The Night Horde SoCal: Fire And Dark Part 10

"Hey, puss. Becky, this is Pilar."

Reluctantly, Becky turned to Cordero, who clearly had not missed the vibe. "Hi. Getcha anything?"

Cordero didn't smile, but she wasn't aggressive, either. "I'll take a Shock Top, too, thanks."

"Got it." That was all. No a.s.surance that she'd be back to take their order, no spiel about specials.

As she turned, Connor grabbed her wrist. "Sort yourself out, puss. Right now."

She blinked at him and then pulled her wrist away. "I'll be back with the drink and to take your order."

"Good girl."

When she left, Connor turned back to Cordero, who was staring at him like he'd grown a horn in his forehead. "What the f.u.c.k was that?"

"I know Becky."

"Yeah, I got that. Sheesh, have you f.u.c.ked your way through all the blondes in Madrone?"

He laughed. "I like redheads and brunettes, too. Even had a chick with a shaved head once."

"You are a ho."

Not the first time he'd been called that, so he wasn't offended. He just lifted a shoulder. "I love s.e.x. But most chicks bore me. So I just want s.e.x. You dragged me into the storeroom five minutes after we met, so I'd be careful throwing that rock from your gla.s.s house."

She frowned. "Maybe if you weren't after girls barely more than half your age, you'd find women more interesting."

Again, he gave a halfhearted shrug. "Interesting women are complicated." A case in point was sitting across the table, looking at him like she regretted being here with him, all because little Becky, whom he'd f.u.c.ked a total of twice, months ago, had decided to preen her feathers. He felt invested in this date they were getting off wrong at every turn, so he gave her a little more. "Look, I didn't come to this way of being by accident. I've had girlfriends. I've even been in love before. Women who don't bore me don't want to live my life, but they don't figure that out until they're in my life, and then it f.u.c.king hurts when they leave. Little girls walking on the wild side for a night are easier. End of story."

That look of contempt had left her face, and what had replaced it was softer. Compa.s.sion. "I'm sorry. But why did you ask me out, then?"

That was a good question, but he knew the answer. He hoped he did, anyway. "Because you are interesting, but you want what I want. Right? Just messing around, like you said."

"Yeah. Yeah." She didn't look as comfortable with that answer as he'd been expecting. He needed her to be comfortable with that answer.

Seeing her the other day playing basketball with her buddies, he'd been jealous-and not just a twinge of it, either. He was looking forward to meeting that Kyle guy, whom he'd been calling Mortal Kombat since they'd fought before, in the ring. Because he wanted to Pica.s.so his face.

Connor knew that he could get more attached to this girl-woman-than he should, if he let himself. He was relying on her reserve to keep himself in check. She didn't want more than fun, and she routinely made that clear. Good. Neither did he. Because he could sense that things could get real complicated between them if they didn't keep to their emotional corners.

Becky came back with Cordero's beer, behaving now like a normal waitress, and they ordered. Connor was pleased that she ordered a filet, rare, with baked potato and salad. She ate like a human being. He got his usual T-bone and fries.

After Becky left again, Cordero took a drink of her beer and leaned in. "How'd you get into your life, anyway? Did you always want to be a biker?"

He took a drink, too, and wiped the foam from his beard. "I've never known anything else, so I guess so. I grew up this way. My dad's the club President."

"You always like it?"

"Sure. I'm close with my folks, my brothers. This is the way I know the world."

Nodding like she thought that answer made perfect sense, she thought for a minute. And then she asked, "Can I ask if you've done time?"

His antennae twitched. "Can I ask why you're asking?"

"Just curious."

Believing her, he answered straight. "Not much, but yeah, I have. Did eleven months about thirteen years ago or so. a.s.sault."

She grinned; he liked that reaction. "Did the guy deserve it?"

He grinned back. "He did." When she didn't ask another question, Connor filled in the s.p.a.ce with one of his own. "How'd you end up a firefighter? You said your dad was an Aztec, too, right? Doesn't seem like the same straight line I had."

"It's straighter than you think. I grew up on a.s.sa.s.sins turf. Until I was eleven, and my nana took us out of there, they were our family. Everybody I knew hated the cops. Even people like Nana look sideways at the law. They never helped make anything better. When they came at all, they just made more trouble. Or that was how I saw it, how everybody saw it."

That was his take on law, too. "You see it differently now?"

She spun her gla.s.s on the table as she spoke. "Yes and no. I know a lot of cops. We work together on calls pretty often. And I like a lot of the cops I know. They're just working stiffs like everybody else. But they're working stiffs with guns, and there are enough power-drunk hijos de putas"-she stopped. "Sorry. That means-"

"I know that one. Sons of b.i.t.c.hes."

"Yeah. There are enough sons of b.i.t.c.hes on the force that there's reason to be suspicious if you live in a world like the one I grew up in."

"What does that have to do with you being a firefighter, though?"

"I wanted to do something important. There was no money for real college. I got an a.s.sociate's degree, but that doesn't get you far. If you want to make a difference and don't have any money, you can join the military or go into public service. Everybody loves firefighters. We're not like cops. We're heroes, straight up. We don't judge, we don't hurt. We just help. It's about the most important work you can do when you can't afford to be a scientist or whatever."

Interesting women were complicated for Connor because they were interesting. A woman like this, who was strong and thoughtful, who did work like she did and had an answer like that for why? That lit a fire in him. She could have looked like the Elephant Man and still have been somebody he wanted to hang with. But Cordero did not look like the Elephant Man. She was f.u.c.king beautiful.

Everybody thought he was shallow. With very few exceptions, he let them think it. Even people he loved. What he was, though, was careful. He wasn't good at losing what he loved. It made him an a.s.shole. More than that, it made him dangerous, and not in the controlled way that was his job. It was much easier and safer not to let his feelings sink in deep.

So, feeling rocked by the way he and Cordero-Pilar-were talking, the ease and depth of their conversation, knowing that they were on the precipice of something significant and afraid to make that jump, he responded to her thoughtful explanation of her career choice with his oiliest grin. "Well, it makes you a bada.s.s b.i.t.c.h, that's all I know."

Her gold eyes darkened, and she sat back abruptly.

And they were back where they belonged.

Cordero's friend, Kyle or Moore or whatever, was almost as big as Connor was. And he knew how to fight; he'd proved that last time. But Connor was leaving the ring tonight one of only two ways: a winner or unconscious.

The Deck had a ref in the ring who'd call a fight if it got too intense, regardless of whether anyone had tapped. That was how Connor had lost to Moore the last time-he'd had his legs kicked out from under him and then been caught in some bulls.h.i.+t submission hold. He wasn't that kind of fighter, he was more of the 'keep hitting them until they stop moving' school, but he felt sure he would have been able to break the hold if he'd been given the shot. He hadn't tapped. The ref had called it.

Tonight, he'd paid the ref off to let the fight go to tapout or knockout.

The fight started out like any other. They'd come into the ring barefoot and stripped to their jeans, their hands taped and gloved. Cordero had his clothes and boots at their table. She was sitting there in that sinful little dress, looking gorgeous, her face lit up with amus.e.m.e.nt. He winked down at her just before the ref set him and Moore loose on each other.

Moore did a little flitting like a b.u.t.terfly, but that wasn't Connor's style. Especially this time. Knowing that the guy liked to use his feet, Connor went in fast and hard, taking a combination to Moore's gut. He put his back into it and laid the f.u.c.ker out.

Flat on the canvas, gasping, Moore glared up at him. "What the f.u.c.k, man?"

Connor grinned. "It's a fight, a.s.shole. You out already?"

"Blow me." Moore rolled to his knees and stood.

Connor waited until Moore faced him and then took the same combination right back to him. This time, Moore kept his feet and came back with a hard uppercut to Connor's face. His jaw cracked dangerously, but he could tell it hadn't broken. It would swell, though.

Moore obviously had expected that blow to stun him, and tried to capitalize on that. He spun, bringing in some of that Jackie Chan s.h.i.+t he liked so much, but Connor caught the leg coming at him with both hands. He pulled and put Moore on the mat again, so hard his head bounced.

"Told you, a.s.shole. All you had going for you last time was surprise." Too smart to follow Moore to the mat and set himself up for one of those holds, he waited for him to get back up to his feet.

And then Moore abandoned his flashy tricks and flew at him. Connor didn't take the time to laugh, but it was exactly what he'd wanted: to p.i.s.s the s.h.i.+thead off. Make him stupid.

After that, it was a mutual bludgeoning. Moore got his shots in, and Connor was feeling it, but he knew he had the advantage. Cordero's bestest buddy's face was ground meat. Still, neither of them showed any signs of letting up, and the ref was giving them what Connor had paid for.

It was Cordero who stopped the fight. She came up to the ring and started yelling at the ref, and when that didn't get her anywhere, she started yelling right at them. Connor, who was well trained to pay attention to what was around him even when he was taking blows to his head, noticed and disregarded her.

"Stop, you f.u.c.king idiots! Moore, you have to work in the morning! Connor, back the f.u.c.k off! What are you doing? STOP!"

Moore stopped. They were on their feet, so he said, "Yield. I yield, motherf.u.c.ker." And Connor backed off.

"Good fight," he said, spitting blood onto the canvas.

"f.u.c.k you." Moore's words had gotten pretty mushy.

Okay, then. There was no fanfare to winning a fight at The Deck, and none of the Horde were there-it was a Friday night; they were all at the clubhouse. So he just nodded and climbed through the ropes. Cordero was right there, and he grinned and reached out, but she turned from him and went to Moore instead.

Connor stood there and watched as Cordero went to her friend and took his face in her hands, checking his wounds. She brushed her fingers over his profusely bleeding eyebrow.

Connor had taken his share of blows, too, and it p.i.s.sed him off to be standing there bleeding, on their date, while she fussed over her friend.

f.u.c.k this s.h.i.+t. He took a cheap towel from the stack at the side of the ring and wiped his face and chest, then threw the b.l.o.o.d.y, sweaty towel into the plastic bin provided for that purpose. Then he went and pulled his s.h.i.+rt back on.

She'd driven, so he didn't have a ride. He'd have to call his father; his brothers would be too wasted by now to pick him up. Great. f.u.c.king great.

"What the h.e.l.l, Connor?" She was standing right behind him.

He turned and faced her. Behind her, Moore was headed to the table full of firefighters. "It was a fight. We were fighting."

"You were fighting like it mattered."

"All fights matter."

"Well, that's bulls.h.i.+t."

He was too tired, and sore, for another fight. "Whatever. You know what? This is a bad idea. Go tend to your buddy. I'm out." He left his s.h.i.+rt unb.u.t.toned and bent to pull his boots on.

"Out where? I drove."

"Yeah, and that was a mistake. Don't worry, puss. I can sort myself out."

If she reacted to him calling her 'puss,' he missed it. "Your kutte is in my car. You at least have to go out there with me to get it."

f.u.c.k. "Fine. Then let's go get it."

When they got out there, he reached for the door handle, but she hadn't unlocked the doors yet. He turned and stared at her, waiting.

She walked up to him. "What the f.u.c.k happened?"

"You pitched a b.i.t.c.h fit. Think that sums it up."

Balling up her fist, she popped him in his right arm-which was feeling the effort of the fight. Ow. "f.u.c.k you. If anyone was a b.i.t.c.h in there, it was you. Why'd you go at him so hard?"

"It was a rematch. Payback. That's how I fight." He forced himself to laugh. "What, you think it was about you?"

She didn't take the bait. "Wasn't it?"

"We're just messing around, right? Why would it be about you?"

Of course it was about her. Before he'd gotten in the ring, he'd known it was about her. He'd known standing outside her station that he wanted to fight the guy again not just to win but because he'd had his hands all over Cordero, and that had p.i.s.sed Connor off.

Instead of answering, she grabbed his head. In those crazy high heels, she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was, and when she pulled him close, she was right there to plant one on him.

He was still reeling with adrenaline from the fight, and with anger from what had happened after. He was jealous-and mad about that, too. He was f.u.c.king hot for her even as he was furious. So when she kissed him, he grabbed her and turned them both around, shoving her up against her car.

With a gasp he caught in his mouth, she yielded to him completely, and her body softened and molded to his. This was a thing he was figuring out about her-she was a tough b.i.t.c.h and fought tooth and nail with him at first, but it was like she was making him fight for the right to have his way with her. She was a bottom who came on like a top. It was electrifying, the fight and the surrender.

And he could not have cared less in that moment about the anger he'd been feeling. All he wanted now was to be inside her.

His s.h.i.+rt was still open, and the feel of her writhing against his chest made his b.a.l.l.s tighten. Pus.h.i.+ng his hand between their bodies, he dragged the top of her dress down; she wasn't wearing a bra, and when her firm, naked t.i.ts pressed to his chest, he groaned and turned the heat up on their kiss, knowing that he was being rough, and knowing, too, the way she was responding to his demands.

Then he moved his hand and dragged the bottom of her dress up until it was bunched at her hip. She was wearing a wisp of a thong; he pushed it out of the way and plunged his fingers inside her.

She was so G.o.dd.a.m.n wet.

She tore her mouth from his and cried out, but she didn't stop him-far from it. Instead, she flexed on him, picking up his rhythm, and sought his mouth again, her nails digging into the back of his neck.

His face was sore from the fight, and he knew his lip was bleeding freely as they kissed, but he didn't care, and neither did she.

Nor did they care that they were in the middle of The Deck's brightly-lit parking lot, leaning against her car, all but f.u.c.king right then and there. He had every intention of actually f.u.c.king her right then and there.

He took his fingers out of her and grabbed a condom out of his pocket. Without breaking their kiss or even slowing it down, he opened his belt and jeans and pulled himself free.

Once the condom was on, he grabbed the backs of her thighs and lifted. She helped right away, hooking her legs around him. And then he shoved into her. Again, she cried out, but he didn't let her mouth go, so he took all the sound into himself. Those studded heels pushed at his loosened jeans and dug into his a.s.s, and he pounded into her, grunting into her mouth, slamming her body into the side of her car again and again until it rocked on its wheels.

There was too much intensity, too much heat, too much need. It wasn't going to last long, and they both knew it. She wanted it as fast as he did-he could tell because even pinned as she was, her body rocked and writhed, urging him on.

Pus.h.i.+ng his hand between them, he found her c.l.i.t and worked it until she arched back and went stiff and still. Recognizing her finish, he let himself complete, too, pounding wildly until pleasure burst in his gut and he tore his mouth from hers and practically howled.