Motorcycle Master: Bad Boy Angel (Alpha Male Master Series Book 1) Read online

  Marco held his tongue. He was the one most feared, but he understood the boss's decision. Tank wasn't a natural leader, but he'd been with Kratos for many years.

  "Will you be reachable? If any crap comes down we'll need to know where you are."

  "Yeah, but I'll only answer a call if it's you, Leo or Tank, and the world had better be coming to an end or--"

  Kratos abruptly stopped. He'd been leaning over his desk, but sitting back he pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Marco could see the heavy worry in the gang-leader's face, and though he knew not to push, it was evident some serious shit was about to hit the proverbial fan. Was Kratos going to order everyone to disappear for a while, maybe go to the rocks?

  The rocks was what they called their hideout. It was buried in a wooded area not far from Lake Arrowhead, and Marco thought it a bizarre place. The first time he'd seen it he'd immediately thought it was an ancient Neolithic site. The many boulders were gigantic and resembled Stonehenge. It was eerie, but it was difficult to reach, and the peculiar groupings of the huge stones provided shelter. It was an ideal place to hunker down.

  Kratos abruptly stood up, and as Marco watched the tough biker shove his hands in his pockets and walk across to the refrigerator to pull out a beer, he felt his pulse tick up. His instincts were sharp, and he was sensing Kratos was on the verge of opening up. Was he right, or was it just wishful thinking? Kratos was such a secretive, paranoid person, Marco had battled through many moments when he'd thought it would never happen.

  When he'd been recruited for the dangerous undercover operation, he had been told it wouldn't be easy breaking through the impenetrable wall for which Kratos was famous, but the fearsome leader had proven to be even more mistrustful and tight-lipped than Marco had anticipated. Now, out-of-the-blue, he sensed something was about to change, and he'd welcome any scrap of information, no matter how small. It could be pieced together with other tiny pieces of intel, and a picture could emerge that might eventually lead to HH. It was tough, sitting in the heavy silence waiting for Kratos to speak, but Marco knew if he pushed, or said the wrong thing, the overly suspicious man would shut down--or worse; Kratos had a vile temper and a fast fist, and he hated people prying.

  Not wanting his face to betray his anxious need to know more, Marco tried to think of something else besides his desperate desire for Kratos to confide in him. The handle of his strap digging into his back made him shift in the chair, and like a gift from the ether, the curvaceous curves of Kat's naked backside, crimson from the smacks of his hand, floated into his mind's eye.

  Why had she been so overt? If she'd been after sex there were a dozen guys hanging around the bar who would've been happy to oblige. Going after someone at the top of the heap had been too ambitious, almost reckless, though he had to admit he found her hot, spicy hot. Her brazen flirtation, crazy-ass body, and fuck-me-now eyes, had sent the blood racing through his veins and straight to his cock. If he'd met her on a road trip, her clothes would've been off so fast, she wouldn't have had time to blink, but no way did he want a dalliance inside the club. The women knew Marco was off limits. He satisfied his sweet tooth away from home and outside the club, and he wasn't the only one. There were quite a few members who chose to keep their lives uncomplicated.

  "The people I deal with for our hard pharmaceuticals," Kratos suddenly muttered, "there's a problem."

  Marco's heart skipped. Was this it? It had to be! Should he offer help or keep his mouth shut? When in doubt, don't. He kept his mouth shut.

  "There's been an issue with our delivery."

  In spite of risking his life on numerous occasions, Marco still had no idea if the drugs came into the tavern, or if they were picked up. The wall Kratos had erected around the operation was frustratingly impregnable.

  "What sort of problem?" Marco asked, hoping it was the right question. "I don't know anything about that side of your operation."

  "I've been told the delivery was made, but I never got it."

  "Fuck, that's not good."

  "Damn straight," Kratos grunted. "I've gotta go and sort this out, but if I don't come back..."

  "Yeah?"

  "He doesn't know it yet, but like I said earlier, I want Tank to take things over. I've got certain things in place, but until they're...uh...revealed, he's to be in charge. You may not see me again, Marco. It's just the way it is."

  Marco bit his tongue. Everything in him was pushing him to say something like, do you need backup, should I come along, you shouldn't go by yourself, then another question came to mind; it wasn't pushy, and it was obvious.

  "Do you think this has anything to do with Dennis?"

  No-one had seen the boss's right-hand man for several days and Dennis Handley was usually around. Was his absence connected? Why didn't Kratos say he wanted Dennis in charge? Dennis was the obvious choice.

  "I haven't heard from him and his phone goes straight to voicemail. That's why I'm turning things over to Tank, and it's another reason I'm so damned worried." Kratos declared, answering Marco's unspoken question. "I don't think they've got him. I know these assholes. They'd tell me, I'm sure of it, so where the fuck is he?"

  Marco took a breath. This was major news. Kratos was deeply troubled and his paranoia had kicked in. Could Dennis have switched sides. Was it possible he was planning a coup? Had he taken the delivery and bolted, thinking he could start up his own business? No, Dennis was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them, and he certainly didn't appear to have a death wish. Perhaps he'd tangled with the wrong guy someplace and was lying dead in a gutter, but that didn't explain the missing delivery, or did it? Marco was working in a vacuum. He had no idea if Dennis was even involved in the transportation of the drugs.

  "I want everyone gone until I know where we're at."

  "The rocks?"

  "Yeah, but I want you to ride out there separately just in case some crazy motherfucker is planning some kind of ambush."

  Though Marco nodded his head, he thought the idea of a rival gang laying in wait was preposterous, but it did demonstrate the degree to which Kratos was panicking.

  "With Tank still here, if trouble shows up he can get word to you. You two are my point men. Him here, you at the rocks, got it?"

  "Sure."

  In spite of his boss's questionable state of mind, what Kratos had suggested made sense. If HH decided Kratos had ripped him off, Kratos wouldn't be coming back, and the guys who worked for HH would arrive at the tavern en-masse to tear it apart looking for the goods.

  As Kratos gulped his beer and puffed on his cigarette, Marco's mind began to wander, and a new concern crossed his mind; the timing of Kat's arrival. Kratos had said she'd come in from New York, but she didn't have the slightest trace of a New York accent. The gang from which she supposedly hailed was headed by a guy named Spiros. They called themselves The Spartan Kings and had close ties with Kratos. If Spiros had vouched for her she should be okay, but did Kat have something to do with the missing delivery? It was a stretch, but in the high-stakes perilous world of drugs anything was possible.

  "I want the boys to ride to the rocks in small groups starting today," Kratos abruptly announced "If anyone's watching I don't want them to see a mass exodus. Just make sure everyone's gone by tomorrow afternoon."

  "Good idea," Marco offered, though he still thought the evacuation was overkill.

  "These suppliers," Kratos mumbled, "they're not a vicious cartel from south of the border, they're worse. Fucking assholes from Hollywood. They're sneaky and clever and you never know what they're gonna do, and Marco, you sure as shit can't even begin to imagine how twisted they are. They're evil, I mean, pure evil."

  Marco couldn't believe it. In that one simple muttered sentence, Kratos had given him invaluable information. No wonder the agency had been hitting a brick wall. They'd been unable to make a connection to the high-grade heroin and cocaine Kratos had been distributing to the drugs coming across the Mexican border, and the border had been their focu
s. Did this mean HH had his own lab? Did one of the H's in HH stand for Hollywood?

  "These people make a savage junk yard dog look like an adorable fucking puppy. I know, I've seen it, and they have a different mentality. They're slippery, and they don't knee-jerk react to things. They're careful, methodical, and they don't shoot first, they dig first. That's why I'm pretty sure I'm cool. I didn't fuck them over. Someone did, but it wasn't me, and these guys, they know shit. I don't know how, but they know shit."

  Marco was stunned. In the two years he'd known him, Kratos had never, ever, run off at the mouth. Why now? Was it because Dennis wasn't around? Had he become the new sounding board for the leader of the gang?

  "They'll see I haven't fucked them over, right, Brooder?"

  "Right!" Marco said quickly. "If they know shit, then, yeah, you're cool."

  Again Marco was shocked. Though Kratos was paranoid, Marco had never been asked such a question, or witnessed Kratos exhibiting such blatant insecurity.

  "It's weird though," Kratos continued. "What the fuck happened to that heroin?"

  "Who knew about it? Dennis I assume, but anyone else?"

  He'd delivered the query casually. An answer would be another piece of golden intelligence.

  "Only Dennis."

  There it was. Dennis and Kratos were the only ones who handled the incoming drugs from HH. That meant the surveillance should be focused solely on them, assuming Dennis returned, and Marco was beginning to think that unlikely. It was strange though. The agency had been keeping tabs on Dennis. How had he just vanished?

  "Get the guys moving," Kratos said brusquely, then muttered to himself, "Dennis...where the fuck are you?"

  "What about Kat?"

  "What about her?" Kratos frowned, raising his head and narrowing his eyes. "Something about her worrying you already?"

  "No, not that. I just wondered if you wanted her to go to the rocks as well?"

  "Uh...yeah, but she rides with you. That bike of hers, did you see it? Bright pink? Stash it some place. Mike's garage."

  "Mike's Garage?"

  "Yeah, make sure she leave's it there."

  Knowing better than to question his boss, Marco started from the room, but abruptly Kratos followed him out, and half-way down the hall Kratos suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him against the wall.

  "Listen up. If I don't come back, look under the desk for a piece of string. Got it?"

  His voice had been a hushed whisper, and Marco mumbled his reply.

  "Yeah, Kratos, a string, under your desk."

  "Tell Tank to come to the office in about ten minutes."

  Marco watched Kratos walk swiftly back down the hall and disappear into his office. The cryptic edict had been unnerving. Maybe things really were dire. He needed to get back to the tavern, and as he moved through the swinging doors he found Kat had not left her barstool. Her face was flushed, and he wondered if her ass was still burning. The thought of it appealed to him, but pushing the erotic image to the back of his mind, he sent his eyes across the crowd. The place was busy, and he was grateful to see almost everyone was there.

  "Hey, Tank!"

  "Yeah, Brooder?" the big man asked moving up behind him. "You need somethin'?"

  "Get everyone in from the parking lot and lock the doors, then find out who's missing and tell me. When you're done Kratos wants to see you."

  "You got it."

  "What's going on, cowboy?"

  Kat's raspy voice had been unmistakable, and slowly turning he glowered down at her.

  "The name's Marco!" he said gruffly, hating how good she looked. "Remember it, unless you want me to whip your ass again."

  She bit her lower lip and stared back at him with wide eyes. It made her look as adorable as a kitten, and at the same time as sexy as a stripper slowly peeling off her bra.

  "Nothing to say?" he pressed, wishing his cock would ignore the erotic energy sparking between them.

  "You made your point earlier," she said softly. "I might be a smart ass, but I'm not a complete idiot."

  "Could've fooled me."

  "Hey, that's not nice."

  "What made you think I was nice?"

  "My mistake. Can you at least answer my question?"

  "You asked a question?"

  "What's going on?"

  "You'll hear the answer to that when everyone else does."

  Looking across the room Marco saw Tank had bolted the doors and was scanning the crowd. In spite of his neanderthal appearance, Tank had a brain, and in the early days Marco had made sure winning his trust was a priority. The guy was too sharp to take for granted.

  "Gunther, Sy, Donut and Champers are the only ones missing," Tank declared, lumbering up to him.

  "Get them over here pronto. Remind them to come in through the kitchen."

  "You got it."

  "Does everyone do what you tell them?" Kat asked as Tank headed off.

  "If they know what's good for them, yeah," he replied, forcing himself to shift his gaze back across the room.

  Her deep green eyes had been sinking into his, and he was fighting a deep compulsion to devour her scarlet lips. Fuck, she was hot.

  "So, I'm stuck here now? I can't leave even if I want to? Is that the deal?"

  "Yep."

  "Can I go to the ladies' room?"

  "Only ladies are allowed in the ladies' room, that's why it's called a ladies' room."

  "Wow. You really are a grouch."

  "Just calling it as I see it."

  "You're right. You're not nice, you're not nice at all. Can I go?"

  "Knock yourself out, but don't leave the tavern."

  "Why would I want to leave? I want to know what's going on, and besides, how could I pull myself away from such scintillating company?"

  "You're pushing your luck."

  "No shit! But I'm an idiot and not a lady, right?"

  Marco felt his blood boil, and as she slid off the stool and moved around the corner of the bar to the door sporting the large, white, W, he pleaded with his cock to go back to sleep, but besides his intense attraction to her, Marco had another reason he wanted Kat to stick around. His instinct was on fire. Kat was more than a girl from back east who decided to join up with the Kratos Kings. He could feel it in every part of him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Staring into the cracked mirror above the sink, Kat studied her reflection. She was flushed. After getting her ass spanked she wasn't surprised, but that wasn't the only reason for the bright red blush across her face.

  Marco was not what she'd expected.

  He was tough and sharp. No surprise there. She'd felt his strength as he'd spanked her and he was as powerful as he looked, but that too she'd anticipated. Batting her thick black eyelashes and doing her vamp number had tickled him less than a mosquito landing on his tough hide, and even that she'd been ready for. A guy as good-looking as Marco was single by choice, and she had no doubt it would take a whole lot more than some overt flirting to get his attention. No, it was none of those things that had turned her face scarlet. It was him! His energy, the way he looked at her, how she'd felt when his arm came around her waist and he'd bent her over. Her toes had curled. There was another Marco that lived inside that unbelievable body and behind those mesmerizing chocolate eyes, she was sure of it.

  "You're not who you claim to be," she mumbled as she ran a comb through her hair. "I know it. Your tough guy asshole routine is an act."

  Much to her annoyance he was crawling under her skin. It was supposed to be the other way around, but Marco was hot. He was hotter than hot, and after he'd spanked her, the erotic hunger pulsing through her body had been almost impossible to bear. It was still there, a dull throbbing need, but as she took a breath and gathered her wits she realized she could use it to her advantage. Her advances would seem genuine because they would be. The only danger was her heart. She'd have to find a way to keep her emotions in check.

  Kat Baldwin wasn't a motorcycle chick from New York.
Kat was Katrina McClain, a seasoned FBI agent. The agency in New York had recruited Spiros, and he'd agreed to give her the back story.

  "Why couldn't I have met you at a dungeon party some place?" she grunted, pulling her lipstick from a zippered pocket on her leather jacket and smearing it across her mouth. "Why did it have to be here, like this, dammit?"

  Being submissive was Kat's passion, but it had been too many years since she'd surrendered to the pain and pleasure of a dominant's whim, and living with the empty ache in her soul wasn't easy. She missed the unique delights only a dominant could offer, not to mention the deep contentment she felt when wrapped up in strong, loving arms.

  What had happened with Marco in the office had initially shocked her. She'd expected to be reprimanded, that was a given, but having a strap land on her backside? She wasn't complaining, not one bit. In spite of the circumstances it had been a slice of heaven. The baring of her bottom and the sounds of Kratos masturbating while Marco had slapped her, not so much, but the feel of Marco's hard hand on her naked skin...she momentarily closed her eyes and relished the feel of her tumbling stomach as the recall washed over her.

  Was that why she was drawn to him? Because it had been so long since she'd felt the singular sting of a spanking? Was it possible he was a dominant? Oh, dear God, that would be a dreamy piece of cake too caloric to eat, wrapped up in barbed wire tied off with a bright red bow. The ultimate unfairness. How could she become emotionally involved with a potential criminal? In spite of his crusty rejection, there was chemistry between them, she could feel it, and if he ended up doing all kinds of unspeakably wonderful things to her, how would she be able to keep her head? This could turn into a deliciously wonderful unmitigated disaster.

  Pulling her phone from her inside breast pocket she typed in her password and pulled up Marco's profile. She'd studied it so many times she almost had it memorized, but was it possible she'd missed something?

  Nice family in Boston, but when his parents divorced he'd found drugs and started riding with some well-known motorcycle gangs. Numerous arrests for assault and possession followed, then he came out to the West Coast, supposedly kicked the habit but started dealing. There were more arrests, he'd joined the Kratos Kings, became the muscle in the notorious gang after only two years, and was supposedly third in line to the throne. It had been a meteoric rise, but it all fit, so why was her voice now telling her it didn't? There was something about him that wasn't ringing true, but what was it?