Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

  Jax’s face is lit up like he’s having the time of his life. The scarred man still sits silently at the table, fingers steepled. If anything, he looks bored: as though he’s being forced to sit through a particularly uninteresting board meeting. Finally, my eyes settle on the four men at the back of the room – Ryan’s bodyguards – and they soon prove the most interesting of all. “Bang,” Jax growls – faking a trigger pull – right as I’m staring at the closest guard. The man flinches as the imaginary bullet tears through his skull.

  “You know what I learned crawling through the sand and surf, day after day, Ryan? That’s what we did, you know: after the weaker recruits washed out. You remember when that happened, don’t you Ryan? Washing out?”

  Jackson swivels, and aims his pistol at the second bodyguard. I turn my attention toward him. He’s holding his weapon with both hands – and already quivering. I don’t know where Ryan found these guys, but they are hardly the secret service: they barely make a rent-a-cop grade.

  “Bang,” he says in a fake half whisper. The man closes his eyes without even attempting to conceal his relief.

  “I’ll tell you, Ryan,” Jax says, emphasizing the smoldering former CIA operative’s name, “how to perform the common, uncommonly well.” Jax pauses, aims his pistol, and fires a third imaginary round: “Bang.”

  “Get to your point, Jackson,” Ryan half-spits, half-chokes out. He’s puce red now with anger, his fists clenched; his eyes narrow and beady.

  “Any idiot can fire a gun, Ryan. It’s hit or miss – and most people miss. I don’t.”

  “You’re telling me you can kill four of my men before they get a single shot off?” Ryan splutters. “I call bullshit.”

  Jackson blinks, rolls his neck, and drops his shoulders in a slow, exaggerated shrug. “Maybe not,” he agrees. “But I can sure as hell put them down. I’m not talking to the chest and one in the head. Not to start with, anyway. One will do fine. And trust me, Ryan,” he says, raising his voice until I realize that it’s not Ryan he’s really speaking to – but the crooked spy’s bodyguards. “I can fire four shots faster than you can blink.”

  There’s a strange, unnatural stillness in the room. It’s like everyone is holding their breath, held spellbound by Jax’s performance. He turns, aims, strokes the trigger and whispers: “bang.”

  His target lets out a deep sigh, dropping his weapon and letting his shoulders round forward as though he really has suffered a grievous wound, rather than just a fright.

  The silent Mexican slams his palm down on the poker table. Stacks of chips topple to either side, like towers of Jenga game pieces tumbling down in an earthquake.

  “Enough!” He barks, in accented but otherwise perfect English. “You have made your point, Mr. Jackson. Now if you would be so kind as to inform me what exactly it is that you want?”

  At the sound of the man’s voice, all four bodyguards straighten up. Even Jackson does, though he hides it better. With my lover, the movement is more about respect than fear. It’s as though Jax recognizes a predator in the scarred man; a man worth listening to.

  Only one person falls forward, letting the air seep out of his lungs. Ryan. His body language tells me everything I need to know about who is really in charge.

  “Are you a man of honor, Mr. Suarez?” Jax asks, training his weapon on Ryan’s skull, but looking at the tan man with the milky white scar. “I read your file. I want to hear it from you.”

  The cartel boss – that’s who I’m figuring Suarez is, at least – strokes his scar. It looks like an automatic habit: but whether it’s an affectation, or a reaction to stress, I couldn’t say. “You know who I am then, Mr. Kane?”

  “The second I walked into this room,” Jax nods. “You’re a brave man to walk around in broad daylight, Ricardo: a very brave man. The CIA,” he continues, looking side-eyed at Ryan with disgust, “would have us believe that you are holed up somewhere north of Medellin…”

  “Nasty people they are; the CIA,” Suarez growls, looking at Carr and wrinkling his nose. “But they have their uses. What about you, Mr. Kane? My son is sitting in a maximum security jail because of you. Do you expect me to shake your hand?”

  My legs almost give way at this revelation. Suddenly everything starts to swing into place – how Jax’s troubles and mine dovetailed into this perfect, chaotic storm of danger and intrigue.

  Jax doesn’t skip a beat. While I’m rocked back on my heels, processing this new revelation, he’s already firing back a sharp-witted retort. “Shake it: kiss it; flip me the bird. I don’t care. I’ll ask you again, Suarez. Are you a man of honor?”

  “I am,” Suarez agrees, nodding his head slowly. “But are you? I am not so sure.”

  I feel like I’m sitting in the front row of a Shakespearean play: Julius Caesar, or The Merchant of Venice. I understand about half of what’s going on. It’s like I’m stranded on an iceberg, unable to see 90% of what’s going on under the surface. I wish Jax had shared some of his plan with me, but instead I’m in a rowboat without a paddle trying to go upstream.

  So instead of trying to figure out what’s going on, I start to read the people in the room. It’s a skill I’ve honed over the past few months. Simply put, I needed to learn in order to survive. The bodyguards are the easiest to read. They are simply waiting for orders.

  But Ryan’s face tells a story all of its own. It’s pinched and shifty. He’s swaying from foot to foot, eyes darting around the room. He looks like he’s searching for a way out.

  “Jax,” I say – my lips moving before I realize I’ve committed myself to action. My voice is high – pinched, and carries a tone of warning.

  “I’m here, baby,” Jax replies. For the briefest fraction of a second, my lover’s eyes dart back to the man who started this all. The man who I can’t help but think is about to do something that will condemn every one of us. Just like before, Jackson pitches his voice in a tone of warning as well. “And I’m watching.”

  “I’m waiting, Mr. Kane,” Suarez says, his voice hard, “for your proposal.”

  “Do you trust Ryan, here?” Jax asks, jerking his pistol in the CIA man’s direction.

  That’s Ryan’s final straw. He lurches forward, his narrow face elfin and pale with worry. “End this, Ricardo,” he says harshly, flecks of spittle glistening in the air as they fly out of his mouth. “Put a bullet in his skull before he whispers his poison into all of our ears.”

  For the second time this evening, Suarez slams his palm against the table. The sharp sound echoes around the room like a gunshot.

  “Silence!” He growls, his voice hard with command. If I were to close my eyes I could easily picture him as a medieval king in all his robes and finery. “Know your place, Carr,” he hisses. “I’ll hear the man out.”

  Ryan deflates like a badly tied-off balloon. I’m sure that I would find it funny, if I didn’t understand exactly how much danger both Ryan and I are in. For the thousandth time, I wish I knew Jax’s end game.

  God, I hope he has one.

  “I’m just a grunt, Suarez,” Jackson says with a smile. Not for the first time, his comforting, low tones throw out a lifeline for me to cling onto. “a poor, dumb grunt. Sure, I led the mission that captured your son. I dragged him out of the jungle and threw him into the back of a C-130 Hercules. But that was it. That night was the first I learned his name; and, for a very long time, that night was the last time I thought of him.”

  Suarez leans forward, thunder clouds passing across his face, a snarl parting his lips from his teeth. “Is this supposed to comfort me, Kane,” he growls, dropping the pleasantries. “Or are you taunting me? Reminding me that my son’s rotting away in a federal prison – the one place I can’t help him.”

  I can’t help but hope that Jax knows what he’s doing. Suddenly I can see Suarez’s true self – a cold, remorseless killer. Of course, I knew he had to be. After all, a man can’t order murders, and coordinate the international drugs trade – with all the h
orrors that involves – without an evil lurking inside. And the part of me that sees this is sickened that Jax is even considering doing a deal with the man. Now that I know who Suarez is, I can’t help but think that someone should stick him behind bars and throw away the key.

  “Not at all, jefe,” Jackson says, without a shred of apology in his voice. “I’m a simple man: a plain man. I mean what I say; and I say what I mean. Like I said, I’m just a grunt –.”

  “I think you’re no such thing,” Suarez growls, meeting Jax’s eye.

  “A simple man,” Jax repeats himself firmly. “I’m just a soldier. I don’t write my orders, I just carry them out. But,” he smiles mercilessly, the human not reaching his eyes. “There is one man who did …”

  Movement explodes in the corner of my vision. I spin and watch, open-mouthed, as Ryan lurches backwards and clumsily – like a man suddenly operating in double gravity – tries to snatch the pistol from the nearest bodyguard’s hand.

  “I’ll kill you, Jackson,” Ryan spits, his voice high with fear and fury. “You don’t know what’s going to happen to you, you and that girl of yours when I –.”

  The scarred man – Suarez, rises to his feet. “Grab him,” he growls.

  A tornado sweeps across his face. If I thought I’d seen anger before, now I know I only saw a pale imitation. This is pure emotion: unrestrained rage; a force of nature. I realize that for a man like Suarez, Ryan’s betrayal must have been the one inviolable, unbreachable red line. The cartel expects loyalty to the end. And if that loyalty fails, then it demands only one punishment: death.

  Ryan elbows the bodyguard in the face and grabs his weapon. He spins, terrified, lurching for a target, until the gun is trained on me.

  That’s when a weapon barks.

  The smell of cordite fills the room.

  The harsh shockwave batters my eardrums.

  And a pistol falls from Ryan’s clutches, thumping heavily against the carpet. He looks up at Jackson, shock clouding his eyes. “You shot me,” he whispers, blinking fast and furious. “I didn’t think –.”

  Ryan falls to his knees.

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  A patch of red spreads out on Ryan’s chest. It grows like an oil spill – dark and wet against the inky blackness of the traitor’s tux, then harsh and red against his white shirt. He collapses forward. I think the light dies in his eyes long before he topples over: dead.

  “Bang,” Jackson growls.

  He’s not looking at the Mexican now. He stares at each one of the scarred man’s bodyguards in turn, asserting his dominance like a dog in the park. “Which one of you wants to try me next?”

  Each one backs away, lowering his weapon, and hiding his eyes from both my lover and their boss.

  “Enough,” Suarez enunciates, the sound ripping out of his throat as his teeth grind together. He looks behind him and casts a dismissive, disgusted look at the row of hulking bodyguards. “Enough of this: what do you want, Mr. Kane? I see my men haven’t the stomach to take you on.”

  “Peace,” Jax says, lowering his weapon, “and to be left alone. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You got your blood. The debt is avenged. Now turn the other cheek. Or…” Jax tails away.

  “Or you’ll come for me next,” Suarez says with a smile, shaking his head as though impressed by the sheer balls swinging between Jax’s legs. “You’re cold, Kane. I’ll give you that much.”

  “And?” Jax says, his weapon pointed at the floor, but his cold stare making his intentions very clear.

  “And I’ll give you what you want. I won’t come after you. Consider the matter closed.”

  Jax doesn’t say another word. He turns, grabs my hand, and doesn’t look back. He leans in to me until his breath tickles my earlobe. “Come on, lover,” he whispers. “Let’s go home.”

  I don’t know where home is anymore. I don’t care. I now know, as long as Jax is by my side, I’ve found my home.

  Epilogue – Alex

  “God, you look…” Jax says as his voice gets trapped in his throat; “Perfect.”

  I bite my lip, wiping my hands nervously on a light, tight pair of jeans. “You sure I’m not underdressed? They’ve been so kind, inviting us over. I don’t want to –.”

  Jax tips his head back and laughs. For the last couple of days, almost a week now, since the showdown at the Landmark Hotel, he’s been so relaxed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Even the first time we dated, about five years ago, he was always on edge: stressed out; just waiting for his next set of deployment orders. Jax never knew whether he would be by my side in another week’s time, and I could tell that as much as he loved serving his country, he hated what it cost him.

  Now, it feels different. Now, it feels perfect. Now, he’s with me, forever and always: no one’s taking him away.

  “Are you kidding?” Jax chuckles, wiping away an imaginary tear of laughter. “When you meet Zach, you’ll understand. He’s a beer and burger kind of guy. I bet his wife’s the same. Trust me, you’re fine.”

  I meet Jax’s gaze. He’s not lying when he says he likes the way I look. I can tell. He can’t keep his eyes off of me. Hell, we’ve barely left our suite at the Bellagio for a week; barely left the bed all day. And still – still – he’s got his eyes glued to my body.

  “Eyes front, sailor,” I smile, toying with him. I look up at Zach and Mary’s perfect little suburban house, just on the outskirts of Las Vegas. Instead of a front lawn, they’ve got a cute little rock garden – complete with Oriental statues and a bubbling, babbling brook. I guess it’s probably because of Nevada’s water restrictions, but I like it. It’s neat and tidy and organized. I guess if Zach is an old Navy buddy, he’s probably a lot like Jax. Every time my man climbed out of bed in the last week, he found something to tidy…

  Jax grimaces. “If I have to,” he mutters, tearing his eyes away from my chest.

  “Come on,” I say, turning and setting a determined pace up the path to Zach’s front door. “We’ll be late.”

  Jax grabs my hand. “Not so fast,” he rasps, his breath catching in his throat. He’s acting – I don’t know – strange: almost as though he’s waiting for something; orders; or intelligence. Even through the heat of the desert evening, his touch sears my skin.

  “What is it?” I ask, wrinkling my brow.

  Jax licks his lips. He looks like he’s about to charge a row of enemy guns, not go to his oldest friend’s house for an impromptu dinner. “I –, I need to ask you something.”

  My stomach does a backflip. I’ve pictured this moment so many times over the years that now that it’s here – now that it might be here – I almost can’t believe it. I don’t want to think it’s what I think it is, just in case I jinx it.

  Jax pulls something out of his pocket. It glints in the setting sun, but it’s not a ring.

  My heart skips a beat. No, that’s not right. It feels like something’s wrenched inside of me. I shouldn’t have believed, I shouldn’t have hoped. It’s too fast, too soon.

  “Do you remember in the desert,” he asks me, his voice rough and hoarse. “When I tossed you that bullet?” I close my eyes and I picture it flying through the air, light glittering off its polished surface. I nod.

  “Do you have it?” Jax asks.

  I pat my pockets automatically – even though I know without asking that I don’t. “No,” I whisper. I don’t know what’s going on. It can’t be the proposal that I’d hoped for – even if that hope was misplaced – but it feels important.

  Jax grins.

  “I didn’t think so,” he whispers. He’s still holding my hand when he sinks to one knee. That’s when I realize that this is serious – it’s happening. He stares up at me, his blonde hair shining like a torch on his head, eyes stealing the heat from my body. I can’t talk. My mouth is dry, and I’m rooted to the spot. “Because,” he crows, holding something up between us, “I have it right here.”

  He opens his free hand,
and something falls out. It’s a bullet – the bullet. It’s been drilled right through and set on a golden chain.

  “Do you like it?” He asks, searching my face for any kind of response.

  “Jax,” I say, finally getting my tongue to work. “Are you –, is this?”

  “Proposing to you?” He answers, rising to his feet and pulling my body against his. “Yes, yes, it is. Will you marry me, Alex Hunter?”

  I don’t know what to say. So I decide to go with the first thing that comes to my head.

  “Only you, Jackson Kane, would propose to a girl with a freaking bullet…” I shake my head. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

  Jax chews his lip. “So… Is that a yes?”

  I nod my head emphatically. I can’t stop. Up and down, up and down I go. It’s like my neck’s been replaced by a jackhammer. My mouth splits wide with a smile.

  “Yes!” I grin. “A million times, yes!”

  Jax pulls me in to his body. He presses his mouth against mine, his tongue gliding against my lower lip. His left hand grips my lower back; his right traces a line the whole way up my spine and loops the necklace around my neck. The kiss steals the foundations from underneath me. If it wasn’t for Jax’s support, I know that my legs would give way.

  And I’m so happy with that; because I know, as long as I live, Jax will be there, holding me up.

  Want more of Holly Hart?

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  A Fake Wife

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