The drive doesn’t soothe my nerves. I can hear him fucking around in the back, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I expect him to pass out from the heat, but even that would be too good for that rat bastard. A horrifying image of my brother immobilized on the hospital bed flashes through my head, but I shove it away. Can’t think of that now.
The car bounces as I drive through the uneven dirt road to the junkyard. His screams rebound inside the small trunk, and finally I park his car between two mounds of crushed metal and cut the engine.
This might be it.
His screams lift to the air when I pop open the trunk. “What the fuck are you doing? Where am I?”
“If you move, I’ll kill you.” I slip the sidearm out of my jacket to let him know that I’m not fucking around.
Watery blue eyes widen with fear as he lies in the trunk of his own car, and I hear a dull roar pounding in my ears. I raise the gun to his temple.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You can have my money.” He grabs his wallet from his pocket and tosses it to me. It lands in a cloud of dust. “Just take it!”
Maybe I’ll play with him before I eat him.
I grab the flimsy wallet from the ground and search through its contents. “Twenty bucks? That’s all you got? Geez, a nurse’s salary ain’t much, is it?”
“I can get more! Please, don’t hurt me!”
Don’t hurt me. But the asshole didn’t care about my brother, did he? He didn’t give a flying fuck about him.
I grab the scruff of his neck and smash the heel of the gun over his face. His nose shatters and blood sprays all over his bright blue scrubs. A thrill shoots up my ribs as he clutches his face, moaning.
“Months ago you accepted a bribe from a man in the hospital. You were told to take a walk from the ICU. Don’t fucking deny it!”
Terrified eyes glance at me. “I—I didn’t.”
I aim the gun at one of his knees and the cracking sound splits the sky, almost drowning out his agonized howl. Blood mushrooms around his knee and tears stream from his eyes.
“I bet that really fucking hurts, doesn’t it?” Seized by a sudden burst of anger, I grab his blood-soaked knee and squeeze. He cries like a little bitch. “Answer me, you miserable prick!”
“Okay!” he screams, holding out his hand. “I did—some guy gave me money—”
My heart crashes against my ribs. “What the fuck did he look like?”
“I don’t know! He had a suit—a black one. Thin face. Short black hair.”
Jesus fucking Christ, this is useless. He could be describing John, for all I know, but the boss never does his own dirty work.
His voice raises an octave. “Look, I didn’t know what was going to happen, okay? He told me to take a walk, so I did.”
“Tell me how much they paid you for my brother’s life.”
He shakes his head, crying silently when he hears the rage trembling my voice. “I’m sorry.”
“How much?”
The miserable bastard flinches at my yell. “F-five hundred.”
My stomach sinks and I clench my eyes. Goddamn it. My chest tightens so that I can barely breathe. My brother’s life was bought for five hundred dollars. They paid off witnesses and took care of the security cameras, but why would they leave this one breadcrumb for me to find? Sloppy. Not like John at all.
I can envision it. Several men in dark suits, silhouetted, quietly slipping into my brother’s room. Grabbing the pillow behind his head and smothering his face. Mike wouldn’t have been able to fight back in his condition. There’s something about that—I want to throw up. A line of nausea creeps into my mouth as I imagine them digging it into his face. It would have been so simple. He was paralyzed.
“How does it feel to die for five hundred worthless dollars?”
“HELP!”
I cut off his screams with another crack. The bullet hits him square in the chest and his mouth bursts with blood. I fire again. Again. Again. So many fucking times. Until his body is riddled with holes and his blood pools in the trunk. I clean the gun with my shirt and then I toss it inside. Nathan’s face is frozen in twisted agony, but my rage still burns. I slam the trunk lid down as the echoes of the gunshots fade in the distance.
I slam my fist into the car, warping the metal as my yells are swallowed by the mountain of crushed vehicles. I check my watch, my head pounding, and I grit my teeth.
Johnny’s waiting for me at the MC.
Where I’m going to get engaged to some bitch I’ve never even met.
Great.
* * *
A sickening feeling possesses me like a slow-acting poison, unlike the fear settling in my guts. I stand in this dark room, waiting for Johnny to show up as François and Tommy eye me as though I’m a fucking liability.
I’m just waiting to die, aren’t I?
This looks like just the place. Four walls. Suspiciously stained wooden floorboards. Two men eye-fucking me. We’re way, way out in the boonies, in biker territory where no one will give a shit even if they hear my screams.
The door creaks, opening wide to admit a slim figure wearing a plain charcoal suit. It’s Johnny, the boss of the family. Black waves of hair speckled with gray are rolled back to reveal a handsome face. Inwardly I recoil. He’s the man who haunts my nightmares. I can’t help but battle a burgeoning swell of rage and fear whenever I see him. The nausea goes straight to my gut.
Blood pounds in my head as I stare at him, conscious of the fact that if it weren’t for him, Mike would still be alive.
He smooths his hands over his pinstripe suit, looking as immaculate as the devil as cold eyes scan my appearance. He glances at the men watching me.
“Leave us.”
I dig my fingernails into my palms as François and Tommy push themselves off the wall and exit the room. The door shuts with a sort of hollow finality and we stare at each other for a moment. Iciness grips my stomach as Johnny strides forward, close enough to do anything he wants to me. His nostrils flare.
Is he sniffing me?
“You’re drunk.”
“Well, you didn’t expect me to come here sober, did you?”
“Listen to me, you fucking moron. You’re either going to jail, or you marry one of them. End of fucking story.”
I might just rip my fist across Johnny’s face. “I’m not going to marry some biker cunt. They put my brother in the hospital, or did you forget that?”
The boss bares his teeth. “I forget nothing. We were at war, Jack. Now we’re not. It’s that simple.”
Piece of shit.
I want to scream at him that I know what he did. He’s the most ruthless boss in history—he could have silenced my brother. They found cotton fibers in his nose and lungs. He suffocated to death, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there. The grief still tears at me like a hundred tiny knives cutting deep inside me.
It should have been me. I was the fuck-up.
The hatred boiling inside me must be plain on my face, because Johnny’s eyes narrow dangerously.
“You have something you want to say to me?”
I would kill you if I had a shred of proof.
“Why the fuck don’t you just kill me?” It bursts out of my mouth before I can take it back, the question finally ripped from my throat.
He clenches his fists. “What?”
“I know your style, Johnny. You don’t give second chances. Why me? I’m Mike’s worthless, ex-junkie brother. Why the fuck are you doing this for me?”
“You’re my bargaining chip for this deal.”
I let that sink in for a moment.
“Jesus.”
Johnny approaches me, his face inches from mine. “I know you think I killed him. I didn’t.”
I cross my arms, shaking my head as a painful grin stretches my face. “Sure.”
I go flying as he shoves my chest. My back hits the wall and his fist slams into the space right beside my head.
“I had nothing to do with it!”<
br />
Earnest black eyes bore into mine. I study the creases in his face, feel his breath blowing hard over my face. I wish I could believe him.
“Fine.”
“Câlisse de tabarnak.” He starts to turn away, then his snarling face screams at me again. “You’re going to marry one of those girls, or you’ll get your fucking death wish.”
The sound of his screaming vibrates in my ears, almost painful. The airport heist fucked everything up. The CSIS went ape shit, even though the MC screwed us over and took the cash. Everyone needed alibis—everyone had one. Except for me. Anyway, nothing really mattered once Mike died. My brother was everything. Dead and gone. I couldn’t deal with it. I expected Johnny to send someone to pop me, but he never did. I’m his only loose end. The only way to avoid jail is to marry the girl who’s giving me an alibi. Spousal privilege. She can’t testify against her husband.
Just kill me and get it over with.
It makes my stomach turn to think about marrying one of those fucking cunts. They beat my brother—hurt him so badly that he’d never walk again. They’re accessories to his murder.
“Why the fuck are we making peace with these dogs?”
“I want my money,” Johnny says baldly. “They’re giving back most of the money from the heist, and I want things to calm down.”
So that’s it? They get to beat the shit out of Mike and everything is fucking hunky-dory?
“What about my brother?”
“They paid for hurting him. An eye for an eye.”
They did. I saw the biker’s body that Tommy tortured. It wasn’t enough for me. Call me sick, but I wanted more.
“The new president knows we have the means to wipe them out, if we wanted. He wants peace, and frankly, so do I.” Johnny runs a hand through his hair and steps away from me. “Let’s go. I don’t have all fucking day.”
Die or marry some biker bitch. It’s not really a choice, is it? If I go to jail, it won’t be long before someone shanks me in prison. Johnny’s willingness to do right by my brother would end the moment I posed a threat to him.
“This is fucking ridiculous.”
Resigned, I follow Johnny outside the room back into the clubhouse, where a dozen or so bikers are waiting for us. The bloody struggle that started after we killed their president ended up with a more moderate, less reactionary leadership.
“They’re just going to hand off one of their women to me?”
He gives me a look, warning me to silence. “They’re desperate.”
They must be to give one of their women to a guy who fucks around and gives no shits about it. The new president stands in the middle of the clubhouse, which looks significantly less shabby than the last time we came here. Gone are the stripper poles and the giant speakers blasting rock music. Thank fucking God. Behind their shoulders I see a row of women lined up like a cattle auction.
Sweet Jesus.
This is insane.
Johnny shakes the president’s hand, who turns his oily gaze toward me.
The new president is a short, stout man with a russet-colored beard, which lightens in his heavy sideburns. His leather cut is cracked with age, but he wears it proudly. The look he gives me makes my teeth crack. The last thing I want is to marry one of these people. It’s a fucking insult to my brother’s memory. A disgrace.
It’s temporary.
The president holds out his hand for me to shake, but I just can’t stomach looking into that fucking asshole’s eyes and taking his hand as though he’s my equal. An image of Mike’s lifeless body in the hospital bed flashes, and my face slowly burns. I feel like I can imagine it going black and curling backward, like that biker Tommy torched to avenge my brother.
That makes me smile.
I take his hand, and it’s like a battle of who can crush the other guy first.
“These are the girls who are willing to provide an alibi for you.”
Johnny crosses his arms. “If everyone keeps their mouth shut, we can put this behind us.”
Cold rage brews in my chest as Johnny gives me a quelling look. Put this behind us? I look around for a friendly face, and see Sal, the underboss. He darkens as he meets my gaze and he very slightly shakes his head.
Don’t do anything stupid.
Pissed, I turn back toward the women they have lined up for me. They stand close together, looking vaguely unhappy as they avoid my gaze.
Which one am I supposed to pick? The one who seems the happiest or the one I see myself fucking?
“So, what am I supposed to do once I pick one? Throw her over my shoulder and walk out?”
My humor echoes hollowly in the clubhouse and Johnny gives me a withering look before he turns his head.
“This is just a meeting,” the president says, unsmiling.
Whatever.
My attention turns back to the row of women patiently waiting for me to make a decision. My eyes skip from pretty face to face, recognizing nothing but fear. I almost skip over the last one, too. Then my heart turns to stone. The long, highlighted blonde hair and deep-blue eyes strike me suddenly. That rosebud mouth was wrapped around my cock hours earlier. Holy shit, it’s her. The girl I banged in the club. What was her name?
Beatrice.
Her eyes fasten on me and she does a double take, her sullen features gradually hardening into grim resoluteness.
So I already fucked the biker bitch.
Well, well, well.
This is interesting. Either she scoped me out or this is one hell of a coincidence. Considering the lack of surprise on her face, I’d guess it’s the former.
Holy shit. Was does that mean?
Beatrice takes a small step back as I make a beeline toward her, ignoring the others. I stand a foot away from her, smelling the shampoo on her damp hair. Her pink lips, still flushed with the heat of the shower, look perfect. I want to wind my hand in her hair and crush those lips against mine. Without her makeup she looks even more vulnerable, though not as much as she did when she was naked under my hands.
Do not get hard right now.
Instead I just speak to her, almost trembling in anticipation. “I’d like a word with you in private.”
She lifts her gaze, looking over my shoulder to the president as though for permission, which makes heat flare in my chest.
His gravelly voice cracks the silence. “Go, Beatrice. Take my office.”
The girl who I fucked hours ago gives me a polite half-smile and walks toward a room across the hall. I open it for her and she walks inside, her limbs shaking. There’s a small walnut desk and a couple chairs. She wraps her arms around herself as I shut the door and then the silence in the small room suffocates us.
I can’t stop seeing her naked body. Mere hours ago she was completely and utterly mine. She clutches the edge of the desk, staring at me, and a sickening twist of self-disgust wrenches me. This girl represents everything I fucking hate, and I want to fuck her again.
“I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“It’s Jack, right?”
She uses the French pronunciation for my name, the staccato sound clipping from her tongue. A deep, buried memory of my mother surfaces to my brain. She bends down from her chair, arms outstretched: Jack, viens ici.
She’s gone, too.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds unnecessarily loud in the small room. I approach her and she clings to that desk like it’s life or death. I stop inches away from her. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You don’t like being so close to me?”
Beatrice blinks her blonde lashes. “No,” she says defensively. Then she looks up in horror. “I didn’t mean that!”
Damn straight.
Fuck, she’s hot. It’s rare that a girl holds my interest like this, but I like the way she avoids my gaze and blushes prettily, just like a shy schoolgirl. I want to touch her, and I reach out to grab her shoulder, knowing she won’t stop me. She trembles a little as I slide my hand to the base of her neck. I held her just like th
is when she sucked my cock. It tightens in my pants as her heady scent ensnares me like a strong shot of tequila.
“Why did you scope me out in that club? Don’t deny it.”
She glances at me. “They told me what they wanted me to do. I just wanted to see if I’d like you.”
I guess that makes sense.
“From the way you were screaming, you seemed to like me a lot.”
The ache pounds as a pink blush spreads over her cheeks.
“I made a mistake.”
“You probably did.” I rub her throat with my thumb. “Did you want to sample my cock again before sealing the deal?”
A shard of anger cuts at me as she meets my gaze.
“We can fuck in this room if you’re still undecided—”
“Don’t talk to me like that!”
I take a step back as she shoves my chest, looking furious. So the biker bitch has some personality after all. It’s amusing to see the horror falling over her face, and I laugh at how frightened she looks. My laughter dies and she stares at me with indignation.
“Why did you volunteer yourself for this?”
A defiant, hard look comes over her eyes. “None of your business.”
“So much fucking attitude. You weren’t like this at the club. You were so eager to be mine.”
The little freckles on her nose burn, along with the rest of her face.
It’s hell being so close to her. I grasp her neck lightly and feel her pulse jackhammering into my hand. She parts her lips and I can smell the mint on her breath. She even brushed her teeth to get the taste of my cock out of her mouth.
I can still taste her.
“Look, I made a mistake.”
I don’t give a fuck.
She makes a sudden movement with her hand. “I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t a psycho. I didn’t think it would go that far.”
“Well, it did. I’m not crying over it.”
My pulse races when I see how flustered she’s getting. She seems tortured by that fact—and by my hands on her neck.
“Don’t insult me by telling me you didn’t like it.”
“I did like it,” she says, skin so bright that I can feel the heat. “That’s not the point.”
Property of the Bad Boy Page 3
