“Oh shit.”
I swallow his cum down my throat, feeling more spurts coat my mouth as he pumps inside me, and then he pulls out, still hard. How the fuck is he still hard?
His hands clasp my arms and pull me upright so roughly that I fall against his chest. Then suddenly my arms fly to the railing again and he places a hand on my back, forcing me to bend. A pressure builds right behind my pulsing ache, and then he sinks right inside me like butter. Jack grabs both my hips and yanks me back using his hips like a fucking battering ram. His cock digs into me like a piston. Holy fuck. I’ve never been fucked like this before.
I cry out, but the breath is knocked out of me through the force of his thrusts. My arms buckle and collapse as he digs against me and pulls back. The agony and ecstasy reach a crescendo and I bite my arm. The wet sound of his hips slapping against me, his hands on my hips, his cock digging inside me—it’s too fucking much. My throat tears with a scream as Jack makes a loud groan, holding me close as he comes for a second time. I clench over him as my body shakes from all the energy released. His cock pulses, swelling, and then I feel the jet of cum coating my pussy. I envision it seeping into my womb and striking a single egg. I glow at the thought of getting pregnant—and then finally getting to hold our baby in my arms. I want it with him. Only him.
He wraps a hand around my neck and pulls me upright, his dick still throbbing inside me. His lips find the spot right behind my ear and he whispers my name in a sigh that makes my skin flush with pleasure.
A pair of footsteps hurriedly making their way up the staircase startles us both.
“Fuck.”
He yanks down my blouse and skirt, and then he shoves his feet through his slacks, pulling them over his waist. I flatten my hair and clench my thighs together, feeling the slow trickle inside me.
Two men in security uniforms reach the staircase. “Sir, this is a restricted area.” One of them eyes our disheveled appearances and a frown deepens his sour face. “We’re going to have to ask you to leave the casino.”
Oh Jesus Christ.
“I just dropped thirty grand in your casino.”
The guard stands in front of Jack, nostrils flaring. “Inappropriate behavior will not be tolerated—”
Jack stops him with a smirk as he slides his belt back on. Then he reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a couple hundred-dollar bills, tucking them in their shirt pockets.
I grab my purse and join Jack, stepping around the dumbfounded security guards as he loops his arm around my waist. He twists his head around and gives them a wink as we head downstairs. There’s a crowd of people standing at the bottom of the staircase. A group of men erupt into cheers and slap Jack’s back as he descends the stairs.
“Nice, man!”
“We enjoyed the show!”
I don’t think my face could get any hotter than it is now. They actually saw us fucking. Oh my God.
Jack couldn’t care less about the attention. He gives them a sarcastic wave and wheels me through the doors, where the cheers and laughter are finally drowned out.
“I’m so embarrassed, I could fucking die.”
Jack lets out a bark of laughter. “Babe, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
He links his hand through mine and gives me a quick kiss on my cheek. It’s very fast, but his eyes linger, full of warmth. A sad smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Mike loved this place. We’d go together all the time.”
Darkness clouds his face as my heart clenches painfully. The secret burns inside me like caustic acid. I want to tell him. I do, but then I think of my parents. Jack’s wrath would rage through the MC, burning everyone alive in its path.
Jack’s brow furrows as he walks down the street in silence, his fingers burning through my blouse.
* * *
The guilt builds. It banks into a fucking forest fire, consuming every spare thought. I’m so sick of myself that I can barely stand to look in the mirror. Weeks of waiting for him to come home and feeling my heart jump when he pulls me in for a kiss. Endless nights of being shattered in bed, clinging to his back, and forgetting my own name. Weeks of waiting for that goddamn stick to turn into two pink lines. So that I can finally tell him, and not feel like my guts are rotting inside out.
The door crashes open. It’s past midnight—I can never sleep while he’s out. A painful groan hits the air as Jack stumbles into the foyer, supported by one of Johnny’s soldiers.
Oh my God.
His arm is in some sort of sling, but his feet drag behind him. The soldier, Ben, helps him to the couch.
“Jesus. What happened?”
Their chorus of, “Nothing,” hits my ears, but I’m in no fucking mood to accept that. Not again.
“What happened?”
“He just got in a bit of trouble at a job.”
“Again?”
I can’t fucking believe this.
“Thanks, Ben.” Jack glowers as he sinks into the couch cushions.
“What the fuck happened?”
He winces at the shrill sound of my voice, and Ben scurries out of sight. The front door shuts quietly and Jack snaps at me. “You know I can’t talk about my work.”
It’s like an explosion. “Are you fucking serious? Is this how our conversations are going to go for the rest of our lives? I expect a fucking answer when you come home looking like this.”
My emotions feel out of control, like a simmering pot of oil. It takes very little to set me off lately, and I don’t know whether it’s the stress of trying for a baby, his constant injuries, or the fact that I’m carrying something awful inside me.
His eyes widen at me, but my temper flares again.
“Johnny keeps sending you out on these dangerous jobs. I can’t stand it!”
Suddenly his hand shoots out and he grabs my wrist, yanking me so that my face is inches from his. “You’re way out of line, Beatrice. I can’t fucking talk about it. That’s for your sake as well as mine.”
Doesn’t he understand that seeing him like this hurts me? I can’t stand seeing him injured. My eyes rapidly burn and flood over. It’s Johnny’s fault—I know it is. He hates Jack, and this is his way of punishing him.
He sighs, adopting a softer tone. “Stop crying, Beatrice. I’m fine.”
I try to hold it in for his sake. A wave of self-loathing consumes me and I collapse into his chest, pressing my head against his wildly thumping heart. He touches his lips to my head and rubs my shoulder. It feels good, but my nerves are still jangling out of control.
“I couldn’t drive home because of the painkillers they gave me. That’s all.”
I rip myself from him, agony twisting my guts when he gives me a wounded look.
“What the hell is the matter with you lately?”
Everything.
“I wasn’t out on business. This was personal.”
A swooping sensation gives me a sudden sick feeling. “Your brother?”
He gives me a sharp look. “Yes.”
“And?”
He aims a violent kick at the coffee table leg. “And nothing! I’ve got fucking nothing!”
For a moment fear freezes my chest. Then he crumples with despair, holding his face in his hands. I suddenly wish I were the one being beaten up.
I run my hands through his hair, trying not to drown in the well of guilt.
JACK
My arm throbs like a son of a bitch, but I close my eyes and let the pain roll off my shoulders. Last night was a fucking nightmare.
Next to me, Sal wipes his head with his hand, a bead of perspiration on his upper lip. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“You warned me.”
I sprained my shoulder lifting up one of those fat fucks who tried to rob me. Even after Ben and I took care of their bodies, I still had to empty a few chambers into that fat fucking asshole to vent my rage.
“It was a bad idea to go alone.”
“Yeah, well, John’s made it clear that he doesn’t real
ly give a flying fuck about finding out what happened.”
Sal was the one who fed me the information. Some guys from the Popeyes MC claimed they heard about a made guy ordering a hit on someone in the family. He told me it was probably bullshit, but I couldn’t stop myself from meeting them. And almost getting robbed by them.
Another dead end.
I grab the stiff drink poured in front of me, and I toss it down my throat.
“How’s the marriage going?”
I shrug, somehow irritated by the question. “Not bad, actually.”
“Really? You and the biker girl?”
The look of incredulity on Sal’s face bothers me.
“She’s a good wife.” I make myself grin. “Turns out biker wives heel quite nicely.”
“Are you fucking this broad?”
“Well, what else am I supposed to do with her?”
“Tabarnak. I don’t think the MC will like that.”
The MC can suck my dick.
There are too many guys sitting close to me to tell Sal the truth. She’s not just a club daughter I’m banging. Sure, I wanted to fuck her the moment I met her, but it’s much more than that. I live for watching those blue eyes light up when I come home, and the circle of her embrace. Now she’s a person who I enjoy being around. Fuck, she makes me happy. Why is that so hard to admit?
“Speaking of your wife.” Sal points across the room to Johnny’s table.
A thin blonde woman sits across from my boss, her hands folded neatly in her lap.
What the fuck is she doing here? Why is she talking to my boss?
I set down my drink and immediately slide off the stool, making a beeline for my wife. My mood, always testy these days, is like a trail of fire leading to a barrel of gasoline. I can feel it racing forward.
The look on Johnny’s face momentarily paralyzes me as I get close. He seems subdued. What the hell did she say to him? Beatrice jumps as I walk to her chair, sweeping my hand over her shoulder.
“What are you doing here?”
“She was looking for you.” Johnny smirks at me as he plays with the ring on his finger. A sick, hot swoop of rage hits my abdomen as he meets my glare with a bored expression on his face. “Said it was urgent.”
Her skin looks moist, as though she just stepped out of the shower and dressed herself in a hurry to meet me.
Johnny sits there, waiting for her to speak, but she stands up. Her blue eyes are so wide that I’m lost in them.
“I’ll give you an hour, Jack.”
“Fine.”
She winces as I grab her upper arm and drag her out of the restaurant. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?”
“I needed to see you!”
“You should never come here alone. I don’t trust John.”
We stand outside in the rapidly heating sunshine and I shove my hands in my pockets as I watch her stand there. She wears a small black camisole with no bra, because I can see her tits if I look down. Her hair is up in a loose, messy bun. The blonde tendrils and her wide eyes make her look so fragile—and beautiful. I really am lucky to have her. My hand slips underneath her jaw and I thumb her thick bottom lip.
“What is it, hon?”
“Not here.”
The way she avoids my gaze gets me riled up. I don’t like waiting, but her lips tremble and I don’t want her making a scene out here. I take her arm and we enter my car.
“What is it, Beatrice?”
“Not here!”
She shakes and my heart splits in half when I hear that desperate sound coming from her chest.
“You’ll tell me when we get home?”
I can only fucking guess what it is. The whole way back, she shakes with sobs and I take her hand in mine, trying every variation of, “Stop fucking crying,” because it hurts me to see it. It hurts more than I ever could’ve imagined.
“Tell me. What the fuck is wrong?” I nearly scream at her. She’s starting to freak me out.
I slam my brakes in front of my house and park as she slips out of the passenger seat and runs up the stairs, using her key to let herself in. Damn it.
I follow her, slamming the car door shut. Then I burst in my apartment and see her standing there, red tear streaks all over her face.
It tugs at my heart. I rush forward to gather her in my arms, but she shakes her head and backs away.
What the fuck?
“I have to tell you something I should have told you weeks ago.” She spits it out bitterly and wraps her arms around herself.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I’m pregnant.”
Holy fuck.
It’s as though the world turns on its head. I grasp for the nearest wall, suddenly dizzy. “You’re sure?”
“I took a bunch of tests. They’re all positive.”
My heart thuds against my chest. If that’s true, why does she look so miserable?
Jesus Christ, I’m going to be a dad.
Warmth delicately unfurls like petals from a flower. Beatrice cringes from my touch and acts as though the whole thing was a mistake.
“Why aren’t you happy about this?”
“I am happy about the baby, but…” Her voice trails off and liquid blue eyes tentatively meet mine. “You’ll never talk to me again.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“It’s about your brother!” she finally bursts out.
My mood shifts, skirting dangerously close to the well of rage I reserve for my brother. “What about him?”
Haunted eyes stare at me. “I saw what happened. I was there in the hospital.”
“What?”
My hands shake.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid.”
“Tell me.”
She opens and closes her mouth, and flinches when I yell at her.
“Fucking tell me, Beatrice!”
“I—I was in my cousin’s room, right across from your brother’s. I saw three men in leather cuts hanging outside the door. They went in and out. It was very fast.” Her voice breaks and she doubles over, clutching her stomach. “I didn’t know what happened! Then suddenly I heard people screaming for a code blue. I didn’t put it together until we met. It was him, Jack!”
I grab her throat and pin her against the wall, waves of searing-hot rage licking up my sides. I want to bash this bitch into the wall. How fucking dare she?
“You knew all this time and never said a word?”
Her high gasp hits the air. “I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid of you.”
I dig my fingers into her flesh. “You’re fucking lucky that you’re pregnant.”
I’m no wife beater, but I’d like to give her a slap across the face.
“Jack, I’m sorry!”
I bite my lip, forcing myself not to scream. “What did the men look like? Did you recognize them?”
“N-no! I think they were f-from another MC, but it was dark and I couldn’t see the pattern on the cut.”
“God-fucking-dammit!” I plunge my fist through the drywall next to her head, and she screams. White powder explodes, and my knuckles bleed. Beatrice stumbles away from me, clutching her face.
“I’m sorry!”
“Think really fucking hard, Beatrice. There has to be something you remember. Some small detail that might help me.”
She witnessed his murder and a part of me won’t ever forgive her for keeping that secret from me, no matter what her intentions were. My heart rends in half. She lied to me for weeks.
Beatrice sits on the floor, her chest heaving. Tears fall silently down her cheeks as she stares at the tiles and shakes her head. “I can’t remember anything significant, I’m sorry. They looked normal to me. I don’t think they had any tattoos on their sleeves.”
“No tattoos?”
She shakes her head and a lightning rod hits me, because how many patched members of an MC gang don’t have tattoos on their sleeves
?
“What else?” I bend down to her level, my heart hammering against my ribs as I search her face. I don’t even care about the months of wasted time, I just want to know the truth.
“I just glimpsed them really quickly.”
“Think, Beatrice.”
“Wait—one of them might have had a small tattoo on his bicep.”
My stomach tenses. “What?”
“A horn, I think.”
Energy hits my chest. “A horn pointing down?”
“Yes, do you know what it means?”
Of course I know what it means. Every Italian knows that symbol. Jesus Christ. This proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the family was involved.
I feel my insides caving in as if my guts vanished. My own brothers—the family I dedicated my fucking life to—betrayed me. It wasn’t the MC. Johnny, that two-faced bastard who has been running me around all year on jobs without backup. But why?
She grasps my arm as I stand up, and my heart clenches painfully. Even she betrayed me.
“Jack, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times.”
“But you didn’t.”
Her touch on my skin is painful. Like a deep burn scorching away the muscle underneath. Her glittering eyelashes bat at me, and she looks down, stifling a hiccup of a sob.
She’s not as innocent as she looks.
For a while she was the only light in my life. A candle flame, flickering that burned hotter as I woke up with her every day in my house. Now that’s extinguished like everything else in my life.
Disgusted, I turn around. I head for the door, but then a thin arm wraps around my waist and a female body presses against my back. Every inch of her curves folds into my body. My chest tightens.
Fuck her.
I rip her hands from me and whirl her around, pinning her face against the wall. She cries out in discomfort as her cheek flattens, and I lean in, my voice trembling.
“When I come back, you’re not going to be able to sit on your ass for a week.”
I release her suddenly, hating the way my dick responds when her body is next to mine. I want to grab her hair in a ponytail and bend her over the kitchen table where I can see that tattoo burning right above her ass. I want to slap her around for the lies she told me. Lying by omission.
Property of the Bad Boy Page 15
