Joker (Executioners Book 2)
Page 4
“We’re not—”
“Thank you, Twitch. Has he always been so stubborn?”
“You have no idea, he’s a nightmare, but some great and plentiful sex should loosen him up a bit,” Twitch said and winked. “Okay, back to work, holler when you need a refill.”
“I like him.”
“He’s married.”
“Yeah, I know that, and he’s not my type, Jackson.”
“I gotta take a piss,” he announced and surged off the bar stool. He headed for the hallway that led to the bathrooms.
He needed a minute to himself, the close-quarter conversation hadn’t been in the plan. The music and all was supposed to make talking impossible, but he should’ve known better. Hadn’t he watched his friends over the years, the way they’d get close, whisper in each other’s ears, and exchange kisses between sentences, sometimes words?
He ducked into the women’s room knowing it would be empty and leaned his back against the door. The music muffled on the other side.
“Why are you hiding in the women’s room?”
His eyes flew open, and he found a grinning Hunter seated on the bathroom sink. Hunter was married to Wren and also Linus. How did they keep each other happy? How weren’t they jealous? Something in his gut told him if he had a man of his own that he’d be jealous—possessive of the man he considered his.
“Why are you?”
“I come in here for my breaks, Twitch does too, but normally he isn’t alone.”
“I fucked up, man.”
“And how is that? Start a brawl already? I’ve only been in here ten minutes, so you couldn’t have done too much damage.”
“No, I brought a guy here.”
“Please tell me this isn’t the first fucking date, Joker?” Hunter waved his hands in the air. “Don’t even answer that, it is. You know a first date should be in a restaurant, where y’all can talk and get to know each other.”
“This was supposed to scare him off so he’d give up on this dating me thing.”
Hunter threw his back and laughed his ass off at him.
“What the fuck is so funny?”
“You, Joker, come on, the man wants to date you after meeting you and your charming personality. Wren said he threatened you not to kill Dem.”
“How did you know it was Dem?”
“Everyone else in town knows you and are mostly frightened of you, it had to be a newbie.”
“But why me? Fuck, I hate this shit.”
“You just hate people liking you, even though your friends love your cranky ass.”
“I don’t know how to do this, you know—”
“I don’t know shit, Joker. I know you, you’re fiercely protective, like you are with Harper. I know most of the shit you get into is when some asshole thinks he can put his hands on a woman or someone weaker than them, different than them. You might not think so, but you’re a pretty great guy when you’re not trying to kill someone.”
“All this mushy talk is making me want to puke.”
“Then get back to your date. If what I hear is right, he’s pretty fucking hot. He’s probably got a ring around him at the bar right now.”
“Fuck.” He stormed out of the bathroom and down the hall. He hated when other people were right. It wasn’t a ring, but it was enough.
Some pretty boy in leathers was all up on Dem. The man’s hand on Dem’s lower back. He could almost hear the sweet talking going on. Maybe he should let it, Dem could go home—fuck no. He squared his shoulders and stretched to his full height of six-three. He wasn’t the most muscular man around, but it didn’t always take a bodybuilder frame to take a fucker down.
He walked over, stopped behind Dem, and took the stranger’s wrist in a steely grip.
“He gave you permission to touch him?”
“Jackson, I was just telling this gentleman my date would be right back.” Dem turned to him.
He didn’t take his glare off the pretty boy. He made himself not tense up when Dem’s arm went around his waist. He released the guy fast enough for the stranger to stumble a bit. Soft fingertips touched his jaw and turned his head to look at Dem. Dem was smiling at him, his long, wavy hair framed his face. He didn’t like the way that smile made him feel. He didn’t like any of it. It made him feel off; like he wasn’t himself.
“Jackson, don’t kill him.”
Then it happened, lips that were soft beyond belief touched his. He heard a pain-filled grunt, but he was too focused on his first kiss. A steel-band circled his chest. He jerked away.
“We have to go.”
“Okay.”
Pity didn’t exist in the depths of Dem’s eyes. Dem’s lush mouth still curved into a content, almost sweet smile. He needed to get away—now.
SIX
This Was Suicide
“Why did I let you all talk me into this,” Dem yelled over the roar of a Cessna’s engine. He stared at Sin and Saint, backup singers and drummers for Executioners. The maniacal expressions on their too pretty faces came close to eclipsing the fear of jumping from a perfectly good fucking plane.
Jackson had been gone two weeks without a word. He’d searched everywhere until he came across the twins a week ago and they said they knew where to find him. The last week was spent practicing skydiving under the tutelage of the world’s craziest ex-male models turned sex shop managers, and they deemed him ready. What the fuck was he thinking?
“Bitch, this is romantic as fuck. You’re so getting laid after this one.” Sin grinned maniacally as he checked the shoot release. “We’ve done this jump plenty of times. Just do what we taught you. We know just when to jump to land in Joker’s clearing. You got this. If you’re lucky, they’ll be spankings involved.”
He’d never been spanked in his life, but, maybe it held merit, especially if it was Jackson doing it. He hadn’t planned the kiss at Brawlers. How could he not though when Jackson looked so jealous and possessive of another man touching him? He didn’t typically find jealousy an attractive quality so getting turned on by Jackson’s actions made him a bit crazy. He’d kissed Jackson, and the man tensed. Why he sensed it was Jackson’s first kiss, he didn’t know.
He wondered how many firsts he could have of Jackson’s.
“Down, boy, until you get to your man. As impressive as that is, we’re holding on for one man in particular.”
Sin and Saint had a thing for Sheriff Camden Pelter, and they made no secret of it. It became a huge joke around town. He felt sorry for Camden when the man stopped running.
“Two minutes to drop zone,” Saint hollered.
“I can’t do this.”
“You can, Dem. You’ve jumped tandem with us several times. This is no different. Your legs won’t be able to hold you, though, so make sure you hold them up the best you can…go into a slide. You got this. We’ll bring the chopper out in a few days to lift you out.”
“What if I’m dead by then?”
“We’ll circle until you wave us off.”
“I wasn’t talking about the fall killing me.”
“Joker is a sweetheart, he just likes to play tough. You have supplies for a few days. I threw in lube and condoms. I know he doesn’t have them.”
“Sixty seconds until drop.”
His arm crutches were strapped to a small pack of supplies that would be dropped after he jumped. He breathed deeply through his nose and out through his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest, with Sin holding onto the straps of his parachute.
“Ten, nine, eight…”
He closed his eyes as Sin and Saint counted down, at one he let himself fall back, and he spun in the air. His eyes flew open as the wind whipped as his skin. Adrenaline pumped through his system as an overwhelming sense of freedom took over. The landscape below looked so different, trees and bushes indistinguishable. A tiny blob he knew was Jackson’s hideout set in the middle of a large clearing. He mentally counted down, reached up and pulled the lever, the force of the chute opening
jarred him. He steered himself just like Sin and Saint told him to do.
As the ground drew closer, he forced himself to brace as his legs collided with the ground, then he slid along the cushion of grass. He laid there as the parachute collapsed around him. A huge smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He’d just jumped from an airplane for the first time in his life without Sin or Saint behind him. Laughter filled his ears, and he realized he was lying on the ground giggling.
“What the fuck, Sin, Saint, what are you—”
The fabric disappeared, and he was staring up at Jackson. Jackson’s shocked expression alone was worth it.
“Dem, are you crazy? Are you okay? I’m going to kill them for this,” Jackson bellowed and cursed.
Strong hands searched every inch of his arms, legs, torso, his neck, oh yes, his neck. He loved his neck—
“Are you okay? You’re not…give me your goddamned phone so I can get you help.”
“I’m fine, that was fucking amazing! Did you see me? I jumped, and I lived.”
“Maybe, but I might kill you and then those little shit friends of yours.”
The Cessna flew low over the tree line, making wide circles until he waved his arms. The plane pitched left and right in the signal they devised to tell him to have fun.
“I don’t know how to repack my chute.”
“We’ll just roll it up. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“You ran from me.”
“I didn’t run, I come out here to think. They know not to fuck with me. They fly over, I give them proof of life, and they leave me the fuck alone.”
“Now you’re stuck with me for two days. What you gonna do with me?”
“Hide your body?”
He sighed. “You’re so romantic.”
“Get up, so we can get you out of that pack and suit.”
Oh, that was worth it. Jackson’s arms were around him and lifted him from the ground, helping to his feet. He felt the tugs to his side, and then he rested his weight against Jackson’s hard, muscular frame. He pressed his face into the curve of Jackson’s neck as the weight of the pack disappeared. The thigh straps slid down his leg, and he faintly listened to the soft thud of the rig falling to the ground. He wasn’t paying attention, Jackson smelled like sweat, wood smoke, and something spicy and manly.
“Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”
“You’d carry me?”
“If you—”
“No, no, I’m fine, I can make it. They were sending down a pack with my crutches and supplies.”
“Can you stand for a minute or do you need to sit down?”
“Probably need to sit down until you find the pack.”
“Won’t be too hard, it’s rainbow like your chute.”
Jackson helped him sit back down, and he watched as Jackson headed off toward the tree line. Just like Jackson said, a hiking pack dangled from a tree by a chute tangled on limbs. Jackson grabbed the pack with a few days of clothes, supplies, and the extras Sin and Saint threw in and strode back to him. Jackson removed his crutches and handed them to him.
Once he got to his feet, he straightened and took the back pack, hoisting the strap onto his shoulder. He slipped his forearms into his crutches. Backing up a few steps he observed Jackson rolling everything up and tucked it under his arm.
If it was possible for steam to come out of a man’s ears, Jackson’s would. Was it insane that he was trapped in the middle of nowhere with a man with tentative control of his anger and completely ecstatic about it? Probably was but he didn’t care. He said the same to Gideon, Harper, and the rest of the crews when they told him he should just leave Jackson alone. They’d left him alone far too much in his opinion. Those days were over, and Jackson better get used to it.
“You look exceptionally handsome today, Jackson.”
“I’m not happy with you right now.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. That became almost impossible when he noticed Killer giving him a Jackson death glare from her perch on a camp chair. She had a black mini-skull and crossbones hoodie and a spiked collar. How they found Jackson a dog with the man’s exact personality astounded him.
Jackson tossed the bundle next to the open door. Smoke came from a metal chimney.
“Would I be safe in assuming we’re roughing it for the next two days?”
“No electricity. No indoor plumbing. There’s a hot spring for baths. Welcome to nature, city boy.”
He hadn’t gone camping in forever, but his Da was a big believer in tents and camp showers. Nothing Jackson would put him through was strange to him. He’d grown up on a ranch in Wyoming before he’d struck out for culinary school.
“Somewhere I can put my bag?”
Jackson held out his hand with a huff.
He smiled sweetly and handed over the pack. The man took it, and he batted his lashes as he watched Jackson. Anger highlighted Jackson’s cheeks.
The man was just too hot for his own good. Jackson disappeared into the shack and returned a few minutes later with two sandwiches and bottles of water. Jackson ordered Killer off the chair. The micro snarl warned of later retribution. He wondered if he had to sleep with one eye open as Jackson pointed him toward the chair.
He barely settled in when the man laid a sandwich and bottle on his lap. Jackson sat down on the ground next to a small fire. The man ate silently, with small bites, and chewed slowly. He'd listened to Harper outline Jackson's diet, he had known about the pancakes, but one sandwich and a single bottle of water wasn't enough for a man Jackson's size.
Jackson wasn't an overly muscular man, not bulky and not skinny either. The muscles of his arms were lean. He noticed something he'd never seen before. Jackson wore a short-sleeved t-shirt. Long, raised scars curved around his upper arms, the skin of his wrists bore thick, uneven grooves. He moved his attention to Jackson's hands, a few fingers were crooked, and his nails were abnormally short and pitted.
He frowned at the thoughts that entered his head. Images fed by the snippets of Jackson's behavior he'd learned from his friends, things he'd noticed, and Jackson's aversion to touch.
“You're not eating,” Jackson stated without looking at him.
“You can have it, I'm not hungry.”
“You should eat.”
That's when Jackson turned to look at him. The man stopped eating his own lunch.
“Eat.”
That one word broached no argument.
He nodded and lifted the sandwich, taking a small bite. Plain peanut butter. The bread was slightly stale. He really wasn't hungry, and his chaotic thoughts weren't helping. His mind tried to figure out who had hurt Jackson. Who had caused the man to shy away from the most basic of affection?
Guilt assailed him as he realized what he'd done. All he’d wanted was to get to Jackson. Spend time alone and get to know him. But did he ruin Jackson's sanctuary? He felt like a selfish asshole, maybe he should’ve listened when they said to leave Jackson’s alone.
“Don't look at them.”
“Look at what?”
“People think I'm crazy, and they're right. But I'm not stupid.”
“I didn't think you were, Jackson, and I don't think you're crazy either.”
Jackson snorted and went back to eating.
He finished off the sandwich so as not to offend Jackson.
“Why do you come out here?”
“It's quiet.”
“It's beautiful too. How did you find this place?”
“My grandfather owned the land. When I got out of prison, I came out here and built the shack. Lived out here for few years.”
“Is he still alive?”
“Drank himself to death a year after I got out. You're not asking what I did?”
“I'm curious, I won't lie about that, but you'll tell me if you want.”
“When I was sixteen, I beat my old man to death.” Jackson surged to his feet. “I gotta go get more firewood.”
The scars made sense but what did they mean? What had Jackson's father done to him and how much damage had the man caused?
SEVEN
What Was He Supposed to do With Dem?
He crouched down and stacked the last load of firewood next to the potbellied stove. It was more than he needed, but he had to keep Dem warm through the night. He didn’t understand why he cared. The only person he’d given much thought to was Harper. She was his best friend and put up with him, even when he didn’t understand why she did.
It was dark outside, and he’d kept the small fire going in the pit. Dem remained strangely quiet. Well, he did announce that he’d killed his old man like he would say it was raining outside. Probably not what a man wanted to hear when he was trapped in the middle of nowhere with a killer.
He plopped down onto his ass and stared into the dancing flames inside the stove.
He glanced over his shoulder when Dem cleared his throat.
“You want me to handle dinner? It’s been awhile since I cooked over a camp fire, but I think I remember how.”
“All I brought was—”
“I got you covered, I know what my man likes,” Dem said with a wink and picked up the bag beside the door.
Dem turned away before he had a chance to say anything. He just watched Dem through the door, the man dug into the pack. He was curious, but he couldn’t make himself move. When he saw the rainbow parachute making its way to the ground, all he’d thought about was taking Sin or Saint out for being stupid. They knew better than to bother him. Instead of them, he found Dem on the ground.
He’d had a moment of fear before it changed to anger. He’d hiked in more than three miles. He kept the place overgrown to keep others out.
Then it hit him, Dem had parachuted in to spend time with him. Why would someone like Dem even bother?
“Jackson, do you have some cast iron pans around here?”