Mettle (Spartan Riders #2) - J.C. Valentine Page 0,1

your shoulders. You have to figure out the way in yourself, then you have to figure out how to stay in. Find your mark and play it for all it’s worth.”

“I will, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“Forget about me. Don’t you let those families down.”

The agent looked properly shamed, eyes downcast but no less eager to get started. “No, sir. I’ll do my best, you have my word.”

He grunted. Only time would tell. Rapping his knuckles on the arm of his chair, he said, “You’re dismissed. Make sure to go downstairs and let them know you’re on the case. They’ll take care of you, get you a plane ticket, make sure you have everything you need to get started.” Namely a backstory, some cash, proper identification, a car, a place to stay. Things the agent would need to build a false life that would hold up under inspection.

The agent nodded but made no attempt to leave.

“You have something you need to say?”

“Sir…” The agent hesitated. “Who was the agent? The one that went dark?”

He scowled. “That’s classified.”

“I understand that, sir, but how am I supposed to know who to look out for if I don’t know?”

“That’s exactly the point. If you don’t know, then you won’t be tempted. Keeping your identity protected is the number one concern while you’re in there. Knowing who the other agent is will only serve as a distraction we can’t afford. So just focus on the mission. Get in, get what we need, and get out.” With that said, he dismissed the agent from his office once again, and when he was finally alone, he slumped back in his chair, filled with worry.

His gaze strayed to the door, thinking of the agent who’d just left, as well as the one he’d likely never see walk back through, and felt an overpowering sense of defeat crash down on his shoulders.

He only hoped that this time he’d gotten it right; otherwise, God help them all.

ONE

Tucker had the utmost respect for women. His mother was one, after all. He loved everything about them—their soft curves, their gentle touch, their delicate features, and most of all, their backs. More specifically, he loved when they were on them. Legs open, wet, and ready for invasion.

As a man, Tucker had never had a problem getting a woman to spread for him. As a patched member of the Spartan Riders and Sargent at Arms at that, he had even less of a problem. Females were practically dropping from the sky like some kind of biblical plague to get between his sheets, but that didn’t mean they stayed there long.

That didn’t mean they didn’t try, though.

Take “Bambi” for example. She was a sweet girl, possessed all the attributes he liked about a woman. Young, beautiful, sexy…and dumb as a box of rocks.

Used to be that he didn’t mind that sort of thing. The fewer the brains, the quicker he got to fuck them. But Bambi had overstayed her welcome. His fault, totally. Blake, the Spartan’s president, had warned him that fresh meat tended to stick, and being that Bambi was a brand new bunny, and he’d been the first to break her in, she was sticking to him like crazy glue.

He probably shouldn’t have spent so much time alone with her.

Probably shouldn’t have been so nice either.

Probably shouldn’t have taken her out for ice cream after laying down the pipe so hard.

Hell, that private trip for two up on the open road probably hadn’t done him any favors either.

Now that he thought about it, he probably shouldn’t have put her on the back of his bike at all. It tended to give mixed signals.

Especially since the bitch seat was technically reserved for ol’ ladies.

And an ol’ lady he did not want.

Like, ever.

There was nothing wrong with having a woman to come home to every night, to cook and clean and raise up the kids, but Tucker “Country” Abrams didn’t want any of that.

He liked his freedom, and he liked his pussy like he liked his ice cream: sweet, creamy, and in all thirty-one flavors. Being tied to one person for the rest of his life wasn’t exactly exciting, and Tucker lived for excitement. It was the main reason he signed up for the military when he turned eighteen. He’d made a career out of the service, working his way up the ranks until he reached Special Operations Forces where he was given the lead, and his full potential was realized.

Then his father