning into him as my thong got a little damp. It was me who broke our stride when I couldn’t hold back my laughter—the jeering of the guys too obnoxious to ignore.
Jed lifted his mouth from mine with a smirk, a little of my lipstick smudged across his lips. I reached up to wipe it away, then blindly ran my thumb under my bottom lip in hopes that I didn’t look like I just made-out with a totally hot mechanic five minutes before a pretty important meeting.
“Tell me the truth, do I look like a hot mess?”
“Hot? Hell yeah. Mess? Not at all. Come on, darlin’.”
He let go of my neck and took my hand—his fingers a little grimy, but not nearly enough for me to dare think of dropping them—and we started for the clubhouse.
Upon entering, the first thing I noticed was just how big it was inside. It was hard to tell from the front of the building, but the depth of the space was notable. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it was kind of cool—the masculine, leather décor; the fully stocked bar; the pool tables and dart boards. It was like a legitimate clubhouse, the way a kid might think of it, but for a bunch of bikers.
There were a couple of guys sitting at the bar with beer in front of them, and they glanced our way before jerking their chins at Jed as we passed. He led me to a long hallway, a stretch of doors on either side to the right, what I assumed were bathrooms straight ahead, and a single door to the left.
We went left, and I was soon in what was obviously a conference room with a large round table and chairs. Bull was inside, standing next to the last man who was there the night I was kidnapped. They both looked our way as we entered.
“Torres, this is Twister,” greeted Bull. “He’s my VP.”
“Nice to officially meet you.”
Even as I said the words, it felt not exactly true. I squeezed Jed’s hand and let him go as I stepped forward and said, “Actually, I’ve been thinking—the only person’srealname I know is Jed’s. Assuming you don’t sign any documents asBullorTwister, I think it would be remiss of me to not ask for your real names.”
“Fair enough,” said Bull with a crooked smile. “Roy Douglas.”
“Tell you what,” began Twister. “You tell us what you got, I’ll give you my name.”
“She already has your record, Benson Wright. Needed it for the mediation.”
I could hear the smile in Jed’s voice before I glanced back at him to confirm it.
“Ah, so you’re the bar fight from a few years back,” I teased.
“Well, shit,” replied Benson good-naturedly. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Jed pulled out a chair for me, and we all sat before I took out my notes and got down to business.
“Fred made it pretty difficult to get out of his contract without cause or severance. Given the length of the thing, and its five-year renewal date, my guess is he’s been adding to it over the last couple of decades to protect himself and his salary. And given his tenure, the amount you’d have to pay him to leave is astronomical.”
“Tell me you found grounds for termination,” muttered Roy.
“I think I did. Jed told me the other day that Hoffman has taken on Borrero as a client. Since you and the cartel are not in the same line of business, I know he’s not technically fraternizing with the competition—but that doesn’t mean it’s not a conflict of interest.
“He’s not a Wild Stallion, but he does have to abide by the organization’s code of conduct. He outlined them in the agreement. Protecting the innocent is an admirable and notable obligation of the Stallions. And this is where I come in. I won’t say it was worth it—because it was terrifying—but my kidnapping, while it had nothing to do with the Wild Stallions, will help us build this case.”
“You’re shittin’ me,” muttered Benson.
