Devil's Ruin (Rawlins Heretics MC Book 2)

by Bijou Hunter

  Blackjack stands up and acts as if he might leave. I chew my food, wondering if he’ll go. I’m not too worried, though. He plans to live here. If he leaves now, he’ll come back later.

  Pacing back and forth, Blackjack reminds me of a pissed Pepper. I smile at him and take a bite of pork chop.

  “Why are you sad?” I ask.

  “I’m not sad.”

  “Fine, then why are you whiny?”

  Blackjack gives me a really nasty look that makes me laugh so hard I nearly choke on my food.

  “Ugh, you’re the worst,” he mutters.

  “No, I’m not. I’ve met way worse people.”

  “Yeah, me too, but you’re pissing me off.”

  “You should get used to that if you want to be around me.”

  Pacing again, Blackjack shakes his head. “If you believe I hurt Annie, then why am I here?”

  “I like you, and I don’t like her. Lots of people I like have hurt people I don’t care about. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “I want you to see me as a good man.”

  “But you haven’t done anything particularly good.”

  “I kept you from getting shot at the park.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I probably wasn’t going to try to shoot the cop. I mean, Makoa was standing right there, and Ginger told me never to shoot police in the open.”

  “Ugh.”

  “I like when you say that. It reminds me of Alani when she talks like a teenager.”

  “Why do you like me?”

  “You’re sexy.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I guess. I don’t know anything else about you.”

  “Camo is sexy too.”

  “Which one is he? Should I date him instead?”

  “No,” he says, sounding on the verge of violence.

  I grin at his anger. “Which one is the guy with the long brown hair? He danced once with Alani, and I thought it was funny.”

  “Shut up.”

  Laughing, I clap at his rage. “Why do you like me?”

  “You’re fucked up, and I have a soft spot for fucked-up chicks.”

  “Clove is fucked up. You should date her,” is what I try to say, but my laughter keeps me from getting out the words. The idea of Blackjack and Clove is probably the funniest shit I’ve ever imagined.

  “Which one is Clove?” he asks.

  “The one with the Filipino eyes and the Mexican nose.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what she said when a man asked her to describe herself. Oh, and she once stuck her thumb in a guy’s eye socket during sex. I think that part might be a lie.”

  “I don’t want Clove.”

  “Because of the eyeball thing?” I ask, and he frowns harder. “You can have me then.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Sure. I don’t know why people make everything so complicated. I have enough trouble with doors and windows. Why make the easy stuff hard?”

  Blackjack sits down and crosses his arms. “What about doors and windows?”

  “I like knowing I’m not locked into a place. Oh, and I don’t like the mechanical room upstairs with the heater. It’s the worst place ever. You should be ready for that.”

  “Why don’t you take the doors off the rooms and closets, so it feels open?”

  “I don’t know how to do that,” I say and drink some of my soda. “Oh, and you should eat, or I will eat your food. I don’t like wasting pork chops. It’s really good.”

  Blackjack takes a bite and nods. “My mom used to make pork chops with green beans and cream of mushroom soup. She’d put it on white rice. That was our fancy dinner,” he says and then adds, “We’re not extravagant people.”

  “Does your mom like your tattoos?”

  “No. She doesn’t like anything about my life. We barely speak.”

  “Are you jealous of how much Tana likes Oz?”

  “Stop talking about Oz,” he grumbles, and I instantly smile.

  “No.”

  “The guy has things too easy.”

  “You don’t like him.”

  “I like him fine,” he says, shrugging.

  “Then why are you so pissed?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Realizing Blackjack is genuinely upset, I leave my nearly done plate of food and lean over to hug him. “Oz isn’t as great as you.”

  “Thanks for the bullshit, Yarrow.”

  “No problem, Blackjack,” I say, nuzzling my lips against his rough beard. “That’s not your real name, is it?”

  “No. It’s Billy.”

  “Why Blackjack?” I ask while returning to my chair.

  “I got a rep for winning blackjack while in juvie. The nickname stuck so I got this royal flush tattoo.”

  He shows me the poker cards inked into the flesh above his knuckles. I run my fingers over his and smile.

  “What’s juvie?”

  “Prison for kids. I went there when I was fifteen. Stayed until I was nineteen.”

  “How come?”

  “I killed a man. Fucked another one up real bad too.”

  “Why?”

  “I had my reasons.”

  Studying him, I take a bite of dinner. “You’re scared to tell me because you’ll cry and you think I won’t understand your tears.”

  “I’m not going to cry,” he mutters while rolling his eyes.

  “I think you will. You look really sad already.”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Not at all,” I say, wanting to laugh. “I’m very worried about you.”

  “Sure, you are.”

  “I have a box of tissue in the other room.”

  Blackjack scoots his chair closer to me. “Do you want to know why I killed that guy?”

  “No.”

  “Really?”

  “I like you already. I don’t need new information.”

  “That’s what dating is for.”

  Caressing a lock of hair resting on his forehead, I whisper, “You said it wasn’t.”

  “No, I said dating wasn’t about making a show of shit. We need to learn about each other.”

  “But you’re going to live here. I can learn about you then.”

  Blackjack leans closer until his breath warms my lips. “I think you should want to know my deep dark secret.”

  “No, I shouldn’t.”

  “You’re a stubborn, little cunt,” he says before frowning. “Shit, I need to watch my mouth around you.”

  “Why? You’re the stubborn little cunt, and that’s how your kind talks.”

  Blackjack still looks uneasy as he scratches the tattoo running down his neck. “I don’t think you’re a cunt.”

  “You know I have one, though,” I say and then pat his hand. My fingers pause on the tats. “I’m sorry talking about your past makes you want to cry.”

  “If you keep taunting me, I don’t know if I can avoid taunting you.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t cry as easily as you.”

  Blackjack’s hand suddenly flips, trapping mine against the table. He leans forward and presses his lips to mine. As much as I like the way he feels, I want to mess with him some more. His brown eyes glow when he’s pissed.

  Blowing a raspberry against his lips, I laugh at his startled expression.

  “I’m beginning to think you’re too young for me,” he says, still trapping my hand on the table.

  “I am.”

  “So, we shouldn’t date then.”

  “No, we shouldn’t.”

  “So, should I leave?” he asks, staring into my eyes.

  “Yes.”

  Blackjack doesn’t leave. In fact, he doesn’t even let go of my hand. My free hand reaches over for my fork and brings a chunk of meat to my lips.

  “I make good pork chops.”

  “That you do,” he says and uses his free hand to eat.

  “I don’t want to not like you.”

/>   “I don’t want to not like you either.”

  “The less we know, the more we will like each other.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I should explain something.”

  “No.”

  “I like that you’re fucked up. I dig broken women. I don’t want you to be someone else.”

  “Good because I never will be. That’s why I stopped therapy. There’s no point in talking to the psychiatrist if I won’t follow his suggestions.”

  “No, I guess there wouldn’t be.”

  “I take my pills, though. Ginger worries about me, and I don’t want her to be sad. That’s why I take the pills for my impulse and anger problems.”

  “What kind of pills are they?”

  “I don’t know. Ginger gets them for me, and I take them. I don’t really care what they are or what they do. It’s just to make Ginger happy.”

  “Do they make you happy?”

  “I guess. I remember I always wanted to hurt people when Ginger first found me. I didn’t like the noise, and everything was too bright. Then things changed. Maybe because of the pills or maybe because Ginger made me happier. It doesn’t matter. People worry too much about why things are the way they are. They want to feel important like they have a say in stuff, but I don’t care about feeling important. I only care if my friends are happy. I care if you’re happy too. That’s all that matters to me.”

  Blackjack studies my face, and I notice the golden specks in his irises. His eyes hypnotize me until I forget about my pork chops. I can only see him. My heart beats so fast that I feel like I might pass out.

  If this is what Ginger feels with Oz, I understand why they’re always humping.

  ➸ Blackjack ★

  Yarrow deserves a better name. Something opulent like Glory or Beauty. A name no woman would want but would fit such a perfect face. When she stares into my eyes, I hear her counting something. Is it my eyelashes? The number of hairs on my eyebrows? I don’t ask because I’m afraid to startle her. Yarrow looks heavenly relaxed, and nothing in the world should interrupt this moment.

  So of course, the cat does by rubbing against our legs and meowing. No doubt it smells the food, and Yarrow tears a sliver of pork from a piece on her plate. She offers it to the cat who then spends what feels like twenty minutes smelling it before finally eating.

  “When can I move in?” I ask while she pets the cat.

  Yarrow doesn’t look up from the animal circling her legs before saying, “Want to do it right now?”

  “I don’t have much stuff.”

  Finally returning her gaze to my face, I exhale with a relief disconnected from my common sense.

  “We can go get it.”

  “I can bring it over later. So, you’re cool with me sleeping over tonight?”

  “Sure. I’ve never slept here. The cat’s the only one who’s slept in my bed.”

  “Is your bed pink?”

  “No,” she says. “I wish my townhome was more colorful, but I don’t want to stay here, so I don’t buy colorful stuff. I’d rather sleep at Ginger’s or Cayenne’s.”

  “Because they have kids?”

  “Yes. I like kids. They’re not jerks like grownups.”

  “I assume you haven’t met Vile’s son yet,” I say, thinking of my club brother’s obnoxious kid.

  “I heard he’s a bully. I’ll probably beat him up.”

  “He’s nine.”

  “Beating him up should be easy then.”

  For whatever reason, the idea of Yarrow beating the shit out of that punk Trevor is the funniest shit ever. I laugh so loud that Yarrow frowns and backs away as if I might be dangerous. Reaching out to caress her face, I shouldn’t be so forward with her. Ginger gave me a solid warning on just how fucked up Yarrow is, but I can’t resist wanting to be closer to her.

  “Your face is so fucking soft.”

  “I don’t like wearing shoes.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “I want to take them off.”

  “Then take them off.”

  Yarrow smiles and kicks off her shoes and then nearly tears off her socks. Wiggling her toes, she sighs loudly.

  “I hate pretending to be like other people. Shoes suck.”

  “Never pretend with me. I like fucked-up chicks, remember?”

  “Like Annie?” she says, clearly teasing me with her words while she teases the cat with her toes.

  “No, not like Annie. I never fucked her. Besides, she’s the wrong kind of fucked up. She’s the kind of fucked up where she could get healthier, but she doesn’t want to because she likes being a pain in the ass.”

  “How is that different than me?” she asks while feeding the cat another piece of pork.

  “You’ve never set raccoons loose in my house.”

  “If I was mad at you, I’d burn your house down. Why involve innocent animals?”

  “That’s the kind of fucked up I dig.”

  Yarrow pokes me with her foot. “Did you or did you not fuck her?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You lied to me before.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It makes me look good to the bros around here when I say I’ve fucked a lot of chicks.”

  “You want to be popular.”

  “No.”

  Yarrow laughs. “You’re insecure.”

  “No.”

  “How come you’re not the club president?”

  “Because Oz sucked Cell’s dick.”

  “Hmm, interesting. Why didn’t you suck his dick so you could be president?”

  “I don’t like the taste.”

  “Neither do I. You’ll want to keep your dick away from my mouth.”

  Her casual tone belies how her words just set my entire fucking body on fire. I rub my eyes hard as if trying to wake up from a too powerful wet dream.

  “Did you want to be president?”

  “I’d be a better one.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I think highly of myself. Besides, I don’t have kids to distract me.”

  “We could make a baby,” she says while nearly crawling under the table to sit with the cat. “I bet our baby would be really pretty. Dark hair and a handsome beard. We could name him Frank.”

  “Why Frank?”

  “It’s a man’s name.”

  “Frank is my old neighbor’s name. He was a loser.”

  “Did he have a mustache?”

  “No.”

  “The man who lived next to us in Little Memphis had a mustache. His name was Dan, and he said Duffy was possessed by a demon. Or needed more spanking.” Yarrow pauses long enough to smile at me. “Cayenne beat up Dan one day, and he never talked to us again. It was funny.”

  “That’s a cool story.”

  “Do you not want kids?” she asks, crawling back out from the table and sitting down to finish her food. “I don’t care if I’m loony-tunes. I want a baby really bad.”

  “Is that why you want to date me?”

  “I want your sperm,” she announces and glances at the cabinets. “Can you leave it in a cup?”

  Even though her expression remains deadpan, I suspect Yarrow is fucking with me.

  “That’s how Bay got pregnant,” Yarrow says and winks. “They delivered a tank with sperm inside.”

  “Turkey baster, huh?”

  “I don’t know what that means, but Bay had to lie with her legs in the air for a few hours. I sat with her and watched TV while Pepper cleaned. That’s what she does when stressed out but can’t punch anyone.”

  “Seems like a silly way to get sperm when they could have just gone to a bar and gotten some for free.”

  “They’re lesbians, Blackjack. That means they don’t like dick.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard,” I laugh while she eats the last bite of food on her plate before taking it to the sink. “Do you believe me about Annie?”

  “No. Y
ou lie.”

  “I’m not lying about this. Besides, I lied about fucking her when I thought you were just the crazy fox from the crew. Now I know you’re the best fox from the crew.”

  “Why fox?”

  “Our old president’s wife preferred being called a fox instead of a chick. It caught on.”

  “I’d rather be a cat than a fox.”

  “You’d rather men call you kitty or pussy then?”

  “I don’t want men calling me anything. They’re evil.”

  “All men?” I ask, wondering if she forgot the package I’m sporting.

  “Yes. Didn’t you know that?”

  “No, I did not. Do you think Oz is evil?”

  “Of course. He’s a man, but his mom trained him to control his evil side. That’s why he’s a good father and treats Ginger nice. He even likes cats. That’s because he’s so good at controlling his evil side. I like him.”

  “Do you think I’m evil?”

  “Of course, but I like you. Maybe your mom raised you right too.”

  Unwilling to think about my mother when I’m struggling with a hard dick, I mutter, “I don’t think men are naturally evil.”

  “That’s because you’re a man. It’s okay that you lie to yourself. I do too. I think probably everyone does.”

  “I don’t lie to myself.”

  “Ever?”

  “I can’t say ever, but it’s not something I approve of. I’d rather face my problems.”

  “You’re lying right now.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You blink too much.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grunt. “Crap. I knew I had a tell.”

  “I have a bunch of them. That’s why I always lose at cards. It’s not really fair that I get to play when I’m so bad, but my friends feel sorry for me.”

  “You can play cards with me. We’ll see whose tells are the worst.”

  Yarrow’s face comes alive when she smiles. I study her every feature, noticing a small scar at her jaw and a longer, thinner one at her left earlobe. Her dark lashes flutter as she watches me watching her. Then her blue eyes narrow into slits.

  “Are you going to finish your food? Do you not like it?”

  “I like it fine.”

  “If you don’t like the food, you can bring your own to our next date.”

  “What makes you think there’ll be a next date?”

  “Because you like me. You’re stupid obvious about it.”

  Chuckling, I shrug. “Yeah, I probably am.”