Raw Redemption (Crossing the Line #4)(2)

Ailish stared at his mouth. “Can you show me more?” She leaned closer, her tits grazing the front of his shirt. “How you’d protect me?”

Two steps and he had Ailish crushed against the side of his police vehicle, the backs of her high heels bouncing off the doors. Good. Dent them. Henrik didn’t give a f*ck about anything but the girl gasping for breath in front of him. He savored a second of anticipation before shoving his rigid cock against the seam of her body. The seam that gave pleasure, gave life. Give it all to me.

“You wanted me to show you, Ailish.”

“Y-yes.”

He rolled his tongue along the roof of his mouth. “I would keep my body between you and danger at all times. Nothing and no one would touch you but me.” Using his hips, he pushed her higher up the car’s exterior, mentally recording her soft cry of surprise. “Inside or out.”

One of her high heels dropped onto the sidewalk. Maybe his reaction to the lost shoe stemmed from her being that much more naked. Or perhaps her lack of concern for the dropped footwear accounted for the surge of lust. For whatever reason, though, that forgotten high heel pushed Henrik past the line of his defenses, his consciousness whittling down to his wet manhood. Almost there. Almost…

Ailish beckoned him forward by licking her upper lip. “Henrik?”

“Yes, baby.”

She rubbed that single bare foot against his ass. “Will you please touch me on the inside?”

“Fuck!” Henrik shouted as tremors racked his body. “Ailish.” Spurts of pent-up need left his cock in what felt like endless rushes of the tide. Forward and back until he was forced to release his flesh to support himself with both hands on the shower wall, while the remainder of his orgasm found its way free onto the bathtub floor.

The shower spray had turned lukewarm by the time consciousness streamed back in. No Ailish in front of him. No police vehicle. All gone. Should he care more about the girl than the fact that he’d never drive another squad car again? No, he shouldn’t.

Did he?

Yes.

Ailish O’Kelly, daughter of Chicago’s ruthless crime boss Caine O’Kelly, had vanished into thin air after the evidence against her had been destroyed, forcing the police to release her from any further questioning. Thanks to the skill set of his new teammates on the undercover squad—a squad made up of criminals like him—Henrik had been in possession of Ailish’s location for two hellish weeks.

Two weeks filled with unsanctioned boxing matches. Illegal fights a million miles away from the charity bouts he’d competed in as an officer. He’d literally needed his skull bashed with another man’s fists to keep himself from going after Ailish. But his method was losing its effectiveness. A sane man wouldn’t consider himself in a position to go after Ailish like some broken-down superhero without a cape. Or a badge. Not after having exchanged a single sentence. It was very likely the girl didn’t even remember him.

But he remembered her. And staying stationary when he could have eyes on her in a day’s drive? Pure motherf*cking torture. If his teammate Polly’s information was accurate, Ailish had left town on her own, without the assistance of her father. She could be scared. Or in trouble. Might require help, but didn’t know who to ask…which could lead to her asking the wrong people.

Gut churning, Henrik reared back and slammed his already-battered fist into the shower wall, cracking the tile on impact. No more waiting.

He was going after Ailish.

...

For once in her life, Ailish didn’t need a single thing from anyone.

It. Felt. Incredible.

No one was required to escort her to the supermarket or approve her chosen attire. Cutting holes in the knees of her jeans had been mission number one upon leaving Chicago. Since fifth grade, when Helen Brady showed up to a school fund-raiser with ripped Free People skinny jeans, Ailish had wanted them, too. Such a small rebellion, but to her, it was on par with, say…robbing the mob.

Something she knew a little bit about.

She wasn’t thinking about that today, however, or what her father’s reaction to her disappearance had been. Today was about earning an honest wage. Making money the right way, without dipping a hand into someone else’s pocket and leaving them desperate. In debt. For too long, Ailish had been a witness to dishonest dealings that turned her stomach and made her ashamed. Ashamed to be an O’Kelly.

There was no shame in physical labor, however, which was why she’d chosen a farm in Wisconsin as her first stop. She had no itinerary. No plans beyond today, when she would assist the farmer’s wife who’d taken a chance on hiring her. Turning soil, planting seeds, working with real live animals. Maybe she should have waited to rip holes in the denim. The manual labor might have formed them naturally. And just what would Helen Brady say about that?

Ailish looked out the tiny window of the guest quarters she was renting on the cheap. Her wage would cover the room and leave her with enough to purchase supplies in town. What a glorious feeling, knowing she could depend on herself for food. That she wouldn’t have to touch the bloodstained money wedged inside a duffel bag, beneath the loose floorboard on which she stood, tapping her toe.

Tap, tap…tap.

A prickle climbed the back of Ailish’s neck. Had that last tap been from her? She remained perfectly still and listened to the breeze whisper outside, laughing and shaking her head when no other sounds met her ears. Paranoia came part and parcel with being an O’Kelly, but there was nothing on this farm that could hurt her. Not unless she managed to piss off the cow. Again.