Collateral

One

Broken glass, blood on the floor, and once again she was left to clean up the mess.

With her hands on her hips, Norah Gerick surveyed the dimly lit bar and huffed a stray lock of the fiery red hair piled on top of her head out of her eyes before getting down to work. The short, tight black dress she had on under her cropped denim jacket wasn't exactly practical, but at least her biker-style boots simply crunched unscathed over the shards of broken beer bottles.

Fucking Gerry. She supposed if the owner wanted to wade into some domestic threatening the peace in his domain, that was his prerogative. But did he really have to skip out on the aftermath? Still, she should have seen it coming. The little blonde stoner with the abusive boyfriend had been eyeing the burly owner ever since he stepped in to warn that he didn't tolerate that shit in his bar – and when that didn't sink in and Gerry finally laid him out for almost dislocating his girl's arm hauling her towards the door, she'd stuck around to be consoled with free tequila.

Last Norah had seen them, she'd been showing her appreciation on her knees out back. And Gerry, one hand buried in that cheap dye job, had tipped Norah a wink and tossed her the keys in unspoken confirmation that he'd be leaving early and she'd be in charge of locking up. Again.

Shaking her head at her boss's seemingly uncanny ability to get caught up with every neurotic mess out there, she sighed to herself and found a clean glass to pour a shot of whiskey from one of the many optics on the wall behind the bar. She'd earned that much, she decided, sipping the amber liquid before starting to sweep up the mess made when Gerry had put the object of his distaste through a table.

Fights weren't uncommon at the Waterhole. But at least they tended to be just that, fists flying and tempers boiling over. Maybe the occasional slash with a broken bottle. It could always be worse.

Gerry kept a baseball bat hidden behind the bar, but Norah had never seen him use it for anything other than a threat. She'd never even seen the gun locked away in his office, although he had told her it was there. Regulars knew not to make too much trouble though. The bar owner could handle himself, but he was also well connected and there were unspoken lines that were not to be crossed. Not without the certainty of bringing a shitload of misery down on your head.

And most people would rather face the bat.

Stopping to put some music on the jukebox in the corner, Norah turned her attention to collecting the glasses that hadn't ended up smashed on the floor, straightening the row of leather-topped stools that ran the length of the bar and wiping down tabletops. Only when the place was more or less back in order did she start collecting the takings from the cash registers, before heading to the office to do the count and then secure the money in the safe so Gerry could bank it the next day.

It was quieter out back, but the music still drifted through from the jukebox and she was humming to herself as she worked. Even so, she still heard the footsteps from behind. Heavy boots trying to tread softly.

But, before she could turn, one arm snaked around her waist and the other clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Gotcha," came the rough whisper in her ear, her captor's breath hot on her skin.

Long after closing time, the bar stayed dimly lit and the jukebox kept spilling classic rock out across the deserted bar. It was almost eerie, with that glass of whiskey barely touched – as if everyone had, by some kind of mutual agreement, simply upped and left in a hurry.

And yet, the long, low moan suggested the place wasn't quite as abandoned as it might at first seem.

"Please …"

The word seemed to be dragged from breathless lips, fading into another groan and then another. The unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh suggested the chances of anyone noticing an intruder were reasonably slim. And even if they did, they were unlikely to be in a position to do much about it.

"Coulda been anyone, doll … You gotta be … more … fuck … careful."

The irony of the rough warning, ground out between gritted teeth, was not lost on those who overheard it and the leader smirked even as he stepped closer. Sure enough, as deduced, there was a glimpse to be caught through the open door of the targets fucking on the office table.

And even just a glimpse was enough to clock the tell-tale reaper on that leather-clad back.

From the moment she had sensed his presence, she had known it was him. She wasn't even sure how, but she had. It wasn't even down to the tread of his boots or some faint scent of his cologne. She just knew.

So while her body's instinct had been to tense at finding herself held captive, it hadn't taken more than a few seconds for her to allow herself to relax and press herself back against him. Being held so securely to that muscular chest quickly took on a new context – one that sent a thrill shivering down her spine.

"Gotcha," the biker whispered roughly, his breath hot on her ear before he pressed an even hotter kiss to her neck. "Miss me?"

Norah didn't answer, not with words anyway. Instead, she twisted in his arms to glare up at him, bright green eyes locked on clear blue. But rather than looking chastened, his lips curved into a grin.

"That's a yes."

"Fuck you, Koz."

The grin on that infuriatingly handsome face never faltered and the heat of those blue eyes raking over her only intensified, doing nothing to strengthen her resolve.

"Anytime, sweetheart," he drawled.

And that was more or less how she ended up with her dress hiked up and her panties in his pocket, gripping that fucking leather cut of his as he fucked her into Gerry's office table. She'd sworn she wasn't doing this again, and yet here she was, on the verge of yet another Kozik-induced orgasm. The man was like a goddamn drug. Which, she fleetingly acknowledged, was ironic for an ex-junkie.

"Jesus, Norah …" the biker groaned, tugging her closer to the edge of the desk to try to get better leverage.

Her head fell back as she felt him thrusting deeper inside her, biting her lip to keep from crying out. His movements were getting less controlled as he edged closer to his own peak, but he shook his head at that.

"Let me hear you," he managed. "Fuck, Norah … Cum for me, babe …"

She'd sworn she wasn't doing this again, but it didn't stop her wrapping her legs around his hips and her arms around his broad shoulders as he lifted her easily off the table to send her back crashing up against the nearest wall. His mouth found hers briefly, before dropping to press a kiss to her shoulder and then picking up the pace with his thrusts, his hands tightening their grip on her ass as he held her up.

"Oh god …" she moaned, her body trembling in response to his. "Yes … Oh fuck, Koz, yes!"

Fuck, he'd gotten careless. Too caught up in the scene in front of him to notice that he'd stepped forward and just enough to the side that, had the redhead's eyes not drifted closed, she might have caught sight of him over the biker's shoulder and through the doorway.

Even a split second glance could have ruined that moment of ecstasy – and more importantly, his plans.

Because, for now, he would let them have their time together. His next move … That would keep. For now.

"Happy?"

Kozik frowned at the curtness of her tone, watching her shimmy her figure-hugging dress back in place even as he zipped up the fly of his baggy jeans. "At the clubhouse-"

Norah snorted at that. "Not him. You. Happy now? Get what you wanted, did you?"

He eyed her thoughtfully and then simply shrugged as he fished in his pockets for his smokes and a lighter. "Would rather get you naked, but I ain't greedy. Oh, come on, Nor – you wanted this as much as I did."

"Get over yourself," she scoffed, putting a little swagger in her step, knowing he was following as she strolled back out to the bar, fluffing her hair as it now hung in loose tousled waves. "You scratched an itch. That's it."

He caught up to her with a few long strides and pulled her close with an arm snaked around her slim waist again. "You never did have a problem getting over me," he murmured over her shoulder. "Or under me … Admit it, doll. 'Cause you never heard of body language? Every inch of you is telling me you missed me."

Kozik let his hand slide down her stomach, drifting lower and lower until his palm pressed over her core.

"Maybe I just … missed your dick," she managed.

He laughed at that, grinding against her ass and letting her feel that he was already more than ready for round two. "That's my dick telling you it's mutual," he teased, his fingers inching under her dress again, only remembering her black lace panties were still in the pocket of his cut when he found her already bare.

He both heard and felt the little hitch of her breath as his thumb grazed her clit, and he smiled knowingly to hear it turn to a stifled whimper as he slowly sank two fingers knuckle-deep inside her tight heat. Her hands gripped his arm as he kept it wrapped securely around her waist, fairly confident he could make her knees buckle before too long.

"How's that itch?" Kozik growled, his fingers roughly mimicking his early ministrations, pumping slowly in and out of her soaked pussy, even as the cock they had replaced once again strained uncomfortably against his fly.

"Koz …"

His name fell from her lips, melting into a low moan when he curled his fingers to find the perfect spot to drive her crazy. Sure enough, she caught her lower lip between her teeth, tilting her head back against his shoulder and rocking her hips against his hand to try to make the most of what he was offering.

"You need my cock again, baby?" he asked huskily, the hand around her waist caressing slowly upwards until he could fill it with the full, firm mound of her breast. His other hand slipped from under her dress to fumble in the pocket of his cut again, only to come up empty, making him curse. "Shit, need another condom."

"Bathroom," Norah bit out, pulling away from him to try to get her breathing back under control. "Hurry up."

"Don't fucking move," the biker warned, shooting her a longing grin over his shoulder and raking a hand through spiked blond hair that was damp with sweat at the temples.

She rolled her eyes, letting her dress slip back down her thighs and reaching for her neglected glass of whiskey, having to take a deep steadying breath before she could manage a sip.

"He's not that good," she muttered, scolding herself for losing control. Even though she knew he was exactly that good. Always had been.

All things considered, the redhead was much too distracted to think anything of the thud from the men's bathroom. If anything, she supposed she assumed Kozik had – in his haste – fallen foul of the temperamental vending machine and tried thumping it rather than go empty-handed, all things considered.

Sure enough, she was still sipping her drink when heavy footsteps closed in from behind and strong arms wrapped around her like before – one tight around her waist and the other clamping a hand over her mouth.

"Gotcha," came the rough whisper in her ear, her captor's breath hot on her skin.

She didn't recognise the voice.