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“You could have just told me what you were up to.” Jag’s voice was right behind me and when I stood my ass brushed against him.
“Don’t sneak up on me!” I turned to face him and knelt down, never taking my eyes off Jag as I placed the tracker just above the rear tire.
“I didn’t sneak, I walked.” He stood closer, his denim covered cock just inches from my mouth. My watering mouth. “Come on, spy girl.” He held his hand out and I took it, ignoring the sizzle snaking from my palm to his.
“That’s spy woman to you.”
He smiled but there was something else on his mind. “You could have just told me your plan.”
“And have you try to talk me out of it? It was easier this way.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Yeah well, I’m the one who was run off the road by a big red monster truck.”
His expression changed, and he stayed quiet as I said an enthusiastic goodbye to Dennis and left to get on his bike.
“You could have been killed.”
“Duh, I think that was kind of the point.”
“You think you’re ok to ride? Not going to hurt too much? I can get us a car.”
I threw my leg cautiously over the bike and sat down. “I’m fine. Let’s just go home.”
Jag stayed silent for the entire ride back to his place, which was a long ride, because it wasn’t on the Vegas side of Mayhem. He killed the engine and stepped off his bike silently, holding my hand with a gentle kind of intensity I didn’t know how to take. Not with my head so fuzzy and my body so achy.
We walked up to the front door and slowly went inside.
Jag undressed me, giving me a moment to look around the room while he went to start the water in the tub. I’d spent hours in this room, too distracted with his naked body to take in the dark, masculine details. The room was two shades of green with cherry furniture. Stylish but not fussy, exactly like the man who occupied it.
“Come on.” He took my hand and pulled me into the bathroom where the tub was almost full with steaming, scented water. “Get in. It’ll help with your pain.”
I wanted to, but my senses were tingling, telling me to proceed with caution. “What’s the catch?”
He rolled his eyes and pushed me toward the tub, tapping one leg to get me to lift it. “I can lift you and put you in if you’d prefer.”
I would prefer dammit, but not now. I stepped in and sank into the water with a moan. It was perfectly hot and smelled faintly of Jag. “Are you going to join me?”
“Not yet. First I want you to tell me what you haven’t told me yet.”
And there it was.
The trap.
Chapter Nine
Jag
This was the first time since I became a Reckless Bastard that the club didn’t have my full attention. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that someone had run Vivi off the fucking road. Still, Cross was talking and he was my Prez. I needed to fucking listen.
“Stitch has been on ID duty at one of the dispensaries and he’s spotted a couple guys who look like feds hanging around. Anyone have any idea why?” Cross’s blue gaze looked around the table, assessing each of us to see why the club might face another threat. His gaze landed on me, a question burning in the depths.
“This shit can’t be placed at my door.” That was serious. Of all the Reckless Bastards I was the squeakiest fucking clean. I didn’t fuck the Reckless Bitches and I didn’t get serious about women, which meant my personal shit never touched the club. Until now. Maybe.
“So this has nothing to do with the blue haired babe who came looking for you the other night?”
I couldn’t definitively say it had nothing to do with Vivi, but I was pretty sure. “Probably not. Stitch. When did these suits first start showing up?”
