Jax: Black Angels MC, #3

by Fisher, A. E.

  I discovered that the bond Jax had with his brothers was one of mutual respect and care. They were a tight-knit group of brothers beyond blood. Knowing what lengths they would go to defend one of their own was beautiful in a raw, primal kind of way.

  The door beside me creaked and I looked up to see Jax coming through it. He squinted at the dawning sunshine before turning to me, the light dancing off the curls of his mussed hair and dark lashes.

  “Morning,” he rumbled, walking over and dropping down onto the side of the bench he’d claimed last night.

  “Morning,” I said back, pulling my legs out from the blanket thrown over my lap. I gave him a quick look over. “You look terrible.”

  He snorted. “Come on, Ron. You know I never look anything less than gorgeous.”

  “I see the attention you’ve been getting has finally gone to your head,” I scoffed. Jackson already had an ego after three quarters of the entire girl population of our high school had fought for their turn to go on a date with the school’s hottest cowboy, and I could see it had done nothing but grown over the last decade.

  His dark lips turned up in a quick smirk before he sighed and sank deeper into the bench, a fleck of white paint chipping off the wood with the motion and drifting onto the porch. “I got back from the club only a few hours ago, and I caught maybe an hour or so of sleep at the most.”

  After my debriefing last night, Jax had left me here with a pretty blonde who went by the name of Pretty Boy, which was unsurprising with his model looks. Jax had returned to the club with the rest of the members for a late-night meeting before coming back and relieving the friendly but tired Black Angel who sat at the kitchen table, scribbling in college books the rest of the night. I had given him coffee, wanting to keep him company since he was nice to chat to, but once I realized that I was disturbing his work, I went to bed.

  I had awoken to the sound of Jax’s returning bike, hearing him come in and when no steps followed up the stairs in my direction, I fell back to sleep before waking half an hour ago to find him crashed out on the couch.

  “What are you doing out here?” Jax interrupted my reflection.

  “I was thinking.” I frowned after taking a mouthful of my cooled coffee. Nobody likes cold coffee.

  Long fingers splayed over the top of my coffee cup, making me jump as Jax stole the mug from my hands and brought it to his lips, downing the cold coffee in a single go.

  “You like cold coffee?” I couldn’t hide the grimace in my voice.

  “You don’t?” Jax’s dark eyes went wide, a hand slapping over his chest. “That’s scandalous. You think you can get away with drinking hot coffee all the time during the heat in Oregon or Texas. You’d die.”

  “I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “And cold coffee is gross.”

  “Well that’s a first thing to check off the list.”

  “List?”

  “Getting to know each other.” Jax’s nudged my shoulder with his, tilting me sideways. “You don’t like cold coffee. I do. That’s one.”

  From the conversation Jax and I had last night and the last few weeks we’d spent together, I was sure that this wasn’t the first new thing I’d learned about Jax, nor the first thing he’d learned about me.

  I smiled anyway.

  “I think I’m liking this whole truce thing.” I shrugged, pulling the blanket off my legs and shuffling across the bench, the old thing giving a creak in protest.

  “Yeah.” Jax smiled back. “Me too.”

  “So…,” he began, and I watched as he leaned down to put the empty mug on the floor beside the leg of the bench.

  “So…?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

  “Tell me something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything,” Jax said, then paused and amended himself, “something I don’t know.”

  “Um, let’s see,” I hummed, scanning for something interesting. “Did you know that when sensing danger, a chicken will kill its own children?”

  Jax choked, sitting up straight. “What the hell, Ronnie?” He glared. “I said something interesting, not something morbid.”

  “But,” I said, wagging my finger at him. “It was something you didn’t know. That’s what you asked for.”

  “Don’t play games with me, Ronnie Marsh,” he tutted, reaching over to pinch my leg. “You know exactly what I meant.”

  I hissed, before trying to do the same. He slid to the other side of the bench before I could catch him, pressing close to the wonky arm. If I wanted him, I’d have to move from my spot, which I didn’t want to do. Moving would break my timeless sense of tranquility. The cool breeze, and quiet around us was my illusion that time wasn’t moving, and my day didn’t have to start.

  I took my defeat with a pinch of salt, glowering at him as I reclined back into my seat. “And it’s Veronica,” I punctuated before going back to thinking.

  “Why?”

  My thinking didn’t get far as I turned to look at the frowning face. It seemed all he did was frown at me nowadays. “Why what?”

  “Why call yourself Veronica? You hate it.”

  “I don’t hate it,” I said, and from the quick look Jax gave me, he knew I was bullshitting him. I did hate the name Veronica. Not that much, but enough that dislike didn’t quite cover it. “It’s what everyone began calling me after you left. If I wanted to be taken seriously, I couldn’t have a child’s name like Ronnie.”

  “Says who?” Jax grunted, not happy. “I like Ronnie.”

  “You should tell that to Jacob, he would—”

  I froze.

  “Jacob?” he repeated, narrowing down on the one conversation topic I didn’t want to lead him to. “Is he the one running the farm now?”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, needing to change the flow before he started asking too many questions that I wasn’t ready to answer. “But what about you? I told you one fact. Now you need to tell me one about you.”

  For a moment, as Jax regarded my obvious deflection, I thought that he was about to call me out on it.

  “I have forty-seven tattoos.”

  I gasped. “Forty-seven?” I screeched, forgetting to feel relieved by the topic change. “How on earth do you have the time to get forty-seven tattoos in eight years?”

  “I had a lot of spare time.” He gave me a wicked grin, and I figured I knew what he spent the rest of his spare time doing. Or rather who.

  “Which one’s your favorite?” I asked instead, not wanting to touch that with a ten-foot pole as my eyes showered his arms. The tribal tattoos that I had seen before were made up of some smaller, simpler tattoos that made it seem like one great mandala across his tanned skin, only interrupted by the pinkened skin where the rope had burned him over a month ago.

  “My club tat,” he said, patting his left shoulder.

  I stared at him, waiting until he reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up around his neck. I saw the other tattoos, the bikes, the flames, shadows, and chains, all of them different and unique across his hips, muscles, and spine. It was the huge skull, splintered and cracked sitting in the center of his shoulders, that wasn’t hard to figure out why it was his favorite. Unlike its leather counterpart, the expanding wings were a dark black, highlighted not with white lines, but a deep, rich purple. It stared back at me, intimidating and captivating at the same time, like looking the devil in the eyes.

  “It’s… amazing,” I whispered, my hand pressing against the soft skin, feeling the ridges over his pronounced muscles. They grew taunt under my touch, but it didn’t stop my fingers from feathering across each line, cautious and timid, as if the tattoo might come to life at any second.

  I pulled back my hand, a tingling sensation in my fingertips traveling back to my body. “Does everyone have one?” I asked, saddened when Jax pulled back down his shirt, covering the masterpiece.

  “Well, I’m not sure about everyone, but most of us do. Just a bl
ack-and-white one, though. Mine is the only one with purple on it.”

  I hummed, leaning back into my seat. “Is there any place on you that isn’t tattooed?”

  “Yep,” Jax popped, looking back at me.

  “Where?”

  “Nu-uh,” Jax tutted, wagging his finger at me, a small cross on the inside of it. “Tit-for-tat. I’m not telling unless you can think of anything else.”

  “What if I can’t think of anything else?” I retorted, my eyes skimming over him, seeing if I could spot his uncovered spot. My eyes drifted down his front, and I was sure I’d seen tattoos covering his stomach, though I had yet to see him topless. My eyes moved further down to his hips and gravitated down toward his crotch.

  I paused.

  Would he…?

  He wouldn’t.

  What kind of man would get his—

  Just as the thought was crossing my mind, I caught Jax’s face. His smirking face. He wagged his eyebrows at me, and I felt my jaw drop.

  “You didn’t!” I gasped.

  His smile only grew.

  “You know what?” I scoffed, hopping up from the bench. I waved my flat palm in front of his face, my other arm wrapping up the blanket. “I don’t even want to know.”

  I scuttled toward the door, Jax’s laugh bursting from his lips as he teetered up onto his feet. He collected the mug as he went and followed me. “Our game isn’t over yet, Ronnie,” he called after me.

  “Yes, it is!” I called back, heading fast up to the shower.

  “If you really want to know, I can always show—”

  “Don’t even think about it!” I screeched, hurrying further up the stairs, aware of his boots following me through the hallway.

  “Oh, come on, Ronnie! I know you’re curious.”

  “No. Thank you!” I rounded the upstairs and just as I turned, grabbing the banister, my rushing feet caught the top of the stairs.

  Shit.

  I fell forward. Just as I was about to hit the floor, I felt the cushioned heat of an arm wrap around my waist, stopping my fall.

  The fucking good that did.

  My body flopped around the arm and my shoulder and my knee hit the wood. Jax’s huge weight came crashing down on top of my smaller body.

  I harbored breaths, pain throbbing through my knee and shoulder as Jax’s body crushed me into the wooden floor.

  “Shit, Ron,” Jax hissed, rolling off me, his arm still trapped underneath my spine. “You hurt anywhere?”

  “I’m hurt everywhere, you useless man!” I groaned, trying to roll away from him. I grabbed and pulled on his shoulder, using him as an anchor and trying to lift myself up.

  “Wait,” he said, catching my side in his large hand. His calloused hand brushed against the bare skin of my right hip as my shirt rose up my side, and the second he touched me, he might as well have burned me.

  I leapt up so hard, I almost sent myself falling down the stairs. I ripped his hand away from my skin and went stumbling into my door, shoving it open.

  My heart raced, hands tugging down my chest as I turned to face him wide-eyed.

  Jax was rigid. Laid on the ground, eyes like daggers wedged into my face. His pointed glare didn’t miss the flash of panic that had overtaken me.

  “Ron—”

  “I’m going to shower.” I turned, ignoring the burning in my back as I escaped as fast as I could into my room, slamming the door behind me.

  Subtle, Ronnie. Very subtle.

  M back pressed against the door, breath held until I heard Jax’s groan as he got up from his position on the floor. “I’ll wait for you downstairs, Ronnie,” Jax called, steps fading from the air as he went down the stairs.

  A heavy, aching sigh bled out of my chest as I sunk against it. My eyes looked down to the knuckles taut around the edge of my shirt, pulling it down. I plucked my fingers and lifted the hem up just enough to catch the pink scar stretching over my hip and down beneath my waist band. A rushed breath escaped my lips. I shoved the shirt back down, unable to look any longer.

  Running into the bathroom, and turning on the shower, I reached for a towel and covered the mirror before I stripped off my clothes. Naked, I kept my chin up high and my eyes far away from my body before stepping into the hot spray. Jax’s faced crossed my mind, and I bore holes into the side of the wall, reliving that expression. I took a deep, haggard breath and let the piling thoughts wash away with the water.

  If I’m not able to look at it… neither can he.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jax

  “It’s too quiet,” Mint said from next to me and I couldn’t help but think he was right.

  Tension was a maelstrom in the air as we sat at the rear of the group, watching Wolf stand at the forefront, twenty yards ahead, with Lamb and Hunter at his back. One of my hands ran along the smooth surface of the butt of my gun, holstered in the side of my jeans, safety off, while the other kept a firm grasp on the key plugged into the engine of my bike. She sat between my legs, ready to start her vibrant purr at a moment’s notice.

  Escape or fight. I was ready for either.

  I went over the plan of escape in my head for the ten-billionth time since we’d entered this shady area. As road captain, I was to lead my brothers straight out of any hellhole and to safety as fast as possible. I knew the roads of this nameless town like the back of my hand and had tabs on locations that could be used as a hideout or cover if things went south.

  “Chill out, Jax,” Ripper grunted from next to me.

  The bleaching spotlight above the empty airfield did nothing to dull the frightening horror of his scarred face, distorting his right eye and lip. No brother wore the word menacing as well as Ripper did. The enforcer’s huge shoulders hunkered back, as if carefree, but the shadow cast by his overhanging brow couldn’t hide the deep frown on his face as his eyes scanned the lot.

  “Don’t say that when you’re clearly on edge too,” I growled back. “Can’t fool me, brother.”

  “I wasn’t trying to.” Ripper shrugged. “But being trigger happy ain’t gonna help much if you start shooting before this deal is over.” He gestured to my hand, wrapped around the handle of my favorite revolver. My Springfield 1911A1. While nothing quite compared to the homely feel of my shotgun I stored at the ranch (which Ronnie had almost blown my head off with a few days ago), my pistol allowed the accuracy and that rustic military feel that almost felt traditional as I blew people’s heads to smithereens. Right through the eye if possible. Less messy.

  “I don’t like it,” I grunted, loosening my fingers but not removing my hand.

  Ripper’s chuckle made Mint besides me jump as he looked toward him with confusion.

  “Jesus Christ, Jax,” Ripper snorted. “You’re just like my boy, you know.”

  “I hope not,” I huffed. “Your kid is a little shit.”

  “He’s working through some issues.” Ripper shrugged, sobering up almost like the flick of a switch. Mint looked between us, baffled at our casual conversation. Newbie still had a lot to learn, patch or no patch. “He’s going to high school in the fall, so he’ll be getting over it soon.”

  “Yeah, let’s hope.” I sighed.

  As I spoke the words, I saw a lone set of headlights across the dark end of the lot. The tension in the air crackled, standing the six brothers we brought with us to attention.

  “Be wary but not eager, brother,” Ripper imparted to both the newbie and me alike. They were wise words I hoped to keep as my hand retightened around my gun as the truck pulled to a stop a few feet from where Wolf and his backups stood.

  A light rain began to patter on the leather of my shoulders.

  The truck’s engine cut out, and both doors swung open. The blinding white headlights were like a beacon, elongating our shadows across the empty lot as our group of six became eight.

  Two men stepped out. By the longer sleeve, fancy zips, and Italian cut of their leather jackets, it was easy to tell they were a brand of Mafia, as
far away from MC as you could get in our world.

  The difference was well-known between both parties, as the tension in the air thickened with a growing wind. It pushed at my back as I watched our guests’ jackets billow, revealing a flash of metal tucked into their waist bands. It didn’t surprise me, but it didn’t help my tension either.

  Wolf stood tall, the giant man dwarfing his business counterparts and allies alike as he faced the two men alone. Hunter and Lamb stayed stationary as Wolf stepped forward, but with Hunter’s equally large size and Lamb’s quick wit, I knew they could keep our president safe even at a distance.

  We were too far back to hear, but as Wolf exchanged hands with one man, giving a curt nod, the deal was over at last, just as the rain began to pick up too. If they had taken any longer, I would have had to—

  BANG.

  My engine roared to life in the echo of the sniper’s gunshot, screaming in my ears as the first body dropped. One of the Mafia members’ brain splattered across the shattered window of his truck and all over my president.

  Wolf lunged, grabbing the dead man’s friend and turning toward us, unharmed and pissed as hell. The man was white as a sheet as Wolf dragged him over to his bike before tossing him toward Lamb.

  “JAX!” Wolf yelled. I snapped up straight, knowing already what my orders were.

  Rubber burned through the air, water spraying up behind me, my wheels giving a wild screech. My hands grasped onto the handles of my bike, my deadliest weapon, and I surged forward, countless engines roaring to life at my unspoken command.

  I heard gunfire following behind us, not directed at me, but near where Lamb was riding, the mafia guy riding bitch behind him as he hightailed it behind us. I didn’t ignore it but instead turned my attention on doing my best to keep my eye on the road, the sheen of water making corners and quick turns that much more difficult as we raced to the exit of the airfield.