Mettle: (Spartan Riders #2) Page 3

  She gave him the same once-over, lingering on the bulge along his inner thigh. A bold one, she was. Her tawny eyes rose up and met his, the corner of her mouth and a single eyebrow lifted in amusement. Or perhaps that was appreciation…

  “Your date stand you up?” she asked, lifting her chin toward the phone he still held in his hand.

  Tucker looked down at the thing, surprised. Forgot he even had it out. A list of numbers identified by nicknames like Double Mint Twins and Freak Nasty stared back at him, and suddenly, the need for a quickie had lost its appeal.

  Putting the phone away, Tucker leaned forward, folding his arms on the bar, and stared into the woman’s amazing eyes. “Looks that way. Broke my heart.” He pouted a bit, pure show, and she knew it.

  “Bitch.” A smirk played on her perfectly formed rose-petal lips. She leaned in a little. “Just so you know, I’d never break your heart. Now, other things…” She left that one dangling, sparking Tucker’s intrigue.

  “Other things…” Lifting his hand, Tucker slid the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, appraising her once more. “You know, I would not be opposed to see what kind of ‘things’ you have in mind.”

  She chuckled, a soft, delicate sound, just like everything else about her. “I don’t know if you could handle the kind of things I’m thinking.”

  Tucker’s eyes narrowed and, deciding to match her boldness, he said, “I can handle whatever you want to throw at me, sugar. I should warn you, though. It’s you who might not be able to handle me…” With a start, he realized he hadn’t caught her name.

  Reading his expression and extending a delicate, fine-boned hand, she said, “Talia Bruce. And I assure you, it’s the other way around.”

  And wasn’t that exactly what he wanted to hear. Grasping her hand firmly, Tucker held onto it far longer than was necessary. “My friends call me Country, but you…” He rubbed his thumb across the soft skin on the back of her hand, then lifted it to his lips, kissing baby soft knuckles that smelled faintly of apple blossoms. “You can call me Tuck.”

  She grinned, not understanding the significance of him allowing her to call him by his real name. No woman had ever known him as anything but Country, but her…There was something about this one that made him want to lose the filter. Get a little closer.

  “Nice to meet you, Tuck.”

  “Exactly my thoughts, Talia.”

  Her eyes sparkled at his seductive purr, and Tucker did a mental fist pump. Hook. Line. Sinker.

  “Say, how about you let me take care of you tonight, help mend that broken heart. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Boldly, she reached out with the hand he wasn’t holding and traced a line down the depression between his fore and middle fingers—a sensual promise if ever he’d felt one. An electric current shot through his hand and up his arm, bouncing around in his chest cavity before shooting straight to his balls.

  Tucker’s brows winged up in surprise. Holy shit. If only a touch did that, what would the rest of her pressed up against him do?

  His thoughts rerouted, settling briefly on what she’d said. She wanted to take care of him. What had he been thinking earlier about finding a woman who wanted nothing more than to care for him? Maybe he’d been wrong after all.

  Eager to find out, Tucker said in his smooth, Southern drawl, “Bring on the shots.”

  FOUR

  She’d done it. Somehow, Talia had managed to get in close with one of the Spartans—Tuck, from what he called himself. From the tag on his leather vest, he was the Sargent at Arms, which meant he worked closely with the president, one Blake Mahone. From that rank, he was definitely a key player and had to know the inner workings of everything to do with the Spartan Rider’s business.

  She couldn’t have handpicked a better person.

  Talia watched the door to the men’s restroom for any signs of Tuck’s return. While she waited, she mentally reviewed the paperwork the SAC had passed around to her and her colleagues. If memory served, Tuck’s full name was Tucker Randall Abrams, born to Christine and Theodore Abrams of Jackson, Mississippi some thirty-four years ago. His father, Theo, spent his life working as an engineer on the railroad, his mother a career housewife.

  Tucker grew up in a nice community even by today’s standards and, despite graduating with honors and receiving a generous scholarship to Jackson State, he’d enrolled in the US armed forces. They were only able to track him for the first couple of years, his training taking him to several bases throughout the country. During that time, he moved up the ranks quickly, demonstrating impressive skill in the field with an aptitude for weaponry until somewhere around his fourth year inside, they lost track of him. Even the FBI couldn’t access those records, so there was no telling what had gone on during that time. All they knew was that Tucker Abrams ceased to exist for nearly four years. Then he’d popped back up and resumed life, only this time outside of the military and, soon enough, inside a biker compound.

  The scarred wooden door to the men’s restroom swung open with a sharp squeal and Tuck strolled out, his gait fluid and cocky to match his smile. Her eyes stayed glued to his, projecting confidence, as he approached, her thoughts split between appreciation for the man in front of her and curiosity over his past.

  “You up for a little fun? I’m thinkin’ we take this party someplace private,” Tuck drawled as he sidled up next to her and turned her around on her stool so he could insinuate his hips between her thighs.

  Instantly, heat crawled down her spine, warming her far better than several shots of tequila ever could. Emboldened by his behavior and reminding herself that this was all just an act, and one that she had to play perfectly to get the answers she wanted, Talia wiggled closer until she felt the telltale bulge in his pants pressing right up against her core.

  Her skin flamed on contact, her stomach clenching with need. God, she was burning up. Resting her arms on his wide shoulders, she got a good feel of how solid he was as she grinned up at him. “A private party for two?”

  “Oh yeah. Very private.”

  “Will there be tequila at this very private party?”

  His hands finding her hips, Tuck slipped his thumbs beneath the fringe of her top and teased her sensitized flesh. “Whatever you want, sugar, as long as you’re naked,” he husked.

  Goose bumps prickled down Talia’s arms and lifted the hair on the back of her neck. She shivered, and he felt it, his devilish smile growing wider.

  Even though it was against protocol, even though SAC Ingram was bound to shit a brick and see her reprimanded harshly, even though she was seriously pushing the lines of professionalism by hooking up with him, Talia was willing to go above and beyond the call of duty if it meant saving even one woman from the bonds of slavery.

  The pictures of all the women who’d been taken formed in her mind’s eye as if to shore up her courage, as if to remind her why she was here, as if to say never forget.

  She wouldn’t.

  Not ever.

  Tuck must have sensed the shift in her. His brows furrowed, one hand leaving her hip to trace across the apple of her cheek—a gentle touch from a charismatic but no doubt brutal man. “You okay, sugar? Havin’ a change of heart?”

  Shaking off her melancholy, Talia forced herself to be present in the moment. Thoughts of work had no place here, now. Through heavy-lidded eyes, she stared up at him and rasped, “I’m perfect.” Then, with a proverbial leap off the cliff of no return, she added, “Let’s get out of here.”

  ***

  Uber was a wonderful thing, especially when it meant preventing a certain biker from seeing the car she’d driven there in. She shouldn’t have taken the FBI issued vehicle—she’d have to remember to request a new model in the morning—but spontaneity often didn’t afford a myriad of options. Since they’d both had too many drinks and were in no condition to drive anyway, her refusal to drive didn’t brook any arguments or questions. Thankfully, it was the work of a moment for Tuck to type out a messa
ge on his phone, and then a guy in a Ford rolled into the bar’s parking lot to pick them up.

  He was clean-cut with a neatly trimmed goatee, mid-twenties, and dressed like someone from Beverly Hills instead of rural Tennessee in a brown, striped polo beneath a cobalt blue hoodie that left the impression of casual but screamed high fashion—two looks she never would have paired herself.

  He was nice, though, chatting them up from the front seat as if Tuck wasn’t practically molesting her in the back. His arm draped around her shoulder, a heavy weight that felt absolutely perfect. His body pressed against her entire left side, all hard, thick muscle beneath the sturdy leather of his vest and dense material of his jeans. His hand was tucked inside her shirt, cupping a boob while his fingers gently pinched and massaged her nipple, and his mouth was grazing a maddening path over the thundering pulse beneath her ear.

  She was practically ready to burst.

  Talia was a woman from sturdy stock. Raised a military brat who went on to make a career with the government, she knew all about how to control her emotions, stay cool under fire…but Tucker Abrams was putting ten years of teaching to the test.

  And she’d spent little more than a couple of hours with him.

  As they pulled up outside the gates of the Spartan compound, Talia wondered how much damage he would do to her resolve with a few more.

  Tucker got out first, then held out his hand to help her. She took it, immediately falling against his chest as if too drunk to steady herself.

  She wasn’t…drunk, that is.

  No, thanks to many nights spent with her colleagues in various bars, burning the midnight oil like a bunch of college kids, she had built up a healthy tolerance. Just the same as she could tell Tucker had.

  But he didn’t need to know that.

  In times like this, the ability to act wasted while keeping her head about her would serve her well. It was all about staying cool under pressure, and despite being moments away from walking into a building packed with a hoard of possibly violent criminals, she was a cool cucumber indeed.

  Confidence in herself and her abilities went a long way.

  So did the knowledge of the tracking device in the lining of her bra along with the message on her phone containing the night’s plans that were scheduled to be sent off to the SAC at nine a.m. sharp the next morning if she wasn’t there to stop it.

  Not to mention the tail that was currently hidden somewhere around the block.

  Yes, she had her bases covered.

  As the Uber driver drove off and Tuck led her up to the gates beneath the shelter of his heavy arm, saluting a couple of men who stood guard and exchanging some friendly jokes and creative insults, Talia took a casual stock of her surroundings.

  Much of the grounds behind the several-foot-tall fencing was asphalt. In the distance, there was an automotive shop that was completely lit up from the inside. Two of the three bays were open, revealing several men who looked to be in the process of fixing up their bikes. Loud Eighties rock music poured from inside, as did their laughter and indecipherable words.

  Nearby, and despite the pervading darkness, Talia was able to make out the familiar shape of a playground, as well as a picnic area and a grassy field that she imagined was probably used for rough play, like football or soccer…or beating and hogtying their enemies.

  Not that she thought they did that sort of thing, but one never knew for certain. She was still in the fact-gathering stages of her investigation, after all.

  She was just keeping her mind sharp, reminding herself of where she was and the gravity of the situation she was in if her cover was blown.

  On that note, she catalogued every exit as they entered what used to be an old armory back when the town was founded—there were precious few. In fact, looking past all the men and women around them, the only exit she could surmise was the one they had entered through—the front door.

  So not good, she thought with a healthy amount of fear tickling at the base of her brain, warning her that it might not be such a great idea to continue, but stubborn and focused as she was, Talia pushed it to the side and chose to ignore it altogether.

  She had already made up her mind, and thus would see it through.

  Man, there were a lot more people there than she’d anticipated. Did they live there? She hadn’t seen even half of them during her days’ long surveillance. It made a person wonder what other secrets they were hiding.

  Tuck chose that moment to take her hand in his, looking back over his shoulder and giving her a sexy wink as they crossed the floor of a very large and spacious room that appeared to serve multiple purposes—bar, living and dining room, and play area complete with everything you’d expect to find in your typical sports bar.

  There was no turning back now. She had to move forward, get the information.

  Talia smiled back, somewhat faintly, but set in her mind that, yes, she would do this. She would get her answers, and she would get laid by a sexy biker while she was at it.

  And that was a bonus if ever she saw one. It’d been too long since she’d experienced the weight of a man, and even though it kinda-sorta went against protocol, she was more than ready to jump back into the deep end.

  For the job, she told herself.

  They were headed for a darkly lit hallway when a man’s voice boomed over the din. “Country!”

  Tuck held her hand a little tighter as he turned around, looking impatient. “Yeah, Prez, what’s up?”

  Talia stood close to Tuck, her hand gripping his as a giant of a man dressed in black leather with a full-on beard and stormy, silver-gray penetrating eyes that meant business stalked up to them.

  “Need a word.” His eyes cut to Talia meaningfully, and it was all she could do not to shrink before him.

  Christ, he was intimidating. But that was what one expected from the leader of a motorcycle gang, right?

  “Can it wait?” Tuck asked, his words clipped.

  “Pussy can wait. You and I have business.” The president pushed past them, his thick shoulder checking Tuck’s on his way.

  With a grunt of annoyance, Tuck shook his head and heaved a sigh. Talia knew what was coming before he said it.

  “I have to take care of this.”

  A part of her jumped up and shouted its relief. If she’d been looking for an exit, one had just fallen into her lap. She could use this as an opportunity to regroup, get together with him later in a more neutral environment and see what she could pull out of him then. Despite the save, she felt a marked sense of disappointment surge up inside of her, which was disconcerting. She didn’t actually want to be there, she reminded herself.

  “That’s okay. I understand,” she assured him, her voice weaker than she’d have liked. She was not disappointed. But she kinda was. Irritated with herself, Talia stepped back, prepared to sever the connection.

  That clearly wasn’t what Tuck had in mind, though. Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled her in close, sending her heart rate skyrocketing, his brows dipped down low over his eyes. “You misunderstand me. I’m not sending you away. I’m asking you to hold tight while I take care of this, and when I’m done, I’ll be takin’ care of you. Feel me?”

  It was suddenly hard to breathe, as if there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. Her pulse thrashed in her ears, and her body temperature reached the boiling point. Talia was…excited? Yes, that was it. She was excited at the prospect of getting to stay, of experiencing this man fully.

  Most disturbing of all…it had nothing to do with the job.

  She wanted Tucker Abrams.

  That alone should have sent her running for the door, back to the bar, to her car, to fucking salvation, because she understood in that moment that it wasn’t just the need to save women that was fueling her.

  Not anymore, anyway.

  It was the man. Something about him—his charisma, his magnetism, his mettle—that drew her. Sparked her intrigue. Made her want to get close to the fire, to feel the
burn.

  Her words left her on a breathless whisper. “I feel you.”

  A crooked smirk that did so much for him angled across his face, and he leaned in, twisting a hank of her hair around his fist and tugging on the roots as he lifted her face to his. “Not yet, but you will.” Then he kissed her.

  As Tuck’s firm, sensuous lips devoured hers, his tongue dipping and diving into her mouth and sending shockwaves of euphoria throughout her body, Talia realized she was in trouble.

  If a few hours could weaken her to him this much, by the end of the night, she’d be decimated.

  FIVE

  “If this is about the girl, no worries. She’s cool,” Tucker assured Blake as they closed themselves inside the “war room.” A room he had spent so much time in as of late, behind that enormous slab of wood, he didn’t have to look around to refresh his memory. Long, narrow, and outfitted with enough chairs to accommodate his brothers in arms, the room was anything but luxurious—functional was more apt.

  His thoughts momentarily drifted to Talia and what she would look like spread out naked on that stretch of wood. He couldn’t picture it, though, having no idea what she looked like without her clothes on yet. He would soon enough. Just knowing that she was waiting for him in his room was enough to make his palms sweat. Whatever Blake needed to talk to him about, it needed to get sorted. Fast.

  “This ain’t about the girl. Although you know how I feel about outsiders in here. Especially now, with the shit we’re facing down.” Blake slumped down into his chair at the head of the table and closed his eyes, a heavy breath whistling through his nose.

  Frowning, Tucker took his seat at Blake’s side. “What’s up? You look stressed.”

  Peeling those silver, wolf-like eyes open, Tuck had to appreciate the sheer handsomeness of the man. His president was tall, built like a brick shithouse motherfucker, with sharp eyes to match his wit and angular features that could make even Brad Pitt envious.

  Yep, the Prez’s milkshake definitely brought all the bunnies to the yard.