Wanted: An Outlaw Anthology Read online

  So, yeah, I know for a fact that I’m not bulletproof like Superman. No, if I were a comic superhero, fighting and sex would be my only superpowers. Captain Panty Dropper to the rescue.

  Hell, throwing punches and getting a woman into bed are the only two things that I excel at.

  And for once, I can actually use those particular skills to help the club.

  No one, not even an ATF agent, will ever suspect that a pretty, charismatic bastard like myself is actually an unrepentant thief who was born to be an outlaw.

  Chapter One

  Peyton Bradley

  “Let’s hear it. What’s today?” Quincey asks, and I know she’s not referring to what day of the week it is. She’s a fellow government employee and my best friend since moving to the city a few months ago. We’ve just stepped inside our favorite downtown watering hole near the federal building for a few drinks.

  Blowing out a breath, because the answer is so pathetic, I drop my black leather briefcase at my feet and climb up on the bar stool beside her to order a round of vodka martinis. “Day three-hundred and ninety-seven,” I answer. “It’s been three hundred and ninety-seven days since I was with a man.”

  “No! That’s completely unacceptable!” she exclaims with a shake of her curly brown hair. “Do you really think tonight’s Tinder match is going to be the one to shatter that record?” she asks as the bartender slides us our usual drinks.

  “No way,” I mutter, as I scan the men around the bar in search of my date and then look back to the door. “I have no doubt that I’m about to be epically Catfished. Again. No one is this hot in real life,” I say. Pulling out my cell phone from my bag, I show Quincey the Greek god’s face on the screen right when she takes a sip from her glass.

  She chokes for several seconds, then swallows a few more sips of her drink before she’s finally able to respond. “Wow. Definitely a Catfish,” she says. “We’ll never meet anyone half that hot in our dreams.”

  “Agreed,” I reply with a sigh of disappointment as I pick up my own glass to take a sip. “The guy in the photo has to be a model or an actor that was screen grabbed from the internet, not the man who is supposedly just some local ambulance chaser attorney and loves Funyuns.” I withhold from her the part of his profile that actually had me laughing at nine o’clock in the morning before I even had my first cup of coffee— the song lyrics proclaiming his love of big butts. The mention of the old-school song and mutual favorite snack treat are the only reasons I felt confident enough to swipe right on someone so obviously out of my league. If it is really him. Which I’m certain it won’t be.

  “Funyuns? Ew. I bet the real dude is actually old and balding, with a big ole beer belly,” Quincey predicts.

  “No doubt,” I agree, since this isn’t our first rodeo meeting men on the dating app. “That’s why I wanted you to be here, so you can witness this epic train wreck in person.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Quincey agrees. “It sucks that all the men on Tinder are duds. Do you even remember what sex feels like? Or is it just a distant memory for you, like it is for me?”

  “I sort of remember,” I reply, as I cock my head to the side to try and recall the details of the last intimate encounter with my lying, cheating, son of a bitch spouse. “It’s when you lie on your back and count the seconds, not minutes, that it takes for the relentless jackhammer to stop pounding you into the mattress, right?”

  Quincey actually snorts out a laugh before she says, “That’s it! So you do remember your ex-husband! Honestly, girl, I don’t think we’re missing much.”

  “Very true,” I agree. “My vibrator is available anytime I need it, and it’s pretty easy to imagine that I’m with the hottie model from Tinder, even if I’ll never—” My sentence trails off when the tinkling sound of the bar door opening grabs my attention. Then in walks… “Holy shit,” I mutter. Slapping Quincy on her shoulder repeatedly to get her to turn around and look behind her, I say, “Quince, it’s him! It’s really him!”

  “Sure, it is,” she drawls sarcastically with a roll of her eyes before she cranes her neck around to see for herself. “Slap my ass sideways! I think he just blinked and put his baby in me!”

  That’s the moment when the gorgeous blond man in the navy-blue suit locks eyes with me from across the room and grins in recognition. As he comes closer, he not only looks at me like we’ve met before, but his eyes lower, taking in every inch of me on the bar stool and surprisingly enough, there’s not an ounce of disappointment on his face.

  “Peyton?” the hottie asks when he’s standing next to me.

  “Ah, y-yeah,” I stammer. “That’s me. And you’re…you.”

  “Henry Aycock,” he says, as he holds out his large hand and flashes me a dazzling, perfect row of white teeth. I shake his hand, even with my jaw still hanging open like an idiot. His palm isn’t soft like most lawyers I’ve met. It’s actually strong and calloused, like he’s spent some time working with them. “And you’re…even more beautiful in person,” Henry adds, with a wink of one of his beautiful denim blue eyes that nearly makes me hyperventilate.

  For the first time in my life, and despite all of my self-consciousness about my Amazonian size, I actually believe his compliment because he’s looking at me like there’s no other woman in the world. Or at least he was looking at me like that, until his eyes shift over to Quincey.

  “And you are?” he turns to ask her while reaching to shake her hand. And no lie, she giggles when their palms touch.

  “My friend Quincey was just leaving,” I blurt out because it’s been three-hundred and ninety-seven days since I was with a man. While I’m not the type of woman to sleep with someone I just met, I don’t want to lose out on the possibility. That is, if he’s still interested in me. In person, maybe he decided he’s not, and he’s just trying to be polite rather than turn around and run.

  “You brought a friend to meet a stranger,” Henry says. “That’s smart.”

  “No offense. It’s just, well, I work with criminals every day,” I say, to try to explain why I didn’t trust him enough to meet him alone, leaving off the part about thinking he wasn’t really the guy in the photo.

  “Oh, right. You said you’re an ATF agent,” he replies. “The world’s a dangerous place for a single woman,” he adds coolly. “Quincey can stay if you would prefer…”

  I’m shaking my head before he finishes his sentence. “You’re fine.” Shit. “I mean, I’m fine…we’re fine. Quincey doesn’t need to stay and babysit,” I stammer, flashing her a pointed look that says, please move your ass so he can sit down next to me.

  Grinning at me and then back to the handsome man, Quincey thankfully says, “That’s right, I have to get going, but Henry, you should take my seat. It was nice meeting you.”

  “You too,” he agrees.

  Quincey then gets up, throws her purse over her shoulder, and brushes past him.

  “See ya tomorrow, Quince,” I tell her quickly before turning back to the sexy attorney. “Have a seat. I mean, unless you don’t want to now that you’ve seen me…”

  “Thanks,” he says when he removes his black leather briefcase I just noticed was on his shoulder and climbs on the bar stool. In fact, it’s nearly identical to mine.

  Incredibly relieved he didn’t feel the need to bolt, but not sure what else to say, I decide to point out the bag similarities. “Looks like we both have the same taste in briefcases.”

  “How about that,” Henry agrees, lowering his eyes to examine the side-by-side briefcases. “My mother bought me this one for Christmas. It was the last gift she gave me before the cancer took her…”

  “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry,” I tell him, since that’s really freaking sad.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “She was a good woman taken from us too soon.”

  “I’m sure she was.”

  “Anyway, I’m so sorry I was running late,” Henry says, as he reaches up to loosen the knot of his tie. “I got h
eld up in trial.”

  “Oh really? What kind of case?” I ask, picking up my martini and taking a sip to make myself stop staring at him.

  “It’s horrible,” he says, and when I can’t help but look at him again, his perfect face is pinched. “Little Jenny is only nine years old. She was getting off the bus when some idiot came roaring around it and hit her. The poor thing is now wheelchair-bound for life.”

  “That is awful,” I agree.

  “Don’t worry,” he says with a wink. “We’re gonna get Jenny enough money to make her as comfortable as possible. I promised to take her to Disney World myself once we get a verdict.”

  “Aww, that’s really sweet.”

  How is it possible for a man to look like him and then be such a sweetheart?

  “Enough about me,” Henry says as he rests an elbow on the bar and leans in a little closer toward me, close enough to trail his finger up the sleeve of my suit jacket. “I want to know about you.”

  “There’s not much to know,” I tell him. “I’m an agent for the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. My field office is in Atlanta, but the Eastern District needed my help on a few cases, so here I am in Raleigh, for who knows how long.”

  “How do you like it here?” Henry asks.

  “It’s nice and a little quieter than Atlanta.” I examine his left hand to see if there’s a tan line from a wedding ring. There’s none. The guy is too good to be true. “My ex-husband is still in Atlanta, so it’s nice to put some distance between us,” I say as a segue into the subject. “What about you? Have you ever been married?”

  “No,” he answers. “First, it was all-in for law school, and then it took time to establish my practice. It wasn’t until I lost my mother that I wished I would’ve settled down sooner, so that she could have met my wife before she passed away.”

  “Yeah.” That makes sense. “Any…kids?” I ask, since you don’t have to be hitched to make a baby.

  “No kids,” he replies with a grin. “You?”

  “Nope. Not yet.”

  “But maybe later?” he asks, and it almost sounds naughty, like he’s asking if I’m going to sleep with him tonight.

  “Maybe later,” I agree. “Just not too soon.”

  The truth is, I would break my own rule and take him home right now if not for my serious case of self-consciousness. It’s just that this man is intimidating, which is a new sensation for me. I carry a badge and a gun. Not much unnerves me, but the Hollywood good looks and winning personality are too much. Before I sleep with someone of Henry’s magnitude, I feel like I need to be more prepared, like with a full body wax or thousands of dollars’ worth of plastic surgery. There’s no way I’m ready to get naked in front of him, even if I really, really want to.

  Would it be weird if I asked him if he had a tiny cock? Proving that not every inch of him is perfect would make me more inclined to end my drought tonight.

  “Can I get you another drink?” Henry asks, as if he senses I need more liquid courage to just keep sitting here with him.

  “Sure,” I agree because I’m not ready to leave his presence just yet, even if I am out of my league. He’s still here at least, talking to me, so either he’s taking pity on me or he’s still interested despite the fact that he’s a twenty on the hotness scale of ten, and I’m only a six or seven on my best days.

  The two of us keep up the small talk for an hour before I find myself getting far too drawn into him than is smart. I need to abort before I beg him to let me see him naked just once, even if he’ll be disappointed in the quid pro quo.

  “So, it’s been really nice meeting you, but I better head on home,” I tell him.

  “So soon? I was having a great time talking to you.”

  “Yeah, I have to get up early for work tomorrow,” I reply, warming all over because of his sweet words.

  “Well, in that case, how about I walk you to your car?” he offers.

  “Sure,” I agree, even though I’m never concerned for my safety with all of the law enforcement and self-defense training I have under my belt.

  I pick up my briefcase to grab the cash from my wallet, but Henry says, “I’ve got this.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him and then hang my bag on my shoulder while I wait for him to lay down a few twenties and grab his own satchel.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  We walk in silence the few blocks to my black Ford Interceptor SUV that’s parked in the basement level of the parking deck rented out to federal employees.

  “This is me,” I say, coming to a stop next to it.

  “It looks…exactly like what I would imagine an agent driving,” Henry tells me with a chuckle.

  “Right,” I agree.

  I start to reach for the rear door to stow my briefcase when Henry suddenly says, “Wait.”

  When I turn around, he’s digging into the front breast pocket of his suit jacket. He pulls out a small white business card and offers it to me. “My cell number is on here if you would like to go to dinner sometime?”

  “Thanks,” I tell him as I take the crisp card and read his name—Henry S. Aycock—and contact info written neatly in raised, golden font. “Dinner would be great.”

  “It was really nice to meet you,” Henry says, taking a step closer.

  “You too,” I reply as I slip the card into the front of my pants pocket and look up at his handsome face. At five-ten, I’m almost as tall as most men in heels, but not Henry. I like that he makes me feel petite and delicate, even if I’m the furthest thing from that.

  “Can I be honest with you for a second?” he asks.

  “Ah, sure.”

  “I’ve been dying to kiss you since the second I laid eyes on you, but I don’t know if that would be too much too soon,” he says as his beautiful blue gaze lowers to my lips, causing my breath to escape my own in a gasp of surprise.

  “A, ah, a kiss would be…nice,” I’m eventually able to respond.

  The words barely leave my mouth before Henry swoops in. I was expecting a soft, gentle goodnight kiss, but what I get is him pressing the front of his body against mine so hard that my back hits the side of my SUV. And then he’s kissing me with enough tongue to make my panties instantly go wet from his unexpected show of dominance. His hand weaves into the side of my hair to tilt my head for maximum impact, simultaneously making my knees go weak.

  It’s the hottest, dirtiest kiss I’ve ever had, and I don’t ever want it to end.

  Letting my briefcase fall from my shoulder with a thud on the pavement that I don’t even care about, I wrap one hand around Henry’s neck and the other on his lower back to pull him closer, wanting to feel him. And boy, do I feel him.

  He doesn’t have a tiny dick.

  No, he’s thick and so long that the hardness in his pants stretches from above my belly button all the way down between my thighs.

  Before I know what the hell I’m doing, I lift my left leg to hang it on his hip, practically humping him in a public parking garage. But it feels too good to stop. He feels too good pressed against me, hammering his substantial manhood between my thighs like he’s just as desperate for me as I am for him. That’s impossible, though.

  Henry pulls his mouth away from mine on a groan then starts to kiss the side of my neck while we both pant, trying to catch our breath. “Stop grinding on me like that unless you want me to tear off your pants right here, right now, to give you every inch you’re rubbing up on,” he warns me, his voice deeper, harsher than before. “You’ve got five seconds to decide…” With a pump of his hips, he drives himself into me deeper, and I nearly combust on a whimper.

  “Do you have a condom?” I ask, not even recognizing my own voice or the craving that’s swept over me.

  “Fuck yes,” he answers, maybe even a tad too quickly. Of course this man carries condoms on him at all times. He probably goes through a box a week. But it’s impossible to care about that right now w
ith his damp lips moving along the column of my neck, causing goose bumps to spread up and down my arms. Embarrassingly enough, I even shiver. Never before have I ever felt this way—like I would die if this man doesn’t do something to relieve the throbbing ache inside of me.

  With his arm banded around my back, Henry yanks me forward to open the passenger door of my car. He kisses me deeply for a few more minutes before he grabs my hips and spins me around, putting my back to his front. His hands reach around and easily undo the front of my pants, then his big palm press on my upper back, guiding me down so my cheek is resting on the car seat. My pants and panties lower to my knees, the weight of my gun holster and badge helping with the rapid descent.

  “Holy shit!” I exclaim. I was expecting Henry’s cock, but what I got was the fluttering of his tongue on my hot needy flesh while one of his fingers teases my folds and then penetrates me.

  It’s been years, years, since a man put his mouth on me, and I don’t remember it being this good before. Between my cries, I hear Henry’s muffled moans that vibrate against my clit, making me think he’s enjoying this as much as I am. He eventually removes his finger from inside of me to grip the front of my thighs. And then he’s pushing and pulling my hips back against his face while thrusting his tongue in and out of my slick opening, simulating fucking me. It’s incredibly erotic, so much so that it doesn’t take long before my legs start to tremble right before they lock. Liquid heat explodes from deep inside of me, and then I’m screaming through the rush of pleasure coursing through my entire body.

  Henry’s tongue goes back to lashing at my clit until the tremors ease up.

  “You were dripping wet for me,” he says, before placing a kiss on the plump part of my butt cheek, and runs a finger up the crease of my ass lewdly. “Was that good for you, Peyton?”

  “God, yes,” I moan, unable to lift my head or move my weak limbs just yet.

  “Glad to hear it,” he replies with a chuckle as he removes his hands and mouth from me. There’s a crinkling sound like a condom wrapper, then Henry says, “Ready for my cock?”