Undercover in the Dark Page 12

  Cat headed in the direction he indicated, but Max took a moment to close the door before following. He clasped forearms with his Brother who was shaking his head.

  “You always did like a feisty brat.”

  Max smiled. “You don’t?”

  “Hell no. I want a woman who enjoys her submission and blossoms when pushed to her very limits. Thank God, Ink feels the same.”

  “So the sharing isn’t casual fun for you two?”

  “Nope, if we find someone to settle with, and Lord knows that is unlikely with Ink, it will be someone we can love together.”

  His two Brothers had come up through the Rangers together and were closer than any bond of blood could make them. He respected their bond, but didn’t understand the desire to share. Simply the thought of Cat with anyone but him made his blood steam. That thought gave him pause. He had never been the jealous type before. With everything going on, now wasn’t a good time to start.

  Cat walked into the kitchen, where Max and Hannibal had paused to grab a beer. The tilt of her chin and determination in her eyes said the trip to the bathroom hadn’t erased her embarrassment or relaxed her temper. She stopped a few feet in front of his Brother.

  “I want to thank you for letting us stay at your house, Hannibal.” Her voice was the picture of respect, but somehow he knew she wasn’t done. “If we’re going to spend time together, I would appreciate you not calling me childish or derogatory names.”

  Max ran his hand over his face. That she wasn’t screaming and technically was using a respectful tone was a step in the right direction, but he needed to break her of the habit of turning every conversation into a sparring match.

  “What derogatory name did I call you, Cat?” Hannibal stared at his woman with a raised eyebrow.

  She growled in obvious frustration. “I heard you call me a brat to Max. I am not a child.”

  Max chuckled. “Oh, he wasn’t thinking of you as a child, Wildcat.”

  “What other kinds of brats are there?”

  “It’s a type of submissive, cher.” Hannibal put his beer down and looked over at Max. “I’m going to see if we have any messages from Hawk. You can explain to your brat exactly what that word means.”

  Cat’s drawn in breath was sharp, but he was proud that she managed to hold in the biting comment he knew was itching to come out of her mouth. She stayed quiet until they both heard a door close in the other room. “Asshole.”

  “Actually I think he is being very understanding, considering you have been nothing but attitude and sass from the minute you met him.”

  “Of course you take his side.” The hurt in her voice was so much more than the encounter deserved, and Max remembered how little support the woman had received in the last year.

  He walked around the kitchen island and wrapped his arms around her. She stood stiffly for almost a minute, but then leaned into his arms. She was a warm bundle against his chest and he wished more than anything he could take away her pain. “He really wasn’t insulting you.”

  She looked up at him, and he could see the strain of events pulling at the corners of her eyes. “Then what did he mean?”

  What was the best way to explain something that was something common within the lifestyle? “How much do you know about BDSM?”

  “I don’t know.” She gave a slight shrug. “I saw those movies, the acting was bad and the plot as weak as the female lead.”

  Max laughed, agreeing with her opinion of the movies that were so popular among the vanilla and uninformed. “Yeah, that is not what I’m talking about. BDSM like anything in life is full of variety and unique personalities. Dominant or submissive isn’t enough to describe what someone likes except in the broadest of terms of who wants to give orders and who wants to follow orders.”

  She turned in his arms and put her cheek against his heart. “Guess I’m a dominant then. I hate being ordered around.”

  “I think you are lying to yourself, but let’s try an exercise. What is more satisfying, watching your team succeed without you or succeeding yourself?”

  She shrugged. “I’d be happy for my team.”

  He squeezed her. “But which is more satisfying?”

  “I guess succeeding myself.” She sighed, her breath warm even through his shirt. “That sounds selfish, doesn’t it?”

  “Not worrying about that right now. Okay, do you want praise for a job well done?”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Last question. Which appeals to you more, knowing exactly what to do and how to succeed or having to figure it out yourself?”

  “What does that have to do with dominance? Of course I want to know how to succeed.”

  Max brushed his lips over the top of her head. “See, we are all different. I can follow orders if I have to, but I’m happiest when I’m finding my own path. I couldn't care less if someone praises me and find ten times more joy in watching someone else succeed then in doing so myself.”

  She pushed against him with a light shove. “So you’re better than me?”

  Max pulled her back into his chest. “What is it with you and the better or worse comparison between everything? People are different, unique in so many ways. Man or woman, dominant or submissive, those are not the qualities that make a person better than another.”

  “Well I’m not submissive, I hate taking orders.”

  Max laughed and felt her smile against him. “Some subs love taking orders, but in my experience it isn’t about that. It is about the freedom to not have to make decisions. The trust in another person to let them choose what happens.” He looked down at Cat and waited for her to look up into his eyes. “Brats, in my experience, don’t submit easily even to those they trust. Instead they fight playfully against following orders. Because it is a way to reassure themselves the dominant is strong enough, and cares enough to take them in hand, before following the dominant’s direction.”

  Cat snorted and turned her face so her ear was against his chest. “So you think I’m playfully fighting against you and Hannibal to make you prove you are man enough to handle me?”

  Max swatted her ass. “No. You don’t trust either of us. A brat who is scared and doesn’t trust the person giving orders lashes out like you did. It’s their way of protecting themselves. If a person holds fast, doesn’t lose their temper, or give up, they might earn some trust. If they don’t, then it proves to the brat that the person wasn’t worthy of time or respect.”

  She stilled against his body, and Max was glad she wasn’t just lashing out. She was considering his words.

  “I want to trust you.” Her voice held longing that made him want to find all the people who had broken this woman’s trust and make them suffer.

  “I know that will take time. But I do need you to stop acting as if we are the enemy.”

  Over the last two days, her actions had told him clearly that no one had ever made it past her prickly armor. In moments like this he could feel the wonderful woman she was underneath all the anger and violence. He didn’t want her to be weak, but if she kept on like she was going, she would mouth off to the wrong Brother. She needed to learn that she could be both strong and give over control.

  “Orders from Hawk.” Hannibal strode into the kitchen. “Agent Taylor is at the compound with the feds searching the woods with dogs. We need to search his place while he’s distracted.”

  “I already searched his place.” Cat stepped out of his arms, and he immediately missed the feel of her.

  This was a risky plan, but if most of the Brothers were held up at the compound and others under arrest, Hawk must think it worth the risk. “I’m sure you did, but I know this guy and how he thinks. Or at least how he used to think. I don’t like the risk of taking her into public. Viktor could have guys on the lookout for her.”

  “We’re supposed to leave her here. Hawk is going to send over some Prospects who weren’t at the compound to watch over her.”

  “Her is standing right here and
is not going to be left behind.”

  Max wasn’t thrilled with the plan either, but knew if he showed that at all the only way they would get her to stay here would be to tie her up. “Wildcat. You need to stop and think. There is a price on your head, and you are on the most wanted list.”

  Her growl was exciting, but he saw the moment she accepted their decision. He turned to Hannibal. “How long till the Prospects get here?”

  Hannibal looked uncomfortable. “Should be an hour but Hawk said we can’t wait.”

  Max cursed. “I’m not leaving her alone.”

  “I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself for my whole life.”

  Fuck, he shouldn’t have pricked her pride. There were very few times when he questioned orders from Hawk, but this was going to be one of them. Max knew what a difference a second set of eyes and weapons could make in any situation. He hesitated before pulling out his phone. On the one hand he could ask to be able to stay until the Prospects arrived either pissing off Cat with his lack of trust in her abilities or making her demand to come with them.

  Taking a deep breath, he tried to bury his doubts down deep. “You got weapons for her?”

  “Sure, but is she going to shoot the Prospects by mistake?” Hannibal’s tone said he was kidding, but his eyes made it clear he wasn’t sure what she would do with a weapon.

  “I’m not a complete monster. I’ll only shoot the bad guys if they come.” Her voice was slightly teasing and had lost the edge of hostility she usually used with Hannibal. “How will I know if they are Prospects?”

  “They’ll be wearing cuts.” Max gestured to his own cut to make a point.

  “You guys don’t ever take them off?”

  “Not in this kind of situation,” Max said.

  “And if someone shows up without a cut?”

  They couldn’t pretend that there would be any choice but violence if someone not from the Club showed up. The reality they had to accept was the types of people after her wouldn’t respect anything but lethal force. While Hannibal pulled out several weapons from a chest behind the couch, Max made sure his expression showed that there was no joking in his following words.

  “If someone not a Dark Son shows up. Kill them.”

  Chapter 19

  Not all women are made of sugar and spice some are made of gunpowder and lead.

  * * *

  Avery took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Her whole body had been firing on overdrive since Max and Hannibal pulled out thirty minutes ago. She didn’t need them to protect her. The feeling of safety she felt around Max was an illusion. This house was in the middle of nowhere and the people after her were busy elsewhere.

  She looked around the room for something to keep her mind off the ticking minutes as she waited for the Prospects to arrive. Ink and Hannibal’s house was full of items that should have been able to distract her. Where Max’s place was filled with photos and memorabilia of motorcycles, gorgeous works of art filled the walls of this home. Each one would go for hundreds if not thousands of dollars and had probably been created by the men themselves. Much like in the tattoo shop, there was everything in the artwork from the fantastical creatures to paintings of objects so realistic they might easily be mistaken for photographs.

  On the shelves there was also a lot of rope, whips, and western themed items that, from the photographs of him at rodeos, she supposed were Ink’s. She remembered the neatly coiled whips in the room down the hall. Avery’s cheeks heated over how she had reacted at first seeing them. With time to reflect, she could see that she might have overreacted to the room. What people did in their own homes wasn’t her business as long as everyone consented. Lashing out was an instinct that had been ingrained over years. Weakness was something she couldn’t afford to show. Foster care then becoming one of the few female DEA undercover agents had made that painfully clear.

  Why was she now questioning her behavior? Max’s words earlier had started an uncomfortable loop in her mind. Did she automatically assume that everyone was going to hurt her? That was as foolish as believing everyone was good. Was she seeing hostility where there was none and lashing out? She didn’t think she was testing people, but it might be why she had no friends.

  Honestly, it had been exhausting trying to prove herself every day, and that had only increased in jail. The last month in hiding had been both terrifying and strangely restful. Only having herself to worry about. No one to judge or prove herself to. She had missed the structure of knowing what she was supposed to be doing.

  She sighed and admitted to herself that it would be nice if she didn’t always have to be the one to figure out what came next. Give over the decisions and control to someone else. Someone she could trust. She wouldn’t be able to give that sort of control over to just anyone. Could she see herself giving over control to Max?

  Yes.

  Every action the man had taken from the first time they met in that horrible basement had been to help her in some way. His strength was something she could depend on. Avery knew in her heart he respected her. The man hadn’t questioned her ability to take care of herself when he had needed to leave. Instead, he made sure she had weapons to defend herself more effectively. He hadn’t wanted to leave her. In fact, it was easy to see he wanted to stay behind and make sure she was safe. But he had his orders. He trusted her to do what was necessary. Now she needed to start trusting him.

  The distant sound of a motorcycle shook her out of her thoughts. Avery grabbed the Ruger AR off the table and slid the rifle’s carry strap over her head. She rushed to the open front window to get a look at who was coming. It was probably the Prospects Max had told her to expect, but there was no reason to take chances.

  Hannibal had said there was only one dirt road leading to the house which would limit access. The only reason people would be on that road was to come here. The rest of the property was surrounded by thick trees and vegetation, so while someone on foot might approach it wasn’t likely. Her heartbeat kicked up as the sound of the vehicle grew closer.

  Avery spotted the rider and hesitated for a minute. Even at this distance she doubted the slender person on the sleek-looking motorcycle was a Prospect. She snorted as the shape of the person became clearer. Unless the Dark Sons let women into their ranks. She sighted down the rifle, conflicted about what to do. Max had said to shoot anyone not wearing a cut. Avery stood with a curse. She wasn’t about to open fire on a stranger not offering violence. The woman could be Ink or Hannibal’s girlfriend stopping by for a surprise visit. How would she justify killing an innocent to the men? Or to be more honest with herself.

  Fuck. What was she supposed to do, they hadn’t left her with a cell or even their phone numbers to call? There was no way of asking for confirmation. The woman looked relaxed as she rode towards the house, not like she was sneaking or rushing to attack. Avery watch as she turned the bike to ride around the back of the house. Guess it was time to find out if the woman was a friend or not. Avery moved through the living room and kitchen and pushed open the sliding glass door. Not wanting to be caught off guard she held her weapon raised and aimed at the woman pulling up.

  The woman slowed to a stop about fifty feet away. She shut off the bike, pulled her helmet off, and leaned forward with a smile as she placed it in front of her. The woman was gorgeous, honey blonde hair braided down her back. If it weren’t for the light lines around her eyes that placed her in her late thirties or early forties, Avery would have said she was in her late twenties. Dressed in a tight black leather outfit similar to the one Cami had been wearing earlier, there wasn’t an ounce of fear in her at having a gun pointed at her. This woman exuded confidence like Avery only dreamed of doing.

  The visitor raised her hands with a smile. “Hello, Avery. Good to see Max didn’t pick a damsel in distress.”

  “Who are you?” The fact this woman knew who she was with was a good sign, but not enough proof for her to lower her weapon. The woman had an
accent Avery couldn’t place.

  “They call me Akula.” The way she said her name made her sound Russian or Eastern European. Max had said Agent Victor Taylor was actually a Russian named Viktor Gunav. Was this woman working with him?

  “That’s nice. But who are you and why are you here?” Avery settled the rifle against her shoulder to make it clear she wanted an answer now.

  “I’m here for many reasons. The one important to you is Hawk is special to me. So I am willing to help one of his Brothers’ women if they are in trouble.”

  “You’re Hawk’s Old Lady?” This woman was crazy, which to be honest meant she fit in perfectly with the other Old Ladies Avery had met.

  Akula winked. “Nothing so formal.”

  “So what, you’re going to keep me company until the Prospects get here? Thanks, but no thanks. You can turn your pretty ass around and head out.”

  Akula’s laugh was deep. “I like you. How much do you know about the man hunting you?”

  What the fuck was this woman’s game? “Why should I tell you shit?”

  “Because if you are completely ignorant, this explanation will take much longer.”

  Fine, she would play along. Telling this woman what she knew wouldn’t make things any harder. “Victor Taylor is a dirty FBI agent who helped Mateo Lopez set me up. Either he or the Cartel put a price on my head. Now I’ve got both the law and people looking to cash in after me.”

  “Interesting.” The woman leaned forward, resting her arms on her helmet. “I think you know more than you say, but time is short so I will make things clear. The Cartel doesn’t care about you. But Viktor, he cares very much. You are a loose end, an embarrassment who he has failed to take out three times. That is an unacceptable threat to his reputation.”

  “Yeah, don’t really care. I’ll happily threaten more than his reputation. He will not get away with killing my partner.” It was just like a man to worry more about his macho image than the physical threat.