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

by Rana Raynes

  Under the circumstances it's almost a lucky coincidence the two Nazis are still lurking behind the shelf as we walk past them. Nothing's more of a turn-off than Nazis. This time I also don't have to worry about Kat noticing them. I'm sure she is sufficiently distracted with planning dinner and stealing glances at me. I give her a warm smile every time she looks at me, but I don't let the uninvited visitors out of my sight. As soon as she returns her attention to her shopping, I'm staring back at them.

  The fact I can use them as an anti-aphrodisiac doesn't make me one bit happier about their presence. They're entirely unremarkable. If it hadn't been about their patches and their stares, I would probably not even have noticed them, so I can only conclude they're not aiming for inconspicuousness but flaunting their colours. But why? What's their deal? It's still our town, they have no business here.

  With all the things that have been going on lately their presence gives me a bad feeling. I should talk to Greg about this. Just to make sure we're not fighting this war on more fronts than we're aware of. Perhaps it's not just the Devils after all.

  “Are you coming?” Kat asks, jolting me out of my deliberations.

  “Sure.” I say and make an effort to disguise the source of my distraction by pushing the shopping cart extra energetically towards the cash registers.

  Chapter 7

  Kat

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  I'm cutting onions when Aunt Mabel joins me in the kitchen. Usually I love company when I'm cooking but I'm not sure this conversation is going to go into a good direction. The best tactic might be to play clueless.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, pouring her a glass of wine.

  “Inviting that man for dinner.” She says man like she would say slug. I wonder if I missed something about her, like a general hate of men for example. I've only really gotten to know her over the last two months so I'm not an expert on her opinions. But perhaps now is not the best time to find out. I decide not to press the matter.

  “I just wanted to say thank you,” I say as I slice another onion in half and put the halves on the chopping board.

  But Mabel isn't as easily derailed. “And simply saying that wouldn't have been enough? It's after all the fault of his gang that your car was damaged in the first place.”

  “It's not a gang, it's a motorcycle club. And it would be a stretch to say it's their fault. It wasn't them who slashed my tires.”

  “Katharine, please.” She's got this grandma tone down as if she raised me.

  I raise my hands in defeat. “I'm not saying there is no connection but they are taking care of the damage and they won't charge a dime for it.”

  But that's not enough for Mabel. “That's the least you could expect them to do,” she scoffs.

  “Driving me to the supermarket and doing my shopping with me was more than I could have expected though, don't you think? That wasn't just common courtesy...”

  Mabel gives a sigh.

  “You do like him, don't you?” She seems a little mollified by the thought, because how could she be impatient with me for having a crush?

  I sweep up the onion peels and put them in the trash to gain some time.

  “I suppose I do,” I admit without looking at her. I can feel her eyes resting on me questioningly.

  “I know I shouldn't. It's not as if he's the kind of guy I always waited for. I don't even think we'd make a good match but... he has something. Something that draws me towards him. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe I just have to get over that feeling by realizing he isn't so special.”

  She squints at me. I can see she doesn't believe my reluctance.

  “Maybe,” she echoes.

  “I don't think it's something serious, you know. Start dating again is only a logical step to take after a break up. It doesn't mean it's more than a date.”

  I turn on the stove and put the pot on the flame. Mabel hands me the olive oil. I pour a generous helping into the pot.

  “You really don't have to worry,” I tell her before I add the onions. The sizzling noise they make in the hot oil interrupts the conversation for a moment and afterwards I manage to change the subject.

  I really hope she won't be confrontational over dinner. On a second thought I'm confident she won't be. Being impolite would go against the rules of hospitality and usually Aunt Mabel takes such things very seriously. I don't know too many things about her, but that I do know. And even if she's going to make an exception to express her dislike for potentially criminal bikers, it's too late to do anything about it anyway.

  When the doorbell rings almost two hours later I've forgotten all about her inquisitive questions, I'm too preoccupied with being nervous about Jay himself to worry about Mabel.

  I take a last look in the mirror before I open the door. I look nice, I decide. Not too chic, not too casual. Light make-up. An understated dress. Now that I'm done cooking I can take out my hair tie. I slip it off and shake my hair loose. It falls in long waves over my shoulders. Perfect.

  I take one last deep breath and open the door.

  Jay looks amazing. He didn't exactly don a suit but he cleaned up nicely. He's freshly shaved, hair combed back, and most important of all, he left his kutte at home and changed his jeans against a pair of dark pants. Without his biker uniform, the rugged edges smoothed over, he almost passes as a civilian. Just a handsome young man going on a date.

  To perfect the favourable impression he's carrying two bouquets of flowers and a large box. I'm nearly sorry I didn't send Aunt Mabel to open the door.

  “Come in,” I say, stepping aside to let him in.

  “I would have brought wine but since you already took care of that-” He hands me one of the bouquets, a lovely arrangement of seasonal flowers, then leans in to kiss me on the cheek. His now free hand touches me at the waist, only casually, but nonetheless my silly heart starts racing again.

  “Dinner's almost ready,” I say. “It's through here.”

  The house is pretty small but at the time it was built people apparently thought a dining room was indispensable, so there's a cosy little niche set apart from the living room, connected to the kitchen by a service hatch.

  I have Jay light the candles and pour the wine while I go get the food.

  Jay does his best to leave a favourable impression with Aunt Mabel. He not only brought her flowers of her own but also some very expensive looking chocolates, and I have to admit that I do appreciate his attempt to bribe her. It's essentially how your date shows how much they care about you – by getting your loved ones on their side. Not everyone bothers to try. Thanks to my great taste in men I have some experience in the matter and Jay is a refreshing exception from the rule.

  But Aunt Mabel is still suspicious. It's not surprising that flowers and chocolates don't make her forget the fact Jay is member of a biker gang as she calls it. In hindsight today may have been a poor choice for introducing Jay to her. The incident at the Ace is still fresh, and today's reporting of the local TV station has been all but flattering for the club.

  Despite the inauspicious conditions Jay does a pretty good job at getting on Aunt Mabel's good side. He turns up his charm to advanced sunshine level, not too much, overdoing it would rouse suspicion about the genuineness of his intentions, but enough to thaw Aunt Mabel's disapproval a little. I think it's sweet that he pays her almost as much attention as he pays me.

  He also doesn't seem to mind Mabel's more inquisitive questions.

  “And what do you do for a living, if you don't mind me asking?” she says when everyone has settled down and got a steaming plate of pasta in front of them.

  “I work as a mechanic at the garage on Woodward, east of Main Street. Campbell's. It's a family business. It used to be a joint venture of my father and my uncle Greg. My mom holds my dad's share since he passed away.”

  “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” Aunt Mabel says, putting down her fork thoughtfully. She looks as if she truly means it. Maybe the
re's still hope for her to be convinced Jay is a nice guy.

  “It was a long time ago.” Jay smiles. “But thank you.”

  There's a short pause, then Aunt Mabel says: “I heard something on the news today, about ownership of the bar Kat works at. They said it belonged to a Linda Campbell, wife of the president of your motorcycle club.”

  “Yes, she's my aunt.”

  I look at him, surprised. This information is new to me. I didn't know Linda was his aunt. “Really?” I ask. “I never knew.” I do wonder if this complicates our relationship. It doesn't make him exactly my boss but he's not a mere bystander anymore either.

  I've met Linda of course. Only briefly during the job interview. She is a gorgeous tall brunette, maybe in her late forties or early fifties, with a cute transatlantic accent. She struck me as the kind of entrepreneur who has a tight schedule and little patience for people who waste her time. Amber essentially runs the bar for her, at least everything that has to do with service, while Linda takes care of the organizational tasks involving money – placing orders, waiting for deliveries, keeping the books and writing the pay checks. “We probably won't see much of each other,” Linda said after she told me I was hired. “But don't hesitate to come to me if there's anything on your mind, okay?”

  She gave me a warm smile and that was that. I did like her but I also couldn't help a bit of relief in the mix of emotions that I did not have to work under her direct supervision. I would expect her to be a pretty tough boss. Now that I'm connecting the dots I can see how she makes a perfect wife for Greg Campell. He is also very charismatic, together they're the perfect biker power couple. Linda told me she had other business to take care of, so she might be doing the paper work for the garage as well.

  Assuming she's involved in all of this, not just on a personal but also on a business level, it's hardly surprising the Ace has a become a target in this conflict the MC is apparently involved in. It's a clever move of their enemies to attack club-owned property which is also a public place. It highlights how the club's business affects all of Grand Oaks, not just the bikers themselves. Even I have to admit that the longer I think about it the shadier all of this sounds.

  But of course I won't say anything in Aunt Mabel's presence. The last thing I want to do is give her fuel for her aversion. It looks like she's doing a fine job herself though.

  “Is it normal that business enterprises associated with your motorcycle club are getting burned down,” she asks casually between two forks of pasta.

  For a second the smile freezes on Jay's face but the moment passes so quickly, it's hardly more than a glitch in a video. I blink and his expression is calm and composed again.

  “Of course it's not normal,” he says. “But people tend to make those assumptions about us. Some think we're a threat that needs to be kept in check, and a few of those people aren't picky about the means to achieve that goal. We're not proud of our rep. We're no criminal organization either, but we won't just roll over for people who feel we have no right to exist either.”

  “So you fight back?” Aunt Mabel asks.

  “We stand our ground.”

  “From what the local TV station reported today that does seem like an understatement. They said your MC has been implied in several shootings over the last year.”

  A hint of a frown flicks over Jay's face. “You shouldn't believe what the media are saying about us. They like to make us sound like the Mafia. You know how they always make up stories that sell better than the truth.”

  I see how Aunt Mabel wants to ask what is probably another interrogation question, so I cut her short.

  “Did you grow up here in Grand Oaks, Jay?” I ask and I can see another sentiment ghost over his face that nearly looks like relief.

  The evening goes a bit smoother after that. We talk about harmless things, nice things, Aunt Mabel's art, motorcycles, the beauty of nature around Grand Oaks, woods and lakes and pretty places, I've yet to see.

  “I can take you there on occasion, if you want,” Jay offers just as he finishes his dessert. “Show you my favourite spots.”

  “That would be lovely,” I say with what must be a furious blush. His eyes are resting on me, curious, and my skin grows even hotter under his gaze. The room seems terribly stuffy of a sudden. Perhaps I've had too much wine. I refilled my glass several times already while Jay hardly touched his. Because he had to drive later, he explained and I could see Aunt Mabel check another point on her list. Clever boy. It's great that he's so responsible, at the moment I still would have preferred if he was on my level, alcohol-wise. And who said anything about him leaving?

  With every glass of wine my plans for the rest of the evening are getting more adventurous. Aunt Mabel must have picked up on my increasing desire to be alone with Jay because we're barely through with dessert when she excuses herself, not without signalizing a sense of general approval. Looks like Jay's campaign was successful after all.

  As soon as she's left the room, I summon all my courage and take Jay's hand.

  “Let's go out on the porch,” I say, getting to my feet and reaching for my wine glass with my free hand.

  Jay lets me drag him outside without resistance. When I stop he takes that extra step that brings him so close behind me I can feel the heat radiate off his body. He wraps his arms around me and we stand in silent for a moment, staring out into the dark night. The blue and greens, reds and yellows of the old string lights lend the porch a nostalgic air. Probably nothing has been changed here since the early eighties. It is magical.

  Goosebumps spring up on my skin as he leans closer, so close his lips almost touch my neck. I can feel his breath, warm and damp, and then he brushes his mouth over my neck and shoulder, only briefly but it's enough to prompt a warm wave of desire well up inside me.

  “Would you like to dance?” he whispers.

  “Absolutely.”

  He props up his phone on the table next to the old canopy swing and puts on some music, soft, romantic. I feel like I'm in an old movie. I've never been with a man who would have done something like that, even thought of it. And of all the guys I went out with over the years, Jay is really the last one I expected to have a romantic streak. How deceiving appearances can be sometimes...

  I put down my wine glass next to the phone and turn around to him.

  It's like a dream when he takes my hand and pulls me towards him, his arm around me, and then we start to dance. It's so sensual, the sway of our bodies with the rhythm, I'm getting lost in it quickly, it's intoxicating that he's so close, he makes me dizzy, and then we're kissing.

  It's a kiss like the dance, soft and sweet and slow, and it seems to go on forever. And that's only right because it seems we have all the time in the world. There's no reason to hurry. I relish in every second of it and so does Jay. He pulls me closer, until we're pressed together in a most tender embrace. It's wonderful.

  I could have stayed like this forever but reality interrupts our dreamy state. The music stops and is replaced with a slightly angry ringing of the phone.

  Jay curses quietly as he lets go of me to silence the noise, then more loudly when he sees who's calling.

  “Sorry, babe, I've got to take this.”

  I just nod, slightly dazed. I still feel like in a trance when I retreat to the swing to give him a little privacy. I let myself fall on the cushions and reach for my wine glass while I watch Jay pacing up and down, the phone pressed to his ear. It takes longer than anticipated.

  At first he only listens, then he tries to explain that he's unavailable but the person on the other end of the line doesn't seem to give in. Apparently they think he is needed elsewhere. It's strange to see Jay's demeanour change so quickly from romantic to matter-of-fact. It's as if I'm not looking at the same person. There's no softness in his eyes now, his features appear harder, the setting of his jaw determined. His lips that kissed me so gently only moments before have become a thin line of displeasure.

  At some poi
nt during the conversation he gets a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, takes one out, then reconsiders and offers me the packet too. I shake my head. I can't tear my eyes away from the way he lights his cigarette, how he takes the first drag, how he smooths back his hair in obvious exasperation at what he hears.

  It's funny but over the course of the day I almost forgot the man I met the evening before, the rough biker guy with the air of danger around him. Someone who would shove you up against a wall and kiss you hard and get you all hot and bothered. I bite my bottom lip as I stare at him, imagining what I'm going to do with him the moment he gets off the phone.

  But unfortunately that's not what happens. When he puts down the phone the frown disappears from his features but the smile he gives me is tired and apologetic.

  “Something's come up, I've got to go,” he says, leaning down to me to press another soft kiss onto my lips.

  “I'm so sorry,” he whispers. He does look like he means it but I'm still disappointed.

  “It's okay,” I say, somewhat lamely, fiddling with one of the cushions. I should have taken the cigarette after all, then my hands wouldn't feel so useless now.

  “Maybe we can do this again sometime?”

  He must have realized how evasive he sounds because he adds: “Soon I mean. Sometime soon?”

  “Yeah sure,” I say. Why does this suddenly feel like a rejection? As if someone pushed me from cloud nine, and it's a long drop to the bottom.

  “When would be a good time for you?” Jay asks, at least taking the time to sit down next to me on the swing.

  “I don't know, I haven't talked to Amber yet about how I'm supposed to work next week. We never really planned further than the first five days.”

  We had agreed on a probation period to see if I was up to the job and if we got along but it was clear pretty much from the start that Amber was happy with my work and that we clicked, not just as co-workers but also on a personal level. Somehow we forgot to talk specifics after it was evident that I would stay.