Текст книги "Fire Me Up"
Автор книги: Rachael Johns
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter 4
Billie sat up in bed, clutching Baxter to her chest, her heart still as she strained to hear the gruff, heated voices in her kitchen. It sounded like Travis was back, and this time he had company. The part of her that never knew when to keep her mouth shut wanted to throw back the sheets, march out there and tell them to keep the noise down—normal people were trying to sleep—but she didn’t have a death wish. And, if her ears weren’t playing tricks on her, these men were discussing whether or not Sophie’s father had been killed and what they should do to the murderers if that were the case. They’d likely think nothing of shutting her up if she got in the way of their evil plotting.
“Fudge, Baxter,” she whispered, running her fingers over his velvet-soft fur. “What have we gotten ourselves mixed up in?”
He barked in response and she clapped her hand over his little muzzle. “Shh,” she hissed.
“All the fuck I know is that something’s not right,” roared one of the men.
Billie startled. It wasn’t Travis—she already had the sound of his voice imprinted on her brain—but it might have been Ajax, Sophie’s guy. How many bikers were out there? And was that cigarette smoke she could smell? She screwed up her nose in disgust. She’d never be able to get the stench out of her things.
A third voice sounded. “If Priest had had a heart attack on the road it’d be one thing, but if he lost control of his bike, then some motherfucker is responsible.”
“And they’re going to pay.” Definitely Ajax. Did he ever not sound like he was about to shove his hand down someone’s throat and rip out their tonsils?
Billie shivered, despite the balmy temperature.
“Question is who the fuck would want him dead?” came Travis’s voice, and Billie felt a flicker of something she didn’t want to feel down in her nether regions. Her libido had been missing in action for over a year. Why, out of all the men in the world, did her treacherous body have to come alive again for him? She supposed it could be worse; she could be having hot flushes over Ajax.
“Do you really want me to list the enemies he made over the years?” Speaking of Ajax.
The voices lowered and although she could hear they were still in deep discussion, she couldn’t make out any of their words. If she weren’t frozen with fear, she’d have crept across the room and pulled back her door a fraction to listen, to try and ascertain exactly what these men were planning, but maybe it was better if she didn’t know anyway.
Could she be charged as an accessory to a crime if she’d heard them planning it?
But they weren’t planning anything yet. It sounded like they thought someone had murdered Mr. Lombard but hadn’t any idea who that someone was.
Should she call the police? Tell them what she thought the Deacons were up to? She dismissed the idea almost immediately because yeah, she could just imagine what Ajax would do if he knew she was even contemplating such an act. Deciding it was better to be ignorant, Billie leaned across her bed and grabbed her earphones off the bedside table. She tucked Baxter under the sheets with her, popped her music in her ears and tried to forget about the fact that at least three big, bad bikers were currently plotting revenge in her kitchen. Maybe it was just a nightmare. Maybe if she fell asleep she’d wake up in a few hours and find everything back to blissful normalcy.
Sleep didn’t come easily. The soft lyrics of her favorite band did nothing to ease her nerves, and it was only at six o’clock in the morning, when she finally heard Ajax and the other man leave, that she let out the breath she felt like she’d been holding for hours. Baxter jumped down off her bed, trotted across to the door and whined to be let out. She sighed and climbed out of bed, knowing if she didn’t oblige there’d be a puddle on her bedroom floor within minutes.
She crossed the room and opened her door a fraction. Baxter shot out and down the corridor, but Billie waited a moment and listened. Was Travis still here? If so, hopefully he’d finally retreated to bed. Bed? Her mouth went dry and heat curled low in her belly at the thought of Travis and bed in the same sentence. Disgusted with herself, she pushed the thought aside and stepped into the corridor only to come face-to-face with the devil himself, his permanent three-day growth far more appealing than it ought to be.
He caught her in his arms as she crashed into him. “Is there a fire somewhere?” he drawled, his illegally sexy voice washing over her as he smoothed his thumbs over her hips.
For one second her body rejoiced at the touch of his fingers through the thin cotton of her pajamas and the thrill of being this close to Travis Sinclair shot through her body. Then, thank the Lord, logic and common sense showed their heads again. She lifted her hands, palmed them against his solid chest and shoved him. “Get your hands off of me.”
He barely moved, but his lips twisted in a cocky grin as he shoved the hands that had just been on her into his pockets. “Someone got out on the wrong side of the bed.”
“To get out on the wrong side, I’d actually have had to go to sleep,” she snapped, “and there were loud intruders in my house making that impossible.”
She glared at him, waiting for an apology or a flicker of unease in his eyes at the knowledge that she’d been awake and listening to their conversation. Of course, neither came.
Instead, Travis shrugged a shoulder and said, “I’m going for a shower. Care to join me?”
Yes, yelped her hormones—at an image of Travis naked with a bar of slippery soap in his hands and hot water sluicing over his even hotter body. “What?” She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of that image.
“Aren’t you Australians all about saving water?”
Argh. The man was a menace. Not rewarding his ridiculous (and tempting) question with a reply, she stormed past him. “Excuse me, I have to go let Baxter out.”
As she headed down the corridor and into the kitchen-slash-living area, the sound of Travis chuckling, and then the water in the bathroom turning on made her blood boil. It was bad enough that he’d moved in uninvited and brought his undesirable associates into her home, but flirting with her and being so suggestive was downright unacceptable. She opened the door onto the courtyard to let Baxter out and then, as he ambled over to the tiny garden area and lifted his leg, she went back into her bedroom, ignoring the sounds of the shower in the bathroom across the hall. Her gym clothes were on and her sneakers tied up in record time.
“Baxter,” she called as she stepped into the courtyard and closed the door behind her. He trotted over to her, his behind swishing excitedly despite the fact that he had a short stump instead of a tail. Billie bent down and clipped the leash on his collar, unable to resist scooping him up for a quick cuddle. He might be small, but his soft fur against her cheek offered a comfort she needed at that moment.
“You’re adorable, you know that?” she whispered to the top of his little head. He made a whimper in response, and she put him back on the cobbled floor, clutching his leash in her hand like a lifeline. “Come on, let’s go.”
She let herself out of the gate and then locked it again, noting that the lock didn’t look damaged or compromised, indicating Travis did know how to break and enter without leaving a trace. She shuddered. Or maybe the Deacons had a key. Yes, of course—Priest would have had one. Did this knowledge make her feel better or worse?
Trying to ignore the sick feeling in her gut, she started down Bourbon Street, hoping her daily walk with Baxter would help rid some of the pent-up energy in her body that seemed to be multiplying every second she spent in Travis Sinclair’s company. Had it really been less than a day since he’d waltzed into the gallery, claiming it as his own?
At this early hour of the morning, the French Quarter was pretty much deserted except for the street cleaners sweeping up last night’s shenanigans, homeless folks in the alleys and the odd drunk asleep on the sidewalk. Usually she didn’t even notice these things—instead looking up at the gorgeous old buildings, wondering which ones were haunted and admiring the beautiful architecture so different from anything in her hometown—but today she couldn’t help seeing New Orleans through Travis’s dark-colored glasses. The loathing in his voice when he spoke about this town, its streets and its people echoed in her mind like a song she hated but couldn’t get out of her head. Her skin crawled and her stomach revolted when she dodged a puddle of vomit on the ground. What did she love about this place?
But then she walked past the gallery that sold the famous Blue Dog paintings and she remembered. She’d come here because of what it stood for and the freedom it gave her to be who she really wanted to be. She was the happiest she’d been in a long time here, finally being true to herself and going after her dreams. Here the people accepted her for who she was, not who they wanted her to be. The thought that some mean, rough, tough bikers might rip that all out from under her feet made her blood boil.
If she had any sense she’d up and leave, cut her losses—such as the hefty security deposit she’d put down—and run, but buildings like this didn’t come up every day in the French Quarter and she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. What would she tell all her artists? And really, what did she have to lose?
Travis Sinclair might be wreaking havoc with her body, he might have set her on edge with his threats of eviction and his intimidating presence, but she would not let him ruin this place for her.
He would not rob her of her essence, which she’d only recently reclaimed.
Feeling determined to go about her business as if it hadn’t just been invaded by bikers, she continued on her walk, soaking up the eclectic beauty in the streets of New Orleans, refilling her mind bank with all the things she could throw at him when he tried to fill her head with his crap.
By the time she and Baxter arrived back at the gallery, the house was quiet, and Billie breathed a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t have to deal with her uninvited guest. She fed Baxter his breakfast, then made a cup of tea and some toast for herself. Part of her wanted to bang pots and pans together in the kitchen to give Travis a dose of his own medicine—why should he be able to sleep peacefully when he’d made it impossible for her last night? But if she woke him he might try to drag her into his den.
She hated that this thought thrilled her as much as it irritated her.
After nibbling on the toast—her hunger seemed to have deserted her—she headed down the corridor for the bathroom. If she kept going through the motions—daily walk, breakfast, shower, open the gallery—maybe she could forget Travis was even there. But as she passed his room and noticed the door open, she couldn’t stop herself from peering in. Her legs froze and her tummy twisted inside out as her gaze came to rest on the sight on the bed.
He lay there on his stomach, dead to the world, his body sprawled across the mattress like a chalk outline at a crime scene. The thin sheet that stopped just above his hips left little to the imagination, and Billie’s tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she stared at the perfection before her. All tanned skin, hard, smooth planes and a full-back tattoo that appealed and intrigued more than she’d ever imagined such a thing would. His wasn’t a body you could just decide to forget. It was beautiful. In fact, it was one she wouldn’t mind painting into something she could look at forever.
She tiptoed closer—aware she was playing with fire but curious, from an artist’s point of view she told herself, about his ink. Although her knowledge of biker tattoos was limited, she understood that the eerie skull in the middle of his back branded him to a particular club. That Ajax and the rest of the Deacons would have identical insignias etched into their skin, signifying exactly where their loyalties lay. But she gasped in recognition as her eyes fell on another tattoo—the image of Jesus, his arms outstretched, was an uncanny representation of the statue whose eerie shadow loomed across St. Louis Cathedral every night. That had been one of the first photos she’d taken when she landed in New Orleans. It seemed sacrilegious, yet still she wanted to reach out and trace the outline with her finger. Or maybe even her tongue.
“Need some company? You come to take me up on my offer?” Travis drawled, not moving so much as a muscle.
She startled and then swallowed as liquid heat rushed through her, pooling in her cheeks and between her legs. Thank God he wasn’t looking at her. “No,” she choked, wishing she could rewind the clock ten minutes. “I…I…” She racked her brain for some kind of logical reason why she was standing over the end of his bed.
“Yes?” he asked, his tone amused.
“I just came to ask if you wanted me to make dinner for you tonight.” It was the first excuse that came into her head, and she cursed it the moment the words were out.
Travis rolled over and the sheet peaked where his erection stood loud, proud and ready. Her whole body shivered and she couldn’t help but stare.
“Dinner?” It sounded like he thought this was the funniest thing anyone had ever suggested.
“Yes.” She nodded and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, meat and three veggies, eaten at the end of the day? Sometimes people share it over conversation.”
“I’m not big on conversation.” He smirked and shifted so he clasped his hands behind his head. His whole stance was cocky and inviting. “I think there are better ways to spend our time. Don’t you?”
The way he looked at her left no doubt as to what he thought those “better ways” were.
Irritated at the tingles that flittered through her body as much as she was by him, she shook her head in annoyance. “Fine. Forget I asked. I was simply trying to be hospitable. If you don’t know what that means, look it up in the dictionary. And sweet dreams.”
With that, Billie turned and stormed out of the room, pulling his door shut behind her so she couldn’t be tempted to return and offer him something else instead. Something more like dessert. Somewhere inside her she felt a tiny stab of disappointment that Travis hadn’t accepted her ill-offered dinner invitation. How stupid. It had been a lucky escape. Imagine if he’d said yes. What did one cook a biker for dinner, anyway? And what would they talk about? Her art degree? Drug deals? Gun trafficking? How many people he’d knifed or torched? She shuddered. It wasn’t like they had anything in common.
Besides chemistry. So much chemistry. No matter how much she wished they didn’t, she couldn’t deny the flare of attraction that arced between them whenever they were together. But where it was the first interest her body had shown in anyone in a very long time, she guessed Travis acted that way around anyone with a vagina. And she had no desire to break her sex drought with a man-whore.
Yes, it was a very good idea he hadn’t taken her up on her rash invitation to share a meal.
–
Travis didn’t roll out of bed until well after midday and the first thing he thought of when he did was Billie—the way she’d looked as she stood over the end of his bed and invited him to dinner. Her blond hair falling messily across her face and her eyes sparking with annoyance had been more of a turn-on than any tight top or short skirt he’d seen on Bourbon Street last night. He’d been so damn tempted to accept her offer, but common sense had landed in the nick of time. He didn’t do wining and dining women, and he certainly didn’t make conversation for the sake of it.
Still, he couldn’t help being curious. What would Billie cook? What would they find to talk about? What would such a normal date feel like? He racked his brain for the last actual date he’d been on, but he couldn’t think of one. Dating assumed a certain mutual hope for a relationship and he steered clear of those. Not that she’d called it a date exactly, but if he’d accepted her hospitality, he’d have to show his appreciation some way. His cock hardened at the thought and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he contemplated the day ahead. Trying to exorcise thoughts of Billie from his mind, he got dressed, forcing himself to think of Priest and how the hell they were going to investigate his death. Despite Ajax’s hunch that it was murder, they had fuck-all for information, and yet somehow the others thought Travis would be able to find some.
“You’re the smart one,” they’d said last night, alluding to the fact that back in the day Travis had looked after the club’s finances and hacked into computer systems whenever necessary, a talent he’d since leveraged into a legitimate career.
“You work out who is responsible and we’ll take it from there,” Ajax had added, glancing at Leon. Their dark, knowing expressions were identical, and Travis had no doubt that they would exact this revenge in the most gruesome way possible, whereas he’d much prefer to hand over any evidence to the police. Not that he’d admit this to his brothers.
Once he’d have been all too eager to jump in, but times had changed. Priest had exiled him, and that rejection, losing his place in the club, had almost killed him. But he’d risen above it. He’d adapted; he’d changed, learned to control his anger issues, and the new Travis didn’t believe in vigilante justice. He’d made a more than comfortable existence without it, and he wanted to return to that normalcy as soon as fucking possible.
With that thought as motivation, he yanked on his boots and headed out into the kitchen. A quick look inside Billie’s refrigerator and cupboards revealed nothing that appealed, so he decided to head next door to The Priory and grab something from the bar. He opened the door into the gallery and was immediately hit with the sickly sweet smell of incense and what sounded like whales fucking, fighting to be heard above the lapping water of the fountain. There were a surprising number of people strolling through the gallery, exclaiming cheerfully over the weird so-called art that adorned the walls.
They turned to look at him as he emerged but he ignored them, his gaze shooting straight to Billie right near the front gate, where she stood chatting animatedly with a trio of women. She wore a bright yellow sundress that accentuated every curve of her body, and for the first time in a long time he wished to hell he still looked like the big, bad biker whose presence would clear the gallery of everyone but her. He craved her attention; he wanted to ruffle her feathers and watch her get all flustered as she tried to pretend she wasn’t interested. A surefire way to get all that was to piss her off.
His carnal thoughts making him hard again, he sat down at her desk, leaned back in the seat and took a moment to take stock. Without thinking, his hands went to the mouse of her computer and he started clicking, wondering exactly how much money she made in a business like this. Sure, people were likely to wander through the courtyard and admire the produce, so to speak, but were they actually prepared to fork out hard-earned cash? He quickly located last month’s sales record.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Billie was next to him before he had the chance to take a good look.
He glanced up at her. “Just seeing what kind of profits you turn over.”
“That’s none of your business,” she hissed, clearly irate but not wanting to make a scene in front of potential customers.
He leaned back in her less-than-comfy seat and crossed his arms. “I think it is. You’re paying almost nothing in rent and I don’t like to be ripped off.”
“Nothing?” She held her chin high. “I’m not ripping anyone off. If you have a problem with my rent, why don’t you talk to your friends? You know…the others who also own this building. I’ve spoken to Ajax and he promised he won’t sell, so maybe you should stop acting like such a jerk and find some other hobby. I’ve heard knitting is good for the soul.”
Knitting? He raised his eyebrows. “You think I’m a jerk?” It was the lamest insult anyone had ever hit him with, yet somehow it irked.
“Oh, I don’t think, I know.” She perched her hands on her hips. “I just don’t understand why you’re picking on me.”
He half-chuckled. “This isn’t personal, honey. This is business. And just so you know, Ajax’s word means jack shit. At least to you. He doesn’t give a fuck about art or your livelihood any more than I do, but where I just want to sell this building and get out of town, he wants to turn it back into a biker’s lair.”
Her eyes widened, and for a moment he wondered if she was close to tears. Something inside him squeezed in the place where some people had a heart and he felt like the jerk she’d just accused him of being. Although he’d use a stronger word. Still, being a jerk was better than getting walked all over.
“Don’t call me ‘honey,’ ” she snapped, surprising him as she leaned across him to switch off the computer. Whether she meant them to or not, her breasts swished in his face. “And keep your nose out of my fucking business.”
He blinked, impressed and of course incredibly turned on by her bravado and language. It was in total opposition to the way she looked. As long as she didn’t talk to Ajax or Leon like that, she’d be safe.
“Well, since you asked nicely…” He smirked, palmed his hands on her desk and pushed himself into a stand. “Guess I’ll see you later.”
“Not if I’m lucky,” she called after him, obviously forgetting about keeping her voice down.
Grinning, he stalked through the courtyard and out onto the street, once again aroused by his interactions with Billie. Although she wasn’t his usual type, she was proving to be a fun distraction from the serious reason he was stuck in fucking New Orleans. His smile faded as he headed next door and inside The Priory, which had once been like a second home to him. The first being the clubhouse, because Lord knew wherever his mother shacked up had never felt like home.
For a second, he paused in the open doorway, glancing down Bourbon Street and wondering what had become of the woman whose name was printed on his birth certificate. Did she still trawl the streets at night? Sleep in gutters when she was too drug-fucked to make it home? Or had she finally succeeded in killing herself and made a permanent home in one of the local cemeteries? Whatever. He didn’t care, and he didn’t want to waste precious time thinking about her when he could be making leeway in the Priest investigation or even bantering some more with Billie.
“Afternoon,” Sophie said, setting a bottle of beer in front of him when he sidled up to the bar and claimed a stool. “Ajax says you and he are finally seeing eye-to-eye on the whole Dad thing.”
“Something like that.” His fingers closed around the cool glass. “Listen, Soph, do you have any idea who might have had a vendetta against Priest?”
She sighed. “I’ve already told Ajax that while I agree Dad’s death is suspicious, I can’t think who would suddenly have wanted to kill him. Things changed after Katrina, after you guys left. Dad cleaned the fuck up. As far as I know, he hadn’t been involved in anything shady for over a decade—the Ministry has the monopoly on criminal activity around here now.”
Travis’s fist clenched around the bottle at the mention of the bunch of bastards who had been the Deacons’ archenemies. Although he didn’t want to be part of this world anymore—he liked his freedom, thank you very much, he liked not feeling like he owed anyone—it irked him that the Ministry wreaked havoc in the French Quarter. “Could his death be on them?”
“Why?”
Travis snorted. “Since when did the Ministry need a reason to kill anyone?”
Sophie paused in polishing a glass and shrugged one shoulder. “True. As I said, I have no fucking clue about any of this.”
Travis took a swig of his beer, making a mental list of suspects. The Ministry was the most obvious possibility, but he got the feeling that something bigger was going on than their rival biker gang. Unfortunately, so far he didn’t have a whole host of other options.
“Do you know if he owed anyone any money?” he asked eventually.
Sophie shook her head. “Not as far as I know. But if he did, you guys should watch your backs, because the type of people he’d owe money to wouldn’t stop wanting it just because he’s six feet under.”
Great, as if Ajax and Leon wanting a piece of him weren’t bad enough. He sighed, drinking more beer while he worked out his game plan. “I’m going to need to take a look at the business records and Priest’s computers, bank statements, all that shit, to see if I can uncover anything suspicious. You okay with that?”
She shrugged. “Whatever it takes. You know where the office is, and Dad’s stuff is still upstairs as he left it. Fuck knows I haven’t had time to deal with it.”
“Thanks.” Travis nodded and took another mouthful. Then, “Where’s Ajax today?”
“He and Blue have gone for a ride.”
Fucking fabulous. While Ajax and Leon had bullied him into their crusade, they were fucking off on a joyride. Travis would much rather be riding his own bike out of town than sniffing around this joint, but they’d made it clear what the consequences would be if he did anything of the sort. And although he had no desire to be drawn back into the fold, he also didn’t want to be at the receiving end of Leon’s enforcer punishments. “What about Micah? Seen any sign of him the last couple of days?”
“Prince?” She raised one pretty eyebrow. “I’m not his fucking keeper, but rumor has it he’s staying in the Hotel Monteleone.”
“I see.” Travis had never set foot in that high-class establishment, but maybe he’d pay him a visit sometime. Why should Micah be living in the lap of luxury while Travis was stuck with the dirty work? “I’ll have a burger and then I’ll check out the office.”
“Sure.” Sophie turned toward a redheaded barmaid down the other end of the bar. “Can you get Cash here a Priory Special?”
Travis cringed at her use of his road name. It had sounded cool all those years ago, but now it made him sound like a wannabe. Maybe because now he actually had money and in the end he’d achieved it through legitimate means, not extortion and gun trafficking and all the other shit the Deacons had been involved with. He’d discovered there was a certain thrill in achieving success through hard work rather than ill-gotten gains, and not having to watch his back wherever he went was an added benefit. No matter what Ajax or Leon thought, no way Travis was going back to all that.
Sophie went off to serve other patrons, and Travis finished his beer and tapped his fingers against the solid wood of the bar counter while he waited for his lunch. The redhead tried to flirt with him when she delivered it, but he just asked for another beer. She wasn’t bad looking, but she didn’t stand out the way Billie did, and besides, he wanted to focus on the task at hand. He scarfed down the beer and the burger and then headed out back to start examining Priest’s records.
The sooner he got to the bottom of all this, the sooner he could get the fuck back out of town.
