Break Me Open (Desert Wraiths MC) Read online

"You were gone a long time," I said.

  "Getting ready."

  "For what? Or is this one of those things you can't tell me."

  He looked at me a spell. In the darkness, his eyes glowed fierce. Predator's eyes, I thought, not for the first time. This time though, I wondered if they actually were - if that was the exact effect of the army’s handiwork.

  "I don't want there to be things like that," he said. "Especially where it concerns your life."

  "I'd appreciate that." I stroked his arm with my non-greasy hand.

  "I was picking over a crime scene. The one I left before I came to your house."

  I remembered him shivering on my couch like he was burning with fever. "Yeah, I remember."

  "If you'd like, I can tell you what happened."

  "I assume people died."

  "Clever girl." He smiled. Still an uncommon sight. Things must have gone well today.

  "So what? What did you clean?"

  "I left casings when I ran. I recovered them."

  "Oh, that's good."

  "Lucky, mostly. They must have closed off the scene once the FBI said they were en route. And the feds didn't bother checking yet."

  "Then how'd you get in?"

  "It was a roof. I got there from another roof."

  He jumped onto a roof? That didn't seem standard. "Did you spike?"

  "Just a tad."

  "Bryan." I slipped my hand to his. "You shouldn't expose yourself. I don't know what those chems are doing to you. Do you?"

  "I don't, but it was a small risk compared to going in another way." He squeezed my fingers. "Trust me. I'm not trying to throw my life away anymore."

  I accepted that and we went back to our food for a while, when I remembered how this conversation had started.

  "Wait, how's this for me?"

  "It's preparation for my interrogation."

  "Your what?"

  "My interrogation by the FBI." He finished the burger and cleaned his hand in the sand.

  My stomach sank. "You're going to turn yourself in?"

  "I'm not a suspect. They've got nothing on me but hearsay and some light battery, that they know was self defense. All I'm planning to do is answer questions. See if I can head off anything headed your way. Or to the club.”

  I'd never been able to read him, but he looked truly calm. "They'll still ask you about the murder right? You can't just lie to them. This is what they're trained to do."

  He gently lifted the burger back to my mouth, until I took another bite. "They're used to interrogating above average criminals. Not soldiers prepped to face torture and execution. It won't be anything."

  He shut his eyes as a desert breeze blew over us. He really wasn’t worried

  "Can you teach me?" I asked. "To handle questioning?"

  "What I was taught? Not likely. You'd never feel anything for me again if I put you through that.”

  "Well, ok, then enough to overcome FBI."

  "That's not going to have to happen."

  "Just in case they question me. For fun."

  He pursed his lips, then nodded. "Finish eating."

  I shoveled down the rest of the food. It rested uneasy in my stomach, and my head was pounding with the new energy in me. It felt bad but also the right condition for this sort of training. Ghost led me back to his bunkhouse.

  "We start now," he said.

  He opened the door like a gentleman, then beckoned me to a chair behind his desk. He sat across from me on the bed.

  “Like this?” I said.

  “Interrogations don’t always happen in a nice little room.”

  "Odd interrogation room though," I said.

  "All the site needs is a balance. Reassurance and disorientation. That's what the whole good cop, bad cop routine is about. The good interrogator will find the right balance. Put them in a bleak room then offer them a coffee."

  I took in the place "Actually, this place fits the bill pretty well."

  "If you say so." The words came out light but his face had gone blank. His eyes were like frozen ocean ice, hard and blue. His sculpted face regarded me like a statue.

  "So you're actually going to be interrogating me," I said, trying to kill the nervousness already brewing inside.

  "We can stop."

  "I don't think the police give you that option."

  "They will, eventually. But there'll be strings attached. "

  I rolled my eyes. "Well, duh."

  "It'll get harder to remember after a couple hours."

  "Ok, fine, then start," I said. I was wavering between annoyance and curiosity. I wanted to show I could be in his world, but only so I could be with him.

  He stared at me a long time, crunched the gears in his head. "What's your name?"

  "Katie Phillips."

  "You live in Gilsner?"

  "Yeah."

  "Where do you live?"

  "My address? Shouldn't they have it?”

  "Sure, sure, we have it. Just checking if you have it." A crease of a smile. I wasn't sure if this was the officer or him speaking.

  "Listen, just ask me what you want and let me go," I said.

  Ghost leaned in arms folded. "Why do you think the police want you?"

  "I don't know."

  "Maybe it's just to ask your address."

  "It's not."

  "So why?"

  "Maybe because-"

  "Ok, pause." Ghost tut-tutted and shook his head. "Either don’t talk or stick with the dumb answers. I was trying to get you in that rhythm. Don’t do anything more than that. Don't joke. Don't make stuff up. They're trained to pick apart information, reactions. Give them nothing. Denial, ignorance and silence ok?"

  "Ok," I told myself. "Yeah, yes."

  The mask slipped back on. "Have you ever seen someone die?"

  I could almost feel my eyes pop out. "Uh, no.”

  "Says here in your file, your parents died. Very tragic. Very sad."

  "Yeah." Careful, Bryan, I thought. I wasn't ready to play with that yet.

  "So you could say you're pretty numb to death."

  "What? No." Frustration flared up real and clear.

  Ghost's mask broke into creases of worry. "Too strong. That’s how they’ll turn your around. Just act bored. "

  I sighed and looked around. This was getting too real. "I don't know."

  "Yes, that's the answer. Try again. Have you seen anyone die?"

  "No."

  "Not recently?"

  "No." I remembered the guy stagger toward me with a knife in his throat. The one Ghost had buried there.

  "Ms. Phillips?"

  "I -" I had drifted off.

  "They'll turn pauses on you too," Ghost said. "You gotta answer quick and say nothing."

  I nodded, though I was starting to suspect I was going to learn nothing but how annoying Ghost could pretend to be. "Go on." I said.

  "You sure?" He looked worried. The irritation must have been plain on my face. Minus one for Katie.

  "Yeah," I said. I breathed deep and smoothed my face.

  "Did you see a man die on Sunday the 17th?"

  "No."

  "Were you in the industrial district by the Coleman packing plant?"

  "I don't know where that is?"

  "We have sources who say you were at a bar nearby."

  "You know that?" I asked Ghost. He must have known I meant him and not the fake agent, but he shook his head.

  "I was at the bar," I said. " I don't know about any murder."

  Ghost raised an eyebrow. "We didn't call it murder."

  "You wouldn't be here otherwise."

  Ghost ran his hands through his buzz of hair. In classes, I was mostly a good student. Not right now. Guess that's what happens when you're in a relationship with the professor. Oh, and also hiding a felony for him.

  "Ok," he said. "Do you know this man?"

  He framed his face with his hands. I pretended to look him over, then honestly got a bit lost in his rugged looks. I h
adn't seen them all day.

  "No, I don't know him."

  "Are you sure? We have witness reporting you on a motorcycle with him."

  "There's a lot of bikers around here. I don't know this guy."

  "Ok, ok." He tilted his head. "So what do you think? Hot?"

  I burst out laughing. "What?"

  "Is he the hottest grunt you ever laid eyes on?" His face was deadpan flat, but the words twanged out.

  "Uh, I've been told to deny everything."

  "Well, you've been paying fuck all to that piece of advice, so I wouldn't start using it now."

  I shrugged. "Yeah, he's not bad."

  "And would you say that were you to go without this guy for a day, that you might subsequently miss him."

  "I'm not sure."

  He got up and leaned over the table. His breath washed over me, strong and spicy. "Now, I'm going to need you to be honest."

  I looked away, ground my lips together, as if this were the most difficult secret in the word. "Well, I guess I might be happy to see him again."

  "I thought as much." He nodded to himself, and pulled away, leaving me in a wash of heat.

  "So what might you to do to show him that you missed him?" he asked.

  I started to get up.

  "Please remain seated, Ms. Phillips."

  He waited, patiently. I pretended to think then slowly shimmied my shirt over my body. I had on a boring white bra on, but Ghost's eyes still popped at the sight of them. Like he had been waiting forever to see.

  "That's quite the nice treat after a hard day's crime," he said. "But I'd think he'd want more."

  "Oh yeah?" I asked. I unclipped the bra and let my chest pour out into view. I squeezed my flesh together and offered it up to him.

  "Mmhm," his voice rumbled. "I see."

  He patted the bed. "Would you please come over here?"

  I sauntered over, but he grabbed me and flung me face down. "Now, I need to make sure you're not holding anything for him. Do you have anything inside you that he might need?"

  "Oh god, I hope so," I said. I could hear my heart pounding in my ear. My body was tired of the game. It wanted the real thing.

  "Well, I'm sorry to hear that." His pants shuffled down. I tried to look back and see the wall of muscle emerge, but he pressed my face down.

  "I'm going to need your full cooperation, as I search your person, to make sure you aren't a threat."

  He'd never had more than a faint accent. The army had beat grammar into him maybe. But I'd never known he had this sort of acting talent in him. The ability to get me ready so clinically. It was a surprising turn on.

  His arms shoved down my pants and the wash of cool air soon gave way to a hard mass pulsing with heat.

  "Now, I need you to be very open with me."

  His hand molded me apart and I groaned at the feel of his strength against my wetness. "I'm so open." I whispered.

  "I apologize for any discomfort.”

  "God, just fuck me," I said

  "Ma'am," he growled just above my ear. "You're not in control here."

  I gasped, and right then, he plunged into me.

  I screamed out my heart at him, drew all the sheets and blankets into clumps under my hands. No secrets stayed hidden as he rode me into the bed. When he was sure I was clean, he turned me around and scoured my mouth with his tool. I serviced him as best as I could, but my head was so wound up and dizzy. It must have been the sight of me keeping him so hard and firm. I wobbled as he plunged into me over and over, doing my best to stay wide and take him all the way. His form was etched in my mind now. I knew where the ridges of his tool were, traced them with my tongue until he was trembling above me. I could take all of him. This sort of interrogation, I was plenty fine to handle.

  He flipped me back around and plunged his tool backed into my slick folds, this time pressing in so that we were face to face. His eyes lazed over me, as his mouth twitched with the exertion of grilling me so hard. I kissed him, and we roared out to each other in sequence, baring our innermost sensations.

  Later, I was cuddled into him, nestled against a massive arm. My breath had returned enough for me to talk.

  "So how did I do?"

  "Perfect. You won me over to your side."

  I peered up. He caught me and smiled, a gesture which was becoming as easier for him as it was for me.

  "Really?" I asked.

  "It's a tactic," he said. "It doesn't always work, but it can. Especially if the target is as beautiful and charming as you."

  "Think you'll use it tomorrow?"

  He laughed, but his eyes hardened. "I hope it doesn't come to that. Because I don't think this broken body is gonna win anyone over. At most, it might get fucked."

  It was meant as a joke. But I ran the words over and over the rest of the night, hoping that was all it would turn out to be.

  I parked my bike on the curb directly next to the police station. An officer was smoking and talking on the phone outside and he scowled at me over the rumble of my engine. No doubt the noise had drawn a few other sets of eyes.

  The attention didn't bother me. Parking here was a way to let them know that. If I did find something to worry about I was set for a quick exit. My mind still hit me with a dozen other tactical weakness for this position, even as a show of force. But those were memories from facing guerillas and religious extremists, not small city police. Not even with a couple FBI around.

  I dusted down my colors and strode tall past the officer. His look shied away when it found how high my form really rose.

  The building ahead of me was done in that adobe style: sand colored walls, tan roof tiles, and shaded windows. It was as if the desert would forget about them if they tried to blend in. Or maybe it was to appeal to the Mexicans whose ancestors used to live on this land, now that they were back. Odd how often the future looks like the past.

  I shoved through the doors and walked to the front desk. A kid in a tan officer's uniform stared at me wide eyed. He must have been my age, but I'd lived more than he'd ever see years ago.

  "How can I help you?" he managed without a stammer.

  "I'm here to talk with the FBI. They think I'm a person of interest."

  "FBI? Let me check." His finger rapped at the mouse.

  Were the feds stationed here? Gilsner was a micro municipality. I couldn't see where else they'd set up, but I could be mistaken.

  "Uh, who are you?" he said.

  I almost felt pissed at my lack of celebrity, but I guessed that bikers weren't in short supply around this building. I looked around. The sun blared in from the door, but as long as I faced away, the office lighting itself was dim. I removed my glasses, and glared down. His eyes threatened to peel out at the sight of my iridescent blue ones.

  "You must be the man they called Ghost."

  The voice came from the side. I snapped there and saw a man standing in the hallway. He had on black pants, a crimson shirt and striped yellow tie, slightly loosened. His face held a bit of black stubble, but his head was totally barren, all of it coated with a sheen. His hands lay tucked into his pockets, as if I were just a new coworker he'd run into.

  "Oh, Agent Meckler, sir. You're here." The kid was practically saluting.

  I slipped my shades back on. "I heard you're looking for me."

  "Very thoughtful of you to pay us a visit then," he said. "Come on, I got a room down here."

  I let him lead me down the hall. We passed a couple doors with glazed windows and unimpressive placards. Meckler's office was the only open one and I felt utterly at ease walking in. There was no way they could stop me from leaving it if I wanted.

  "What's the deal with the shades?" he asked, sitting behind a nearly bare desk.

  "Is it a crime to wear them?"

  "Not strictly, no. Just wondering if there’s a medical reason or you might do me a kindness and take ‘em off."

  I sat and said nothing.

  "Well, alright. Door, please." I clicked i
t shut and made sure the handle was loose. Meckler tightened the blinds at his back until the light came through in thin white lines.

  "So Ghost. Bryan? Which one you prefer?"

  "Whatever gets me out of here quicker."

  "You like to disappear huh? Alright, Ghost it is." He looked all too pleased with himself. "So Ghost, what are you here for?'

  "Don't waste my time. I know you're looking for me. Just ask your questions."

  "No confessions?" Meckler had his ear cocked a moment. "Ok, no? Damn, that would make it a lot easier."

  This guy was almost as irritating as I'd been to Katie last night. I resisted every urge to walk out. This had to be over and done with.

  "Ok, listen, you know what I'm here for. Your gang got shot up by another gang. I'm trying to put an end to that. Good for you. Good for everyone right?"

  "Some of my club got murdered by some guys from another, and you're here to set everything straight."

  "Sure. That's about right."

  ‘About’ didn't cut it. The difference between a gang and club was everything when you were talking to a gangbuster from DC.

  "That's exactly right," I said. "We're not a gang. There's nothing for you to see here. Just idiots being idiots over stupid shit."

  "That we can agree on. Now what bothers me is when that stupid shit sends a storm of bullets flying through the walls of houses where good people live. Doesn't that bother you?"

  I stared at him, dark against the pinstripes of light behind him.

  "See Mr. Cross,” he said. “I'm not here trying to trick you. I'm trying to appeal to your sense of decency. I'm hoping that I'm looking at the man who served his country with distinction so high that I've been told that even with a warrant and FISA authorization, I wouldn't be able to read your records."

  His eyes shifted to his monitor before glancing at me. He couldn't have much, but he had more than I thought a couple minutes ago.

  "That’s got nothing to do with anything you're investigating," I said.

  "Actually, it does. Now I wasn't sent here after you. I was sent to connect several very different pieces of gang activity. But in every case, your name turns up. It seems that you're at the center of this whole mess."

  "You want to cut this vague bullshit? What exactly are you trying to lay at my feet?'

  Meckler spun the monitor around. I saw my own face staring back at me - younger, smoother, unblemished, calm as the mind behind it.