Reign (Sin City Outlaws #1)(29)

He chuckles as I grab the other hand, pulling it behind his back. The muscles in his back bulge, showing me how built he is and how under-qualified I really am to take down such a man.

“What the f*ck, Prez!” One of his men—Felix, I think—steps off his bike, the rest of the men following.

“Stand down, sir,” I order.

“Fuck you!” he spits, moving toward me with urgency.

“Back off, Felix!” Zeek orders, his command surprising me. He didn’t have to tell his men to back down, and to be honest, I didn’t expect it. I knew what I was asking for when I pulled them over, knew it would be a fight.

Felix pauses, his men halting, as well.

“Prez, no way in hell am I letting this bitch take you in!” He shakes his head, his hands balled into fists. I swallow hard, second-guessing what the f*ck I’m doing. Stupidity, that’s what I’m doing. I am exercising my stupidity because I was angry at my fellow officers, and now I’m going to be killed.

Zeek looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes trying to tell me something, but I can’t for the life figure it out. It’s sensual, almost soft in nature. He turns, looking down.

“I’ll be out before dinner,” he mutters.

“Fat chance,” I state. Grabbing his forearm, I walk him toward my squad car.

“You’re dead, bitch,” one of the men mumbles. Zeek flexes beneath my palm as his men threaten me, his jaw clenching. Is he angry that I’m arresting him, or that his men are insulting me?

“Get my bike to the station and leave it there!” he hollers to one of his guys.

I read him his rights and put him in the back of the squad car.

“5Paul69, one in custody.”

“5paul69, affirmative.”

Getting in my car, his smell assaults me. The leather and cologne mixed with exhaust makes my heart pitter-patter, a flashback of my face in ecstasy as he kissed the wind from me.

Inhaling a steady breath, I pull off the shoulder. As I pass the bikes, one of his men grabs his crotch and flips me off.

“Why are you arresting me?” he grumbles from the back. “You got nothing on me.” He’s right; I don’t have anything. I have no evidence that he was at the actual residence of the disturbance call. I’m going off a spot of blood on his neck. Shit, I should have gotten my test kit out and took it into evidence, or checked his bike. That’s okay; the station can take the blood splatter into evidence when we get there.

“You were in a striking position, and uncooperative. Not to mention you have blood on you,” I ramble.

“You know what I think it is?”

“I don’t really care,” I state, but I am curious.

“You want me.” He says it so softly I barely hear him. Glancing in my mirror, he’s looking down, his face unreadable, his tone serious.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I respond curtly, trying to stay resilient. I’ve seen the girls who are associated with his club; he’s a player and is telling me what I want to hear.

He grunts, a smile breaking across his face. “You’re telling me you didn’t like me kissing you the other night? That my hand up your shirt didn’t light a fire in those little panties of yours?” His tone is arrogant. My body responds, my nipples hardening, craving to have his rough touch one more time. Goddamn him, why can’t he shut up?

“I was drunk,” I defend, looking out the windshield.

The car goes quiet, and I’m thankful; his confrontation made me uncomfortable.

“Hey, Rookie?”

“Hmm?” I look in the rearview mirror to see his face. His mouth is parted, the corner of one lip curved slightly as he looks downward.

“How sore do you think you’ll be after I’m done f*cking you?” His eyes slide upward, pinning me. His words shock me but draw my body’s attention fully. My cheeks flush, my heart beating so hard it feels like I just ran a mile.

A horn honks, catching my attention. Looking forward, I slam on my brakes, nearly rear-ending another car. Risking a glimpse at him, I peer at the rearview mirror. He’s still staring at me; he knows he affects me. Those dark brown eyes pin me with an overwhelming amount of sexual need. Swallowing hard, I look away. Taking a ragged breath, an attempt to calm my wrecked nerves, I try to focus on the road the rest of the ride.

Arriving at the station, I walk him to the processing desk. Kelly’s eyes go wide.

“Jillian, what are you doing?” she whispers loudly.

“Taking me in an Outlaw, what’s it look like?” I state, my voice laced with pride. Nobody has brought down an Outlaw since Zeek’s father was caught moving drugs, and that was years ago. Word is Zeek’s father died before he was prosecuted, though. Rival gang inside the jail got to him first.

“Are you stupid?” she whispers, her eyes darting from Zeek to me. She grabs my arm, pulling us to the side. “Did you not hear what happened to the last deputy who tried to arrest Zeek?” I shrug, not sure what she’s talking about, and how I haven’t heard about it. “His men beat him to the point he was in the hospital. They say he never talked again, but I’m not sure if it was because of fear or because he literally can’t.” She looks over my shoulder. Following her line of sight, I see Deputy Miller. He’s in a wheelchair and has been on desk duty since I can remember.