by Zoey Parker
Bax's lips pulled into a grim smile. “Actually, 'pal'...that's exactly what I thought.”
He pressed the stud on the left cufflink, activating the device that Harry had installed in it. It was a simple transmitter, no different from the ones inside medical alert bracelets.
Except the people who received this particular signal weren't paramedics.
Over a dozen young black men emerged from their hidden positions behind the surrounding gravestones, aiming massive handguns at the gangsters. The chrome on their weapons gleamed in the moonlight.
Benny looked around, panicked. “What the hell is going on? Who are these men?”
One of the men stepped forward, holding a pair of gold-plated .44 pistols with pearl handles. The gold necklace he wore had the letters “J-GUNZ” engraved on it.
He pointed at Tommy. “That him?” he asked Bax.
“Yep,” Bax answered. “His name is Tommy Quarters, and he's the piece of shit who sold the smack to your son up in Ditchfield.”
J-Gunz looked Tommy over for a moment, then fired a bullet directly into the bridge of Tommy's nose. Tommy fell to the grass, dead, his glasses split neatly in half.
“Nice shot, big guy,” Bax said. “I know it won't bring him back, but I sure hope it helped. Now, about the second part of our deal...?”
J-Gunz nodded to his soldiers. They aimed their weapons and fired at Benny and Silvio. The gangsters dropped their own guns, jitterbugging on the grass as their bodies were riddled with bullets. When the shooting finally stopped, the two men slumped to the ground as clouds of gun smoke coiled above them.
Satisfied, J-Gunz holstered his pistols and walked over to Bax, shaking hands with him. “Pleasure doin' business with you. If you ever make it out to California, be sure an' look me up.”
“Will do,” Bax said.
J-Gunz motioned to his soldiers, and they withdrew, disappearing into the night.
Skull stared at Bax, dumbfounded. “Jesus. You are just full of surprises, aren't you?”
Epilogue
Bax
And so the Voodoo Devils rejoiced when Bax, Stef, Skull, and David returned with the bag full of money. Beer flowed, music played, and everyone took turns dancing with everyone else all night long. Even Millie managed a smile or two as Skull waltzed her across the floor. And when he asked if she could stay with them a while longer to lend the MC her considerable chemistry skills as it established a new empire in New Orleans—one in which the ability to synthesize and purify narcotics would be quite valuable indeed—she laughed, kissed him on the cheek, and said she'd think about it.
Later, when the sun started to rise and thirty million dollars had been counted out between Mule, Millie, Harry, David, and the Devils—six million per share—Skull approached Bax sheepishly.
“Listen, all that stuff I said to you before about us not being friends...”
Bax held up a hand, stopping him. “I understand, Skull. It's okay.”
Skull shifted his weight uneasily. “Yeah, well, even so. The Devils are richer to the tune of six mil, and none of that could have happened without you. And since you've got a girl now, and you're gonna have a baby and all...I reckon you shouldn't ride away from this empty-handed, is all.” He handed a shopping bag full of cash to Bax. “Here's a mil from my end.”
Bax looked down at it for a long moment, then embraced Skull, slapping him on the back. “Thanks, man. That really means a lot to me.”
“We're gonna have our work cut out for us here,” Skull said. “Chasing the rest of Altamura's guys out of town, setting up our own thing. We could use a big brain like yours, helping us figure out all the angles.”
Bax pulled back from the hug, smiling at Skull. “You've got my number. I'll always pick up. Trust me, I'm a lot easier to keep liking from a distance.”
That had all been a year ago.
Now Bax was behind the wheel of the Ferrari, driving down a Nevada highway on the way into Las Vegas. The windows were open, and the wind whipped through his hair—the black dye had finally grown out enough for him to shear it off, and he was blonde again. Stef sat in the passenger's seat, and chubby little Howie was strapped into a baby seat in the back, cooing and giggling as he sucked on his own fingers.
“So what should we go for this time?” Stef asked, eyeing the luxury hotels full of potential marks. “The Coin-Matching Scam? The Fiddle Game? The Rainmaker?”
Bax chuckled, shaking his head. “It doesn't matter. Remember the first rule of being a con artist? You can run any con, anywhere, with absolutely anyone. All you have to do—”
“—is know how to sell it,” Stef finished with a laugh.
Bax nodded. “Damn straight.”
THE END
Thanks for reading! Did you like my book?
If so, you should join my mailing list!
I’ll keep you up-to-date with the latest news on Zoey Parker releases, giveaways, and ARC opportunities?
Click the banner or link below to join.
New subscribers receive a FREE steamy short!
http://dl.bookfunnel.com/22mfxgmiow
HIS PROPERTY: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Iron Bandits MC)
By Zoey Parker
I f*cked her like she’s my property – because she is.
She showed up on my doorstep, desperate and alone.
My dead brother’s girl – with their baby in her arms.
I’ll take them in…under one condition.
As long as they’re here, I’m gonna f*ck her from dusk ‘til dawn.
I’m not a babysitter, not a saint.
Hell, I’m not even a nice guy.
I’m a motherf*cking biker.
I fight hard and f*ck harder.
I ride fast and drink faster.
I don’t ask forgiveness or permission – I just take what I want and crush anyone who tries to stop me.
But Ellie is an obstacle of a whole ‘nother type.
I didn’t ask to be the guardian of my dead brother’s family…
And yet, here they are.
But it’s more than just a babysitting gig.
She needs something from me.
A fake marriage.
Well, shit.
I’ll do what I have to do – for my brother’s sake.
But if Ellie’s gonna be my wife, she better be prepared to perform all her wifely duties.
This wedding may be fake, but her moans sure as hell won’t be.
Bend over, sweetheart.
You belong to me now.
Chapter 1
Jack
“Get up, you lazy bastard.”
“Uurghnnn.” I peeked up into the harsh light the morning sun wreaked in my bedroom. It was my daily dose of ‘white shades: fail.’ I really needed to see about dark paint, or curtains, or something equally drastic. I was not good with mornings, especially those that came after long nights with bottles.
“Come on, Jack-o. You’re late. Again. Get the fuck up, man.”
“Whatimez…” I was totally lucid.
“Noon-thirty, you asshole. You were supposed to open at ten. Enough, already. Get. Your. Ass. Up.”
I groaned, swore, braced myself, and rolled up and out of bed. The throbbing vice on my frontal lobe intensified, and I took a moment with closed eyes to get a grip. This was not going to be my day.
But Grath was right—I needed to get into action. I’d been on a solid bender for…well, for a number of days, anyway. Long enough. Heart heavy with grief, I sent up a thought for my brother, Keith—whose birthday had recently passed—took a breath, and resolved to rejoin the living.
“Dude, seriously, you gotta go in. There’s some woman there waiting on you, with a baby. Kinda hard to tell for sure, but it does kind of look like you. I’d let you roll longer, but this…Jack, you gotta get up and deal.”
WTF?—I was still half-asleep, and full-on hung over. Woman and baby did not compute, but something clicked in my brain that sent my cells into action mo
de.
So I catapulted my sorry ass into a hot shower, which went pretty far to making me feel more human. By the time I got out, Grath was gone, but the guy had left me a lukewarm cup of dark roast. Not for nothing was he my favorite person alive.
I rooted around for clean clothes, which I was pretty sure was a lost cause, but I thought I’d give it a shot anyway.
Yeah, that didn’t work; it was definitely time to do laundry. I picked up a fallen tee, some jeans, socks, boots, pulled on my kutte, and rolled out.
By the time I made it to the shop, I was deeply regretting not having guzzled down a gallon of water and some painkillers the night before. Whoever invented sunshine should be shot. That fireball had no compassion.
Indoors at last, I was met by Trini, guardian of the front desk. She was a heavily-inked and pierced, five-foot-four, pink-haired, cat-eyed, militant organizer of the highest realm, and she provided snark at no extra cost. Basically, she was about the best thing that had ever happened to DeepInk, and we’d have been lost without her.
But on this day, I was cursing my luck that she wasn’t still out at lunch when I arrived.
“Hoo-boy. Look what we got today. Rating on the GM’s calendar! To what do we owe the honor?”
And so it begins.
“Shut it, Treens. And get me something for my head, would you?”
“Oh, is somebody suffering la cruda? Pobrecito! Yes, let me rush off to take care of your po’ widdoo head.” She shook her own at me. “Jerk. You deserve it. You back, now?”
Chin down, I peered at her over the tops of my sunglasses, which I tipped down but protectively kept on my nose. “Yeah, I’m back.”
She glared at me, then reached into a corner of her domain and pulled out a blessed bottle of ibuprofen. She tossed it to me as she headed to the back kitchen/staff room for what I hoped would be a bottle of water, giving me a shoulder bump on her way. Total gem.
I was looking over the schedule for the day—okay, I was procrastinating. I had no desire to meet with the mystery woman and her baby, if they were even still there.
When Trini came back with the water, she destroyed my hopes. “Heads up, boss. There’s a woman with a baby, looks like you, in your office. Been waiting there about an hour and a half, now. You been holding back on us, Jack? Deets, dude.”
I was careful. I was always careful. I could have been ten sheets to the wind, and I’d still use protection. No way could there be a kid out there with my genes. No way in hell. It was starting to piss me off.
“Name, Trini?”
“Didn’t get one. Just insisted on seeing you, I said you weren’t in yet, she said she knew your office was in the back and made her own way there. I don’t know this chick from nobody, but I am not getting in the middle of any lovers’ tiff. Your baby-mama, your problem.”
At that moment, the baby began to add in its two cents, as if on cue. It sounded like a catfight, but worse, since it came from the direction of my office. My space. This did not help my hangover. It was time to lose this woman and regain my peace.
“Yo, Jack-o, good, you’re here.” Grath poked his head out from behind the glass separating the artists’ stations from front reception. “That baby’s starting to cry and fuss again. You gotta get your ass back there, bruh. Babies are not good for business. Go deal, man.” He slapped my arm and retreated to his station.
This explained the coffee drop and home-visit intervention, then—light dawned.
I popped back a couple—okay, three—pills, took a long chug of water, and headed back. I’d make this quick. Whoever she was, she was not my problem. I’d already decided, and that was that.
The crying got louder as I got closer, but fantastically stopped just as I arrived at the door. I heard the woman heave a deep sigh, then strode in.
The first I saw of her was the back of her head, her long wavy blondies held up high in a ponytail, with a whole lot of them escaping around the edges. It looked soft and pretty, and kind of messy—which I loved, usually—but not this time.
My mind was already wracked to figure out who she was. I usually went for brunettes. The blondes I’d been with in the last year or two were few and far between. Still, that wasn’t really important; women changed their hair colors like it was a required ritual. But if she was claiming that I was her baby-daddy, then I’d have to have met her before. Ha!—understatement.
But seriously, from this angle, I got nothing.
She had, appropriately, seated herself in one of the two chairs facing my desk. The other was covered with her stuff. She’d come loaded down, her bags exploding with blankets and baby paraphernalia. Somehow, she had avoided the hell of the typical baby crap—that being all the Easter-egg-colored eyesores—and had opted for basic black, white, and red. Cool chick. I took note of the good taste, and filed it. Maybe this woman was rational. Maybe this would be quick. It gave me hope.
Best to make this fast. Still standing at the door, holding it open for her, I went for polite first. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but you got the wrong guy, lady. Time for you to go. Get the fuck out of my office.”
Chapter 2
Ellie
Tired and butt-sore, my arms heavy with little Peter, I was just breathing a sigh after getting my little fuss-bugger to latch on and relieve us both: him, of his hunger, and me of my capacity-packed mammaries.
I loved that I could breastfeed this guy, but it was not the easiest thing to do in public spaces. I was still learning how to adjust, and comfort was not always attainable without the huge nursing pillow, which was way too big and awkward to carry around outside. So I held him as best I could, with a light blanket draped from over my shoulder to shield the view, should Jack ever deign to show up.
Damn it, I knew I should have called first to see if he was here, but that wasn’t really an option, seeing as I was currently coasting without a phone. But once I had made the decision that today was the day, I had forced myself to go through with it. So I waited, uncomfortable as it may have been. I was finally doing this.
Truth: I wanted to do this. I wanted Peter to be known, to have more in his life than just me. To have a man to look up to. It was fair, and it was right. And Keith would have wanted it, too. I hadn’t known Keith very well, but that much I knew in my heart.
God, I hoped Jack was as good a man as Keith had made him out to be. I was really starting to have my doubts. The way the people in this shop had looked at me and Peter was not friendly-like. And I could feel the smirks all around, even though I had placed myself so I didn’t have to see them.
They, in turn, couldn’t see my discomfort, either. I hoped they saw only an awesome new mommy and strong woman. That was what I was attempting to put out anyway—strong spine, strong gaze, and totally in charge of all chaos that is baby.
The front area of the shop had been warmly lit with huge windows welcoming in the morning sunshine. On the right was a large glass cabinet-countertop, featuring assorted piercing rings and gauges and stuff you’d find in head shops the world around. To the left was a seating area with a black leather sofa, loveseat, and armchair set, and coffee and end tables topped with ink mags and huge, overstuffed, three-ring portfolio binders.
The walls were covered in tat art, too. It wasn’t a huge space, but it looked like the shop went deep. A window-topped partition wall divided the front from the workstations inside, to which a glass door served as entry. It was pretty much what one would expect of any decent tattoo parlor; not noticeably fancy, but also not a shack.
For his part, Peter had done an excellent job when we came in. He had been awake and alert—a bonus, from my perspective. His big baby blues were so much like his daddy’s that I thought for sure anyone who had known Keith would have automatically recognized his son. Both the woman behind the glass cabinet/counter and the big tattooed hulk of a man, who had been leaning on the counter chatting with her, had taken good long looks at my baby before sharing a surprised, silent communica
tion between themselves. I had thought this was a good sign.
And then they had both looked at me with a load of suspicion and…was that anger? Okaaay. Awesome.
“Can I help you?” The woman’s voice was hard, her words shooting at me staccato.
“I’m here to see Jack Edwards.”
“You don’t have an appointment.” This much I knew.
“No, I don’t. I was hoping he could give me just a few minutes. Is he in?”
“Actually, no, he’s not.” She shot a glare at the big guy. “But he should be.”
The guy shoved his chin out, flared his nostrils, and took in a deep breath. He’d been staring at Peter’s little face, but now looked at me with steel in his eyes.
