Wicked Ride, Page 2

  “Ballocks,” Kellach muttered before launching himself off the asphalt and right at her. He cleared the dead body, wrapped himself around her, and tackled her to the ground. One hand cushioned her head, while a rock-hard arm banded around her waist and kept her from injuring, well, anything. He rolled, released her, and jumped to his feet in front of her.

  The scent of salt, ocean, and pine surrounded her.

  No way. No way should he have been able to move so quickly when she’d had him contained on his knees. Shock made her hands tremble. She shoved herself up and kicked off the heels. Shit. She still held her gun in her hand but was acting like a rookie.

  “Gentlemen?” Kell asked, his stance casual. “Can I help you?”

  The guy with the blue arm glanced down at the corpse and hissed. “We came to help Chuck.” His face contorted and turned an ugly red. “You killed him.”

  “No. The drug he took killed him.” Kellach’s stance widened. “How much of it did you take?”

  Lex peered around the solid brick of the man toward the two guys. The light illuminated them from behind, so she couldn’t see their eyes. What was Kell seeing?

  “Enough to be a god.” The first guy lifted his hand and threw what looked like a ball of fire at Kellach.

  A massive fireball instantly crackled from Kellach, and he threw it toward the other ball. They smashed into each other with an unholy bellow of steam, fire, and energy. Kellach’s ball encircled the other ball and snuffed it out before disappearing.

  What the holy fuck? The damn criminals did have some new weapon that threw fire. She hadn’t had a chance to frisk anybody to see what her assailants might be carrying.

  Lex slid to the side to keep every man in sight while lifting her weapon. “Everyone get down on your knees.”

  Kellach shook his head. “Not again. Just stay out of the way, darlin.”

  Oh. He. Did. Not. She focused the gun on him.

  The first guy raised his arm again, and fire slammed her way. She pivoted, turning and catching her foot in a pothole. As she started to go down, another ball flew toward her head.

  “Enough.” Kellach jumped in front of her, his right shoulder slamming into her cheekbone.

  Stars exploded behind her eyes, and she hit the ground.

  He groaned, and the scent of burning flesh filled the rainy evening.

  She blinked, her brain fuzzing and her body going numb. He’d saved her. Unconsciousness tried to claim her, and she fought against the darkness with her remaining strength.

  Kellach straightened to his full height, and balls of what truly looked like green fire shot out, but with his back to her, she couldn’t see the weapon. The fire hit each of the men dead center. They both flew back about three yards and crashed to the ground.

  Lex groaned as rain continued to beat down on her face. She couldn’t pass out. If she passed out, she’d be dead. Her hand trembled on the asphalt. Where was her gun?

  Kellach turned and started toward her—a massive hunter in a darkened alley.

  “No,” she whispered just as the darkness won. Drugs had nearly ruined her childhood, and now, the search to destroy the new drug on the street was going to end her. The last thought she had as she succumbed to oblivion was that she was about to be killed by a predator with the face of a fallen angel.

  Chapter 2

  Lex groaned and blinked, instantly awake. Silk sheets, pleasant lemon cleanser, pine scent surrounded her, and the sound of rumbling motorcycle pipes came from outside her widow. Holy shit. She sat up, reaching for the weapon at her thigh.

  Nothing.

  Her gaze slowly focused on the man sitting quietly in a chair at the end of the bed, twirling her Sig around one large finger. The scent of male overtook the lemon. Early dawn light peeked between half-drawn shades, illustrating the masculine features and darkened shadows on his face. “Looking for this?” He’d ditched the leather duster to reveal a black Metallica T-shirt, ragged jeans, and motorcycle boots. Even in a relaxed pose, the man looked like a wolf about to lunge . . . at his leisure.

  A Titans of Fire motorcycle cut hung on a hook by the door.

  Damn it, she was at Fire. She quickly took stock, relief coursing through her that the shiny blue dress remained on her—between the thousand thread count sheets.

  He lifted one dark eyebrow set in a brutally angled face. “I wouldn’t have taken your clothing.” Those incredibly dark eyes somehow darkened further. “Unless you’d asked nicely, of course.”

  That Irish brogue should be bottled and sold to lonely women everywhere. The guy had to be early thirties, with a wealth of experience in those glimmering eyes.

  “Give me my gun,” she said evenly.

  “Of course.” He tossed the weapon onto the bedspread next to her.

  The ultra-posh, smooth, expensive bedspread. She glanced around the clean-to-the-point-of-sparse room, fully aware of her current location, and her heart sped up as adrenaline flooded her veins. “Somehow I imagined the personal rooms at Fire to be a bit more, ah, disgusting.” An undercover operative had reported back the previous year on the stinky and dirty bachelor haven used by the motorcycle club members.

  “I like clean.” The man’s lips twitched as she gingerly reached for the weapon. “I took the liberty of removing the bullets. You may have them back when you leave.”

  So he wasn’t going to kill her. She met his gaze evenly, at a definite disadvantage still sitting in the bed, but she liked being partially covered, considering the slutty dress she’d worn earlier to hunt. “This is kidnapping.”

  He shrugged one massive shoulder. “When I knock a woman out, I like to make sure she survives the experience.”

  Heat ticked down her spine and uncoiled in her abdomen. Why the hell did everything he say sound sexual? She narrowed her gaze. “You assaulted a police officer, buddy.”

  “Kellach. Kellach Dunne.” He smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth in stunning symmetry. “I didn’t mean ta hurt you, Alexandra, and you know it.”

  True. He had been busy shielding her from careening fire when his shoulder had connected with her still aching face. “Detective Monzelle to you. How about you come down to the station with me and answer some questions?” She carefully slid from the bed, her bare feet touching cold concrete.

  “No.”

  She glanced around the pristine room again, wondering if she could take him down. “This isn’t what I expected,” she mused to herself.

  “This is your first time in a bed at Fire?”

  She stilled and turned to face him, hiding her vulnerability. “I try not to fuck motorcycle gang members, especially those involved in the local drug trade.”

  His grin was slow—dangerous—and amused. “Club. Motorcycle club members. Titans of Fire Motorcycle Club, to be exact.” He stood and leaned against the door, blocking the only exit. “We need ta discuss that allegation before we get to the fucking.”

  He was laughing at her. The criminal, the one who’d held some new fire-shooting weapon, dared laugh at her.

  Temper tickled up the back of her neck. “Listen, asshole. You assaulted and kidnapped a police officer, and now you’re committing false imprisonment by barricading that door. Move your butt, now.” She put every ounce of power she owned into her voice.

  Muscles flexed when he crossed his arms. His gaze swept her barely-there outfit, head to toe, leaving sparking tingles along her skin. “You don’t look like any garda I’ve ever seen.”

  Garda. Cop in Irish. She eyed the leather cut hanging on a hook by the door with the full club emblem across the back and an enforcer’s patch across one shoulder. Then she looked up—way up—into his implacable face. “Your cut says you’re a full member here in Seattle.”

  “Aye.”

  She frowned. “How?” Sure, he could be part of a different chapter, but not this one. The cops kept files on all members and recruits, and this man wasn’t in a Seattle file.

  He sighed. “It was a merger of two
affiliate clubs, and I was assigned here.”

  She put both hands on her hips, facts clicking into place. Resignation and anger swirled through her chest. “I see. What would a Seattle based motorcycle club want with an Irish based motorcycle club?” This new drug killing people on her streets—did it somehow originate in Ireland?

  He shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  She exhaled slowly. “What part of Ireland you from, Kellach?”

  He smiled. “I like how you say my name. Smooth, with a feminine hint of sass.”

  She was too damn tough to feel feminine and fragile, but this guy? Yeah, he knocked her off her game with such blatant masculinity. Shoving down any awareness of him as a man, as if she could, she concentrated on solving the puzzle in front of her. Guns. The Seattle club was known to run guns, and didn’t they seriously need those in Northern Ireland? “What are your ties to the IRA?”

  His gaze hardened. “None. My only ties are to my club.”

  Ah ha. “So, let me get this straight. Ireland merges with Seattle, providing drugs, and Seattle merges with Ireland, providing weapons. A win-win for the streets.”

  The air in the room changed slightly as tension built. “You leap ta conclusions faster than a Blue Hare during mating season.”

  The emphasis on the word mating skittered awareness down her spine. “What kind of weapon do you have that throws green fire?” she asked evenly.

  “No weapon. You hit your head and ended up out cold. It was your imagination,” he said just as evenly. A whistle echoed outside, and he inclined his head. “Your taxi is here.”

  She blinked. “You called a cab?”

  “Aye. I didn’t think you’d like me to drop you at the station on my bike.” He slid to the side, all male grace, and opened the door.

  She faltered and glanced down at her pink-polished toes. “Where are my shoes?”

  He reached out a hand and enveloped hers. “They fell off your feet when I brought you back here.”

  She paused, her mouth almost dropping open. “You rode your bike back here with me unconscious?”

  “Yes.” He gently tugged her from the room, the size of his hand overwhelming hers in a way that tightened her girly parts.

  She stumbled and quickly regained her footing, her breath heating. Even with her knocked out, he’d ridden a motorcycle and had managed to control the bike and her. Just how strong was Kellach Dunne? “You’re crazy.”

  “You’re not the first to say so.” He ushered her down a long hallway to the main bar area of the club and toward the double door. The stench of old beer filled her nostrils. A guy snored on a far couch with a scantily dressed woman on top of him, also out cold.

  She pulled on her hand. “Those were good shoes, and they weren’t mine, damn it.” She’d borrowed them from another cop, and she didn’t have the money to replace them. “Any idea where we lost them?”

  He tightened his hold and shoved open the door. “Nope.”

  Darn it. She stumbled across the entryway. The clubhouse was one of three buildings forming a square with two massive garages. The yellow taxicab had parked in the center. Several bikes were lined up in front of a half-opened garage door. Pyro, the president of the club, slowly wiped down his Harley, his hard gaze on her.

  She fought a shiver. He had a rap sheet longer than the line of bikes, and he’d done time more than once, being well known for a hot temper, hence the nickname. He’d been the president of the club for the last ten years, leading it into more drug and firearm running, and who knew what else. If he was creating or distributing the new drug on the streets, she was going to take him down. She met his gaze levelly, trying to appear in control, even biting back a wince as her bare toe scraped a rock.

  Kellach glanced down at the asphalt and then at her bare feet. “Hold on.” Ducking, he lifted her, tucking her against a chest harder than steel and chiseled like granite.

  She swallowed, once again struck by the sense of being delicate. Fragile. Intrigue flashed through her. “Put me down.”

  “No.” He strode across the square toward the taxi as if not taking note of her weight. Finally, he opened the back door of the cab and set her town. Small rocks rolled across the bottom of her feet.

  Pyro strolled over with a greasy lug wrench in his left hand. “Detective Monzelle. I’ve pictured you in a dress like that, leaving Fire just like this.”

  Lex met his gaze evenly, noting the beer belly protruding over his greasy jeans. If she had a file on him, it figured he had a file on her. “I’ve pictured you in orange with shackles around your ankles.”

  He smiled, showing a cracked front tooth. “Kinky. I like that.”

  She had to regain control and now. “I’m sure you’ll see kinky in the joint. All sorts of kink.”

  Red fused over Pyro’s cheek. He moved toward her, and her legs tensed in anticipation.

  Without warning, Kell shoved her into the taxi. She landed on her side, fury rippling through her. Son of a bitch. He’d moved to intercept Pyro, damn it. If Pyro had made contact, she could’ve arrested him finally, and Kellach had thought to save her? Idiot.

  Planting her hand on the torn seat, she jumped from the taxi. “Kellach Dunne, you’re under arrest for kidnapping, battery, and assault.” She glared up into his calm face. The battery charge could actually be made, considering he’d shoved her, and he certainly deserved it, trying to get her out of Pyro’s way. “Come with me to the station to answer some questions, and maybe we can forget about actually booking you.”

  “Fuck it, Dunne,” Pyro hissed. “I told you not to bring a cop here, and you said you’d handle it.” He stepped closer, the wrench handle clenched in one beefy fist.

  Kellach held up a hand. “You’re not serious,” he muttered.

  “I am.” She lifted her chin. “In fact, if you don’t come with me, I’ll have SWAT here in an hour to do a full sweep.” She’d have to fudge some facts, but to raid the Fire facilities? Yeah. She’d do it. “Your choice.”

  Fire flashed in Kellach’s eyes in the first real show of emotion he’d allowed to slip free. “You sure you wanna take me on, little blond woman?”

  Oh, fuck that. She’d dealt with dangerous drug dealers while still playing with Barbies. “Get your ass in the cab.” She jumped in and scooted over. The man would learn she could fight her own battles, and maybe by taking him in, she could finally get some answers.

  Bringing him to the station in a cab wasn’t her first choice, but she had to do something before he disappeared back to Ireland. At the moment, he was the only lead she had for the drugs and the new weapons. “Or back away so I can go suit up with SWAT.”

  “Ballocks.” Kellach nodded at Pyro. “Call Simone and have her meet me at the station.” He sat next to Lex and slammed the door, his bulk taking up most of the back seat. He turned toward her. “I thought we could be friends. You’ll regret this, Detective Alexandra Monzelle, as you don’t want me for an enemy.”

  A chill swept down her back, although she kept her face calm and serene. She’d taken down some of the worst criminals in the northwest. Even so, instinct whispered she’d never come up against a force like this man. “That’s your choice.” She turned and leveled her gaze at him. “You want me for an enemy? You’ve got it.”

  Chapter 3

  Kell sat back on the cheap plastic chair, his hands resting lightly on the scarred wooden table. The smell of sweat and despair filtered through the small interrogation room, going nicely with the dingy yellow walls and faded tile that might have been white at one time. He’d been read his rights by a bored junior detective who had a barely-there mustache, making Kell wonder if the kid was older than twenty.

  He waited. Had been waiting for nearly three hours, damn it.

  High heels clicked down the hallway, and soon the door was shoved open. “Simone,” he said, half-rising from his chair.

  His cousin raked him with a black look as she shoved dark curly hair off her slim should
ers. “I told you I had a spa week planned, Kellach. What the hell are you doing dragging me away from my seaweed wrap? I had to fly back here on the double.” She clicked around the table and sat when he’d drawn out her chair. “For the love of the Liffey, why are we here?”

  Shite. He’d forgotten about her plans that week. “I apologize for cutting short your spa trip.” Why would anybody want to be wrapped up in seaweed, anyway? “I shouldn’t have called you.” He glanced down at her dangerously red designer suit, black patent heels, and silver jewelry—including the Celtic Knot pendant he’d given her for her birthday decades ago—and his heart warmed that she always wore it. Sentimental little witch, even if she acted like such a mean girl. “Although you look stunning, cousin.”

  She turned and fluttered naturally long eyelashes. “Do no’ even try to humor me, Kellach Gideon Dunne.”

  Her slip to the brogue proved she’d been touched, and her deliberate use of the middle name he hated showed he’d truly pissed her off. “Can’t help it. You are beautiful.” True statement, and buttering her up wouldn’t hurt anything.

  She tapped long nails on the table. “You’re paying for another spa week for me, and you know I won’t have time for a while because you keep getting into trouble. So you’re buying me a new car for this.”

  “All right.”

  “I want a Porsche 458 Spyder,” she purred.

  His wallet took the hit and vibrated. “Done.”

  The woman had just as much money as he did, yet she hated to spend it.

  “Now get me out of this,” he said.

  “Of course,” she said smoothly. Her main job was as a council member on the Coven Nine, the ruling body for the entire witch species, but she’d multi-tasked through the years. She’d attended law school for fun years ago, and they’d made use of her knowledge more than once during the many years she’d spent in the United States. “Then I’d like to go home.”

  “Seattle is home now, sweetheart.” He’d never understand why she preferred New York over the west coast. Too many humans in the cities in the east.