by Smith, CP
“Hey,” a third woman’s voice—who Joe thought was Poppy—rang out over the line, “take your hands off me, bucko. You’ve seen the size of my man. If you lay another hand on me, he’ll unleash the evil wolf on your hind end. I can promise you that.”
Devin seethed, “Jessie,” spitting the word out like poison.
Nate stiffened in his seat next to Joe while Bo flipped a switch on the dash. His sirens began to blare in a deafening whine as he punched the accelerator.
Joe glanced at Nate. The big man had a look on his face that would send lesser men running for the hills. “The evil wolf?” Joe questioned.
Nate turned rage-filled eyes toward Joe. They were all predator. “I’m half Cherokee. Poppy feeds the good wolf with her love, so the evil wolf doesn’t make an appearance again.”
Joe nodded; he understood precisely what Nate meant. Like Bernice, Poppy filled Nate with her special brand of light, centering his soul.
“Sienna!” Bo called out over the sounds of voices mixing together. “Talk to me.”
“You can’t kick us out,” Sienna shrieked in answer. “Poppy and I aren’t leavin’ without Cali or Bernice. Wallflowers do not leave a woman behind!”
“Todd will be here in thirty minutes,” Preston Armstrong sighed. “You may leave with them once I’m confident you’re through with Rouger.”
Anger began to rise again. Armstrong didn’t know the word ‘quit.’ Joe didn’t know who the fuck the old man was bringing in, but he had no doubt it was another setup.
Rustling sounded across the phone line, like fabric brushing against the mouthpiece, then Sienna suddenly bit out, “Give me my phone, you big jerk,” in an or-else tone before the call ended.
Devin looked at Bo and ordered, “Drive faster.”
Bo shoved the pedal to the floor, biting out, “Fuckin’ pain in my ass.”
Devin nodded in agreement while Nate mumbled, “‘Til the day we die.”
Joe scanned their faces and caught lips twitching and eyes crinkled in silent laughter. Something told him they’d had this conversation before.
Hilton Head was a good forty-five minutes from Savannah. They made it in thirty. When they pulled up out front of a massive rock wall linked together with an iron gate worthy of a Hollywood home, they found Sienna and Poppy pushing the intercom with sharp strikes, indignation masking their innocent features. Nate bounded out of the truck first, followed by Bo. Joe crawled out of the cab and surveyed the wall, looking for a foot up. The wall didn’t have a crevasse or crack he could grab hold of to hoist himself over the top. He scanned the surrounding border for a tree. Like any well-guarded home, the landscaping was to the front of the easement, giving the property privacy without giving unwelcome guests a way over the castle-like barrier.
Devin marched past the two arguing couples and punched in a code. He looked at Joe and shrugged. “They might not have changed it since I was here last.”
The gate shuddered slightly, then began to open. Joe shook his head at the old man’s security team and took off running, hell-bent on getting to Bernice.
Jessie was standing in front of a large entryway door with his arms crossed, shaking his head when Joe approached. Joe started to lunge for the big man, but Nate grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. “My turn,” Nate growled. “The wolf is hungry.”
Joe looked him over, gauged the size difference between him and Jessie, and stepped aside. Sometimes it was good to let the younger generation have some fun.
Jessie pulled himself up to his full height, ready for the coming fight, raising both arms to a blocking position, his feet parallel to each other, hands loosely fisted. Nate shot Jessie a smile better suited to a serial killer.
“Kick his posterior, baby! Grind his twiddle diddles into minced meat!” Poppy shouted.
Twiddle diddles?
Jessie made the first move. He swung toward Nate’s head, but his muscled arms were too slow. Nate ducked and landed a kidney shot to Jessie’s gut. Joe grimaced. The force of Nate’s punch knocked the air out of Jessie in a grunt of pain.
Jessie stumbled back, then shook it off, squaring his feet. He shifted slowly left, then right, and Nate turned to keep him in his line of sight. Jessie moved to the right again, giving away his next offensive maneuver to Nate. With a blur of speed Joe hadn’t seen in a man that big, Nate threw a roundhouse kick that took Jessie down to the ground. Permanently. When it was clear Jessie wasn’t getting up, Nate bent at the waist and lifted his head from the ground just as a limo pulled into the drive. “Touch my woman again, even breathe in her direction, and I’ll end you. That’s not a threat; it’s a fuckin’ promise.”
“Aww, that’s the sweetest thing ever, Sister,” Sienna said dreamily to Poppy.
Joe turned, ignoring the scene in front of him, and watched as the limo pulled to a stop. He was about to find out what trick Preston Armstrong had up his sleeve.
He heard the front door open behind him but kept his attention focused on the limo. The driver exited first, then opened the back door. A man emerged. He was in his late thirties, with an unremarkable face, one that would blend into any crowd. He was neither large nor small, just average. The kind of man you’d never recall. Perfect for covert operations. Except, Joe had an eye for people. He remembered years after meeting them. It made his job at the club easier when he sat at his desk watching the security footage. And Joe had seen this man the day before at Teasers. When Charlie, the dancer he’d fired before he retired, exited the limo, he shook his head. Charlotte Pegg had found a way to fight back by fingering Joe for something he hadn’t done. He started to turn toward the open front door when a third head emerged from the limo. Joe had to take a step back when Elizabeth Bunch, aka Candi, the waitress who’d hugged him the night before, stood from the limo.
“Are you shittin’ me?” Joe growled.
Both women shot him looks, but Elizabeth wouldn’t meet his eyes. Charlie, on the other hand, glared at Joe, a smirk pulling across her lips.
“You didn’t think we’d let you get away with treating us like whores, did you?” Charlie said, strutting around the car. “You’re nothin’ but filth, Joe Rouger, and we intend to make sure Mr. Armstrong’s daughter knows exactly what type of man you are.”
Additional bodyguards emerged from the house. Joe shook his head at the two women; he didn’t intend to confront them. They’d made their bed; they could lie in it. The truth would prevail. He felt that in his core.
They picked Jesse off the ground while the others herded the two women inside the mansion. Calla walked through the armed men, keeping the door open for Joe and the rest of their party to enter. She smiled at Joe as he pushed through, patting his arm.
The house was massive but cold. White marble floors occupied the whole downstairs. It looked like an ice rink. Coupled with black and white accessories, which did nothing to warm the enormous space, it was clear this was a house, not a home. It didn’t take Joe long to locate Bernice. She was giving her father hell down the hall and to the left.
“Two, Daddy? You must be losin’ your touch. I expected at least ten paid actresses.”
Joe walked calmly into the room with the three Wallflowers and their men right behind him. He held Preston’s hard stare and put out his hand to Bernice. “Let’s go, Sweetcheeks.”
Bernice gasped his name, then bounded from the couch, wrapping her arms around his body. He buried his head in the crease of her neck and drank in her scent. Two days away from her had felt like an eternity.
“You will not leave with that man,” Preston ordered. “You need to hear the truth. See the pictures.”
Bernice shook her head. “I don’t care,” she shouted into his neck, her voice muffled by his skin. “They could have images of Joe in bed with them, and I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Bernice, you’re bein’ unreasonable,” her father bit out.
“He prostituted me out,” Charlie shouted, and Joe froze, his muscles tightening at the insult. “Forced me to sleep wi
th customers in the private rooms. Forced me to give him blow jobs to keep my job. He threatened to call my parole officer if I didn’t do what he wanted. And when I refused, he called him and lied, said I was doing drugs. I lost my daughter because of him.”
Bernice jerked in his arms and looked up at him. She searched his face, then his eyes. After a long moment, in which Joe held his breath, she shook her head. “Lies,” she whispered.
“We have pictures!” Charlie shouted.
He turned with Bernice still in his arms and looked toward the desk. Black and white glossy images lay strewn across the surface. Charlie grabbed one and shoved it as Bernice. Joe blinked and grabbed it from her hand. It was the night he’d fired her. When she was on the ground in front of him, reaching out for his crotch, offering to blow him so she could keep her job.
Joe ground his teeth and looked at Armstrong. “You’ve been following me for a while.”
Armstrong smiled like a shark. “I always protect what’s mine.”
Bernice grabbed the image. She seemed to be studying it. After a minute, she tossed it on the desk. “Good try, Daddy. It would be convincin’ if I didn’t know his face so well. He’s angry, not turned on. I know the difference. And who gets a . . . well, that in the middle of a parkin’ lot, for goodness sake?”
Joe relaxed into her side and chuckled. His angel was spitting fire and taking names.
Her father growled and shoved more images into her hands, mumbling about, “Stubborn daughters who wouldn’t know the truth if it hit them upside the head.” These were taken right before he left the club. There was image after image of scantily-clad women hugging him. The whole week before he cut out for Georgia he’d been assaulted by dancers and waitstaff alike. Both men and women who wanted to say goodbye. They weren’t precisely damning, but he’d told Bernice he’d never fucked any of his dancers, and these images made him look like he’d lied. That he was more hands-on than he’d let on.
She thumbed through them, one after another, until she came to the last two images. They were taken the night before. Joe was still wearing the same fucking shirt. Elizabeth stepped forward then, still not meeting his eyes, and tapped the image of Joe opening his wallet.
“I told him since he was no longer my boss, he’d have to pay to fuck me. He said he was tied up with a woman who couldn’t give head worth shit and needed to be topped off before he left. When I agreed, because he always scared me if I said no, I asked why he was with someone he couldn’t stand to fuck. He said he could live with a bad lay when it came with millions of dollars.”
Bernice didn’t even consider the lie for a moment. “How many millions are you gettin’ for sayin’ this?” Bernice asked, looking up at Elizabeth with a hard stare that mimicked her father’s. “I know when I make a man’s blood burn with want, so Joe never said that about me. And you’ve never had him in any way, I know that for a fact. And do you know why? Because I’ve had bad lovers in my life, so I know a good one when I’ve been with him. Joe isn’t just good; he’s great. So, I know you’ve never had him in that way because you would have begged him to . . . you know . . . anytime he entered the club.”
Armstrong closed his eyes like her comment had pained him, and Joe heard her mother mumble, “Goodness,” from somewhere behind him. He couldn’t help but smile.
“We should have brought popcorn,” Sienna giggled. “This is better than a book.”
“Nothin’s better than a book,” Poppy whispered.
“Devin’s better than a book,” Calla sighed.
“Bo’s better than a book,” Sienna replied.
“Touché,” Poppy agreed. “What about a book and coffee together?”
The Wallflowers slid a glance at their men but didn’t comment.
Devin stepped forward then, scowling at Calla, and pulled out a file from under his arm. He placed his phone on the desk without commentary, as everyone watched silently, and hit Play on the audio between Joe and his ex. When the recording was done, Preston was red-faced.
“I know who’s on your payroll, Preston. They’re sloppy. I caught them watchin’ Joe and me when I was in Tennessee,” Devin began, stepping back to stand next to Joe in solidarity. “So, I did a little diggin’ after we realized Joe was set up by his ex. I figured she lied about still seein’ Joe to get a bigger payday. What did you offer her to spill his dirty secrets?”
Preston narrowed his eyes. “Five hundred thousand if she could provide proof,” he finally admitted.
Devin leaned in and pulled out a copy of two bank statements. He handed them to Armstrong and waited while he looked them over. Armstrong’s gaze shot to Todd’s. The man shifted on his feet, and sweat began to drip down his forehead. “Seems you’ve been negotiatin’ deals on the side. Two hundred and fifty to her and two hundred and fifty to yourself, Todd? You weren’t even smart enough to spread it around so he wouldn’t find it.”
Armstrong wasn’t stupid, just out of touch with reality. He’d trusted his security with the equivalent of chump change to him and expected loyalty in return. With his wealth, he’d lost sight of how much of a temptation that would be to a man on a salary.
Joe glanced at Elizabeth and Charlie. “I think we’ve established people will do or say anything for money. You, I get.” Joe pointed at Charlie. “I fired you for drug use, and you’re getting revenge. But you,” he addressed Elizabeth, “I don’t get.”
Elizabeth ducked her head for a long moment, then sighed. “I’ve got a kid in diapers and no man in my life. Why do you think?”
“Get them out of here,” Preston ordered his security detail. “I want to have a word with my daughter.”
A burly man stepped forward and grabbed hold of Charlie first. She struggled, shouting over her shoulder she wanted her money; she needed it to get her daughter back.
Preston shook his head, a sneer pulling across his lips. “Really, Bernice. You want a man in your life who associates with trash like this?”
Before anyone could respond, Charlie whipped around and pulled the gun from the guard’s holster and aimed it at Armstrong. Joe shoved Bernice back and dove instantly across the desk to protect Bernice’s father as the gun exploded with a deafening thunder. Heat seared through his body as he tackled Armstrong to the floor, grunting low with the impact as the heat turned to fire. He lifted his head, trying to draw air into his lungs, and looked straight into Armstrong’s eyes. His were wide with fear, his skin pale. Joe heard Bernice shrieking his name as he tried to roll off her father. He couldn’t pull air into his lungs and figured one had collapsed.
Armstrong moved out from under him and looked down at Joe’s chest, then his hand followed his stark attention, and he pressed down hard, biting out, “Call an ambulance. Now!”
“Joe!” Bernice’s frantic cries cut through the room as he held Armstrong’s eyes like a lifeline. He could feel himself slipping away.
“Be a better father,” Joe grunted, pain and loss of blood making him lightheaded. “Tell her I loved her.”
Armstrong was pulled back suddenly before he could answer, and Bo Strawn replaced him.
He continued to hold Armstrong’s astonished gaze as Strawn ripped open his shirt. The old man was still pale, and he was covered in Joe’s blood. He looked dazed. Confused. Then his countenance shifted abruptly, and he grew angry. He dropped back to his knees and grabbed Joe’s hand as sirens grew closer. “You can tell her yourself when you’re better. Do you hear me? I order you to tell her yourself.”
If Joe could have kept a clear thought in his head, he would have laughed. It took dying for Armstrong to accept him. Joe squeezed the old man’s hand and held on until darkness enfolded him in painless slumber.
Epilogue
New beginnings
A COOL OCEAN breeze drifted through the bedroom window. The curtains danced on unseen threads as Bernice rose above Joe. She glided down on his cock with slow, patient movements, drawing out the torture. He wanted to roll her to her back and thrust deep ins
ide her, but the incision in his chest hampered his mobility.
He’d left the hospital that day, after more than a week of recovery. In a private room. With private doctors attending only him. Preston Armstrong had insisted he got the best care money could buy, and he’d still be there if he hadn’t walked out on his own accord when the doctors weren’t looking.
He’d been shot in the back. The bullet ricocheted off a rib, sending a bone fragment into his lung before exiting out the side of his chest. He’d been damn lucky Bo had been there. He was a cop and had the medical training to keep Joe alive until the ambulance arrived. But the blood loss had been substantial, so they’d kept him in a coma for two days.
Now he was on Tybee Island with Bernice, with private doctors assigned to his every need while he finished recovering in the care of his woman. All on Preston Armstrong’s orders and dime. Armstrong had also taken it upon himself to handle all the legalities that came with being shot. The sheriff had come to his room for a statement, but that was the only time Joe had been bothered. Charlie, he had no doubt, would get the maximum sentence for trying to shoot Savannah’s favorite son. Because of Joe taking a bullet for the old man, Armstrong was now his benefactor in more than one sense of the word.
Joe would laugh if he could do it without pain.
Hell had not only frozen over, it was spitting out the sinners.
“We shouldn’t be doin’ this,” Bernice moaned, trying to ride his cock without hurting him. “Why did I let you talk me into this?”
Joe reached up, grabbed Bernice behind the neck, and pulled her mouth down to his. “Because I wanted to be inside you when I tell you I love you.”
Bernice jerked, tightening around him, and the pain and pleasure of it ripped a groan from his throat. “You love me?” she asked with astonishment.
“More than I can express,” he whispered against her lips, then devoured her mouth to let actions speak louder than words.
He’d lain in that hospital bed for two days before he was able to open his eyes, all the while hearing Bernice begging him to wake up. That she loved him and needed him to get better. It had pulled him from the darkness, hearing her sweet voice. Had pushed back a light that hovered just out of reach, beckoning him. It had washed him with peace, made him want to walk toward its grace, but Bernice and his sons had tethered him to the here and now. She’d been his earthly angel who’d beaten back death’s door.
