Bad Beat (Regulator Biker Series Book 1)

by Carolina Mac

  “Me too,” I said. “I’m going to.”

  Rusty raised his eyebrows and nodded at Billy, “That could happen.”

  We found the Hummer, stowed Rusty’s luggage and headed for the casino.

  “Tonight’s Jackson’s stag,” said Billy. “We’re getting’ him drunk and dumping him in the canyon.”

  “I thought the best man was supposed to look out for the groom,” said Rusty, “and get him to the wedding on time.”

  “Nobody told me the rules,” said Billy. “I’m making up my own.”

  “Billy can watch Jackson, and I’ll watch Billy,” I said.

  “That’ll work, Portia,” said Rusty with a grin.

  We put our names on the poker list when we got to the casino and sat at the bar while we waited. Jackson checked the bad beat jackpot and it was over one hundred and forty thousand. He came back grinning and told the boys.

  “Shitwads,” said Billy, “What would be the chances of ever winning that mother?”

  “Zero, if you don’t play.” Jackson thumped him in the shoulder.

  We were finishing up our first round at the bar when they opened a new table and called all of our names. Rusty was in seat two, Billy in four, I was in six and Jackson was in seat nine.

  The dealer flipped up cards for the button and seat one caught an ace. Rusty put in his small blind and seat three was big. My hand was Queen-Two. Billy called the blind, Seat five folded, I folded. Seats seven and eight called. Jackson raised to thirty bucks. Seat ten folded. Seat one folded. Rusty called, seat three folded. Billy called the raise. Seats seven and eight folded.

  Three players. The flop came King-Ten-Deuce. Billy was first and he checked. Jackson bet fifty and I put him on Ace-King. Rusty called the fifty and Billy folded.

  Heads Up. The turn card was Jack of hearts, no hearts on the flop. Rusty checked. Jackson bet another fifty. Rusty folded. Jackson won the pot and didn’t show.

  I folded all my hands until I was on the button. I peeked at my cards and had pocket sixes. Jackson called the blind, seat ten called, seat one folded, Rusty folded. Seat three called, Billy called. Sitting in seat five between Billy and I, was a young Asian girl with short cropped black hair and an overdose of confidence. She raised to forty dollars. I called the raise. Everyone folded around to Billy and he re-raised to eighty. She called and so did I.

  Three players. The flop came Ace-Four-Deuce. Two clubs. Billy bet fifty bucks. Seat five called and I called.

  The turn card was Six of Diamonds. Billy bet seventy-five. Seat five folded and I raised Billy to one fifty. I looked at him and he was grinning. He called me. I thought he had the wheel.

  Heads up. The river card was another Deuce. Billy checked to me. I laughed out loud and said all-in. Billy folded and hollered, “You made your fuckin boat.”

  I said, “You owed me.”

  For the next couple of hours, I watched the boys play and add to their chip stacks. I folded most of my hands, drank free beer and laughed at Billy chatting nonsense to the other players. He was a charmer. A new dude sat in seat seven to the left of me. He was in his fifties, not bad looking. As soon as he took his seat he started hitting on me. I laughed it off and played my cards, but Jackson was glaring at him and I knew it wouldn’t be long before there was trouble. After a quick trip to the ladies’ room, I spoke to the pit boss and told him I was being harassed by seat seven and I wanted him moved to another table. I could handle him hitting on me, but Jackson couldn’t, and I didn’t want all of us thrown out when Jackson broke the guy’s arm. Seat seven moved to a different table and I’m sure he didn’t realize I was doing him a favor. He was replaced by a Unabomber wannabe.

  A new dealer came to the table and changed the deck. She dealt out the first hand. I had King-Ten of Spades. Jackson was on the puck. Rusty was first to act and he called. Seat three folded. Billy raised to fifty. Seat five folded, I called the fifty. Seat seven called. Seat eight folded. Jackson called and both blinds folded. Rusty called.

  Five players. The flop came Trey-Jack-Ace, two diamonds. Rusty checked. Billy bet a hundred bucks. I called needing one card for the straight. Seat seven called. I put him on hearts. Jackson called the hundred and Rusty folded.

  Four players. The turn was Ace of clubs. Billy checked, I checked, seat seven checked and Jackson pushed all-in. Billy called the all-in. I folded and seat seven folded.

  Heads up. The dealer told the boys to turn over their hands. Billy flipped up King-Queen of diamonds. He needed the ten for the Royal Flush. Jackson turned over pocket Aces. He had quads. The table was silent. The dealer turned over the Ten of Diamonds and the table went a crazy. Bad Beat. My boys actually won the bad beat jackpot.

  The pit boss came and asked for a security check. The dealer counted the cards and did everything according to protocol. Everyone held their spots knowing that all players at the table would get paid. I smiled at Jackson, and he was grinning. Billy was yakking it up and reliving the moment with anybody who would listen. It was priceless.

  The waitress brought the table a round of drinks. Then a second round. It took almost an hour for the casino to verify the hands with the security cameras and do the required paperwork. Jackson and Billy had to show their ID and sign for their checks, and then the rest of the players received their smaller payouts in chips. The boys both gave generous tips to the dealer and she smiled her thanks.

  “I fuckin can’t believe we won that thing,” said Billy, shaking his curls as we walked to the parking lot.

  Jackson laughed out loud. “You are so fuckin lucky, you little shit. I should have won that pot with quad Aces.”

  “Well thanks to me, asshole, you got a huge payout, because I beat your sorry ass and beat you bad.”

  Jackson laughed again. “Thanks for the big bucks, Billy.”

  “Rusty and I are happy with our little payout, aren’t we?” I said, hugging him while I walked.

  “Any win is a good win,” Rusty said. “It was a fun night.”

  “You must be tired. I forgot you’re on Toronto time.”

  “I am starting to fade a bit,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.

  “Wait until you see our new house,” Jackson said. “The garage is a fuckin warehouse.”

  “The house isn’t too bad either,” I said.

  Jackson pulled into the garage, parked the Hummer and we all bailed out.

  “Do you know how many fuckin bikes I could paint all at the same time in this mother?” Rusty asked with his mouth hanging open.

  The boys showed him around. I let Angel into the back yard and got ready for bed. The clock read two a.m. Today was my wedding day and I needed sleep.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  MY CELL PHONE rang unceasingly in my dream and I couldn’t find it. Half-awake, I realized it was ringing on the dresser. Stumbling out of bed, I grabbed it and pressed the talk button as I tip-toed into the bathroom and closed the door.

  “Wolinski, here.”

  “Agent Wolinski, you’re up early,” I mumbled.

  “You wanted to be notified when Stan Traynor was being moved from the infirmary to the County lock-up. Today’s the day.”

  No. No. Please God, not today.

  “What time?”

  “Officers are picking him up at the hospital in the afternoon.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. Keep a sharp eye on him.”

  “Don’t worry, we will,” he chuckled.

  Hope you’re still laughing when the fucker is long gone.

  There was no hope of sleep for me now. I dragged my tired bridal ass out to the kitchen and started the coffee. The day had begun on an ominous note and I stared into space unable to think of anything else. Fortified with a mug of caffeine I sat outside with Angel inhaling huge gulps of cool dry air. No amount of deep breathing could calm me.

  Five minutes later Billy joined me fresh from the shower. His damp blond hair curled around his neck and he gave off a lemony scent. He lit up a smoke and s
at down. “Big day is here,” he said, taking a drag on his cigarette.

  “Yep.”

  “You don’t seem excited or happy like a bride. When you see them on TV in their white dresses they’re all smiles.”

  “This isn’t TV, Billy. This is reality and I’m scared for Jackson.” I reached for his hand. “They’re moving Stan today from the hospital to the lock-up. I know it won’t go well. I’m not telling him.”

  “They’ll put extra men on Stan. They know what a bad fucker he is.” He took another drag on his smoke. “He won’t know where we’re at anyhow. Don’t worry.” He held my hand in his, and then pressed it to his lips.

  “He will know. Somehow, he will know, and he’ll come for me. My skin is crawling and prickly. I want him, but not today. I don’t want him ruining any more of Jackson’s life.”

  “I’ll take my gun,” Billy said, “as well as my knife.”

  “My Beretta will be at my wedding,” I said and tried to force a smile.

  “You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever seen, Portia. Nothing scares you. What a fuckin’ turn on.”

  “Billy, you promised.”

  He nodded, his damp curls dancing on his neck. “I won’t break my promise. I’m still on cloud nine from winning last night. That was the best time I’ve ever had in my whole entire life.”

  “Winning big is huge fun. I love it and I love playing poker. We can have a good life out here, Billy. All three of us.”

  His gaze softened as his smile grew sad. “I can’t go back to Toronto. Being separated from you…that would kill me.”

  “We don’t want you to go back. We love having you here,” I tousled his hair.

  Billy smiled and then became pensive. “There’s another reason I can’t go back and… I don’t know if I can tell you.”

  “Why?”

  Something else Jackson was keeping from me.

  I waited to see if Billy was going to spit it out.

  He blew a cloud of smoke into the air and then spoke.

  “After the wedding, Jackson has important stuff to do with the club. He wants me to watch you until it’s safe for you to move back to Toronto.”

  “What?” I sucked in a little breath.

  Billy stood up and paced. “See, I don’t think I should have told you that. Jackson will be super pissed at me.”

  “I’ll pretend I don’t know.”

  Jackson didn’t want to tell me this shit before the wedding.

  “Thanks, Portia. Fuck, I’m sure you weren’t supposed to know that yet.”

  “I bet you’re right.” A tight feeling gripped my chest and I struggled for a breath.

  What was going on with Jackson? Move back to Toronto? Is that his plan?

  “I’ll get us another coffee.” I headed back to the kitchen with the empty mugs and a lot on my mind. The doorbell rang. Angel barked and charged the door. Peeking out the sidelight revealed the back end of the Harley truck.

  I hollered out the door as I held Angel’s collar. “Guys, can you put that in the garage for me please?” I ran out to the patio to get Billy to help me. “Jackson’s wedding gift is here, and I need you to help me set it up in the garage before he gets up.”

  Billy jumped up and followed me to the garage. The Harley delivery guys were lifting the jukebox carefully out of the packing crate. “Where do you want this, ma’am?”

  “Where do we want it, Billy?” I wasn’t familiar with the inner workings of the garage.

  “Over beside the work bench where there’s a plug.” He pointed and showed them. Billy helped the men set it up and after they left he sorted the CDs and put them in place. “This is so fuckin cool. We had one of these at our store in Scarborough, but it got sold the week after it came in. I always wanted one.”

  “Wanted one what?” Jackson stumbled through the kitchen door into the garage.

  “One of these, you asshole. You’re so fuckin’ spoiled.” He ran at top speed and punched Jackson in the gut.

  Jackson doubled over. “I’d love to puke all over you, you little shit.” He took a swing at Billy but missed him.

  “You’d have to catch me first, and you don’t look too swift today, Mr. Traynor.” Billy swaggered over to the jukebox, pressed a button and ‘I Love This Bar’ came blaring into the garage.

  Jackson sauntered over to take a closer look with his mouth hanging open. “Where did this come from?”

  “From the jukebox factory in the sky, you stupid fuck,” said Billy with a smirk.

  Jackson punched him hard in the abs and Billy never flinched. “Annie, did you buy this?” “It’s your wedding present,” I said with a grin.

  He walked over and gave me a bear hug. “You always surprise me. I love you, girl. I have something for you too.” He pulled a little velvet box out of his jeans and handed it to me.

  I fiddled with the silver paper and the ribbon and finally got the box open. “This is gorgeous, sugar. Will you put it on my finger?” Jackson slipped the ring on my finger as the tears welled up in my eyes. The center diamond was surrounded by rubies, my birthstone.

  “I love you, Annie,” he said as he kissed me.

  “I love you too, Annie.” A gravelly morning voice said from the kitchen door. “I’d love you more if you made another pot of coffee.” Rusty was alive and talking. He was standing in the doorway in just his jeans, his mop of auburn hair hanging down in his eyes. He was so ripped. Biceps bulging and covered in tats. His hands shook as he tried to light up a butt.

  “A little shaky this morning, big guy?” I tickled him.

  “Fuck, Portia, those free drinks can kill you.” He ambled over towards the jukebox.

  “I’m making breakfast. You guys come and get it in ten minutes.”

  Jackson picked up a broom and started cleaning up after the Harley guys. The garage was neater than the house.

  “Ten minutes,” said Billy with a nod.

  After breakfast, I did a quick clean up, then turned my attention to what the boys were wearing. I told Jackson to get dressed in Billy’s room and give me some space. When I came out of my long bubble bath, I checked the Beretta, cranked a Parabellum into the chamber and flicked the safety on. I couldn’t wear my shoulder holster with my skimpy, snug dress and grabbing it out of my purse if Stan showed up would be slow, but better than not having it at all.

  I wondered to myself where the County jail was in proximity to the wedding chapel. I tried to focus on the wedding and not speculate on what might never happen. I was making myself crazy with what-ifs.

  By two p.m. I was ready, dressed in the pale pink strapless dress with the little jacket. My hair wasn’t too unruly, and my makeup concealed the scar on my face almost entirely. I made my entrance into the living room where the boys were sitting looking fantastic in their black leather outfits.

  “Wow, baby. You look amazing,” said Jackson.

  Billy sat with his mouth open and didn’t speak.

  “Jesus, Portia. I didn’t know you could look any better than you always do,” said Rusty.

  “Thanks, guys. Are we ready to do this?”

  “Let’s do it,” hollered Jackson. He took my hand and walked me out to the Hummer. The boys had detailed it the day before and it smelled clean and fresh with a hint of oranges. Billy drove with Rusty riding shotgun and Jackson and I sat in the back. The happy couple.

  “Do you know where you’re going, Billy?” asked Jackson.

  “The GPS lady will tell me. She likes me,” said Billy with a chuckle.

  “That’s because she don’t know you,” said Rusty, lowering his window to smoke.

  At ten to three, we pulled into the chapel parking lot.

  So far so good.

  The boys had a final smoke as we walked from the parking lot to the entrance. Billy carried his guitar case.

  “Why’d you bring your guitar?” Jackson asked.

  “I’m singing at your wedding, you dumb ass.”

  As we rounded the corner of the ch
apel and stepped onto the sidewalk, my worst nightmare sprang to life. The letters spelling out ‘Clarke County Jail’ seemed to jump out at me from the sign on the front of the building down the street. My knees went weak and my breakfast returned halfway up my throat.

  “You okay, baby?” Jackson asked. “You look sick.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, “maybe a little nervous. Let’s go inside.” I squeezed his hand as we walked through the door of the chapel. The venue was billed as a chapel, but the interior was cavernous. An old warehouse converted into a money-maker. Inside the whole atmosphere was oh-so-Vegas. The owner greeted us at the entrance and ushered us into the pink Cadillac. Plenty of room to drive inside the building along a street right out of a movie set. The driver pulled up in front of a make-believe church while the baritone voice of Elvis serenaded us from well-placed speakers.

  “I love this place,” said Billy. His eyes sparkled as he took his guitar out of the case. I smiled seeing the mesmerized look on his face. He loved the hype. Billy was a performer.

  Before the wedding could begin we had to fill out the required paperwork. “Do you have rings?” The minister asked.

  “I have them,” I said, fishing the little boxes out of my purse quickly so Jackson wouldn’t see the Beretta.

  “Who’s giving the bride away?”

  “I am,” said Rusty, slipping his arm of steel around my waist.

  “Okay, folks, I think we’re ready,” said the minister clad in his white Elvis costume. The hair and the sideburns were his own. He gave us a huge Vegas grin.

  The ceremony was simple and short. Bare minimum. Jackson and I repeated the vows and exchanged matching wedding bands. He kissed me as tears of happiness rolled down my face. We were married.

  Billy sat on a stool that had been placed in the center of the small round stage in the corner of the room. Behind him, sequined curtains shimmered and above his blond curly head, hundreds of tiny white fairy lights twinkled. He smiled at me and sang a beautiful ballad he had written for the occasion. I had never heard him sing and had no idea of the magnitude of his talent. He was amazing. His voice was rough and gravelly and had a heartbreaking quality to it. My eyes were brimming with tears when he finished.