Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) Read online

  And Connor kept waiting.

  Finally, both Pilar and the woman Connor assumed was her grandmother came back through the doors, and this time they headed his way. He stood and met them in the middle of the room.

  Pilar spoke first. “Nana, this is Connor. He and his friends helped us today.”

  The older woman smiled and held out a spotted hand. “Thank you, Connor. So much. I am Renata Salazar.” Like Pilar, her grandmother had almost no accent. Just a little linger over her Rs.

  He took her hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Happy to help, Mrs. Salazar.”

  Smiling at the respect, she patted his hand and then let go and turned to Pilar. “I’ll stay with Hugo. You have done enough for him today, and you have work in the morning. You go.”

  “No, Nana—”

  “Go, mija. I mean it.”

  And just like that, the demanding, rebellious woman Connor was getting to know dropped her head and nodded meekly. “Okay. Keep me posted, though.”

  “Of course.” Renata Salazar squeezed her granddaughter’s face between her old hands. “Te quiero, mija.”

  “Te quiero, Nana.”

  With a pat to Pilar’s cheeks and a nod to Connor, Renata went back to the ER treatment rooms.

  Connor and Pilar stood in the middle of the waiting area. It was Saturday evening, becoming Saturday night, and the place was filling up. He put his hand on her shoulder. “How is he?”

  She shrugged. “Still out, and a fucking mess. But he’ll heal. And then I’m going to kill his stupid ass.”

  Knowing she was exaggerating, he chuckled a little and squeezed her shoulder. “We need to talk, puss.”

  “I really hate that you call me that. So stop. But yeah, I know we need to talk.” She looked around the crowded room, gnawing on her bottom lip. “I live here in Old Towne, just a few blocks off. Want to come over?”

  He grinned—that offer had surprised him. “To your place? You sure?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “To talk. But I’d say you’ve earned some trust.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll follow you.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Pilar opened the door and stepped through, making way for Connor to follow. As he came in, she flipped a light switch, and a floor lamp came on, illuminating her living room in a warm glow.

  He looked around, taking in her collection of mismatched stuff she thought of as ‘vintage funk’—which sounded better than ‘thrift shop cheap.’ Actually, she was proud of her place. She liked to fix up old furniture, and had done just about all the different treatments she’d ever heard of, from decoupage to crackle.

  He ran a hand over a table she’d painted three different colors. “Cool place.”

  “Thanks.” She closed the door and turned the deadbolt. “You want a drink or something? I’ve got beer, tequila, vodka, some others. Oh—I could make coffee, too.”

  “You got Jameson or Jack?”

  “Sorry, no. I think there’s some Jim Beam.” Doug, her deputy fuck buddy, was a Jim Beam fan. He’d brought a bottle over a while back.

  Laughing, he shrugged out of his kutte and laid it over the back of a worn, red-velvet chair. “Not the same thing, pu—ilar. But it’ll do.”

  With a smirking nod, she acknowledged his attempt not to call her ‘puss’—which had been making her want to punch him in the throat—and went into the kitchen to serve up drinks.

  “You want ice or water or something?” she called while she filled her own glass to make a vodka on the rocks with lemon. Tequila made her horny. Vodka chilled her out. On this night, chill was vastly preferable to horny.

  “Nah, just straight,” he called back.

  When she came back in, Connor was staring at a painting hanging over her sofa. She went over and handed him his glass. “You like it?”

  He took a long drink before he answered. “I don’t know. It’s kinda fucked up.”

  She looked at the piece in question: an acrylic painting of a monochrome skull with a near-photorealistic dark red rose growing through an eye. Her tattoo artist had done it; botanicals were his specialty. “Why fucked up?”

  He made a noncommittal grunt and turned away. “I don’t know. Feels dark. We need to talk about your brother.”

  Yeah. Great. She indicated the sofa, and he sat. She took the damask chair on the other side of the glass-topped table with the driftwood base that served as a coffee table. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

  Not knowing for sure what it was he needed to know, Pilar sat and waited for him to ask a question.

  “You got any idea what your brother’s into with those guys? You said he was friends with them—they didn’t seem so friendly.”

  “He hangs out with some of the younger guys. His buddies weren’t there, though.” It had occurred to her that Jaime and the others could have served Hugo up to Raul.

  “Esposito said he took something. You know what?”

  “No. No clue. And Hugo wasn’t awake when I left. I’m sorry I dragged you into all this, but I swear I don’t know what the hell he’s fallen into here.” A little stream of worry trickled through her, wondering if he was safe at the hospital, if her grandmother was safe with him. But she also knew that those guys wouldn’t stir up trouble there. Too many people, too many cameras, too much security. Besides, Raul had let him go. They’d let him heal and then they’d come for him again. In the meantime, they knew he wouldn’t rat.

  “You said his dad was an Aztec—you don’t have the same dad?”

  “No. But mine wasn’t much better than his.” She decided that the trust he’d earned warranted some disclosure on her part. “Mine was an Assassin, too. It’s complicated—and anyway, they’re both dead. Our mother, too. Our grandma raised us from the time I was eleven and Hugo was six.”

  He cocked his head like he was understanding more of the picture. “That’s what Esposito meant when he said you were one of them—it wasn’t just a Hispanic thing.”

  “No. We’re family whether we want to be or not, and they like to keep the family close. They’ve been on Hugo to go in since he was fifteen.”

  “Why didn’t he? No offense, but he’s not coming off like a guy who’s strong enough to hold them off.”

  “He’s not. But Raul’s got a thing about our grandmother. She doesn’t want Hugo in, so Raul lays off him a little.”

  “What do you mean he’s got a thing? Like a crush?” His surprised puzzlement turned his face into a caricature.

  “God, no! Ugh! No—he’s, I don’t know, a little scared of her. She took care of him when he was a kid. My mom and dad and Hugo’s dad and Raul all grew up together. They were close. Like I said, it’s complicated.”

  Connor either wasn’t interested in the bizarre family soap opera that she’d just hinted at, or he wasn’t shocked by it, because he didn’t ask more about it. “Not scared enough to back off you all completely, though.”

  “It’s worse lately. The last couple of years. I stay out of Hugo’s shit, except when I’m cleaning it up, so I don’t know all he’s into. But he’s a taker. Like a fucking sponge. Maybe he decided to try to get over on Raul.”

  “That’d be pretty stupid.”

  “That’d be my brother.”

  She was done with her drink and wanted another. Connor had emptied his some time back; she stood and went to the sofa. “Want another?”

  “Sure, thanks.” He held up his empty glass. When her hand went around it, over his hand, he pulled back a little—not enough to take the glass back, just enough to pull on her slightly. “The Horde is in this, now. That scene tonight is gonna play out some way.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head, his eyes holding hers. “No need. We knew going in we could be beating a wasp nest. We’ll deal. Your brother’s safe while he’s in the hospital. They won’t make a scene there. But Raul’s sniffing at you now, too. You need to watch your back.”

  Now Pilar shook her head. “I know how he works. He’s not as inte
rested in me as it looked. I’m just a puta to him. He was stirring you guys up. He saw you shielding me and knew going for me would get you aggressive. He was picking a fight with you.”

  She could see that Connor hadn’t run that probability. He sat back, his gears spinning, and let go of the glass. “Fuck. You’re right.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “I could use that refill.”

  “Yeah. Just a sec.”

  While she refreshed their drinks, Pilar let her brain run loose over the events of the past day. She’d spent most of it searching for her brother. She’d ended up dragging a whole fucking MC into her family’s problems and had made an even bigger problem for them.

  As frustrated as she’d been that afternoon, being told to be quiet and meek and let the men handle things, as angry and determined as she’d been in the High Life, she’d also noticed and appreciated the way Connor had been attuned to her, keeping his position relative to hers all the time, shielding her. That attention had gotten him and his club into some trouble.

  But the most potent part of that whole fiasco had been the way he’d gone with it when she’d taken her gun back and pointed it at Raul’s head. Connor hadn’t tried to assert himself then, and he had yet to try to shove it down her throat that she’d been out of line. He’d simply adopted what she’d done into his plan, and he’d been impervious to Raul’s taunts about standing behind a woman. He’d let her lead.

  They’d managed to rescue Hugo fairly peacefully, at least in that moment. Now her brother was in the hospital, beaten half to death, but rescued. And Connor the Protective Biker was sitting in her living room.

  It had been a very long time since she’d had a man over whom she wouldn’t have already called a friend. Somebody she trusted to know her.

  This was her space, where she lived, in more than simply physical terms. Half her life was spent in the barn, but that was a different Pilar, or at least a particular side of her. That Pilar was a tough-ass bitch who talked smack with the boys and could sling an unconscious man over her shoulders and carry him out of a burning building. That wasn’t Pilar at all. That was Cordero.

  Here, she could be more than that. Or less; maybe it was less that she needed to be at home. She could be vulnerable. She could pretty up her furniture and talk to her plants. She could watch the telenovelas she loved. She could go out to get her hair and nails done, to get a massage, to shop for ridiculously fancy shoes she’d never wear. She could be a girl. She could be Pilar.

  She didn’t let many people see that person, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to show her to Connor. But she did like that he was here.

  She took the refilled glasses back out to the living room. Connor was on his phone; he turned to her and smiled as she brought him his drink.

  “Yeah, Dad. Makes sense. Okay. I’ll just see you tomorrow, then.” He ended the call and put his phone away. “Interesting day, huh?”

  When he took his glass, she said, “I can shoot, you know.”

  “I saw your stance. I believe you now. But then it was a variable, like Sherlock said. You gotta control the variables in a situation like that, as much as you can.” He took a drink of bourbon. She was still standing over him, sipping her drink, watching his throat move under his beard as he swallowed. With a curious look, he added, “You gonna stand there staring down at me? You want me to go?”

  “No.” She didn’t. And she didn’t like that she didn’t. It wasn’t booze or adrenaline or any of that making her horny. This guy right here, sitting on her sofa, big and brawny without being some he-man pig, was doing the job all on his own. She didn’t like the way she liked him.

  She put her knee on the sofa and straddled his lap.

  His smile at that was of the melty variety, and he opened his arms to make way. “Well, hello.”

  She sat down on his thighs and finished her drink, turning to set the glass on the table behind her. “Hi. This okay?”

  His smile lost no heat as he said, “I’m usually the one asking that question.”

  “Is that okay?”

  “Sure.” He finished his drink, and she took the glass from him and set it next to hers.

  “I’m up at five-thirty, and I have to be at work at seven. You can’t stay the night.”

  “Understood.” He slid his hands up the outside of her thighs and over her hips. “You really just go for what you want, don’t you?”

  “Flirting is a waste of valuable time.”

  “I don’t know. I like to flirt. It’s part of it, like verbal foreplay. If I can get a girl wet with just my voice, that’s hot for both of us.”

  “I’m already wet. And I can tell your motor’s revving.” She rocked her hips over his erection to prove her point.

  He chuckled and fed one hand into her hair, holding her head. “Jesus, Pilar. Slow down. It’s not that late.”

  She didn’t want to slow down. She didn’t want to flirt. She wanted to fuck. And she had the answer to her earlier internal question. As much as she liked the sound of her given name in his gruff voice, it was safer to keep Pilar away. “Most people call me by my last name: Cordero.”

  “Is that what you want me to call you?”

  “Yeah.”

  With his hand in her hair, he brought her close while his other hand slid up under her shirt. His callused fingers played over her skin. “Well, Cordero. You got a bed in this place? I want to get naked this time.” Without waiting for an answer, he kissed her.

  He had a great mouth and a fantastic tongue, and the feel of his beard against her skin made her moan. As their tongues slid together and his hands moved up her back, under her shirt, she rocked on him, dragging the ridge of his hard cock over her core. Fuck, she was hot for this guy. Too hot for him. Things were getting complicated, in her head, if nowhere else.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to care. She wanted him to stay, at least for a little while.

  She lifted his t-shirt and scratched her nails over his chiseled belly until he groaned and tore his mouth away from hers. “Bed, baby. I want to strip you naked and fuck you in your bed.”

  He didn’t wait for her to respond. He just grabbed her hips and stood up, taking her with him. “Point me in the right direction.”

  Not liking to be carried, she squirmed, kicking her legs free of his hold and landing on the ground where she belonged.

  He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. “Most girls like that.”

  “This woman doesn’t.”

  “Fuck, Cordero. You’re wearing me out while my fly’s still zipped.” He slapped her ass—that, she liked. “Fine, then. Lead me in the right direction.”

  Grinning, she grabbed his big hand and led him to her bedroom.

  Once there, she turned and grabbed at his t-shirt, pulling him close. He reached back to pull it over his head from behind, and once he was free of it, he bent down to kiss her again. He took her mouth firmly, and she pushed him away and then came back, taking the control for herself. In that way of give and take—or, really, take and take—they tore their own and each other’s clothes off, casting pieces aside carelessly.

  When they were standing naked before each other, Pilar put her hands on his chest, partly to hold him off for a second, and partly just to have her hands on him. He was her perfect type, and she ran her hands over his chest, his shoulders, his arms, his belly, loving the feel of hair and muscle smoothing past her palms.

  She skimmed over his hips, his thick, muscular thighs, the glorious rod between them. ¡Madre de Dios!

  He stood and let her touch all she wanted, a small, enigmatic smirk crinkling the corners of his eyes.

  Her hands dropped down his arms, and she focused on that forearm tattoo, the bracer. Smoothing her thumb over the entwined Celtic knots, she asked, “Is this a warrior thing?”

  He shrugged and turned his arm in her hold. “Covers an old tat. It was big, so the coverage needed to be bigger. But ye
ah, I’m the club SAA. You know what that is?”

  She did. There was a patch on his kutte that said as much. And that was hot, too—she understood the Protector vibe he had going. “Sergeant at Arms. Club badass, basically.”

  He laughed. “Close enough.”

  “Are you Irish?” She picked up his crucifix with her other hand. “Irish Catholic?”

  “I guess so. My old man is Irish and Scottish—by way of Indiana. But he’s into his roots. Me, I just like the knots. And my old man.” He shook her hands off and pulled her close, pushing his erection into her belly. “Baby, you said you didn’t want to waste time. If we’re gonna play the get-to-know-you game, can we do it later? Because you standing here in nothing but that fine body is making it tough to think about who I am.”