Gypsy king

“Someone wants you to spend the rest of your life rotting in a prison cell, Dad. I’m just trying to see that it doesn’t happen.”

“I get it.” He blew out a long breath. “Amina, she was . . . there’s history. I can’t think straight right now. Been trying to think it through for over a week. Before I can talk about it, I need to work it out in my head.”

“’Kay.” He might need time, but I was going to keep pushing hard to find out who’d really killed that woman. I wasn’t letting the cops steal my only living parent for a crime he hadn’t committed.

Dad walked to his bike, stopping three feet away to speak over his shoulder. “Stay clean on this, Kingston.”

My spine straightened. Dad hadn’t called me Kingston in years. It was like Mom rattling off our first, middle and last names when we were in trouble.

“I mean it,” he said. “Don’t do something stupid to land yourself in a cage too. Worst case, I spend the few years I have left wearing orange. I’d handle that a lot better if I knew you were free.”

I nodded.

“That’s what it was always about. Being free.” He walked over to his bike, touching the handlebars. Though the Tin Gypsies were no longer, he still had the old motto etched on the gas tank.

Live to Ride

Wander Free

Dad and Emmett’s father had started the Tin Gypsy club back in the eighties. They’d recruited some friends until it had grown and grown. In the begi

This was back when they restored bikes with scrap parts, the metal more like cheap tin than the steel machines we spent fortunes on now.

When Dad spoke of that time, it seemed simpler. It might have stayed that way if Mom hadn’t died.

Dad blinked a few times too fast and my heart twisted. Was he crying? I hadn’t seen Dad cry since Mom’s funeral. Even then, it hadn’t lasted for more than a few heartbreaking tears. He’d been too angry to cry. Too focused on vengeance to let his grief show for long.

Without another word, he swung his leg over the bike. He plucked his sunglasses from his hair, hiding any emotion, and raced out of the parking lot like his nickname was Dash, not mine.

I hung my head, rubbing the tension away from my neck.

“We all know who set up Draven.” Emmett’s voice behind me was low. I turned to find both him and Leo standing a few paces away.

“Yeah.” We all knew. “Dad’s got to be the one to make that call.”

“You could,” Leo argued.

“I could, but I’m not going to.” It was the reason I hadn’t made that call when Dad was in jail. “Dad approaches the Warriors. No one else.”

Emmett and Leo nodded without another word.

“Let’s get to work.”

Maybe another afternoon working on cars would help me figure out what the hell was happening. Because at the moment, I sure as fuck didn’t have a clue.

“SO MUCH FOR YOUR TRUCE.” Bryce spun away, marching out of the garage. “I knew this was a mistake.”

“Wait.” I chased, grabbing her elbow. “Just wait.”

“Why?” She yanked her arm free. “This is quid pro quo. I give you something. You give me something. If Draven isn’t here to tell me his side of the story, then me being here is pointless. I’m leav—”

“My dad did not kill Amina Daylee.”

She faced me again, planting her hands on her hips. “How do you—”

“I just know.” I locked my eyes on hers. “He didn’t kill her. But someone did and if you believe in truth and justice the way I suspect you do, you want to find the real killer.”

“The cops—”

“—have a man pegged dead to rights. They aren’t going to dig any deeper than the surface.”

She huffed. “How can I trust—”

“You can—”

“Stop interrupting me.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

Her face was red and her chest heaving. “How can I trust you?”

Trust? “You can’t.”

Bryce let out a dry laugh. “Then what are we doing?”

I took a step closer. The pull to be near her was irresistible. I wanted her to believe me, at least once. “Don’t trust me. And I won’t trust you. Maybe we can just not stand in each other’s way and both get our answers.”

“Seems complicated.”

My hand drifted to her cheek, framing her face. “It is.”

“Dash,” she warned, putting her hand between us. It rested on my chest, firm, but she didn’t shove me away.

I inched closer. The pressure on her hand gave way. “Can’t stop thinking about your lips.”

Bryce’s eyes fell to my mouth.

My hand came up between us, covering her own and trapping it to my heart. I expected her to try and yank it away, but then it fisted in my T-shirt as she dragged my mouth to hers.

My tongue delved into her mouth, taking the time to explore the corners I’d missed on our last two kisses. With my free arm, I pi

She trembled, her knees wobbling, but she clung to me as fiercely. The kiss was hot and wet. Blood rushed to my cock, making it swell against her hip.

“More,” she moaned into my mouth.

I growled, letting go of her hand to grab her ass, hauling her up and around my hips. Her legs wrapped around my waist and her arms looped around my neck. Walking us to the closest surface, I set her down on the hood of the Mustang I’d worked on all day.

The owner was an arrogant asshole from Hollywood and I wanted nothing more than to fuck Bryce on the hood of his car.

That was definitely where we were heading. Bryce’s thighs squeezed tight around me as I laid her on the glossy hood. The metal buckled slightly as I settled my weight onto her, pressing my chest against her breasts. Our mouths broke apart, hers to gasp for air while I sucked and licked my way down her neck.

“Tell me now if you want to stop,” I panted against her collarbone.

She shook her head, her hands diving into my hair. “Don’t stop.”

I yanked hard at the V-neck of her shirt, dragging it down over a breast. Then I did the same to the cup of her bra, so I could latch my mouth over a supple nipple.

Bryce’s back arched off the car, thrusting her breast even farther into my mouth. Her fingernails dug into my scalp.

My hands tore at the other side of her shirt, seams splitting as I freed her other nipple. “Last chance.”

I flattened my tongue, dragging it over the hardened bud.

She hissed. “Stop.”

The lust roaring through my veins turned to ice, and I froze. Shit. I hadn’t expected that. I took my mouth from her skin, backing away a few inches.

Bryce sat up on the car, once again fisting my shirt as she pulled me close. Nose to nose, she whispered, “Stop warning me away. Haven’t you figured it out? That just makes me want it even more.”

Thank fuck. “Then hold on.”

Slamming my mouth back onto hers, we kissed through a frenzy of fumbling fingers and flying clothes. Bryce yelped when I jerked her off the car’s hood and onto her feet. I’d already tugged off her T-shirt and she’d done the same for mine. The bra was next. But as I reached for the clasp, a breeze drifted into the garage, bringing us both back to reality.

One of the bay doors was still open. It was only eight and the glow of the sunset still illuminated the parking lot. This time of year, it didn’t get completely dark in Montana until well after nine. Not that it mattered. The shop’s lights were blazing. Anyone driving by would see us going at it on the Mustang.