Make It Hurt (Texas Bounty) Read online

  Duchess was silent, studying Nora in that sharp, perceptive way she had. “What’s your idea?”

  Nora tapped the side of her nose. “Need to know basis only. But don’t worry, it’ll work.”

  “On your own?”

  “Yeah.” She lifted her chin. “Brook’s my skip and I want to take him down just as badly as you do. Can’t have that blemish on my perfect record.”

  The other woman’s pale gaze narrowed. “Don’t try and tough this one out, Nora. Bikers are dangerous.”

  “Like I don’t know that and back at ya.”

  Duchess gave another sigh. “Dammit. Okay then. But I hope you’re sure about this. I can’t afford to screw this one up, not with that kind of threat hanging over my head.”

  “I know and I am sure.”

  “Well, okay then.” Duchess rounded the desk and went to sit down behind it. “Oh, and one other thing. I don’t want the others knowing about this.” Her blue eyes were very direct. “They’ve got enough on their plate to worry about without my ancient history coming back to bite me, understand?”

  Oh yeah, she understood completely.

  “Sure do.” She turned toward the door. “Two days, boss, and you’ll have Brook.”

  “Of course,” Duchess said as she went out. “Nora always gets her man, right?”

  Well, Nora used to. Except getting her man now would mean having to spend a night with one other man. A man she’d deliberately pushed to the back of her mind and hadn’t thought about for years and years. And unfortunately, if she didn’t want Duchess getting screwed over, it didn’t look like there was any way she could get out of it.

  Rose looked up from the computer as Nora came out of Duchess’s office, her blue eyes hopeful. “Did you see anything? Were they naked?”

  “What?” For a second Nora didn’t know what she was talking about. Then the light dawned. “Oh, you mean her and Quinn?”

  Rose looked at her as if she was mad. “Of course her and Quinn. Who else would I be talking about?”

  Good point. “No. There was no nakedness happening.”

  Rose scowled. “Dammit. I was so sure. They were arguing in there for at least fifteen minutes. Lily actually raised her voice. And then they went really, really silent.”

  “Not today, sadly.” Nora started toward the office door. “That five hundred bucks is still mine.”

  Rose glared at her. “I’ve still got a week left to run, remember?”

  “If you can get those two naked with each other in a week, then you deserve it.”

  She didn’t wait for Rose to respond, letting the door shut firmly behind her as she went out. Duchess wouldn’t mind her taking the rest of the afternoon off, especially if it meant figuring out a plan for dealing with Smith.

  She needed some thinking time and there was only one place she went to for that.

  The art gallery.

  —

  As expected, they gave him shit. A woman shooting at the president, showing no respect, blah, blah, blah. Something must be done. She had to learn a lesson, et cetera.

  Problem was, they were right. Any shit dealt to him was shit dealt to the club, and no one dealt shit to the club. Not if they wanted to live. Not helping was the fact that proving himself as a new president did not include having his balls nearly shot off by a tough chick in a cowboy hat. Neither was letting her walk out of the bar and drive away without any consequences.

  But he already knew that. Luckily for the club, he had a plan. Unluckily for the club, they did not get to know about it. If they didn’t trust him to deal with his own crap, then they needed to learn a lesson themselves.

  “She needs consequences,” growled Shotgun, his sergeant-at-arms. Unwisely, since it was none of his fucking business and Smith was in a foul mood.

  He and his officers were all back at the warehouse in East Austin that the Ministry had claimed for the chapter clubhouse, in Smith’s office, which overlooked the main club area.

  At his desk, Smith reached into the drawer next to him and curled his fingers around the Glock that was sitting there. “Is that a fact?” He looked at Shotgun, giving the mouthy fuck one last chance. “And what kind of lesson are you suggesting?”

  “I dunno. Threaten her, man. Bitch maybe needs a slap—”

  Without any hurry at all, Smith lifted the Glock, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

  The sound of the gun firing echoed throughout the office, underlined by Shotgun’s shout of pain. Nobody flinched.

  Smith lowered his weapon and stared at Shotgun, who was now sitting on the floor, cursing a blue streak, blood welling in the rip of his jeans where the bullet had grazed his thigh.

  “Any more suggestions?” Smith asked.

  Shotgun had gone pale. But all he said was “No.”

  “No what?”

  “No, Prez.”

  “Damn fucking straight.” Smith put his Glock on the desktop, leaving it there as a subtle warning, then leaned back in his chair, looking at the other men. “Does anyone else have any issues with what happened at the bar?”

  They fucking better not have. Shooting other brothers didn’t look good and he didn’t like doing it, but he couldn’t afford to have his authority questioned and sometimes a hard lesson was the only way.

  Really, it was a damn shame he couldn’t do that with the rest of the world too, but then you couldn’t have everything.

  Dust shifted on his feet, his hands in his pockets. “No issues, Prez. All we need to know is that it’s being handled. Can’t have anyone disrespecting the club, especially not on our own turf.”

  Oh yeah, and that was another issue he had to deal with. His VP and this getting arrested bullshit.

  However, first he had to be clear with his officers about what was happening with Nora and her blatant disrespect. Letting her walk had been all part of his plan, mainly to give her some time to think about his little offer.

  Offer? Don’t be so fucking coy. It was blackmail, pure and simple.

  So, okay, it was blackmail. But she’d given him crap in front of his club, threatened him at said club, and then she’d nearly shot him. She’d been the one breaking the rules, and if she was expecting there not to be consequences, she was shit out of luck. Once he may have given a fuck about her feelings, but not now. Not after she’d screwed him over all those years ago.

  Anyway, if he wanted payback, then he’d take it. That was how life worked for him these days. Sure, he never forced himself on a woman who didn’t want him—hell, why bother when there were so many other women who did? But Nora did want him, he was pretty fucking sure. Her pulse had been fast when he’d forced her up against the wall and her breathing had been ragged. He knew when a woman was turned on and Nora Sutcliffe had been turned on. Except then she’d refused him.

  He hadn’t been expecting that and unfortunately for her, that had only made him more determined to have her.

  “You think I don’t fucking know that?” Smith leaned forward again and put his elbows on the desk, staring at his officers, each one in turn. “It’s private shit, understand me? Which means I’ll deal with her myself.” He paused. “Anyone got any problem with that?”

  Unsurprisingly, given the example he’d made out of Shotgun, no one did.

  “All of you get outta here,” he said, sitting back. “Except Dust. I want a word.”

  The rest of them filed out, leaving Dust standing there with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The guy’s jaw was tight, his shoulders hunched, but he didn’t avoid Smith’s gaze. He knew he was going to get shit all right.

  “You got something to say to me,” Smith said, making it clear he wasn’t asking.

  Dust let out a breath. “It was a bar fight. Some civilian cock showing disrespect. I tried to walk away, but…”

  There always was a “but” with Dust. The guy had a temper, always had, ever since he’d gotten back from Afghanistan, and normally he managed to keep a lid on it. The problem was that he had a custody
hearing coming up for his son, and he’d gone a little crazy. Not that he was ever going to get custody, since he was a biker, but his ex was trying to cut off access entirely.

  It fucking sucked, no doubt about it, and Smith was sympathetic. Dust loved his kid and it had damn near killed him when he’d gotten back home from the army only to find that his woman had hooked up with someone else and was now denying him the right to see the boy.

  Still. The club came first. Always had, always would.

  “You didn’t walk away,” Smith finished. “And the prick pressed charges and now you’re up shit creek.”

  “Yeah,” Dust muttered. “That’s pretty much it.”

  But it didn’t sound like that was it. Smith narrowed his gaze at the other man. He knew Dust, knew when something was bothering him, and there was something bothering him right now, he could see it in his friend’s eyes.

  “Tell me the rest,” Smith ordered. “And don’t fucking deny it. You’re already neck deep in crap, you don’t want to get any deeper.”

  Dust was silent a moment. Then he pulled a hand out of his pocket and scrubbed it through his hair. “I needed some money. You know, to get a decent fucking lawyer. I thought she had some and—”

  “You thought who had some?” Smith cut him off sharply, not liking where this was headed.

  “Duchess.” Dust lowered his hand. “A couple of months ago at a party Sim told me about her and her old man and that scam they pulled. I didn’t think much about it, but then…Fuck, I needed some money so I at least had a shot at seeing my boy.” He paused, his gaze flickering away then back again. “I told her that if she didn’t pay me a certain amount every week, I’d bring the Ministry down on her.”

  Smith stared at his VP, anger sitting like acid in his stomach. Jesus Christ, what a clusterfuck. So, not only had the guy drawn some civilian attention on himself and the club by getting himself arrested, he’d also been a stupid sonofabitch and tried a little bit of extortion on the side.

  Remind you of anyone?

  Yeah, yeah. But at least he hadn’t gotten himself arrested. Yet.

  “Fuck,” Smith growled. “You’re supposed to be my VP, not some stupid shithead getting into trouble with the cops and extorting fucking bail bond agencies. Why didn’t you tell me all this?” He glared at the other man. “I should be shooting you, not fucking Shotgun.”

  A muscle leapt in Dust’s jaw. “I know. It was a dick thing to do, but Christ…I was fucking desperate.”

  “You could have come to me, asshole. I’ve got money.”

  Dust’s jaw got even tighter. “And I’ve got pride. It was my damn problem to deal with.”

  Smith’s glare became a scowl. “Yeah, and now it’s our fucking problem to deal with. Because you know who’s not gonna let you go, right? Duchess. In fact, I’ll bet you a thousand goddamn bucks, she’s gonna hunt you down to the ends of the earth to put your ass in jail.” He snorted. “I’m half inclined to let her.”

  Dust glanced away again. “I just…gotta see my boy, Prez.”

  Smith wasn’t a father and he wasn’t ever going to be one. But he understood wanting something badly. Wanting something enough you lost your head and did stupid shit just for the chance to have it.

  “You think they’re gonna give you access now? After this?”

  “No.” Dust’s voice was flat. “I screwed up my chances, I know that. All I want is a bit more time with him. It’s his birthday in a few days and I wanted to be there.” He looked back at Smith. “Are you gonna turn me in or what?”

  Smith let out a breath. “What kind of fucking question is that? You’re a brother and my VP, of course not. But I want you outta here, got it? Just take the fuck off somewhere until I tell you to come back.”

  “What about the bounty hunter? I can deal with—”

  “You’re not dealing with anything right now, asshole. You made it my problem, so now I’m gonna be the one to deal with it.” Luckily, he already had a plan in place for exactly how to do that.

  “Prez,” Dust began.

  “No,” Smith cut him off. “Not now. I’m not in the mood. Just get the hell outta here before I shoot you as well.”

  His friend shut his mouth, gave him one sharp nod, then turned and went out.

  Once he was gone, Smith leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

  Fuuuuck. What a mess.

  After a moment, he got up out of his chair and went over to the bay of windows set into the wall that gave him a view of the warehouse floor down below his office.

  A bar ran along one side and there were various old couches and tables strewn around the massive space. Several pool tables were over by a long set of windows placed high on the walls, and a massive stereo system standing on some packing crates nearby. A fair few club members were sitting around on the couches chatting and hanging out, some of them with beers, some of them with women in their laps, giving them their preferred form of tension release.

  He’d come to the club after he’d left home, when an old school friend had found him a job in a construction gang in Houston, and also introduced him to the Ministry chapter there. He’d been torn at that stage, liking the sense of belonging he had with club, which he’d never gotten at home, and yet not wanting to get involved with anything sketchy. Still clinging to the belief that being good would get him what he wanted. And then Nora had happened, and afterward, when he’d been unable to find another job, he’d thought seriously about just giving it up and becoming a prospect.

  But there’d been a small kernel of belief still strong in him, that he could do the right thing, be a good man. Not turn into a drunken fucking asshole like his father. So he’d resisted the club and turned to the army instead.

  Yeah, big mistake that turned out to be. He’d found Dust on the tours he’d done, but he’d also found out what a big lie life all was. Good, bad, it didn’t matter who was who, everyone died the same way. In blood and in pain, so what was the point?

  He knew what he was after Afghanistan, and so when he’d gotten back home, he and Dust had gone straight to the club. A place where he could stop trying to be the kind of man he wasn’t and be the man he was. And not only that, be accepted for it.

  He loved the club for that alone.

  Smith folded his arms, staring down at his brothers having a good time.

  This was what he’d sworn to protect as president and that’s exactly what he was going to do. Protect his club. Protect his brothers. End of.

  So you better go deal with your little problem then, hadn’t you?

  His pretty little problem in a cowboy hat.

  That intense, electric charge of desire went through him again at the memory of her against that wall, all soft heat and musk, golden sparks of challenge in her eyes.

  Refusing him.

  He couldn’t let that go. Sure, he had to get her off Dust’s back then make sure she didn’t go to the cops, be certain she knew he was serious about raining hell down on her boss.

  But mainly, he wanted payback.

  Dust had fucked up, no question, but that had led to Nora coming back into his life and he was not going to miss the opportunity to get a little something for himself.

  No, if she thought he was going to slink away with his tail between his legs like he had all those years ago in Houston, she had another think coming.

  Turning from the window, Smith strode over to his desk, picked up his keys, and headed straight for the door.

  He’d given her a head start.

  Now it was time to give chase.

  Chapter 4

  Nora stepped out of the art gallery feeling frustrated. She’d always loved art, back from when she’d been a kid. Her father used to collect it—not because it meant anything to him, but because it was what rich people did—and she’d loved examining the new paintings or sculptures that turned up on the walls and shelves of the Sutcliffes’ Houston mansion. As an only child, rattling around by herself in that giant house whil
e her father was off doing whatever business thing he did, looking at the art made her feel less alone somehow, gave her a feeling of connection.

  Normally the quiet and the peace of a gallery or museum settled her, while the art itself seemed to clarify her thinking processes in a way nothing else did.

  But apparently not today. She’d spent a whole hour and a half wandering around the exhibition and she still hadn’t figured out quite what angle to take with Smith and his little proposal.

  She had to do it, that was clear, since the alternatives weren’t so great. Either she gave him what he wanted and spent the night with him, or she didn’t get Brook, which meant Duchess would get royally shafted. She could, of course, get backup from Rhys and West like she should have done initially if she hadn’t been so stubborn, and maybe they could get the Redmonds to help too. Go back to the Rusty Nail with an army.

  But she didn’t have any doubt that if she did that, Smith would make good on his threat to set the Ministry on Duchess, which again, meant her boss getting royally shafted.

  It was either that or she found herself a third option.

  Nora slid her sunglasses onto her nose, squinting in the late-afternoon sunlight as she stood on the sidewalk, trying to figure out whether to visit the museum and see if she couldn’t get a bit of inspiration there, or just head home.

  What are you getting so wound up about it? Wasn’t it only supposed to be sex?

  She scowled at nothing in particular. Well, yes. It was only sex and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had any sexual relationships since Smith. It wasn’t as if he was that special. And she didn’t have any issues with sex per se, it was just that she hadn’t had any for…well, maybe it was best not to think about exactly how long, but just because she hadn’t had any in a while didn’t mean she didn’t want it.

  She had a vibrator. She could get herself off when she needed to. She didn’t need an actual man. Then again, since an actual man was offering to be her vibrator stand-in, so to speak, why was she being such a little bitch about it?

  Stupid question. She was being a little bitch because the man in question was Smith and there was a whole 747’s worth of baggage attached to him.