Her long fingers drummed on her tilted hip. The weary scorn in Maryette’s soft green eyes would follow Jackson for a long time.
Chapter 2
When Jackson left the bar, Maryette was outside by the doorway. Her scent reached him before he saw or recognized her, but as soon as he registered it, his senses went into overdrive. Before he saw her, he knew it was hers.
From the shadows her voice was sultry. “Maybe you don’t need to be so hard on your father, Jackson.”
“He tell you to come and say that?”
“No. He told me not to talk to you. Period.”
He turned to see her face, lit by the red desert sky in the frame of her dark hair. Her eyes shone at him with purpose.
What does she know about it? he wondered. Could be she knew Karl better than he did. Hell, that wouldn’t take much. Jackson hardly knew his father at all, but she knew nothing at all about him.
He said, “I’m just following the family traditions.”
He scowled as he turned to leave. She said after him, “Sometimes it’s good to break with tradition.” He looked over his shoulder and saw her leaning by the door, hip cocked and her eyes shimmering.
She said, “Breaking things can be good, you know. Some things.”
As she pushed away from the wall with her shoulder he caught that look again, Show me. The challenge stoked a fire deep inside him. Then she was gone.
His reaction alarmed him. Not only the physical reaction, which was big enough to be uncomfortable, bordering on painful. The way that she made him light up inside infuriated him. He wanted nothing to do with any woman from that life, so why would the sight, sound and scent of her ignite his whole being?
He had never felt an electricity so sudden and from so deep inside him. Why her? He figured it would pass soon enough.
All the way through training and all around his term of service, he remembered her eyes at unexpected moments. At the end of a long, hot, dusty day, or in the tense hum of boredom waiting for a GO signal, shaking over hills and scrub in the back of an armored Humvee, or prone in the cold night air behind a cinder wall, peering down the length of his M107 long-range rifle.
No woman had such a big effect on Jackson, not before and not since. It wasn’t only his physical reaction, the pumping blood, the stiffening pulse. The back of his mind seized on the image of her. The moment he saw her she was like a song or a poem that drifted around his head and wouldn’t leave.
Show me, was what her eyes said. I’ve seen it all.
Jackson progressed to his specialism very quickly, and it left him out for long, lonely hours on hillsides, on rooftops and in abandoned buildings, waiting for word from a spotter. In many of those hours, Jackson remembered Maryette’s eyes. I’ll show you, he thought.
On a cold and moonless night, Jackson was prone and still behind dry scrub on a dusty rock. Hostiles had been in view for several minutes. They were approaching silently. Jackson took sight on the eight silhouettes in turn. Without warning, the sky lit up red and yellow. The Pashtun insurgents had encountered an infantry patrol.
The fight was coming towards his position, flashes were in his eyes and Jackson could hardly hear the spotter’s voice over the two-way. As he blinked to try to see, he felt Maryette’s eyes on the back of his head. Heard her scorn, heard her say, ‘Go on, Jackson. Show me.’
It stiffened his nerve. Slowed him. Through the smoke and haze he made out a target, but he waited. I’ll show you, he thought. As the target rose in front of him, two more appeared in the scope behind the first.
He waited another fraction of a second and four hostiles were headed right for him. The one at the front had seen him for sure and the others were following. One had a weapon raised and pointed.
Cool as ice and taking his time, Jackson squeezed off four easy shots. At each one the thought was in his head, I’ll show you alright.
It haunted him now, while the pale Florida shore slipped under the slate sky and the blue-gray wing of the C130 transport plane that carried him home.
Chapter 3
1991
Jackson’s tour with the Marines was over and he reckoned he’d seen all the mayhem and anarchy he needed. Now that was all behind him. On route back to the US, on a shaking bench in the din of the transport flight, he took his mind ahead to the clean, controlled lawns and pools of home in the Las Vegas suburbs.
That was where he planned to return and where he would start a new life. Finish college and his law studies, pass the bar exams. Build himself a fresh, clean and secure life. And Maryette. Even now Jackson tried not to think too much about her. Like always.
Yesterday he was in the arid desert plains and scrub. Dunes, hills and bushes that could explode at any second without warning. Mile after mile of desert under thick, acrid palls of smoke and the stench of burning oil and flesh. A filthy place where they did filthy work.
Tomorrow he’d be returning to the sparkling miracle that glittered as it rose out of the tamed Nevada desert. Vegas, the city of fun, the theme park for adults. The emphasis now was on family entertainment. Ads and billboards talked about ‘gaming.’ Nice, friendly, wholesome games.
None of that sleazy gambling, that’s all over. Forget about it. No hint either of the casino pioneers. Men who brought huge sums of money into the desert. In cash, mostly.
Far from prying eyes in the forgotten Nevada wastes they turned their cash into the new dens of pleasure. Back then, a carpet was a curiosity in a room with card tables, roulette wheels, or a sports book. Then the ‘carpet joints’ sprang up. Places furnished so gamblers, as they were known way back when, could bring their wives. These sprouted showrooms for crooners.
Casinos now were reaching upwards out of the desert, rising proudly for the sky. Stately palaces of pleasure and play thrust up in high, shimmering hotels.. Strung all around their spires and high façades were other temples of temptation, twinkling strings of clubs and low-light dives.
All those pawn shops. All that booze, all those girls, all those men all those hard eyes and soft morals. All those hasty weddings, and that money. All of those hustlers attracted by the same glimmer and promises. What better place on Earth to practice law?
Ever since his father had taken him along to meetings with his attorney, Jackson had loved the law. He was driven by the thought of passing the bar, of standing up in court, of being the man with the calm voice—being the one and only man who his father had really listened to.
When the lawyer spoke over the expanse of his big polished desk, the look on Jackson’s father’s face burned itself on young Jackson’s mind. Karl Sage, Jackson’s father, respected no law and few men. Those that knew him thought twice before telling him anything that he didn’t want to hear.
Not the attorney, not the man with the office that was more like a library than the county library.
Andrew J Laughlan told Karl Sage, “You did a reckless thing, Karl.” The lawyer’s voice was slow and sad, just like his big watery eyes. “You allowed yourself to be in a difficult position.” This was how he introduced the subject of his high fees.
Little Jackson didn’t understand much of the meetings that he attended, but he knew this much: he wanted to be an attorney.
He wanted an office like that, and he wanted to be the man that men like his own father listened to.
It was only later that he learned the power of the law itself. That he learned the reason for his daddy’s awe at Andrew J Laughlan’s ability to navigate its twists and turns. How the lawyer steered and swerved around it.
Even Laughlan could only keep Karl Sage out of jail for so long, but, as Jackson later learned, the old advocate must have been practically a magician to keep him at liberty at all.
Karl had been a Marine, too, and so Jackson was able to feel that he had paid his father respect by following him into the Corps. Jackson solemnly swore to himself that this would be the only part of his father’s life he’d follow.
Impressed by the trapp
ings of the law, Jackson grew fond of oaths, vows, deeds, contracts and covenants and of ritual.
It was a long time before Jackson came to understand how much this took his path in parallel with the rules, traditions and sacred customs of the biker world. That closed community his father Karl had withdrawn into after his release from prison.
When Karl Sage finished his last tour of duty with the Marines, he came straight back to Summerlin and hooked up with his buddies from the Corps. Most of them had joined up with the local biker gang. Motorcycle club they called it. Karl rode but he didn’t join.
Karl did work for the club, though, mostly by enforcing and providing muscle. Jackson never learned the full extent of his father’s activities, mostly just the ones that showed up in charges.
As his father was engulfed more and more in the work for the motorcycle club, Jackson saw him less and less. That rare meeting in the red desert, almost their last as it turned out, at the Blades MC bar on the outskirts of town was fateful.
Jackson roomed in Vegas while he studied to pass the bar, and worked nights at the Mirabelle, an upscale downtown casino. Jackson was accustomed to working in uniform. He hated the look of the bright red vest and showy white shirt, but he saw it as equipment while he dealt cards across the blue baize from the shoe. Not in the way of the personal equipment he wore as a Marine, but it had a purpose.
The cut of the vest and pants emphasized his wide chest and strong, tight butt. It made him feel more exposed than protected He couldn’t deny that it helped attract tips, though.
The tall and willowy blonde in the sparkly halter stood to leave the table. She scooped up her winnings and passed a few chips to Jackson. He smiled and thanked her.
He waited until she was across the casino floor before he moved the chips, sliding them carefully to reveal the card with a phone number she’d left underneath. He tapped it on the table where the security camera would see it.
His floorwalker buddy Chay, stopped by the table in the brief moment while there were no players. “I’ve been making an audit. Your table always has the sexiest girls.”
“Only because it’s so near the bar. Shareen brings the drinks here soonest.”
As he collected the chips from the box under Jackson’s table, Chay smirked and said, “That isn’t because you’re near to the bar either, Jackson.” He arranged the chips by color for the count. “Shareen would serve your table first if you were out by the fire doors.”
Chay wrote the count in the book and waited for Jackson to initial it. “I think Careena’s got you on her list too. You need to watch out there.”
“Careena? Pit boss Careena?”
Chay nodded seriously.
Jackson co-signed and said, “There must be plenty of men padding around after her fine black ass.”
“Not in here there aren’t.”
Employee fraternization was a termination offense,even more certainly than being seen with a customer. “She may have a fine ass, but there’s an invisible belt over it and it’s hug with skulls.”
Chay fastened the box back under the table. “She’s a habitual slayer. Lures a man into an elevator or a back stair-well, gets what she needs, gets him fired.” Jackson scowled as Chay collected the chips into his bag.
Chay said, “She’s been seen in the bar of the Stratosfear after a firing,slugging tequila like a sailor on leave.”
“How come she never gets canned?”
“Too clever,” Chay said. Then as he left the table, “Take care, amigo. I’ve a strong hunch she’ll be coming for you.”
Not that day, not the next day but another two days afterwards, Jackson was on his way to sign out when Careena emerged from between the flashing lights of a canyon of slot machines.
She crossed the blue carpet with a big grin showing her strong teeth and she followed him through the door marked ‘Private’ into the back offices. Her voice was low and husky. “Hey, Jackson. You’re looking pretty fine for a man coming off an eight-hour shift.”
Chapter 4
“Go on, baby. Grab my hair. That’s it.” She scratched his neck, pulled his face into hers. Her soft breasts squeezed hard against as her hot, wet lips fastened on his.
“Oh, yes, Careena.” Her fingers curled in his hair and pulled. As her hips rubbed hard against him he growled, “Shove me down there. Shove me where you want me. Show me how to it, Careena.”
She pushed and he sank to his knees. The scent of her smoked his senses and his hot breath blew back as he snarled between her strong thighs. “Pull your panties aside. Hell, tear them.”
She ripped her little nylon knickers apart and she pulled his head into her mound. His tongue was hard and fast into her folds. He licked and flicked around the base of her nub. He felt her tremors as he slid his tongue around her hood.
She clenched as his hands squeezed into the smooth flesh of her round cheeks. Her thighs spread wide and her knees shook as he drove his tongue upwards, flicking fast into her soft chasm.
She pulled hard on his hair and shouted in exhilaration. Her thighs clamped on the sides of his head and her fingers gripped and clawed. Her stomach rolled and the whole of her shuddered.
She back slid down the tiled wall and moaned. From under her mound he rasped, “Yes, baby. Pull me up. I know you aren’t done with me yet. Go on; rip the buttons off my shirt. Scrape your nails down my chest. Don’t worry about hurting me. Do it.”
Her teeth fastened on the hard flesh of his chest. He braced his arms against the wall. Her fingers scraped all over him.
His voice dragged from the bottom of his throat. “You want me on my back? You want to climb on top of me, take what you want from me, is that it? You can put it where you want it.” She pushed him to the floor. Her eyes were wild as she ripped his pants open.
“Go on, YES, Careena. Ride me like a bronco. Go on.” She sat astride him and she drew him in. Her warm, wet walls held him like the softest leather gloves.
Gripping his hair with one hand, she held his head to the tiled floor. Her ass slapped against his thighs and her other hand pulled on her lengthening nipple. She slammed onto his hard cock and her thighs squeezed his as she rocked it.
“Yes, yes. Do it, Careena!” Her eyes clamped shut before stretching wide open, and she gasped and grunted. She shouted and slammed on his stiff cock as she came.
From above, the view of the show in the kitchen, even from the one-point camera, was easily hot enough to bring them fifteen minutes of internet fame, as Barclay the bald, pink head of security pointed out. He made them both stand by the big desk in his office as he played the whole show.
Careena pressed her lips together and drew them between her teeth. She had been here before.
Barclay said, “You’re a highly valued member of the team, Careena. But the situation here could obviously put the casino in an impossible position.”
She spoke. “It’s okay, Mr. Barclay. I won’t want to bring any complaint. Of course, I understand the casino’s policy…”
Barclay cut in, “We’re aware of how well you do understand it, Careena. That’s another reason this matter is so extremely serious. It’s clear that you assaulted Mr. Sage, and he has told me as much.”
Her mouth sagged open. “But I…”
“There really is only one possible outcome here, Careena, as I’m sure you know.”
She deflated and her eyes widened into wide almond shapes. Barclay went on, “At the casino we very much hope that Mr. Sage won’t press for criminal charges to be brought. It will be a matter for him to decide.”
Careena roused. Her foot stamped. “Play that recording again. Play it with the audio.”
“There is no audio on that recording, Careena. Chay tells me that the channel was faulty. But the evidence is unambiguous. Collect your things. Anything that’s owing to you after deductions will be forwarded forthwith.”
She stared. His voice hardened, “Now leave.” Her eyes glowered like hot coals at Jackson as she turned to go.
“Please wait, Mr. Sage.”
After the door slammed behind Careena, Barclay said, “Casino employees don’t usually bring charges against other members of staff. It isn’t usually felt to be helpful or necessary.” His dark beady eyes searched Jackson’s. “Will you find it helpful or necessary, Mr. Sage?”
Jackson shook his head.
Chapter 5
Not too many of Jackson’s law classmates rocked up to class in shades and on low, fat Harley Davidsons. It was the one trace of Karl’s blood that Jackson could never get out of his veins. He didn’t crave the clubs, the outlaw lifestyle or the biker fraternity, but he was hooked on the bikes.
Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1) Page 46