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“Then should we talk about yours?”
She wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed against him. “Hell no. Mine is much more complicated.”
Catching her lips once more, Kevlar easily maneuvered into her warmth. A satisfied moan slipped from her lips, and he immediately caught it in his mouth. They could talk about anything under the sun and still end up fucking. It was why he loved her so damned much. And why the thought of her returning to Boston made his soul shatter.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nikita
Fat clouds threatenedsnow the next morning. After Nikita’s alarm went off at daybreak, she stared out the window, her lips drawn in a thin line. The next hours would either bring brilliant success or glaring defeat. She hoped for the former. Her career depended on a win.
Kevlar grunted from his spot in the bed. The warm blankets and equally heated man tempted her to stay wrapped in the cocoon of his love the rest of the day. Her phone rang noisily. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. She pulled on her jeans and one of Kevlar’s black tees. It swallowed her whole, his cologne mixed with oil and cigarette smoke clinging to the fabric. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the musk, swearing to never return the shirt even after the scent faded.
Sneaking out of the room, she answered in a low voice, “Zane, what’s going on? I didn’t think we were meeting until nine.”
“We weren’t, but the Cutthroats are on the move.”
Her eyes bugged. “What?” She hurried back into the room and grabbed her shoes. Her rapid movements caused Kevlar to sit straight up in bed, the sheet falling precariously close to revealing his glorious naked form.
“They must’ve gotten wind we were in town.” Zane sounded annoyed, road noise in the background. “I already spoke to Rubble.”
As if the man himself heard the conversation, Rubble burst into the room. His bald head was covered with a black beanie cap, mismatched eyes alert. “Kevlar, get up. We need to hit the road.”
Not speaking, Kevlar got to his feet, not bothering to cover himself in the slightest. While she couldn’t take her eyes off his nakedness, it appeared the other man wasn’t fazed in the slightest. Then again, they’d known each other a long time.
“Yeah, he’s here,” she finally said, focusing on the conversation. She rifled through the discarded clothes on the floor and found her bra.
“Good. There’s a snowstorm brewing, and from the looks of it, they’re headed down the alternative route.” Zane cursed under his breath. “Let’s hope your Macha men are prepared.”
“They will be.” She hung up without another word and finished dressing. She couldn’t give up his shirt, a fact he noticed if the smirk on his face was any indicator.
Kevlar brushed by her, dressed from head to toe in Macha gear. Gone was the Tucker Dorous of the night before. The MC replacement stood in his place.
He tilted up her chin, brown eyes searching hers. “Be safe, Kita.”
She swallowed hard at the emotion on his face that he desperately tried to hide. “You too.”
Kevlar started to close the distance to her lips, then thought better of it. He turned on his toes and followed his brother out the door and down the hall. Rubble banged on doors as they walked, movement from each room, reacting to the sound of his booming voice. The sergeant at arms wasn’t coy in his wake-up call.
Mandi’s grumbling in the hallway reminded her they needed to move. Taking one last look at the room, Nikita bit her bottom lip. It’d been a good night even if sleep hadn’t been on the menu. Regret didn’t line her gut to her surprise. A yearning for more did, though.
She retrieved a black beanie, much like the ones Kevlar and Rubble wore and inhaled the material. It bespoke of hours with Kevlar. She pulled it over her messy hair and stared at the small mirror near the door. The Macha symbol was stamped on the front, a reminder that she all but joined the club to take down two MCs. Somehow, it didn’t bother her. Macha wasn’t her father’s club. They stood for something else entirely.
I could see myself happy with them.
Shaking her head, she hurried over the threshold. Thinking like that would get her killed. She was a goddamn FBI agent who took down MCs. She couldn’t join one. Even if her heart urged her to.
***
From all accounts, the secondary route was abysmal. The curvy roads cut through the mountain pass, sharp turns at every glance. The FBI should’ve counted on the MC to change up their well-laid plans. Their dual informant, Juliet, was murdered—most likely for knowing too much—and the Cutthroats were playing it safe. Her recent visit to Fishkill Penitentiary could’ve affected their plan too. She tried to push that thought aside. She wouldn’t visit again if he warned the MC. Her father was smart enough to know that.
Nikita rubbed her hands together, cursing the lack of gloves.Should’ve grabbed the ones Queenie offered.She pulled her FBI jacket closer. They didn’t have time to chat with Reaper’s old lady before hustling to their sedan. Thankfully, Mandi snagged a bundle of freshly made cinnamon twists, courtesy of Doc shockingly enough, along with two cups of coffee.
Snow dusted the windshield and she flicked on the wipers. Puffs of smoke drifted from the Macha truck down the road. From cigarettes or exhaling, she wasn’t sure. Rubble, Hawk, and Kevlar were stationed at the first checkpoint. Doc and Cueball were at the third, while she and Mandi sat in the middle. Once the Cutthroats and Diablos shipment came through, the Macha trucks would block the road in both directions, and she and Mandi would swoop in.
Zane set up shop at the initial route in case of a double-back. They couldn’t be too careful when it came to these two MCs. They’d skated detection before, and losing them today wouldn’t bode well at the agency.
A few vehicles passed on the road. None appeared out of place, which both comforted and annoyed her. The longer they sat there, the less likely their intel was correct. The most recent chatter the FBI received didn’t specify when the shipment was being moved. They couldn’t risk losing the trafficked women who would most assuredly be sold at the next stop.
