Wicked Legacy: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Rough Jesters MC Book 8)

by Brook Wilder

  I would figure it out later. “Did you get the list?”

  He nodded, leaning against the door. “I got it. What’s the plan?”

  I thought about Kris’ words earlier. She didn’t understand that I was trying to protect her and her club. No doubt Kris would want to be in the mix, and the mere thought of her being anywhere that the cartel could get its hands on her again scared the shit out of me. “We take the delivery trucks out once they clear the town. Based on these deliveries, we can just set up a trap and get them every two days or so.”

  Ironsides cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like a plan, boss. I’m ready to get the hell back home.”

  I knew he was missing his wife and kid, but he would follow me into the fray every single time.

  I had to make sure that he got home in one piece. That was the only agreement his wife, Jessie, and I had between us. “I know, man.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “All right. I will get everyone geared up to move out. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about? I saw Kris.”

  Of course he saw her. “No,” I bit out. “Get the teams ready. That’s what we need the most.”

  He gave me a curt nod and exited the room, shutting the door behind him. I slumped in the chair, the weight of my club on my shoulders. When I had taken over the Rough Jesters, I hadn’t been aware of the fact that I would suffer in many other ways, such as finding Kris again and attempting to maintain a marriage within the violence of both the clubs. When the shit had hit the fan a few months ago, there was a moment I thought I was going to lose it all.

  Now I still wasn’t so sure that was the case.

  I stared at the wall in front of me, thinking about my wife. I couldn’t live without her, but she knew I wasn’t about to give up the club for her, either.

  What the hell was I going to do if this didn’t get any better? Would I be willing to have that conversation with myself for the greater good, for the love of my life?

  Or was this all just a fractured fairy tale that should have never gotten off the ground again? Was I not meant to be happy in my personal life?

  Hell if I knew. One thing was for certain. I couldn’t live like this much longer. Kris couldn’t live like this much longer. Something had to give, and I was afraid it would be our marriage over the club any day.

  That wasn’t what I wanted to happen. Not even close.

  Chapter 13

  Halftrack

  I parked my bike in the parking lot and cut off the engine, swinging my leg over the side. The town was lively tonight, with many revelers on the sidewalk enjoying the numerous bars in the area. I, too, wanted to celebrate, for it had been a fucking good month for the club, something that everyone needed lately.

  Thanks to the list that Cora had been able to pilfer from Red, the Jesters and Bitches had been able to intersect the shipments at the border, capturing more fentanyl than one cared to admit and taking the dangerous drug off the streets.

  Hell, we had probably saved some lives in the process.

  But as part of the partnership with the resistance, the drugs were handed over to them to dispose of or to use as leverage against the cartel. It had been a hard decision for Chains and Widow Maker, but with some coercing, they had both seen the potential benefit of giving the drugs over to a former CIA agent on the run, giving Voodoo a chance to maybe get the feds off their back as well as his.

  I still hadn’t seen Voodoo, not that I was complaining. I had done all my work with either Siren or Cora directly, but I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing or how he was managing to keep a low profile in such a small town. Surely someone had to be looking for him.

  Thrusting a hand through my hair, I tried to not think about work. Tonight, I would see Cora and I could hardly wait to do so. On the nights that I could come to the Drunken Worm, I did, becoming a fixture to her boss and every other fucker in the room. That was all I did: drink my beer while seated on my usual barstool on her side of the bar and once she locked up for the night, I escorted her to her car or gave her a ride on the bike to make sure she got home safe.

  It kept Red off her ass.

  We had played the ruse pretty good, me pretending to be a guy that she was shacking up with who was doing some contract work for the States.

  I didn’t know if Red had picked up on the fact that I was a Jester or not, but I wouldn’t put it past him. I just hoped I could protect Cora from whatever came down the pipe once he did find out what we were doing, and what she had done to ruin his life with the cartel.

  I pulled open the door and stepped inside, finding the place emptier than normal for a Thursday night. Cora was behind the bar and I felt my cock swell at the sight of her tight tank top and the way her ass filled out her jeans when she turned around.

  Damn, too bad I was fake-sleeping with her. She would be a hellcat in bed, I had no doubt about it, though it wasn’t hard to remember why we weren’t sleeping together.

  There was the matter of a kid, a kid she was stating was mine.

  Walking over to the bar, I slid onto the stool, waiting for her eye to catch mine. Any man would be damn lucky to be involved with such a brave, courageous woman. What she was doing was crazy, and I didn’t know why she had chosen to work for the resistance unless she just wanted the extra money.

  That or she wanted to get one over on her asshole boss. Now that I wouldn’t blame her. He was an asshole and if we weren’t betting on him to give us the cartel, then I would have already killed his ass for even thinking he could touch his employee in such a manner.

  There would come a day, though, when he was no longer needed, and I would be the first guy in line to give him a taste of his own medicine.

  Finally, Cora saw me and wandered over, a smile on her face. “Hey you.”

  “Hey,” I nodded, easing into the smile that had become familiar to anyone that was watching. “Slow night?”

  She frowned, glancing around the small bar. “Yeah. It’s crazy for a Thursday night to be this slow. I don’t understand it.”

  Hell, I didn’t either and the hair on my neck wasn’t standing up for just any reason. “Red here?”

  She nodded as she pushed a beer in my direction. “He’s kept his distance tonight. Something is up, Clayton.”

  I couldn’t agree more. Picking up my bottle, I allowed my eyes to drift over those that were in the bar, noting the oddness of the two guys seated at a table not far from me. They were both wearing leather coats despite the humid weather, both with a shot glass still full in front of them.

  Yeah, something was seriously off. I leaned over, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her toward me. “If something breaks out, you run, you hear me? Run like your life depends on it. I will be in touch.”

  Fear registered in her eyes, but Cora gave me a tight nod and shook off my touch, moving on to check on her other bar patrons.

  “Friend, you must like the beer or the view to have come this way again.”

  I turned to find Red standing a few feet away, a wide smile on his face. “Both, if you must know.”

  Red laughed, motioning for Cora. “Bring this fellow something stronger than that beer. He looks like a tequila man.”

  Cora sidled a glance at me, and I gave her a nod, feeling the tension creep across my shoulders. Red was up to something and I wasn’t so sure I was gonna like it once I found out.

  The two men from the table stood and I caught glimpses of their guns in the shoulder holsters as they did so. Well, hell.

  “What kind of work are you doing again, partner?” Red was asking as Cora placed the shots in front of us. “I imagine there are better young things to look at where you are from.”

  I gave Cora an intentional wink as I picked up the shot glass. “I don’t know. There’s something special about that one there.”

  Red laughed, slapping me on the back. “You got that right. Her mouth, shit, it’s hotter than the Mexican heat.”

  Fury flashed through me as I realized what h
e was insinuating, wanting to cut out his tongue right here and now. What the fuck gave him the right to do that to her, to anyone else for that matter?

  Cora’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and she wouldn’t even meet my eye as she hurried away, giving me pause for concern for her.

  I was going to fucking kill him.

  “You see,” Red continued, oblivious to my anger. “I don’t know if I believe you, friend. I mean Cora is a looker, but I noticed something about you on one of your many trips here, something that has made my hackles rise and made me wonder if you are who you say you are.”

  I tossed back my shot, glad that I had tucked my gun in my waistband before I had come into the bar tonight. Call it fate or just intuition, but I thought something was going to go down tonight.

  Turned out I was about to be right on the money. “That I don’t really like tequila?”

  “That you are a Jester.”

  Shit. I took my time setting the glass on the bar top, my mind racing with how I was going to get out of here alive tonight.

  That and I had to get Cora out. She had too much to live for. “What’s a Jester?”

  “Nice,” Red stated, an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “I figured you would say as much and frankly, it doesn’t matter. I seen that tattoo on the inside of your forearm. That’s a Jesters tattoo.”

  I turned over my left forearm, exposing the joker playing cards that were imprinted on my arm. “This? Hell, man, I like to play cards. Plus, it looked badass.”

  Red gave me a look like I had just fed him a line of bullshit. Well, I had done so, but I was half hoping tonight wouldn’t come to this. The other two goons came to the bar, lounging against the rough surface as Cora tended to them, glancing our way every two seconds as if she expected something to break at any moment.

  It was going to. I just wasn’t sure when they would pull the trigger.

  Red chuckled, motioning for another round of shots for the two of us. “You know, I really like you. You definitely know how to shovel the bullshit when it comes to it. Plus, I imagine you are a good fighter and have won your fair share of fights in your life, haven’t you?”

  “A few,” I admitted with a lazy shrug, my eyes on the goons at the bar. They were starting to look uncomfortable and I knew what that meant. Someone was gonna have a happy trigger finger. “You looking for a bodyguard?”

  Red laughed harder. “No, I’m wondering why a Jester is in my bar when there are so many others that you could camp in. You are saying the scenery, but I don’t know if I believe you.”

  I gave him another half shrug. “Honestly I don’t give a fuck what you believe.”

  Cora’s hands trembled as she set the shot glasses in front of us, but I didn’t meet her eye. I didn’t want to see her fear. I wasn’t so sure how I was gonna get both of us out of this alive yet, and she was depending on me to protect her.

  Shaking his head, Red picked up his shot, gesturing for me to do the same. “Well, then,” he stated, holding up the glass. “Let’s drink on the fact that we can agree to disagree.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I said, holding up my glass. We clinked them together and threw them back at the same time, the liquor burning a fiery path to my stomach.

  “Cora,” Red barked, motioning her over.

  Cora walked over, grabbing the glasses. “Yes?”

  “Get the hell out of here,” he growled, making a shooing movement toward her.

  “But the register and the dishes,” she protested as I silently tried to communicate with her, begging her to leave.

  “I said go,” he repeated. “You’re done for the night.”

  Something inside me eased as she gave him a firm nod, grabbing her bag and walking through the swinging door without another word. At least she would be out of harm’s way.

  “You see,” Red was saying as he stood, wiping his hands together. “I don’t believe anything that has come out of your mouth tonight, and unfortunately it’s time for me to start tying up loose ends.”

  I saw one of the goons reach into his jacket and I vaulted up from the barstool, knocking Red over in the process as the first bullet shattered one of the bottles behind the bar. My feet landed on the mat behind the bar and I reached for my gun, glass shattering around me as they fired blindly.

  Stupid idiots. They had to be amateurs. Maybe I would get out of here alive.

  Waiting for a break in the gunfire, I fired a few shots over the top of the bar, my mind rapidly attempting to think of an escape plan. I had one clip and half of the bullets in it were already gone.

  Using one of the bottles nearby, I aimed in the general direction of the gunfire, grinning. I was rewarded with a yelp. Not the sound I was looking for in terms of a kill shot, but at least I had wounded one of them.

  Five bullets.

  I tried it again and they shattered more bottles over my head, tequila and the offending worms raining down. Well, hell. There went my manmade scope.

  Psyching myself up, I raised my head over the bar and fired two more rounds, feeling the burn of a passing bullet against my arm. I dropped to the floor immediately, swearing as I heard one of them laugh. If they weren’t smart, they would round the bar and then I could take them down with the three bullets I had left.

  Maybe they weren’t such idiots to begin with.

  “Gringo, you don’t have many bullets left,” one of them called out in a jeer. “I would say three at the most. We can wait you out.”

  Shit. They knew my current situation.

  I checked the gun just to be sure, tapping it against my head as I realized I hadn’t miscounted.

  I had three bullets left; not even enough to run without being peppered with their return fire.

  I closed my eyes briefly, offering up all the regrets I had in my life, knowing I was going to die tonight. Cora, the kid, the club. I had a shitload of regrets that none of them would know what I had truly wanted to accomplish.

  Was this what every person did right before they died? Was this what my victims had felt over the years as they stared down the barrel of my gun?

  Well, if they were lucky.

  Drawing in a breath, I asked the man upstairs for one thing. Not to save my life but to protect Cora and the kid after I was gone. They were the innocent ones.

  This was it. I had nothing left.

  I released the slow breath, preparing to raise myself and make my last stand.

  Two rapid fire shots echoed and then all went silent, surprising me and nearly causing me to dive for cover.

  What the hell?

  Cautiously, I raised my head over the bar, finding the two goons sprawled out on the floor, turning the wood floor red. They were dead or dying, but neither was a threat.

  Swinging my gaze to my left, I saw Cora standing there, holding a gun in her hand, the barrel still smoking.

  Cora had killed them. Her eyes found mine and they were full of terror. “What did I do?”

  I walked over immediately, taking the gun from her and tucking it in my waistband along with mine. “You just saved my ass. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  She started to tremble, and I grabbed her upper arms roughly, shaking her a little. “Are you with me?”

  Cora sniffled but raised her chin, meeting my gaze. “I’m good.”

  She wasn’t, but at least she was giving it her best shot. “All right, let’s get out of here before the fucking police get here.”

  Cora made a sound and I gave her a little push toward the door, knowing that she would have to save her breakdown for later. We didn’t have time to deal with that shit. “Move,” I said roughly.

  She shot me a look and I pushed her again, glad to know I hadn’t lost my touch. She needed anger right now, not touchy-feely shit.

  That would come much later.

  Chapter 14

  Cora

  I had just shot two men.

  I hurried out the back of the bar, Clayton following me with my gun in
his hand, and led him to my car, my hands shaking as I pulled out the keys. Thank God Siren had insisted that I learn how to shoot in case I got myself into something like this. The gun had been tucked in my car under the seat; not the ideal place to put it, but I hadn’t felt comfortable carrying it on my person.

  I had remembered it when I had made it to my car and heard the first shot, knowing I couldn’t leave Clayton in there to be slaughtered. He had saved my life by spending a lot of his time in the bar, all without asking for anything in return.