Joker (Executioners Book 2)

by J. M. Dabney

  For now, all he wanted was a chance with Jackson. One date, hell, he'd settle for one conversation—just a chance to listen to the gruffness of his voice. He swore the man could make anything sound dirty.

  He reached for his phone on the counter behind him. He scrolled through his contacts and found Jackson's number. So he may have searched Gideon's phone for Jackson's contact information. Could stalker be added to his experience list on his resume? He slipped his arm crutches back on his forearms and made his way to the downstairs bedroom they'd given him.

  He flopped onto the bed and connected the call, he listened to the rings. After the fifth one, he was about to hang up.

  “What,” Jackson barked in his ear.

  “You have charming phone etiquette, Jackson.”

  He moved his crutches to lean them against the nightstand as he shifted to get comfortable.

  “Who the fuck is this?”

  “Dem. I wanted to make sure you ate.”

  “You called me at ten at night to make sure I ate breakfast?”

  Jackson’s tone conveyed clearly the man thought him insane. It was like banging his head against the wall repeatedly and expecting to get a different result on the next crash. All he was going to end up with was a migraine.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Bored, city boy?”

  He smiled, Jackson hadn't hung up on him...yet. It had to be a good sign.

  “No, not bored. Is there something wrong with me checking on you?”

  “Get in trouble for closing shop?”

  Not the subtlest change of subject.

  “No, apparently you're one of Heidi's best customers, but you're in trouble for wasting my morning masterpiece.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “So when can I take you out on a date?”

  There was silence, he held his breath and waited, he pulled his phone away from his ear to check to make sure Jackson didn't hang up on him.

  “Never.”

  “What are you doing now?”

  “In bed.”

  Don’t say anything inappropriate, don’t say it. He bit the inside of his cheek. Being subtle wasn’t in his nature, but he sensed Jackson need a lighter hand. Jackson didn’t like being pushed or teased, he didn’t like touch. This was going to be a nightmare trying to get his man. And no matter what Jackson thought, Jackson was his.

  “Early day tomorrow?”

  “Sorta, I gotta handle a few things tomorrow.”

  “Mysterious, I love that in a man.”

  He smiled at Jackson’s huff but suppressed his need to laugh. Frustrating Jackson was going to become his favorite pastime.

  “You’re fucking annoying.”

  “I thought your name was Jackson and we ain’t—”

  “What is wrong with you? I swear if you’re desperate for some dick there’s plenty of it out at Brawlers. You could have your pick.”

  “I don’t just want just someone’s dick, Jackson, only a very particular—”

  “You’re not getting mine.”

  “How do you know? One date, Jackson, come on, you might actually have fun. I’ve been told I’m great company.”

  “I’ll pick you on my bike Friday, be ready by 8, if you’re late I pull away.”

  “O—” The other end of the conversation went silent, and he looked at his phone, Jackson had hung up on him. What the fuck, not a good night or anything. Damn man, then it registered, he had a date with Jackson. Unholy fuck, he had a date. He fist pumped the air and rolled from bed, and grabbed his crutches, and he moved as fast as they allowed.

  “Gideon, I have a date, he said yes,” he yelled as he moved through the house.

  “What the fuck are you yelling about?” A shirtless Gideon appeared around the corner.

  “He said yes, well, not yes, he told me to be ready Friday night, but I did ask him when we’d go on a date, so technically he said yes!”

  “Who said yes?” Harper popped from behind Gideon.

  “Jackson, he told me to be ready at eight, he’d be here on his…oh shit, he said bike. I can’t ride a bike.” He plopped down on the arm of the couch dejected.

  He’d seen Gideon take Harper out plenty of times. She rested her feet on the pegs, but his legs weren’t strong enough to keep them up that long. He tended to shift a lot to get comfortable. A motorcycle seat definitely wouldn’t allow for that.

  “I’m sure if you call him back, he’ll bring his truck.”

  Harper was sweet, and he understood what Gideon saw in her.

  “No, I don’t…I’ll figure something out.”

  “Dem, Joker’s a bit of an asshole, but I’m sure if you just tell him you can’t, then he’d figure something out.” Harper smiled at him.

  “He said he had an early day, I’ll see about talking to him when he comes in for breakfast Monday.”

  “Hey, look at it like this, he said yes, and that’s big. Joker doesn’t volunteer to spend time with anyone and riding his bike gives you his back. That’s unheard of.”

  He knew Harper was being nice and trying to cheer him up, but it just wasn’t working.

  “Why doesn’t—”

  “Um, how much have you heard about Joker,” Gideon asked.

  “Not much, no one really talks about him, why?”

  “I’m just going to say this, Joker barely made it out of his teens with his sanity intact. Just take it easy, don’t push him too much, and only touch him if he touches you first. And whatever you do, don’t come up behind him without announcing it.”

  They kept telling him that, but wouldn’t tell him why. He just wanted to know what he was up against. He hated feeling like this. His life hadn’t been easy with a disability, but he’d worked with it, adapted to make his dreams come true. It was the first time he felt at a loss as to what to do.

  “I better go to bed.”

  “Dem,” Gideon said his name.

  “It’s fine, I’ll figure something out, I always do.”

  He pushed up on his crutches and headed to bed. He’d always wanted to ride a motorcycle, he’d do it, but first, he had to talk to Jackson. He just hoped the man understood. Being reminded of his limitations pissed him off, yet it wouldn’t last long—he hoped.

  FIVE

  Fuck, Joker Had a Date

  Friday night came around too quickly. Breakfast time at Heidi’s had been unusually busy, so he luckily hadn’t had to talk to Dem. It also made it impossible for him to back out. That wasn’t going to happen, once he made a decision, he stuck with it. The next morning he’d had a thought…how would Dem ride behind him with his crutches? He figured it out, but he wondered what the man would think about it. Would Dem feel less than?

  Most of his life he’d felt inadequate at being normal, so he’d given up on that bullshit. He didn’t want anyone else to feel lacking, though.

  He veered onto the long dirt driveway toward Ghost’s place. One minute late and he’d leave, he’d already warned the man. Part of him was hoping Dem wouldn’t be ready, and he could go back to his trailer for solo beers and movies.

  He rolled to a stop beside Ghost’s bike and kicked down his stand. He didn’t get off right away. He tried to calm that edge of panic at having someone behind him. Garnet had always caught him with his back turned. The first brutal blow stunned him enough that he hadn’t fought back. Instinct told him to hit first and ask questions later.

  He gave his head a sharp shake and dismounted. He didn’t really have anything appropriate for a date, so he’d worn his usual clothes. Jeans, black t-shirt, his favorite black hoodie, and his scuffed boots. He told himself to knock it off and jogged up the steps to the front door. The door opened before he could knock. Relief hit him when he saw Dem was dressed much like him except he wore a leather jacket over a navy-blue t-shirt.

  “Hi, Jackson.”

  Dem smiled at him, and he started to protest the use of his first name. He had a feeling it wouldn’t help. The man seemed to enjoy busting his balls.r />
  “Dem. You ready?”

  “Um—”

  Dem looked off, he noticed the man’s smile wasn’t as bright as normal.

  “What? You don’t want to go?”

  It was exactly what he’d wanted minutes before, but suddenly he was hurt it seemed the man wanted to back out.

  “Yes,” Dem yelled, then rolled his eyes. “It’s just I can’t ride—”

  “Oh is that all, I got it covered, you ready?”

  “Yes. Harper and Gideon made themselves scarce for some reason.”

  “They like to fuck in the greenhouse.”

  “Thanks for that information.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Dem smiled and shook his head.

  He stepped to the side and Dem preceded him toward the bike. The man froze.

  “What?”

  “You changed your bike.”

  He’d only changed out the single seat with one for a passenger with a backrest.

  “Temp shit, no big deal, I had to modify things a bit. Can you get on and off by yourself?”

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t offer to help as Dem held onto both crutches with his right hand and used his left to lift his leg over. Once the man was settled, Dem’s back against the rest, he stepped forward. He took lengths of Velcro from his saddlebags, then he lifted Dem’s right foot to the peg. The knee was bent, and he wrapped the material completely around calf and thigh. It would give if necessary but would hold the man’s legs up.

  “Not too tight?”

  “No, no, it’s fine.”

  He glanced up to find Dem watching him; an odd emotion in his eyes. He ignored it and repeated on the other leg.

  “Where do I put my crutches?”

  “Right here,” Joker said as he took the crutches, pulled Dem’s left leg to the side and secured them in a crutch holder he’d modified for the bike. They snapped into two brackets for each crutch that held them in place. He’d tested it with a cane on a 70 mph ride a few nights ago. It had taken a lot of modifying to make everything work with the vintage frame of his custom motorcycle. It was the first one he’d built after he’d gotten out of prison at twenty-one.

  “You didn’t have to do all this for me.”

  “No big deal, it gave me something to do when I couldn’t sleep. You ever ride before?”

  “No.”

  “You’re gonna scoot up behind me, wrap your arms around my waist and hold on. Don’t fight into the turn. You’ll throw us off balance. You follow my lead.”

  “Like dancing?”

  “Don’t know, never done it before.”

  “Dance or ride with someone else?”

  “Ain’t done either.”

  He thrust his helmet in Dem’s direction and helped Dem put it on, then pulled a half-helmet out of his bag for himself.

  He didn’t want to talk about it anymore. The date was about scaring the man off. Dem wasn’t for him. Hopefully, the smiling man would get it and leave him alone. He wasn’t fit for anyone, especially not someone like Dem. He wasn’t normal. He was rage-filled and broken.

  He mounted the bike, then he waited until Dem followed his instructions. The man’s chest against his back urged him to jerk away, to get off and put distance between them. He fought it, chose to start his bike and walked it backward, then headed off toward the main road. Instead of turning in the direction of town, he headed for Brawlers. The rough, gay biker bar was as unromantic as he could think of and it was also his kind of place.

  Dem’s fingers danced over his stomach, and he tensed until he forced himself to relax. His skin crawled as if bugs shimmied beneath his flesh. He was confident the man couldn’t hurt him physically since he’d survived the worst that could be thrown at a man. His childhood memories were tainted by torture, sleep deprivation, and the pain of whip and blade. Each time more horrific than the last, desensitizing him to pain until Garnet upped the stakes. He had fingernails that had never fully grown back.

  He clenched his jaw and pushed the past away, and just made the trip to their destination.

  The flashing Brawlers sign came into view, and he pulled into the gravel parking lot. He rolled to a stop next to one of the owners’ bikes. Scary and the rest of the Brawlers crew let their friends park up front.

  He got off the bike, removed his helmet and then Dem’s to reveal a bright smile and shimmering eyes. He looked away from the too handsome man. Dem wasn’t pretty, his jaw was square and covered in stubble. Dem’s body was powerfully built except for his legs, they were thin compared to the more developed muscles of his upper body and arms.

  “I haven’t been to Brawlers yet.”

  “Ghost and Harper don’t spend much time here except for when Executioners play here.” He spoke as he helped Dem remove the straps, dismounted, and he released the locks on the crutches.

  He got the man settled. They slowly made their way to the front door. Crave, Head of Security, was posted at the door. The mammoth blond smiled.

  “Hey, Joker, how ya doing, man?”

  “Good.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Crave, this is Dem, Ghost’s friend.”

  He stood back as they shook hands, and he checked the area. It was an old habit, he never went anywhere without an escape plan.

  “Ghost told us about you, but ain’t brought you out here. Have fun tonight. Tell Twitch your first round is on me.”

  “Oh, man, I’ve heard about Twitch.”

  “My husband does have a reputation.”

  “Can I give him sugar and coffee,” Dem asked.

  He shot the man a look and saw Dem looking too excited by the prospect.

  “No,” he and Crave yelled.

  “Oh, come on, I have to see it at least once.”

  “He’s going home with me, man. Please, he gets in trouble, and he’s a major little shit.”

  “But?”

  Crave’s grin turned wicked, and it made him uncomfortable.

  “I do like making my boy pay, though.”

  “Thought so…so?”

  “Still no.”

  “Damn,” Dem pouted.

  “Y’all have fun, and don’t let me catch you giving my boy sugar or caffeine.”

  “Fine,” Dem muttered and walked through the propped open doors.

  “Keep an eye on your man tonight, Joker. We’ve already broken up a few fights.”

  “I got him handled.”

  “Just saying, man.”

  He followed Dem inside, the man was turned and waiting for him.

  “Joker,” Lucky’s voice caught him off guard.

  “Oh fuck,” he muttered.

  The tall, thin man with dreadlocks bounced over, his big brunet husband in tow. Priest looking at Lucky with such an expression of love that even a bastard like him could recognize it. Priest and Lucky were like the odd couple, but Lucky was infinitely devoted to his husband.

  “Oh, you’re on a date, you finally getting some D, my friend, shit, just wait until I tell Mama you’re giving it to someone else.”

  “Lily is a fucking menace.”

  He observed Dem. The man’s expression open and friendly, he radiated confidence. He didn’t understand what Dem was doing there with him. Why the fuck did Dem even make an effort?

  “You know you love my mama, you just won’t give in. The bastard is rude, I’m Lucky, and this is my husband, Priest. You’re new in town. You’re the cook at Heidi’s.”

  Priest said hello, but moved behind Lucky. Priest wasn’t much on new people and crowds, so he stayed near Lucky unless they were in a group of their friends.

  “Yeah, Dem, nice to meet you two.”

  “You’re Ghost’s friend.”

  “Still trips me out when I hear Gideon called Ghost.”

  “We all get nicknames.”

  “Yeah, how did you get yours?”

  “I’m an accident waiting to happen, I’m lucky to be alive.”

  Dem laughed, and
he narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like that laugh, someone else had caused it—he growled. This was about scaring the man off. Not getting whatever he was over the man.

  “Why do you all call Jackson Joker, I like his real name.”

  “Oh, he’s a cranky fucker. If he smiles, he’s ready to kill someone. So we had to find a name that was total opposite to fuck with him. So, Joker it was.”

  “Don’t say that, he’s so cute, though. Look at that scowl right there. Sexy as fuck.”

  “Man, where did you find this one? He might be crazier than me.”

  “We’re going to the bar,” he barked and placed his hand on Dem’s lower back, urged him toward the bar at the back.

  “It was nice meeting you two,” Dem called over his shoulder.

  The crowd parted when they saw him coming. Twitch noticed him and removed the reserved sign from in front of the stool next to the wall where he could push his back to the wall. He took his usual post, and Dem settled onto the stool beside him. His knees pushed against Dem’s hip and thigh.

  “Joker, want your usual,” Twitch asked.

  Twitch was small and feminine, he had this energy that was infectious. Twitch always wanted everyone around him happy. It must’ve been a busy night already because Twitch had his long black hair twisted up into a messy bun.

  “What can I get for your friend?” Twitch attempted to hide his curiosity but failed.

  The boy was nosy as fuck, and he was also a matchmaker. Shit, he made himself a target, just what he didn’t need.

  “Hi, Twitch, I’m Dem, could I just get a water please?”

  “Sure thing, Dem.”

  This wasn’t the place for intimate conversation, the music too loud, and a tension of unleashed violence thick in the packed room.

  Dem turned to him and leaned in, he stood his ground and didn’t flinch away. Warm breath fanned his jaw, then his ear.

  “Just because you brought me to a bar doesn’t mean we can’t talk. It only makes it where we have to get closer. Don’t think I’m not onto you, Jackson.”

  “Shit.”

  His muttered curse earned him a chuckle from Dem. The man straightened as their drinks arrived.

  “You’re so cute together,” Twitch squealed and did a little hip wiggle.