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

  She and her colleagues had picked Marco as her mark because he was close to the top, but more importantly he was single. Kratos was a no-go. He was attached to his woman like a Siamese twin. There was Dennis Handley, but he was violent and unpredictable, and his girls had a habit of banging into cabinets and falling down stairs. At least, those were the stories they told when they stumbled into an emergency room for treatment. Tank was big and heavy and lumbering, and Kat just couldn't see herself making a play for him. The thought of kissing him made her skin crawl.

  Marco was the only viable choice. Though he liked the money narcotics generated, he supposedly didn't partake except to test the product, or so they'd been told by their informants, and while he was the club's muscle he wasn't a monster. If Kat could work her charms and get close to him she might overhear something, or have the opportunity to poke through his pockets, or glimpse something lying on a desk. Kat was there because the bureau was desperate to find a drug dealer who was known as HH, and the phantom figure was supplying the Kratos Kings. They'd called the local DEA office expecting a less than warm welcome, but to their surprise the agent with whom they'd spoken had given them free rein.

  "We keep hitting a brick wall with HH. Go for it, just make sure you keep us in the loop if you uncover anything, but honestly, we'd welcome any help."

  After many frustrating weeks they'd decided to infiltrate the Kratos Kings, and once they'd profiled the top echelon they realized Marco was a prime target for a woman. Kat was the obvious pick. She was eye candy with a smoky voice, outstanding self-defense skills, and a love of motorcycles.

  "Okay, Marco, let's find out what all the fuss is about," she murmured, giving herself a final look in the mirror. "Maybe this will be my lucky night. Maybe something's going down already. That'd make Johnny happy."

  Johnny Fallon was her boss and handler, and while he was demanding, he could be a maverick. Bending the rules didn't bother him if it netted a result. Pushing through the door she stepped back into the tavern. It was quiet, deathly quiet, everyone's eyes were focused on the front of the bar, and moving quietly around the corner she saw Marco sitting on the counter

  "That's where we're at," he declared. "You all know what to do. Stay safe, watch your backs, and call Tank or me if you see or hear anything out of the ordinary on the ride up."

  She watched Marco slide off the bar, and as he did murmurs began to move through the crowd. Kat wanted to kick herself. She'd missed his big news. Walking quickly towards him to find out what was going on, she stopped in her tracks when a buxom woman with bleached blonde hair emerged from the throng and stepped in front of him. They spoke softly for a minute, then wearing a frown the woman walked away.

  "Hey, Marco," Kat said with a warm smile as she neared. "Sorry, I missed the whole thing. Can you fill me in?"

  "Do you work?"

  "What?"

  "I said, do you work?"

  "Uh, I'm back in Los Angeles because I'm an actress."

  "Can't you answer a direct question?" he said impatiently. "Do you have a job where you have to report in? Are you gainfully employed?"

  "No, why?"

  "We're taking off for a few days and you're coming."

  "No shit? Where are we going?"

  "Camping."

  "Cool. Where?"

  "Stonehenge."

  "What?"

  "You'll understand when we get there. I need your address. I'll be picking you up."

  "I have my bike. I can meet you here, or there, wherever there is."

  "No, your bike will be stored and you're riding with me."

  "Why?"

  "Because I said so," he said briskly, "and now that I think about it, forget the address. I'll follow you home tonight."

  Kat managed to keep her poker face. This wasn't good. Her bike had several tracking devices, and the bright pink paint contained glow in the dark properties, but she still had her phone. She'd wanted to plant a bug somewhere in the club, but Johnny had thought it too risky and had refused. He'd been right. She'd been methodically and thoroughly searched when she'd been waiting to meet Kratos. Even the heels of her boots had been checked.

  "Okay, fine, whatever," she sighed, suppressing the temptation to retort with a smart remark. "When can we leave?"

  "In a while. I'll find you."

  As he sauntered away she noticed the room was thinning out, and the roar of bikes from the parking lot signaled the departure of more than a few members. She needed to report in with Johnny, and her voice was telling her to do it right away, but from where could she make the call? Johnny had warned her never to contact him from inside the tavern no matter how much privacy she thought she had, but texting would work. She could turn off the phone's sounds and not be overheard. She started back towards the ladies' room, but a hand touched her shoulder, and slowly turning around she found herself facing the buxom blond.

  "Hey, I'm Nancy. Kratos is my guy. I haven't had a chance to say hi."

  Kat was shocked. The woman looked nothing like her picture.

  "Hi."

  "Marco says you're from New York."

  "I've spent a few years there, but originally I'm from here."

  "No shit? Why'd you come back?"

  "Why does anyone come back to L.A? I'm an actress. I thought New York might work better for me, but it was even worse than here."

  "There's no easy place to be in the biz," Nancy remarked. "I got out. Too many neanderthals wanted me on their casting couch. Can I buy you a drink?"

  "Sure. I just want to powder my nose."

  "I'll come with you."

  A babysitter? Shit. Marco had given her a babysitter! Did they suspect her already? No! Why would they? So much for sending a text. She'd have to wait.

  High in the Hollywood Hills on the other side of town, in the gleaming living room of a slick architectural home overlooking the twinkling lights of the city, HH was sitting in a tufted leather armchair puffing on a cigar as the actress on her knees slurped hungrily on his cock.

  The town was his. His carefully executed plans had developed exactly as he'd envisioned. His sophisticated lab was in the hidden basement of his guest house, and he and his team were turning out an exceptional product and making a shit-load of money. He had remained completely anonymous, as had the rest of his team. Deals were made incognito, and as far as his A-list show business social circle knew, he was simply one of them.

  After being sought after by major pharmaceutical companies fresh out of college, a television series called Breaking Bad had sent his brilliant brain into overdrive. Why work for fat cats behind desks when he could be making a fortune producing his own line of recreational drugs? Safe drugs. Drugs that would blow people's minds.

  Cautious conversations over many months revealed five colleagues who shared his thinking, and they'd voted him their leader. Blessed with a quirky, appealing grin, charm and salesmanship, he had stepped into the entertainment industry and worked his way up the Hollywood ladder, simultaneously donning disguises and dealing in the dark underworld, meeting those who could provide him with certain raw ingredients. It had taken planning, money he'd had to borrow, and sheer force of will, but something else had happened to him along the way.

  He learned he wasn't squeamish.

  Not only had his creative brain provided him ingenuously cruel ways of making an example of those who dared to double-cross him, he had absolutely no emotion attached to the scenes that played out in front of him. He'd always known he was different, and he'd fought hard to fit in, but he came to understand that he was a psychopath, and he embraced it. Now the world was his. The world had to fit in with him.

  Dealing his drugs outside the world of the beautiful people had opened up an extremely lucrative market, and with the involvement of the motorcycle underworld, HH envisioned his empire spreading across the country, but it was an arena with which he was unfamiliar. He wanted someone on the inside. He also wanted a hidden camera planted in the office from which Kratos wo
rked.

  "I want to watch every move he makes," HH had said stridently. "Money means nothing if you're six feet under or behind bars."

  His colleagues concurred, and though it had taken a while they'd managed to recruit a member who had planted a nanny cam on the wall in the office. Everything Kratos said and did was watched and recorded. HH thoroughly enjoyed tuning in, and earlier that evening he'd been pleasantly surprised as he'd watched a beautiful raven-haired girl get her butt strapped over her leather jeans, then her naked ass soundly hand-spanked. She had reminded him of a gorgeous dominatrix he'd once turned the tables on. The scene had left him with a raging erection, and he'd called in one of his favorite actresses to scratch the itch.

  Placing his cigar on the ashtray next to his chair, he leaned forward, grabbed her long blond locks, and holding her tightly he guided her bobbing head. Moments later, as his orgasm rippled through his loins and he let out a long contented sigh, the dark-haired girl called Kat swam before his eyes. He thought he might like to find out more about her, maybe even invite her over. The blond girl licked him clean, rose to her feet, then reached for her champagne glass, and as HH idly admired her large breasts and puckered nipples, his mind returned to business.

  Someone had snatched the latest delivery of heroin, and there were only four people who had known about it. His courier wouldn't have dared, Sam, the team member responsible for arranging the deliveries would never betray his partners, and Kratos was unlikely, which the nanny cam seemed to validate. There was only one other possibility; Dennis, and Dennis had been AWOL. Though logic suggested Dennis was the culprit there was no solid evidence, and HH left nothing to chance. Kratos had been summoned, and if Kratos was involved, HH would soon know.

  Someone had his drugs, and God help them when he found out who it was.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Kat was on her way home, riding her hot-pink bike with Marco alongside her on his Harley, when she unexpectedly found herself having a blast. He'd accelerate, she'd drop back, then zoom around him with inches to spare. By the time they rolled to a stop outside the storage room she used as a garage, her heart was racing and she felt on top of the world.

  "That was a gas," she exclaimed pulling off her helmet. "You're a great rider."

  "And you're crazy. You cut things way too close."

  "What? Did I scare you?"

  "Showing off on a powerful machine that can--"

  "Oh, please," she retorted cutting him off. "You were having just as much fun as I was, and I'm sure you and your buddies do a whole lot worse."

  "Maybe, but that's a heavy machine, and you weigh, what? Six ounces?"

  "What is it they say about size," she giggled, "and don't you ever smile?"

  Marco stared into her luminous green eyes. She was a helluva rider, but he was convinced she wasn't the free spirit biker chick she was pretending to be. As disconcerting as it was to be retreating to the rocks, at least it would give him the opportunity to watch her, but a cloud of doubt unexpectedly crept into his head. Was the paranoia Kratos carried around rubbing off on him?

  "You want to come up? Have a drink?" she asked, worried his silence was annoyance. He may not have responded to her flirtation, but she had to befriend him. She needed him to relax around her and let his guard down.

  "Sure. You got coffee?"

  "I have great coffee. Don Francisco. Do you know it?"

  "Nope."

  "You'll love it."

  Her so-called apartment was a few rooms in a decrepit mansion in the Hills above Sunset Blvd. It was part of her cover and her real home was a modern condominium in West Los Angeles, but she was enjoying its old world charm.

  "You live in this house?" Marco asked, staring up at the crumbling leftover from the golden-age of Hollywood. "My God, it's huge."

  "I wish. No, just a few rooms on the second floor," she replied as she unlocked the front door and entered the foyer. "The owner sealed off various doorways and added kitchenettes. I'm sure none of what he's done has been permitted by our very fussy city, but apparently no-one's complained."

  "What do you do about visitors?"

  "Sorry?"

  "There's no keypad at the door. How do you know if someone's here for you?"

  "Wow, you're observant."

  "Not really. It just struck me."

  "There's a really loud doorbell that chimes through the house. I know, it's crazy, and I've found the door unlocked a few times. I think it's left that way if someone is expecting guests."

  "Crazy is right," he muttered as she started up the wide staircase.

  As he began following her, he felt as if he was walking through a Hollywood movie set from the forties or fifties. Everything around him reeked of a bygone era.

  "Here we are," she announced, stopping at a door with the number six on it. "Sorry about all the boxes, I'm still unpacking. I have no idea where I'm going to put everything."

  He walked in after her, but immediately came to an abrupt halt. Sliding glass doors were directly in front of him, boasting a panoramic view of the city; thousands of twinkling lights beckoned his eye. Walking across the living room he stood at the window, and gazing down at the sight he felt transported from the grimy, seedy world in which he lived.

  "The owner said this used to be the master bedroom," she remarked as she pulled off her jacket and threw it on the sofa. "It must have been a helluva suite. He put up a wall, and the bedroom is through that door. It's plenty big, but I think he should have left it like it was."

  "This view..." Marco murmured, barely hearing her.

  Being in a completely different environment with a woman he'd just met was a welcome change, and though it was stimulating, he was feeling a tad unnerved. He'd completely immersed himself in the club, spending his time at the tavern, or in his small rental house just a few blocks away. Except for the rides out of the city, and some occasional nights hanging out at other bars, he'd rarely been anywhere else.

  "Yeah, I know, right?" she said walking up beside him. "That's why I rented it. How could I walk away?"

  "How did you find this place?"

  "A rental agency. You pay a fee and get a list of vacancies. I'm going to get changed and put on the coffee."

  It was a warm night, and as she walked away he unzipped his jacket, tossed it next to hers, then opening the slider he was shocked at how quickly it glided on its track. He paused, but unable to figure out why it was so loose, he stepped outside and continued to take in the magnificent view. They were high above Sunset Blvd, and he felt removed from his pretend life and his role of asshole Marco muscleman.

  When he'd started the operation, it had been imperative that he push away thoughts of the world he'd left behind, but as the warm evening air cloaked him, and his eyes wandered up to the sky, he suddenly missed his home, his friends, and, yes, even Melanie, but a moment later he shook his head. No. He didn't miss Melanie, he missed what they'd shared. Cooking dinner together, sleeping next to her warm body, watching out for her. Melanie had been great, but the first time she'd let him lightly spank her it had not gone well, and that had been the beginning of the end. It was only a short while later they'd split up, and he'd been offered the undercover assignment.

  The job could not have been better timed, but it was a gritty dangerous world in which he'd been living, and he suddenly realized he was ready for it to be over. As the epiphany moved through him, his fingers curled around the wrought iron railing, but it unexpectedly moved, startling him from his thoughts, and instinctively he jumped back.

  "Sorry. I should have warned you about that."

  Turning around he saw Kat holding two coffee mugs, but he barely recognized her. She'd changed from her black leather jeans and skivvy top, into pink track pants and a white T-shirt, the thick mascara was gone, and her hair was flowing around her shoulders in long, smooth locks, not the frazzled curls she'd been sporting just minutes before. She looked like a completely different person.

  "That railing scares
me," she added. "It feels like it could just break away at any minute, but the owner won't fix anything."

  "That's crazy. It's two stories above a concrete patio, and what's with the door? It almost flew out of my hands."

  "I know, I have the fastest sliding door in the west, but he won't fix that either. It doesn't matter. I like it that way, it's easy. Here," she said, offering him a mug. "It's black, but I have cream and sugar if you want it."

  "Black is good. Thanks."

  "So...why are we going camping?"

  "Security concerns."

  "Security concerns? What does that mean?"

  "A rival gang might cause some trouble," he lied, thinking it sounded plausible.

  "Really? If it's bad enough that you're taking off, aren't you worried about them wrecking the tavern while you're gone?"

  "Not my call."

  "Why do you want me to come?" she asked, dropping her voice and looking at him with a suggestive glint in her eye.

  "Kratos."

  "Kratos?"

  "Kratos said to bring you, and what Kratos commands..."

  "Ah, I see."

  He knew it wasn't the answer she'd been hoping for, but while it was the truth, he had to admit he was looking forward to having her wrapped around his body for the ride.

  "I have some muffins if you want? Or some chocolate chip cookies."

  "No, this is good," he replied, moving back into the room.

  "Why do we need to store my bike? It's safe in the shed."

  "You ask a lot of questions."

  "You give a lot of orders. Why can't I just meet you at the tavern?"