High Voltage (Ramsey Security #3)

“Fuck off, Mountain Man.”


“Big talk for a guy standing in someone’s piss.”

I look down and realize the dead guy relieved himself at some point.

“I ain’t sorry to leave behind the days of cleaning up my messes,” I say, wiping my shoes off on the guy’s chest. “Good thing I have the help to do it for me now.”

Hayes grunts, but his focus is on approaching guys dressed in painter gear.

“Scrub it down, boys,” Hayes says, resting the shotgun over his shoulder and walking away. “Watch your back, Piss Feet. I won’t always be around to do it for you.”

I want to flip him off. No, I’d rather beat the shit out of him. Maybe shove that shotgun up his mountain-man ass.

Or I could go inside and find Minka. She’s probably in a bad mood, and I’d like nothing more to fuck her back into a smile.

The girl at the front counter smiles at me when I walk inside. The shooting did nothing to cramp her day. No, the folks in White Horse shrug off such annoyances.

Minka is less blasé about the recent violence when I join her in the room. She’s spread out on the bed, frowning at her phone.

“The gorilla is cleaning up the mess he made.”

I rest my guns on the table next to Minka’s. Emptying out of my pockets, I find a music station on the phone and set the channel to Dean Martin.

“I don’t like that music,” Minka announces, trying to piss me off.

“No accounting for taste, Apples.”

I walk to the bed where she watches me warily. She’s thinking about work when she should be thinking about us.

Reaching down, I pull her by the ankles until her ass hangs off the bed. Minka is dead weight, bored of my attempts. So much indifference in her smoky eyes. So little idea of how determined I can be.

I tug her to her feet and wrap an arm around her waist. Like magic, the song Fever begins to play. Holding her tightly against me, I swear this woman has infected me with something fierce and addictive.

My hips move to the rhythm, but she remains a wet noodle. Minka stares in my eyes, and I love not knowing what she’s thinking. The mystery in her gaze could mean anything. Will she hit me? Laugh at me? Throw me on the bed and ravage me? The not knowing makes me unbearably hard.

“Do you use these moves a lot?” she whispers as her hips finally dance with mine.

“Never had to before.”

“Stud,” she says mockingly.

“You really were a virgin before me.”

Smiling, Minka wraps her arms around my waist. “Yes. Be gentle, Mister Sausage.”

“Oh, I’ll be tender,” I whisper. “Until I’m not.”

Gaze warming, Minka sizes me up. “Later, we’ll work,” she murmurs, lifting her lips to meet mine.

Work is the last thing on my mind. I’m happy to let Mountain Man handle the Shithead Sheriff. Let the rednecks fight the other rednecks over who gets to control this slice of redneck paradise.

Minka leans towards the bed until I pull her back. “I’m not done dancing,” I say, swinging her around and away from the bed.

“I thought you were horny.”

“Yes, ever since I saw you, but we’re in no hurry.”

Relaxing again, Minka moves with me. I lean down and kiss her throat, eliciting a sexy moan from her. My fingers slide up her shirt and pull it over her head. Once I toss it aside, my hands take hers, and I swing her around again.

“People don’t dance enough in life.”

“I’m always saying that.”

I smile at her lie. We move around the hotel room’s small space. Our lips meet again as Sammy Davis Jr. begins to sing. Minka unbuttons my shirt as soon as Frank Sinatra takes over with That’s Life.

“Your music isn’t awful,” she whispers before licking my chest.

“I knew I’d win you over.”

Spinning around, I free one hand from hers and allow it to roam down her back. Minka sighs at my touch. Her indifferent bullshit is gone now. Kissing her again, I keep her lips locked with mine through another song. By the time Frankie Valli sings, her bra hangs from a nearby chair.

Louis Armstrong serenades Ella Fitzgerald as Minka shimmies out of her jeans and panties. Unbuttoning me, she slides down my slacks and painfully small silk boxers. My freed cock stands thick and proud for her inspection.

Giving my hot flesh a long, loving lick, Minka gasps when I tug her back up and return to our dance.

“You’re still wearing socks,” she says, seeming startled.

I reach down to pull them off before tossing them on the chair next to her lacy pink panties.

“Better?” I ask.

All of her secrets fade from her eyes when Minka smiles. Open to me, I see the excited curiosity of a woman normally never excited or curious.

Swinging her around, I pat her ass playfully once she’s back in my arms.

“People don’t dance naked enough.”

“Wow. That was the topic of my last blog.”