Ghost Rider MC: Pulling Her Trigger Part 1

PULLING HER TRIGGER.

GHOST RIDERS.

Alexa Riley.

I thought I had all I needed: my gun, my chopper, and my brothers. Most women don't crave a life like mine, but after the things I've done and seen, I never thought I longed for more.

The Ghost Riders Motorcycle Club is my family and I'll bleed for them. I'll do anything to keep them safe, even if it's from me.

One look from him and everything I fought to hide was ripped wide open. Being an FBI agent gave him the power to flip my world upside down, and he did it in a way I never saw coming.

What happens when an FBI agent becomes more obsessed with you than with his case? Do you let down your guard? Or pull the trigger?

Warning: This book contains a heroine who doesn't submit, a hero who fights for what he's claimed, and insta-love so hard it will dent your kindle. *not responsible for dented kindles*

CHAPTER ONE.

CAS.

My finger curves around the trigger, ready to take my shot. I know it is only a matter of time before I do, so I am ready. Pres didn't see the look on some of their faces before he arrived, but I had. The Five Aces are p.i.s.sed and it showed. I saw the rage and hate through my scope before my brothers arrived.

Shifting my position, I test the wind, and make sure I've got a clear shot if s.h.i.t goes down. There isn't a target I can't hit, and I don't plan on starting now. I'm one of only nine women who have operated as a sniper for the Air Force, but they aren't the only branch of military I was used for. I am small and get around unnoticed, and it doesn't hurt that I am one of the best shots anyone knew of. I played with the Marines a lot, and it's actually how I met the men I'm protecting today.

I know no one can see me up here on top of this building unless I want them to, but my brothers know I'm here, and that's all that matters. I've always been at their backs whenever they need me, and I was doing it long before I was in the club. We picked this meeting spot because I told Pres it would be perfect. The west bottoms of Kansas City are always abandoned when the sun sets. Most of the warehouses down here have been sitting vacant for years. I stare at the once-vacant lot before me, that's now filled with four of my brothers and five of the Five Aces. They might think they have us outnumbered, but I could take out three of them before they knew what happened.

I have no problem sitting here all night; it's what I've trained to do. I can wait for hours. I've been in the sand with the sun beating down on me, in the mud and pouring rain, in the f.u.c.king Amazon never knowing what was crawling up my G.o.dd.a.m.n leg.

I killed when I was in the Air Force. h.e.l.l, I killed after I got out too, but I haven't killed for the club. All Pres has to do is give me the word and it's done. In a heartbeat. In the Air Force I never took my kills personally. You have to keep everything separate, and keep your emotions in check because that's what you're paid to do. I took my orders, took out the bad guys, but now things are different. I've got skin in this game, so when it's time to get the job done, it's not because of a paycheck. Just like when I killed in the field, one less piece of s.h.i.t in the world, I feel no different about the Five Aces. Taking out a few of them wouldn't make me lose any sleep, but f.u.c.k, dead bodies is what got us into the s.h.i.t storm. The plan tonight is to only maim if possible, not start a full-on war between clubs.

They'd stolen some of our guns from the firing range Pres and I own together: the range I run. The guns that were stolen are my responsibility, and it just so happens one of them got left at the scene of a double murder. I don't care what Pres says, it is my fault. They robbed the range in the middle of the night, bypa.s.sing our security. Maybe bypa.s.sing isn't the right word, they blew a f.u.c.king hole in the side of the G.o.dd.a.m.n building.

Those guns are my responsibility as the sergeant at arms for the Ghost Riders, and I want them back. The Aces destroyed part of something I poured every penny I had into when I left the Air Force. The range is my baby. I'd reported them missing but that didn't stop the cops from crawling up our a.s.ses, pointing fingers at us for a murder. We tend to keep our noses pretty clean, but the cops always have a hard-on for us. I have blood on my hands, but the blood they were asking about this time isn't mine.

I want the rest of the guns back, not to mention the one that could be my undoing. We know it has to be the Five Aces. They came looking for guns a few weeks back but Pres refused to sell to them. We'd reached out to the Death Lords who informed us the Five Aces like to work with the Eighty-Eight Henchmen. They are a club that doesn't play by any rules or show respect to other clubs. They let it be known they weren't too happy with our hospitality and they'd be getting what they wanted. We let them know they could go f.u.c.k themselves.

After everything went down, Pres reached out to them again, pretending to have a change of heart. They agreed to meet up, but I think they only did it to feign interest in the guns, the guns I know they have.

Now here I sit, watching this meeting between my Ghost Rider brothers and the Five Aces play out. I'm only up here as back up in case s.h.i.t goes down, but I'm itching for a shot. Rolling my shoulders, I try to push some of the tension from my body. I miss the s.h.i.tty headsets I had in the Air Force, wishing I had ears on the ground. Now I have to rely on gut instinct, and I can tell things are getting heated. I can't see any of my brothers' reactions, with their backs to me, but all the Aces are facing me, and it's getting intense. I train my gun on their VP, and I wait.

My world narrows down and I focus. I feel the wind against my skin, telling me how it will affect my shot. My breathing slows and I wait. I'm ready.

Then he does it. The Aces' VP reaches for his gun, but he's too late. I'd already taken the shot that hits him in his right shoulder. The bullet will destroy the ball-and-socket joint, and no surgeon on earth will be able to put it back together correctly. He'll never use his right arm to its full function again. Good luck using one of my guns now, a.s.shole.

Everyone jumps back and my Pres throws his hands in the air, yelling. I'm sure he's telling them if they make another move I'll start popping them off one by one. One of the Aces makes a move to go to his VP, and I squeeze the trigger. The bullet flies through the air and hits the concrete at his feet. Chunks of rock explode and he second guesses his move.

"You don't move until I say," I whisper to myself.

Pres points to the Five Aces VP, indicating for them to leave. When they finally clear out, I feel my phone vibrate against my a.s.s. I reach back and pull it from my pocket.

"Yeah."

"Cas, get your a.s.s out of here. I'm sure the cops will show up soon if someone heard the shots. Don't go to the club." The line goes dead.

Crawling off my stomach I dismantle my rifle, putting it back into the box. I don't have my motorcycle with me when I carry my rifle. I quickly make my way over to my truck and rub my chest as I climb in. The worst part about lying on the ground for hours is the pressure it puts on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Most women wish for bigger b.o.o.bs, I, on the other hand, find them to be a hindrance.

Sliding the rifle under the truck seat, I fire up the engine and pull out, hitting the first highway I can. It's still early and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. Only one thing ever fixes that. s.e.x. And it's been too d.a.m.n long.

Pulling my hair from my ponytail, I let the black strands fall loose and hit my shoulders. I'd love to head back to the club and hear about what was said on the ground, but the Pres told me to stay clear. Looks like s.e.x it is.

Leaning back in my chair, I throw my booted foot up to rest on the table. The night is early and only a few people are in the bar. The same bar I always use when I'm looking for a quick and easy lay. Not only is it close to my little two-bedroom house, there's also a cheap hotel next door.

This bar is my own place to unwind, away from my brothers. Sometimes I go with them to the bar down the road from the club, but never when I'm looking for c.o.c.k. This place is mine. A place where no one knows who I am. I can sit back, enjoy a few beers and if I get lucky, see a few bar fights.

It's better than heading back to my place alone with all this adrenaline still buzzing through my body. I'm sure in a few hours my brothers will be at our regular bar, Denim and Diamonds, but sometimes I feel out of place when trying to get laid there.

They call me Casper, the not-so-friendly ghost. They were calling me that before I was patched in. They like to say I pop up out of nowhere, and I guess the name just kind of stuck. Pres and most of the brothers had no problems when I got patched in years back. They knew me from our days in the service, and knew I was loyal to a fault. I saved their lives countless times. Times when they didn't even know I was there, until the night air came alive with the sound of my bullets. But some of the other brothers did have a problem with me becoming a full member. The only female to be patched into the Ghost Riders. It's nothing new to me. It's something I've faced my whole life, so I let it roll off me now. I don't give a s.h.i.t if you don't want me here. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere unless the Pres gives me the order, or unless I end up six feet under. The club's the only real family I've ever had.

I've spent years proving myself, first to my father, then to my country as I busted my a.s.s training to be a sniper, and then when I first joined the Ghost Riders. Now I just don't give two f.u.c.ks. I know I'm the best at what I do. As does the Pres. That's why when s.h.i.t went down shortly after I got out of the service, and I still had fresh blood on my hands, he told me to get my a.s.s to Kansas City, that he had a place for me. I was there the next day.

The waitress thumps my beer bottle down on the wood table next to my boot without asking for my order. She turns around and heads back to the bar without so much as a word. Reaching for my beer, I see a man walk through the door. His eyes instantly lock on mine, as if he knew I was going to be sitting right here.

The guy looks like a total bada.s.s but I've never seen him in here before, that's for d.a.m.n sure. Motherf.u.c.ker is gorgeous. He's not something any woman would soon forget. His jet-black hair is cropped short with just enough to grab onto if you needed. His features are clean cut but rough around the edges. He looks like he's trying to be a suit-and-tie kind of guy, but deep down he's really a t-shirt and muddy jeans kind of man. His nose has a slight b.u.mp, like it has been broken a time or two, though it adds to his s.e.x appeal instead of detracting from it. His mouth is grim yet sensual, with straight white teeth and canines a bit longer than his front teeth. It makes me think he likes to bite, and my nipples tingle at the thought. He's handsome, if you go for that sort of thing.

But what stands out about him most are his eyes. They're the same gray metal on the scope of my Mini Hecate .338 Lapua Mag-one of my favorite rifles. I don't play with it often, because the concussion of the weapon is so strong, my ears hurt after only a few shots. I wonder if this man could make my ears hurt after a night of him screaming my name.

His eyes slide over me, like he can see through my tight jeans and black tank. His appraisal is c.o.c.ky and bold, like I'm his to stare at. The idea makes my p.u.s.s.y clench. It has definitely been too long if I'm getting off from just a look.

Pulling my eyes from his, I take a long drink of my beer. I'm not surprised moments later when he's standing next to my table.

"Can I get you a drink?" he asks I tip my bottle back and take another long pull from it, showing him mine is still half full. A drink isn't what I want from him, and hanging out at this table isn't either.

"A shot then," he offers. "The night is still young."

"You don't have to get me all liquored up to get me into bed," I say, dropping my boot from the table and using it to push out the chair next to me, an invitation for him to sit down.

"And what is it you think I'm looking for?" he asks, sitting down into the chair. His gaze lands on my chest and slowly travels to my face. He's a c.o.c.ky b.a.s.t.a.r.d and not trying to hide it. Hopefully, for me, he has a reason to be.

Leaning forward, I give him a better view of my cleavage. While they may be a b.i.t.c.h to shoot with, they also have their advantages.

"You mean to tell me you didn't come to this hole in the wall looking for some easy p.u.s.s.y?"

"Is that why you're here?" His voice holds an edge to it, like the idea bothers him or some s.h.i.t. Aren't we here for the same thing? Or maybe he just doesn't like forward women. If that's the case, he needs to get out of that chair and make room for someone else.

I grab my beer and polish it off, and start to get up. "Forget it," I say, intending to make my way to the bar. If he's looking for a piece of a.s.s that will play innocent, he's going to have to get it from somewhere else. Maybe Dean, one of the regular bartenders, will be in tonight. He's halfway decent in bed, doesn't ask questions, and leaves the hotel room as soon as we're done.

New Guy grabs my wrist, halting my departure. I try to s.n.a.t.c.h my arm from his grasp, but he holds me steady. He relaxes his grip when I stop trying to pull away, his thumb rubbing circles on my wrist in slow, sensual motions. I could free my wrist now, but I know it would be useless. Strength was never my strong suit. I'm quick, quiet, and always two steps ahead of my opponent. It's the only way to be when you don't have brute force on your side.

"I'm not playing games with you," I say, agitated that I like his lazy ministrations. I can imagine him doing this to my c.l.i.t. He can probably feel my heartbeat speeding up as I think about it.

"No games," he says, rising to his feet, pulling me towards the back of the bar. His strong grip leads me to the rear hallway. He checks every door handle we pa.s.s, trying to find an unlocked one. When the last door pops open, he hauls me inside. He presses my spine against the closed door, his firm, masculine body pressing into me. I start to protest, but am cut off when his mouth covers mine.

His insistent erection feels rigid against my stomach. His tongue pushes into my mouth. He grabs both of my wrists and locks them into one of his hands, pinning them above my head. He holds me against the door with his hand and his body, but I could break free if I really wanted to.

I should stop him, but his dominance is intoxicating and so very different than what I normally go for. The sudden attraction I feel for him is odd. Unwanted. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, moving his hips back and forth, rubbing his erection against me. Pulling back as if he needs oxygen, he lifts his mouth from mine. "I've wanted to taste you from the moment I first saw you."

My eyes pop open at his words. His intense gaze holds me hostage.

"Looks like you didn't have to wait too long then, did you?" I reply, but a strange look crosses his face. It's gone so quick, I'm not sure it was there. "And FYI, I don't kiss on the mouth. So if you want to taste me you'll have to do it somewhere else," I add, flashing a wicked grin. "Call it a test. You make me c.u.m with your mouth and I'll let you take me to the hotel next door. If you can't make me c.u.m, then I go back out to the bar and find someone who can."

CHAPTER TWO.

VINCENT.

"A test?" I feel a c.o.c.ky grin spread across my face. "How about we make this a bit more interesting then? That hotel next door is a s.h.i.t hole. Let's say if I make you c.u.m more than once, you come home with me tonight. When I sink between your thighs, I want a bed and a locked door, where no one gets to see you spread out for me."

She laughs in my face, but I can see she likes the challenge. "Sorry, I don't go home with strangers. It's the hotel next door or the cab of my truck. Take your pick."

I don't say anything. I just keep looking down at her. Her clear blue eyes are locked on mine. I'm dominant by nature, and control is something I need. I'm not backing down from her demands, nor do I think I would get what I want from her if I did. I can feel her emotional struggle to 'win' this battle, but I stay silent and let her figure out her next move. She breaks the silence.

"You're hot, but I don't see you getting me off. Most hot guys are lazy because they just rely on their looks. I have to do all the work to get what I want, so I'll take that bet."

If guys are lazy with her they're f.u.c.king crazy. The idea of making her c.u.m over and over again with my fingers, mouth, and c.o.c.k is the hottest thing I can imagine. It's so hot, thinking about this strong-willed woman screaming my name because I gave her uncontrolled pleasure. I'll eat her p.u.s.s.y until she can't move, just so she has to stay in my bed.

I lean in to kiss her lips again, but I stop before I make contact. Despite her no-kissing-on-the-lips rule, her head tilts up in antic.i.p.ation of a kiss, her body pushing against mine. No matter what her brain is telling her, her body is enjoying the show.

I look into her ice-blue eyes and think about the first time I saw her. It was a week ago when her file landed on my desk. I opened the folder and there she was. The one.

Most people would say I was crazy. Lucky for me, I don't give a f.u.c.k what most people think. I come from a big Italian family where everybody has an opinion on how you should live your life, but my pop is the one I respect the most. The day I saw her picture, those glacier eyes of hers looked back at me and I was done. I got up from my desk and went to see my pop. My father understands. He saw my mother for the first time when he was ten years old, and he knew he'd spend the rest of his life with her. I never thought lightning would strike twice in our family, but that day, I was done. She is mine, she just doesn't know it yet.

Once my pop hugged me and told me everything would be all right, I got to work on finding out why this little sharp shooter was involved in stolen guns.

I'd wanted to be a cop since I was a kid, so going into the FBI was a dream come true. I've put in over ten years of service and worked my a.s.s off to get to where I am today. This road isn't easy, but it's the one I want. So finding out my girl was mixed up in stolen guns was a kick to the nuts.

I got involved in this case because I work in the Violent Crime and Major Thefts division at the FBI in Kansas City. The Feds love anything to do with stolen guns, and I'm head of the department. Anything this size goes through me, and after seeing her picture, I knew this was a case I would handle personally.

One of the stolen guns was found at the scene of a double murder, and from what our research uncovered, it once belonged to a Mackenzie Straight. Her file is long, listing all her personal achievements with the Air Force and subsequently her sniper skills in other branches of the military. It boasts pages of her service to her country, so I was baffled as to how she was caught up in all this. At first it seemed like a mistake, but the more I dug, the more I found. It turned out Mackenzie is wanted for questioning in Texas for a homicide case, so not only is she caught up in stolen guns, she may be involved in a murder.

The day I got her file and went to see my pop, I left his place and did a drive-by outside her house. Well, I meant to only drive by, but once I got there I decided to park for a bit. I wanted to see if I could catch a glimpse of her, and then I would leave. At least that's what I told myself.

The sun was just setting as I pulled into an empty spot among some trees across from her place. Luckily I only had to wait about five hours before she pulled up, so by the time she got home, it was completely dark.

I heard her before I saw her, the rumble of her motorcycle making her arrival known. As I watched her pull into the driveway, I hunched down in my seat, so she wouldn't see me. When I heard the bike cut off I rose a little and watched her climb off. I watched her as she stood there and shook her hair out. I was hard instantly just being this close to her, and I started to rub my hand across the front of my slacks. I never bothered to change when I left work, so I was still in my standard work suit. I reached up and pulled at my tie to try to get more oxygen into my body. Suddenly I felt as if I was suffocating.

I watched her turn around and look in my direction, as if she felt me there, but I knew I was completely concealed. After a moment of hesitation, she turned back around and went into her house. I was too hard and too worked up. I had to do something about it. I kept rubbing the front of my pants, but I knew I needed more to get any kind of relief.

I had to see her just one more time, just for a second, and then I could go. I checked around my car, making sure no one was around, and silently got out, making my way to the side of her house. I saw a light flip on just as I made it around, and I ducked down below the window sill. I tried to control my breathing, but my heart was beating out of my chest. I had no idea what I was doing there; I just knew I had to do it. Leaning up a little, I peeked inside the window. My breathing stopped completely when I realized it was her bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, unlacing her black combat boots, and when I pulled my c.o.c.k out I didn't stop to think about what I was doing. All of a sudden I had my d.i.c.k in my hand.

When she stood up, I had a moment of panic, but then any concerns I had left my head as she unb.u.t.toned her tight jeans and started to peel them down her legs. They were like a second skin on her so she had to wiggle to get them down her thighs. I was jerking my c.o.c.k and panting so hard, I was fogging up the gla.s.s. I pulled my hand away and spat on it to get a better glide, and when I looked back up she was bent completely over, trying to get the jeans off her feet. Her boy-short underwear showed off her lush a.s.s and gave me a tantalizing glimpse of her p.u.s.s.y. Once I put my slick hand back on my c.o.c.k, it didn't take three more pumps before I was c.u.mming on the side of her house.

I looked down to see the mess I made, and then suddenly her bedroom light flipped off. I panicked and stuffed my still-swollen c.o.c.k back in my slacks and zipped up. After a second I heard the television, so I guess she must have gone to her living room to relax before bed. I looked down at the side of her house again, and saw where my c.u.m landed. I smiled a little, thinking I had marked my territory and left it there. "Good night, Mackenzie," I whispered, and made my way back to my car.

I've done that every night for the past week, until tonight when I was finally able to make my move. I've been tailing her off and on for seven f.u.c.king days, and this is the first time she's gone somewhere I can approach her. She's constantly with someone from the Ghost Riders MC, and I need her alone for what I have planned.

Looking down at her now, I know what I need to do in order to keep her. She just needs to catch up to where I'm already at.

I reach down and unbuckle my belt.

"Easy, big guy, I said mouth only."

I smile at her, and pull my belt free from my pants. "You gonna tell me your name, or do I have to come up with something else to call you. Dollface? Sugar? Baby cakes?"

"You call me any of those names, and I'll remove your favorite appendage from your body."

"So, you gonna tell me then?"

"Mac," she says, but I can tell she's reluctant.

"You gonna tell me what your whole name is, or do I have to sound like I'm f.u.c.king a dude when I moan your name?"

She cracks a smile at my joke, and I can see her soften a little. "Mackenzie, but don't go spreading that around."

"You got it, Mackenzie." She smiles a little, and I can tell she likes the sound of it. I bet I'm the only person she's let call her that. Good. I want it to be only for me. "I'm Vincent. But I'll answer to anything that comes out of your mouth-G.o.d, Jesus, More, Please, Again...whatever," I say, and bring my belt up to her wrists. Her smile drops when she sees what I'm about to do.

"What the f.u.c.k are you doing? I didn't say you could tie me up."

Just my luck there's a hook on the back of the door that's down low enough for her wrists to reach. She's a short girl, but the height of the hook won't make her strain at all. I wrap my belt around her wrists, and she starts to struggle a little.

"Easy, Mackenzie," I whisper, and she calms a little. I place her tied-up wrists on the hook and let her see how much slack she has. She could easily lift her arms off the hook, and I left enough room in the belt for her to slip her hands out without any difficulty. She feels the ease with which she can escape and her body relaxes. "You can get away from me any time you want. But the point of this is that I want your hands there, and I want you to keep them there because I said so. Not because you can't get away, but because you want to do what I say."

I watch the pulse in her neck quicken at my words and her breathing picks up. She's probably never had someone dominate her before, and I'm sure if you ask her outright, she'll tell you to f.u.c.k off. But right now, with me, she's getting off to it.

"Think you can handle that?"

"You use that mouth for anything else besides talking s.h.i.t?"