by Jessie Cooke
“Why not?”
“You just don’t look like the type.”
“The type that would defend a woman?”
She shrugged. “The type that would defend anyone. That first day I saw you, I had you pegged as ex-military...a killing machine.”
“And now?”
“I still don’t know shit about you, except that you do have a little knight in shining armor thing going on. But if you stay, you have to keep that in check. I slay my own dragons.”
“So what do you need me for?”
“Your dick,” she said, with a laugh. Jace was rolling his eyes and she said, “I’m sorry, kidding...sort of. I like having sex with you, and I have a feeling I can trust you not to spread it all over the club.”
“Oh, so you want me to stay and service you when you need it, but make sure I keep my mouth shut about it?”
“Yeah.” He rolled over, untangled himself from her and sat up. “Where are you going?”
“I need to get on the road.”
She pushed up on her elbow. “Really?”
Jace reached for his clothes. “Yeah, Beck, really. I’m sure you’re not used to men walking out on you, but I’m not going to hang around here and be your bitch.”
She laughed again. When he stood up and started getting dressed she said, “Oh, come on. That wasn’t what I was asking for.”
“Sounded like it.”
“You’re a continuous surprise, aren’t you? I hurt your feelings.”
“Did I look like the kind of guy that didn’t have any?”
Beck groaned. “Look, Jace, I like you. I like this. I’m going to need to let steam off while I’m going through this shit and I just thought...”
“You thought wrong. I have a life I need to get back to.” He finished pulling on his clothes while she lay there, looking like she expected him to change his mind. He knew if he stayed, leaving would only get harder as time went by. Beck might be happy with this secret little fling of theirs for the time being, but he wasn’t going to try to fool himself into thinking she would be forever. He was already too attached. He had to get out of there before something happened and he ended up back in a place where Rosie wouldn’t be able to come and see him. He had to remember his priorities. Rosie needed him. He had a business to run...and Beck was just playing. As much as he hated the idea of it, Beck was just going to have to find someone else to play with.
Beck had seen a lot of hot men in her life. She was even at a point where their hotness just didn’t really affect her so much anymore. But when she walked into the Westside Skulls gym and came face to face with Jacob “The Lion” Wright, she went literally weak in the knees. Her pulse sped up. Her palms began to sweat and her mouth was so dry that her lips were stuck together. She’d seen him on TV, on Pay-Per-View, back in his heyday. She’d seen his promotional ads and posters. She always thought he was hot and she’d like to do him...but Jacob Wright in the flesh was like standing on Mt. Olympus and facing one of the gods. He had to be the most beautiful man on earth, and suddenly she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to manage her hormones if he agreed to what she was there to ask him.
After Jace left, without barely saying goodbye, Beck had taken another shower and gone in search of Wolf. She had lots of thoughts and emotions about Jace...but she was good at putting things in boxes, and that’s what she’d done with those. She’d packed them away in a far corner of her brain in a box marked “What the fuck is this feeling?” She might drag it out and think about it...much later...but today, she had too much to do.
When she found Wolf she asked him who it was she was going to fight. He hemmed and hawed about that, finally telling her that he doubted that any of the men in the club would agree to fight her. She spent some time telling him how fucked up that was, since it was one of their requirements that she fight a man, and at least hold her own, if not win. Wolf was obviously uncomfortable talking about the whole thing, but finally he settled on telling her to go to his gym and ask for Jacob Wright. Beck thought he’d been kidding. She thought it was another game they were playing with her head. But here she was, and there was Jacob “The Lion” Wright...and she wished she’d brought a change of panties with her.
“Can I help you?” he finally asked, after she stared at him for way too long, like an idiot.
“Um...yeah.” Shit, Rebekah! He’s just a man. Pull your shit together. “Wolf sent me to talk to you.”
“Okay, you are...?”
Shit. “Beck...Rebekah Golden.” She put out her hand and he shook it and smiled. Jesus, he would have to do that.
“Nice to meet you, Rebekah...”
“Call me Beck, please.”
“Okay, Beck. I’m Jacob Wright. You can call me Jake.”
“Trust me, you don’t need an introduction.” Beck heard the sound of men’s laughter suddenly and it was only then that she looked around and realized they weren’t the only two people in the gym. She chastised herself again and focused on what she was there for.
“How can I help you, Beck?”
“I need an opponent, for a fight.”
Jake cocked a dark eyebrow. “And who would this ‘opponent’ be fighting?”
“Me.”
His lips twitched. “I’m sorry, Rebekah. I train men to fight other men. I don’t have any women fighters here.”
“I know. I don’t want a woman opponent. I want a man.”
Both eyebrows went up. “Wolf sent you here to ask me to find a man to fight you?”
“Yes.” He looked dubious about that and said:
“Why would you want to fight a man?”
“I don’t really want to, but it’s part of what the club has decided I should be able to do, if I want to prospect for them.”
Jacob frowned. “You’re going to prospect for the Westside Skulls?”
Growing slightly impatient, Beck said, “Look...long story short, I asked, they said no. I asked again, they voted and they agreed if I could do what is on this list of theirs, they would let me prospect. One of the things on the list is to be able to hold my own in a fight with a man. In the Navy, I fought men, on more than one occasion, because if I ever was in a situation where I had to fight for my life or someone else’s overseas, it would be unlikely that my opponent, or attacker, would be a woman. It’s the same thing here. If I’m riding with men, hanging out in a bar, or doing a run with them...and shit goes down, they want to know that I can have their backs. It’s a fair request, I suppose. In polite society you can’t just take down whoever pisses you off with a gun or a knife. Wolf, who is trying to build a reputation for his club that doesn’t involve murder and mayhem, would prefer that, I hear. So...that’s the story, and here I am, and yes, Wolf sent me.”
“How long were you in the Navy?”
“Seventeen years.”
“How often do you work out?”
“While I was in, every day. I’ve been out for a month now and mostly on the road, but I’m strong and I’m fast and I might not be able to take a guy out with one punch or kick, but I can do some damage and, in the meantime, keep him from doing damage to me.”
“I can’t promise that I can find a man willing to fight a woman...but, even if I do, I would insist that you let me train you first. This fight wouldn’t happen right away.”
“How long?”
“I can’t tell you that until I evaluate where you’re at. You got a timeline on this ‘list’ of yours?”
“No.” She just didn’t have a lot of patience...and that was probably putting it mildly.
“Okay then...if this is what Wolf wants, I’ll evaluate you and train you and we’ll go from there. I’m in and out of town thanks to my other obligations, but if I’m not here, one of my team will be. I’ll expect you to commit to being here when I tell you to be here and doing exactly what I tell you to do when you are. Can you follow direction and take criticism?”
She laughed. “I retired from the Navy as an E-8, Senior Chief Petty Officer.
I was told for seventeen years when to eat, sleep, exercise, and even take a piss. I always had a Master Chief to answer to and a Command Master Chief, and on and on all the way up to the Admiral. Very few of them were nice or complimentary, trust me.”
“Alright,” he said, looking at the duffel bag on her shoulder. “Get changed and we’ll get started.”
17
“What the fuck is that dog barking at?” Wolf’s head was pounding. The stuff with Beck was eating away at him. No matter what she did, this thing was going to be a mess, and he was just waiting for it to blow up in his face. He couldn’t believe that he’d agreed to it, but he did know what had prompted him to do it. The pile of letters was lying on the table in front of him and Manson was sitting next to him, reading one with a smile on his face. Wolf hadn’t planned on sharing them with anyone, but he’d found one where Coyote mentioned Manson and the quiet, deeply intelligent, crazy-looking little man had spent over thirty years in this club with almost no recognition. Hardly anyone understood why Coyote took him on as a VP, or why Wolf kept him. Wolf was as guilty as everyone else for not giving the other man enough credit. So, when he found that letter and read Coyote’s words...and realized Manson had even been valuable to his sweet mother...he had to share it with the other man, so Manson knew, without Wolf’s having to say it...that he was appreciated. Seeing Manson’s face as he read it made him happy that he had shared it. But that fucking dog...
“Ransom!” Wolf snapped at the top of his lungs. Manson’s body jerked in surprise and he dropped the letter. “Sorry,” Wolf grumbled to his VP.
“Yeah, boss?” Ransom opened the office door and stuck his head inside. They had two new prospects and Ransom had been assigned to show them the ropes inside the club.
“What the fuck is wrong with that dog?”
Ransom grinned. “Sorry, Boss, he doesn’t like gingers.”
Wolf frowned. “Gingers?”
“Yeah, the detective is here. I told him you were busy, but he said he’d wait.”
Sometimes the boy was so dense that Wolf could hardly stand it. Then other times he did something that reminded him why he had finally patched him in. “So, he’s just sitting out there in the bar and you didn’t bother to tell me?”
“I was gonna, Boss. I was showing Pink Eye how to stock the bar when he came in and...”
The look on Wolf’s face stopped him. At least he was getting better at reading expressions. It might keep him from getting killed someday. “Show him in.”
“Yes, sir.” Ransom disappeared. Manson was already gathering the letters and dropping them into the open desk drawer. He was still smiling. Wolf himself had almost cried when he read the letter and heard his father describe his mother as having an “aura of goodness and light” that surrounded her. It was also the first time that Wolf had ever heard something else about his mother. Coyote told Beck that Colleen had tried for years to have another baby, but after Wolf, she’d never been able to conceive again and she’d even had a few miscarriages. As he moved on into the rest of the story, Wolf was feeling upset that no one had ever told him that. By the time he finished reading the letter, he had been smiling, with tears in his eyes.
Coyote had been out of town when Wolf was about two years old. It was not long after Colleen had her first miscarriage and the doctor told her it would be unlikely she’d ever be able to carry another child to term. Coyote didn’t know about that yet, or how emotional it had made his old lady to hear it. All he knew that first day was that he’d come home to find his old lady and Manson sitting cross-legged in the center of their living room watching a baby squirrel play inside a playpen that Manson had designed for the “nasty little vermin.” His words to Beck from there on were what had made Manson smile and warmed Wolf’s heart when he first read them.
“When I saw that vermin in my living room and my old lady touching it through the little openings on the side of that playpen, I was pissed. I wasn’t mad at her, I was furious with Manson for not just allowing it but encouraging it. Hell, we had a baby in the house. That thing could have broken free and given little Wolf rabies. But in the midst of my reaming Manson out, Colleen suddenly stood up and yelled at me to stop. She never yelled at me in front of people...ever. She politely asked Manson to leave and I was even madder that she was talking so sweet to him. I started in on her again as soon as he was gone, and once again she told me to shut the hell up and sit down and listen.
“That was when she told me what she had found out at the doctor that day. She said she didn’t cry when he told her. She just felt sad and numb. But when she got home and realized she had run over that damned squirrel, she lost it. Manson found her sitting in the driveway, sobbing uncontrollably, holding that damned unconscious squirrel. She made a point of telling me that even if he was thinking it, he hadn’t lectured her. He had sensed that wasn’t what she needed and instead, he found a shoebox and filled it with straw. They put the squirrel inside, poked holes in the top, and left him there while she calmed herself down and tended to Wolf’s bath and bedtime. Once the baby was down for the night, Manson left, but he surprised my old lady by coming back two hours later with this kid who turned out to be a veterinarian right out of school. Colleen laughed and told me the poor kid looked like he wanted to piss his pants. She never asked Manson how he “convinced” that kid to come, but the doctor brought his little bag and he did some shit to this damned squirrel and by the end of the week when I got home, the little bastard was going strong. Manson used an old playpen and he’d built a cage for it with fake little trees and nuts and enough dirt that the nasty little thing could dig holes.
“The whole thing was ridiculous, but when I saw the way Colleen’s eyes were shining when she talked about it and realized that what my VP had done for her that week was not only out of pure love, but a hell of a lot more than I would have done for her, I realized that despite everyone questioning what I saw in Manson that made me want him as my VP, I had made the right choice. I picked him, I thought, because he was smart and had a reputation for being loyal. But what I realized that day was that he had a lot more layers than that...and his layers complimented mine. He could step in and use all that heart to handle things I would have only fucked up with logic, and this club needs that. It needs him. Remember that, Beck. When you grow up, pick people in your life who compliment you. I’m sure you’ll be the one with all the heart...but heart is not enough, baby girl. We can’t always be everything, but we can surround ourselves with people that can pick up the slack...be what we’re not. That’s what this club is, really, a group of people who complement each other’s strengths, and make up for their weaknesses. I’ll talk to you next year...Coyote.”
“You two look cozy.” The sound of Detective Meeks’ voice brought both men back to the present and Wolf automatically moved his chair over to the right and a foot from where he and Manson had just been practically huddled, as they read Coyote’s words.
Wolf rolled his eyes at the cop and said, “To what do we owe this intrusion...I mean, visit?”
Meeks grinned and pulled up a chair. “I know somewhere deep down in that barrel chest of yours you love me, Wolf.”
“Mm-hmm,” Wolf said, rolling his eyes again. “We’re kind of busy, detective, so if you don’t mind getting to the point...”
“Well, so far it looks like the DA won’t be filing charges in the shooting.”
“That’s good news, but you could have told me that over the phone.”
“True...but there’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“Morrison is facing charges for trespassing...but what we found in one of his SUVs is what really has him worried. He was carrying enough Fentanyl to overdose every addict in the city, in a box underneath the floorboards. Thanks to that find, we were able to get a search warrant for his private residence where we found more drugs, a crate of guns, and a lot of cash.”
“Well, at least that made up for finding nothing in my shop that you
could use against us,” Wolf said.
Meeks smiled. “That didn’t surprise me. You and your father were always good at keeping your private business private.” Wolf shook his head and Meeks laughed. “But back to Morrison...he knows he’s only got one way out of this, and that’s by making a deal.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I was getting to that.”
“Get there faster.”
Meeks just laughed again and said, “Morrison says he’ll give us his suppliers, and he’ll also give us you.”
“Me personally, or my club?”
Meeks shrugged, “Is there a difference, really?”
“So you came all the way out here to talk to us about Morrison’s fantasies?”
Meeks chuckled and said, “Well, Wolf...I’ve been stalking this club for what...thirty years or so now? I’ve made a lot of arrests, and you all have skated out of more than a few of them. But this one...” He shook his head and said, “The stars are aligning. The DA is up for reelection and he needs a platform. Morrison is desperate to get his own fat ass out of trouble, and you and your club are slated to take the fall.”
Wolf raised an eyebrow. His headache was pounding again, this time to the beat of whatever drum Meeks was beating on. “Pray tell, how exactly do they plan to pin any of this on us?”
“Well, let’s start with Morrison’s claims. Before Coyote died, he stole a shipment of guns from Morrison.”
“Bullshit.”
“Coyote was the go-between back then, according to Morrison. He set up the deal and the primary dealer got their 75K. Morrison says he always paid half up front and half when the shipment arrived. In that case, he says he gave Coyote 75K and when Coyote received the shipment, he kept it. The street value of the guns was 300K. Whoever sold them made a hell of a profit, and Morrison claims to have a list of serial numbers.”
“Again, Coyote is dead. So even if he did sell them, what fucking difference could it make now?”
