Cocky (Spartan Riders Book 5) Read online

  That wasn’t going to be good for anyone.

  The good news was that Contreras had left the door open for talks with the Spartans, which had Quick hopeful that it meant he was willing to negotiate. If he was, then they could avoid another bloody showdown like the one they’d had with the previous leader, Luciana, whom Contreras had answered to, like a little whipping boy on puppet strings.

  Turned out homeboy had a nose for business, though, and had ruthlessly taken over as the head of operations. But he hadn’t made waves like they all thought he would, and this recent development gave them all hope that something could be resolved.

  Maybe they could make him see reason and he’d either leave town or move his business elsewhere. Moose had a few ideas on how to make that happen. He clenched his fists open and closed as he and his brothers filed into the local bar, feeling the familiar ache to put his hands to good use. Personally, he would love to put a few marks on that smug bastard, Contreras. Purple and blue would go great with his olive skin tone.

  Quick led the way to a table in the back big enough to accommodate everyone. As soon as they sat down, a pretty young waitress came by to take their order of two pitchers of beer and to keep ‘em coming. After the talk they’d had, taking the edge off was in order. Sometimes, the stress around the table got to a person, and the only way they had to calm the nerves was with a little alcoholic beverage.

  “Tonight, I’m going to put in a call with Cruiz,” Quick said, his words like a bomb being dropped in the middle of the table.

  Everyone stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. The man was shouldering some serious baggage, and like the rest of them, he was eager to unload.

  “You think that’s wise?” Moose asked while visually assessing his friend for any sign of sudden onset psychosis. Was that a thing? He thought it might be a thing…

  “I think he gave us an offer we can’t refuse.”

  “You sound like the Godfather.”

  Blake smirked. “Gotta think like one to deal with one, right?”

  “I don’t think we wanna be goin’ down that road,” Repo said wisely, and they all agreed with a nod.

  “Me either. But I’ve been turning it over in my mind all day, and I think Cruiz was saying somethin’ when he made that offer; otherwise, why make it at all? In fact, why not have us thrown out on our asses the moment we walked in?”

  “Or shoot us on sight,” Taco added.

  “Exactly. So I think making a call is our best bet. See where his head is at.”

  “You think he’s in over his head with that Mafioso looking dude and is looking for a solution?” Taco asked.

  “Or he’s setting up an ambush,” Wayne suggested.

  “That was just what I was thinking, Scarlet,” Moose said with a smirk. With a nickname like that, he couldn’t not use it whenever the opportunity presented itself. Wayne gave him the side eye, suggesting he didn’t agree. Whatever. The kid would ease into it eventually.

  “So we’re in agreement,” Quick stated, glancing at each of them.

  “As long as I’m not left behind with my thumb up my ass again,” Moose groused.

  “You had your thumb up your asshole? Dude.” Country scrunched his features. Moose shook his head and poured himself a drink. The man was forever cracking jokes.

  “What about the women and kids?” Taco asked, clearly thinking of his own little family who he’d been working diligently at expanding. He and Bambi were like a couple of rabbits, giving Blake and Gabby a run for their baby-making money. “We can’t all run off and leave them without protection. And I know we have prospects on hand, but who here really trusts a handful of rookies with the safety of their family, especially if something like what happened last time repeated itself.”

  “You have a point,” Blake agreed, scratching his grizzled cheek thoughtfully. “We’ll have a sit-down and draw straws. This is all assuming Contreras agrees to a meet ’n greet. Either way, we do this smart or not at all.”

  “Or we let Country go Rambo with his military contacts and turn Contreras’s mansion into a burned-out crater,” Repo suggested.

  “I’m game for that,” Country piped in eagerly, always the first to be ready to blow shit up. The man was a military hero, knew all about covert missions and weaponry the likes of which most of them had never seen beyond a Gun Digest magazine.

  “Hold off till we know what we’re looking at,” Quick told him, then swigged some of his beer. The man was wound tighter than a kid’s music box, tension evident in how tight he held his mug all the way to the set of his lips as he slapped it back onto the table.

  Times like this, Moose was glad he hadn’t gone and gotten a girl knocked up. Most days, it was an okay life to raise a kid up in, but those off days were the kind of nightmares that made a man say no fuckin’ way, and there was no telling what corner those days were lurking behind.

  After the seriousness of the day passed, the guys got into lighter talks, making wisecracks and ribbing each other over bullshit that didn’t even make sense half the time. None of them got wasted, but they all had a good buzz going by the time trouble walked through the door.

  They hadn’t been expecting it—couldn’t have predicted it if they’d tired. And the most surprised person at the table was Moose, who was wondering how in the fuck he was going to explain this one to Mouse.

  Sauntering toward a booth as if they’d done it a thousand times was Rena…with Manuel Contreras’s grubby hand resting on the small of her back, guiding the way, while two of his henchmen flanked him, keeping an eye out for problems.

  Well, problem was Moose’s middle name. Just so happened it was each of his brothers’ middle names too. And their hackles were all standing on end, their mouths frothing to take a chomp out of his hide.

  But Quick wasn’t about to let his pack step out of line. Not now, especially not in a public bar, and especially not when he was attempting to do things diplomatically.

  “Does your girlfriend know her sister is sleeping with the devil?” someone asked, but Moose’s vision was filled with red and narrowed to a pinpoint focus, so he had no idea who he was addressing when he replied with a, “Not yet, but she’s about to find out.”

  Then he took out his phone and snapped a few pictures. Evidence. When he confronted that lying little wench, he wanted proof to back him up. He wanted to look her in the eyes when she tried to lie her way out of this one. Angel said her sister had a way of always getting herself into trouble, but Moose just hadn’t realized how deep she would go.

  This was new ground. A delicate situation that could blow up in their faces fast if they didn’t handle it properly. If talks with Contreras didn’t go well, if they pushed the wrong button on his hair-trigger temper, no doubt Contreras would use Rena as a bargaining chip.

  As much of a problem as she’d been, Moose had no doubt that Angel loved her sister fiercely. If anything happened to her because of them, she’d never forgive him. She’d always blame him for her sister getting caught in the cross fire.

  Moose turned his head, catching his president’s eye. “This changes everything.”

  twenty

  Rena hadn’t expected to be taken out tonight, as Manuel preferred to stay in. But tonight he’d emerged from the house with a worn expression that grew even deeper, creating deep lines across his forehead when he spotted her poolside with his daughter.

  No doubt the man who controlled the world didn’t like the vision of the two women in his life chatting, perhaps conspiratorially, about him. Of course, he had no proof they were discussing him—even though they had been. In fact, Rena felt she had successfully navigated the choppiest waters with Victorjia in the nearly two hours that they’d been talking. She was a lovely young woman, not much younger than Rena, which she suspected aided in their connection—one she wasn’t opposed to capitalizing on.

  Being the stern kind of man that he was, Manuel had simply walked up and asked how his two lovely ladies were gett
ing along, then, holding out a hand, he’d told Rena to get dressed because he was taking her out.

  And here they were, back in the same place they’d first met. The bar hadn’t changed at all—just the scenery. Rena had to be careful not to get sucked in by his charms. The way Manuel held her waist as they walked, the soft way that he talked to her, the commanding presence he exuded, and those delicious lips that kissed her with total finesse made her weak. Each day, her ability to keep the mission separate from her personal life grew harder. Rena knew if she didn’t find what the FBI needed soon, she might not have the strength to simply cut ties and walk away when the time finally came. Was that what Agent McKinnon meant when she’d eluded to knowing what Rena was going through? Had she experienced the same conflicting emotions on a past case? But the biggest question was, how had she fared? The woman appeared to have done okay for herself, but there was a look about her—bruises beneath her bloodshot eyes, frown lines bracketing her lips and carving a line between her brows, and a sheer tiredness to her voice—that suggested she was stressed to the max. So maybe they were both slowly sinking under their respective situations.

  God, she really hated thinking that way. It was just another reminder of how she never failed to screw up. Whatever Rena did, it seemed like she was always making the wrong choices. She couldn’t seem to help herself. Whether it was a selfish act or matters of the heart or just a self-fulfilling prophecy, she couldn’t seem to keep herself out of trouble. Maybe Angel was right. Maybe she was her own worst enemy.

  Sitting beside Manuel, Rena took a moment to admire the sharp cut of his broad jaw, his wide nose, thick lips, and big brown, intelligent eyes lined with enviably thick black lashes. He appeared completely at ease, even in his three-piece suit in the middle of a country bar, as if he simply belonged there. Nothing and yet everything about him screamed he should be avoided, that he was dangerous, but she couldn’t escape the natural draw he had toward him. Manuel was…magnetic. Even knowing she was slowly falling farther down the rabbit hole toward her demise, she couldn’t stop herself. Or maybe she wouldn’t. At this point, it was hard to know the difference, since she’d been singing the same song and dancing the same dance her entire life.

  But maybe the problem wasn’t with Rena. Maybe it was with the rest of the world. Maybe she couldn’t make herself fit because she simply didn’t. Like a square peg in a round hole, maybe she wasn’t made for the world her sister was a part of, but was made for Manuel’s instead. After all, they did have an undeniable connection, even if it did take place mostly in the bedroom.

  Manuel ordered a whiskey, neat, and a cocktail for her. He didn’t ask her order, just made it for her. Any other woman might take offense to that, but Rena kind of like his self-assuredness. And what was more impressive was that he was right on the money in his assumption. She did like cocktails. Then again, there weren’t many alcoholic beverages she’d hadn’t met and liked.

  “So when are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Rena asked, putting it all out on the table. She’d always been a forward kind of girl, so she might as well just play par for the course. Besides, she couldn’t get answers if she didn’t ask questions, and Manuel had been quiet all evening, that pensive look on his face making it obvious that he had something weighing on his mind.

  Twisting the whiskey glass between his fingers, he simply told her, “It’s none of your business.”

  Harsh words delivered by a harsh man. Rena tried and failed not to be hurt by his blunt delivery, but she couldn’t deny the sting. Yet another sign she was in trouble.

  “Maybe not, but when it affects our time together, I’ll make it my business,” she asserted. Manuel might not realize it, but she could match him. She hadn’t gotten as far as she had in life skating by on niceties. When push came to shove, she always shoved.

  He cast her a droll look, forcing her to steel her spine and not shrink back. Oh, but if looks could kill… Although she was fairly certain he wasn’t truly mad at her, and she didn’t think he would try to hurt her, Rena felt the strike of fear all the same. Here she was, sitting beside a man who was a known criminal with even deeper criminal ties. Even though she was never made privy to the extent of his background, she wasn’t stupid. This man had done things in his lifetime that would send him straight to Hell. It was in his eyes, a coldness that reached so deep inside of him, it likely touched his soul. There was no coming back from that kind of darkness.

  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t savable.

  Rena had witnessed softness and kindness in him. He was lost, but not totally. That was the little something that she was grabbing onto, the tiny shred of decency that kept her hanging in there just a little longer, kept her wanting more.

  He’s not so bad.

  “Step lightly,” he warned her, his voice deceptively calm.

  “I’ll step where I want, Manny. I don’t answer to anyone but myself. But I will and do respect your privacy. I have from the start, but I’m allowed to express concern and ask how you’re doing. I deserve to know something, even if you leave out the details.”

  He looked at her with those dark eyes, searching for she didn’t know what. “Why do I like you?”

  The question confused her, and Rena frowned, unsure of how to answer.

  “Maybe it’s because you have a mouth on you. Reminds me of…” He cut himself off, scowling as he gulped down the rest of his drink and raised an arm, signaling the waitress to bring him another.

  Rena didn’t ask. She figured whatever had stopped his words had to do with his late wife. And when she made that connection, she could almost see the pain in his eyes and realized then that a lot of the anger bubbling at the surface of ninety percent of his expressions was actually him just trying to cover up the turmoil going on inside.

  Manuel wasn’t evil. He was tortured.

  Not one to back down, especially since she was on a roll, Rena opened her mouth to push some more when a couple of giants in leather appeared at their table.

  She didn’t immediately recognize the man with the black hair and gray eyes…until Kade stepped up, and then she made the connection. Judging by their hateful stares and the sheer amount of daggers they were throwing at Manny, they had a bone to pick.

  “What are you doing here?” the leader asked, his voice low and gruff, almost like a growl.

  Manuel met his eyes with the same confidence he carried around like a vest of chain mail that she saw him wear every day. “I’m sorry, is this a private establishment? I didn’t see a sign.”

  His comment was met with disdain. “Guess we’ll have to make one then. Slap your picture on it.”

  “You know,” Manuel mused, “I don’t remember any phone calls about meeting here today. So either I need to fire my assistant, or you’re interrupting my downtime.”

  “What are you doing here, Rena?” Kade asked, stepping to the side and more into view. “He’s not the kind of people you want to be associating with, trust me.”

  Embarrassment, shame, and righteous indignation—how dare he judge her and who she chose to spend her time with?—warred inside of her. She knew he was thinking of her sister, as well as Rena’s past, but he didn’t know the whole story. How could he? And she couldn’t explain.

  Lifting her chin, she simply didn’t say anything. They might be familiar with each other, but they were hardly friends. Hell, they’d barely shared two words with each other before this. She didn’t owe him anything.

  Slipping her hand onto Manuel’s thigh under the table, she expressed her solidarity. He responded for both of them. “Gentlemen, the lady and I are busy. Like I said before, make an appointment.”

  The waitress showed up then, and with a nervous glance at the assembled men, set Manuel’s fresh glass of whiskey in front of him and darted away again. Manuel picked up the glass, brought it to his lips and turned it up, emptying it in one shot. Grasping the hand she’d placed on his thigh, Manuel began sliding out from the booth, forcing the
bikers to move back and make way without so much as a single word spoken.

  The power he displayed with that one action alone impressed Rena more than it should. A man with inherent power was damn sexy.

  “I trust I’ll be hearing from you soon,” Manuel said in parting, and the leader with the stunning gray eyes nodded mutely.

  Rena followed closely behind Manuel, only glancing back once to catch the disapproval on Kade’s face. No doubt, he was going to go running back to her sister who would read her the riot act the instant she walked through the door.

  So maybe she just wouldn’t go home tonight.

  The thought reminded her of when she was a kid avoiding punishment. You couldn’t be grounded if you weren’t around to ground, right?

  It was crazy how she always felt like a little kid in comparison to Angel, when in reality only two years separated them. But that’s the way it had always been. Angel took on the mother role, and Rena was the out-of-control child. But with Manny, Rena didn’t feel like a kid. He only saw the woman she’d grown to be. He didn’t judge her by her past. With him, all of that wasn’t a factor; she could leave it behind. Which was exactly why coming home had always been a rarity for her. Who wanted to live under constant judgment and ridicule, never living up to others’ expectations?

  Outside, Manuel led the way to the blacked-out Mercedes and opened the rear passenger door for her, allowing her to climb in before doing so himself. He wore a mask of contrition, the fingers of his left hand tapping out a rhythm on his thigh as the driver set the car into motion.

  He was agitated, as he had every right to be. Kade and his friends had overstepped, confronting him without cause. In a way, despite the already tense air surrounding him, they’d ruined the evening with their bullshit. If Manuel hadn’t been in a bad mood before, he certainly was now.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, testing the waters.