Jack of Spades: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (Spades MC Book 1)

by Rana Raynes

  “I'm Jay,” he says with another beaming smile when we exchange drink for money. “And you are?”

  “Kat,” I say.

  Again Mike frowns in my head. He hated that abbreviation. He called me Katharine. Classy, you know. Like Katharine Hepburn. But I never really got over the feeling of being scolded when someone uses my full first name. The fact Mike preferred to call me Katharine didn't help, on the contrary. Too often it sounded a little reproachful. Something else you can put on the long list of his merits.

  Jay reaches out to shake my hand over the bar. I'm still not used to these small town habits. I mean, even Grand Oaks isn't so small you could know everyone by name, and yet people behave as if we were all next-door neighbours in a village. It's quite charming in a way.

  Jay's handshake is firm. His fingers are strong, dry, and callused. He's got the hands of someone who earns his money with manual labour. Someone who knows how to use them, I think and a little wave of heat wells up inside me.

  My stomach gives another nervous flutter when our hands touch. My palms are a little damp, sweaty perhaps, but I can always blame it on washing glasses. He doesn't seem to mind. He looks at me while he has his fingers wrapped around my hand. There is something in his gaze that makes me blush. Maybe it's just because his eyes are so blue that they're so piercing but it feels as if he can see right through me.

  Does he know that I'm wondering how soft his lips would be on mine?

  He holds my hand in his for what seems like half an eternity and when he finally lets go, my knees are wobbly.

  Chapter 2

  Jay

  It's been a crazy two weeks and the hot new bartender at the Ace must be the first good thing that happens to me since the current streak of bad luck began with Cory's bike accident. Tough maybe it's a bit of a stretch to call what's going on bad luck and what happened to Cory an accident. All evidence points towards criminal intent.

  Our guess is that he was driven off the road by the fucking Devils, a rival motorcycle club that's involved in a lot of shady business. If Cory hadn't been found so quickly, he'd probably be dead. And even so he's still in a coma. The doctors can't say if he'll come round again. That's depressing as fuck. But it turned out that was only the first incident in a whole series of unfortunate events.

  A day later Rumbles was attacked with a knife while working the door at Johnny's strip club. He was lucky, it's not too serious. It could have been a lot worse. But still, we've got to assume it wasn't only someone spontaneously freaking out. It smells like a planned attack. The guy got away too, so we know jack shit about his motivation.

  Tensions had been mounting for pretty much a year now but these incidents made even the most pacifist members of our club realize we're at war. A war we neither wanted nor started but one we have to fight nonetheless. Accordingly the last fortnight flew by with preparations. Securing the club house, making sure everyone was on high alert, doubling the protection on all club-owned business. The danger keeps us on our toes.

  It were two busy two weeks at the garage too, commissions kept pouring in, so I couldn't just skip work but had to do the control runs with Leon in my spare time. Leon is our sergeant-at-arms and I don't think he slept at all since that thing with Cory. He's driving around from place to place, tirelessly, to check and double-check everything, make sure everyone feels safe or at least reassured.

  As vice president it's only logical for me to go with him. The prez himself is too much in the spotlight. He's got his hands full with keeping the cops at bay and the media off our backs. The last thing we need is more bad press. Plus, we really can't risk putting his life in danger. Not when people are ready to kill us if given the chance.

  The last couple of days have been quiet, maybe our de-escalation strategy works. I hope so because I'm fucking desperate for a break. Have a few drinks (not too many of course, I have to stay sharp), talk things through with the guys, then go home, take a hot shower and curl up in bed. Just close my eyes and don't think at all for a while.

  But I haven't been prepared for what awaits me at the Ace: She's the first thing I see when I enter the room. Long glossy dark brown hair pulled into a pony tail, sensual lips, warm brown eyes, a pretty face. I can't put my finger on the reason I find her so attractive but I do feel the pull, instantaneously. I know I want her, like I want a drink and a smoke and a good night's sleep. It's a longing that's vibrating in my bones. I haven't felt like that about a woman in quite some time. Perhaps not since I first met Crystal. And not for lack of opportunity. When you're a decent looking guy on a bike, hooking up with girls isn't much of a problem.

  Now this new bartender, she's a little shy, I can see that right away, how she looks at me. But she does look at me and that's a promising start. I watch her make my drink and she's definitely a pro. Tending bar isn't just a side-gig for her. Obviously a Jack and Coke is easy peasy but she's got this sort of efficiency that betrays she has done this a million times. It looks very casual but it's not. Every move is measured, economical. I can appreciate that.

  Most girls who start working at the Ace aren't in for the long haul. They think it's cool to tend bar when it's actually mostly hard, unglamourous work. So they stick around until they've found themselves a boyfriend, and then they're off to new adventures. Amber has been pretty much the only steady employee on the staff since Jen left for Vegas almost two years ago. I imagine she'd be thrilled about having a reliable colleague for once. It's important your co-workers have your back.

  If there's one thing we cherish at the MC it's loyalty.

  But of course I've got selfish reasons for wanting the new girl to stick around too. The vibe I got from her when I walked in intensifies when we shake hands. There's this slight electric shock when I touch her skin, followed by a tingling sensation in my stomach. It takes some effort not to lose my cool.

  In my mind's eye I see myself pulling her close, her body melting against mine, her eyes fluttering shut as her lips part and she's waiting for me to kiss her.

  Fuck.

  I force myself to let go of her hand. Too late perhaps, because she looks a bit perplexed. But maybe she just doesn't want to let go of me either. Her hand slides slowly, reluctantly from mine.

  I ask her the first thing that comes to my mind to get over this moment of awkwardness. “You're not from around here, are you?”

  “Just moved here month before last,” she says. “Needed a change of scenery.”

  Something flicks over her face. Grief. Regret. I can't tell what it is, but I see that she still hurts. Chances are good she ran away from her old life. She wouldn't be the first. A lot of folks pass through Grand Oaks on their exodus from the cities. It's just another stopover on their way to wherever. As someone who, as the member of an outlaw motorcycle club, dwells at the fringes of society I get to meet a good deal of them, they're kindred souls I guess. We're all wanderers, nomads, looking for something outside the boundaries of a normal lifestyle.

  At least for a little while.

  “I hope you like it here,” I say. “Grand Oaks can be quite charming.”

  She nods. “Yes, it's pretty nice.”

  I raise my glass. “To fresh starts and new friends.”

  She chinks her glass against mine. She's probably only drinking coke but I suppose it still counts. I watch her as she puts her lips to her glass and catch myself imagining how the glass must feel, being kissed by her. I must be losing my mind.

  Fortunately Amber interrupts us before I can do anything stupid.

  “Hey Jay,” she says, putting down her tray on the bar and leaning in to kiss me lightly on the cheek as she always does.

  We've been buddies for ages. She's a really good friend, a bit like a big sister. She's a couple of years older than me, and she's an excellent listener. There's no better place on earth than her bar when you're feeling down and lonely.

  “How are you?” she says promptly with that knowing look on her face.

  Of course she's
in the picture. She must have heard about the circumstances of Cory's accident and details of the attack on Rumbles. Some of us spent a lot more time here than usually over the past two weeks, even though others, like me, didn't show at all. It can't be hard to put two and two together and come to the conclusion that something big is going on.

  “Ah you know,” I say evasively, finally getting around to fumble a cigarette from the pack. “It's going to be fine.”

  She just frowns at me but gets the hint that I don't want to talk about it. Not now. Not in front of Kat anyway. She turns to her instead.

  “You've got the margaritas?”

  “Ooops.” Her eyes go wide. “Sorry. I totally forgot. Give me a second.”

  “It's my fault, I held her up,” I say while Kat quickly assembles the ingredients for her drinks. I was right about her being a pro. She mixes the margaritas like a machine, fast, effective. It's so meditative, I could watch her all night. But probably I shouldn't. She's got to work and it would be weird to lay siege to her like that.

  “See you later, ladies,” I say and give Kat another smile before I trot off towards the boys' table.

  The whole inner circle is there, Greg Campbell, our prez, Carlos Ramirez, secretary, Allen Lewis, treasurer. Leon of course, our sergeant-at-arms, and Tiny and Tank, our main muscle now that Rumbles is incapacitated. Hands, the prospect, is throwing darts for the entertainment of two girls and Danny is destroying a couple of guys at the billiard table.

  So far it could just be an ordinary Friday evening but there's a tension in the air that makes my hair stand on end. Leon nurses his drink, watching the walkie-talkie he placed on the table next to him, probably waiting for an update from outside where Vince and Curtis are standing watch.

  The atmosphere is subdued. Instead of the usual cheers I only get a couple of nods when I slump down on a chair. No one seems to be in celebrating mood. It's obvious we're just here to show face, demonstrate we aren't scared of a bunch of thugs. Grand Oaks is our town and we're prepared to defend it.

  The townspeople are either oblivious to what's going on behind the scenes or they don't care. Over the course of the evening the Ace is getting as crowded as on every other Friday and it's increasingly difficult to catch glimpses of the bar because people are blocking the view. From what I can see of Kat she seems more comfortable now. Her armour of aloofness has thawed and she smiles more. It makes her glow from within and I find myself enthralled.

  Every time I look at her I feel this tug of want in the pit of my stomach. Needless to say I don't leave after two drinks as I planned. The allure of my bed has completely vanished. At least as long as I don't imagine Kat in it. Which wouldn't be a good idea. I don't want to get ahead of myself. So I let Danny persuade me to join him in a game of pool.

  He's a bit of a con artist, our dear Dannyboy. He shouldn't do it on our own turf but every so often he can't resist the temptation to teach some cocky guy a lesson and part him from his cash. It turns out it's a good distraction to watch him beat another idiot into submission. Some of them are virtually asking for a good thrashing. You would think they'd be smarter than line up to get relieved of their money, but maybe the story of the one time they almost beat a tough biker guy at billiard outweighs the price they gotta pay for it. I never understand what makes them tick. I'm aiming for victory; I can't help it, that's what I am. Defeat is unfathomable to me. I'm used to getting what I want. And if I'm not good enough I try and try and try again.

  That's how I know I will have Kat eventually. Because the alternative is impossible. I've seen her look at me and I know I have a chance, so I'm gonna take it.

  Time flies by and only too soon we're approaching closing time. People leave, even our billiard opponents, all of them with their tail between their legs. Not so cocky anymore. It certainly doesn't help that their ladies seem rather reluctant to leave us and go with them. Especially the tall blonde with the nice tits looks like she's developed a crush on Danny and it's obvious Danny isn't opposed to the idea of spending more time with her either. He holds her back by the hand and whispers something in her ear and I can see how he pushes a piece of paper in her hand. I would bet ten grand it's his telephone number.

  Greg, Carlos and Allen have already left a while ago, taking most of the boys with them. I suppose they're going to continue the party at the club house which not only provides better protection but also more privacy. Even though they're pretty cool with most of our shenanigans here at the bar, they still wouldn't be too keen on having half-naked girls dancing around. We're pretty easy-going at the club. Sometimes you just have to scratch an itch and can't wait to get back home. It's not out of the usual that people fuck in plain sight. But that's one of the perks of the life, doing what you like without caring about silly rules and conventions.

  It also means we tend to attract only a certain type of girl. Which is fine. I like girls who know they're hot and don't worry about getting a rep for having a bit of fun. It's only natural to enjoy yourself and it would be a shame to keep all that fine pussy behind lock and key just for the sake of some outdated idea of chastity.

  But being who I am, I'm also intrigued with what's hard to get. I love a bit of a challenge. Not that I can't accept no for an answer. If a woman doesn't want me I won't press the issue. It's just... Most of the time I prefer a bit of a prelude to a girl just wrapping her arms around my neck and pushing her tongue into my mouth as if she wants to choke me. It wouldn't be a reason to complain, don't get me wrong, but it's still nice to enjoy the thrill of anticipation for a while.

  Like this I can wonder how a woman will be in bed – will she strip off her aloofness with her clothes? Will she be shy or unconcerned about her nudity? Will she prefer the lights on or off. Will she like it rough or gentle?

  I'm pretty much up for anything. I can be a good boy, I can be naughty, I can be dominant, I can be reverent. Whatever the situation requires. Though there sure are some things I would love to do to her, like bury my hand in her long glossy hair and kiss her until she's breathless and her lips are red and swollen and she can't keep her hands off me anymore. There's nothing hotter than a woman who loses all reserve and shows you how much she wants you.

  The only question is: How do I get there?

  I light another cigarette as I put aside the cue and sit down at our table to watch Kat polishing glasses while Amber is clearing the tables and wiping them down before putting up the chairs. Leon and Danny have stayed behind and are arguing what to do with the rest of the evening, whether to join the others at the clubhouse or to pay a visit to Johnny's. We won't leave until the Ace of Spades has closed its doors and the ladies are safe in their cars. We don't want them to get attacked by some creep lurking about the parking lot, waiting for them to close up. That's not just general nicety tough. Linda, my aunt, Greg Campbell's wife, owns the joint which makes the Ace technically club business (which isn't hard to guess, given the name) and we watch out for our own.

  The upside of this friendly turn is getting another couple of free drinks and a bit of alone time with the girls. Leon is trying to persuade Amber to warm over an old thing they had but she doesn't seem too tempted.

  “Don't be like that, baby,” he complains when she's shoving him out of the way, so she can clean another table. “I promise, I'll make it worth your while.”

  He's following her around like a little puppy dog, which is funny because Leon is a man in his forties and tough as fucking nails. You can see Amber is rather amused than angry about it.

  Danny has already started texting with the billiard chick which leaves me ample time to observe Kat's movements behind the bar. It looks like a dance how she puts away the glasses, runs a rag over the dark polished wood and shiny chrome. Sometimes, when she seems to have forgotten that I'm watching, she moves her hips to the beat of the music. Then she glances up and our eyes meet and it feels like a punch to the gut. Every single time. It's only been one evening and I'm already high on desire for her.

>   In my mind's eye I see myself lead her to the storage room in the back, press her against the wall and kiss her senseless, keep kissing her until we're gasping for breath. I imagine how she would feel like, soft and warm against me, how I would tug at her clothes, impatient to touch her.

  A wave of desire is surging through me, heady and hot; it's pulsing through my veins with every beat of my heart, want want want, in a steady, persistent rhythm.

  I'll have to pull myself together not to let her notice what I'm thinking.

  I take another drag from my cigarette and lean back in my chair.

  Chapter 3

  Kat

  Jay is watching me. I can feel his eyes like hands on my skin. My whole body is buzzing. If it was any other guy staring at me, it might be creepy but with him it's just delightful. I want him to watch me. I enjoy his attention.

  He is sprawled on his chair as though it's a throne, one hand lazily curled around his glass, the other holding a cigarette. He lifts it to his lips, takes a drag. I stare at his mouth as the smoke curls from it in languid ribbons. I'm getting obsessed with that mouth. I can't think of anything but how it would feel against mine, his breath hot on my lips. He would taste of smoke and booze and danger.

  I probably shouldn't fantasize about it. Even if I could justify an exception from the rule never to hook up with a customer, it would be too early on the job. It's not even a week that I started working here, it's the very first weekend. If I take him home with me tonight people might get the wrong impression of what kind of girl I am.

  I might not be the new Martha Stewart Mike wanted me to be but I'm not that easy either. I'm not someone who takes a guy home on a whim. And I've seen too many times how it's an especially bad idea to get involved with a patron. The mental image of a man making a scene at their love interest's workplace or sitting at the bar all evening, mooning over them, is pretty off-putting.