Bad Beat (Regulator Biker Series Book 1)

by Carolina Mac

  “Leaving you alone is not an option. Not ever.” The stony look returned to his face. “You’ll have to come with me.”

  “I’ll take a quick shower and get ready. What do you wear to the casino?”

  “Jeans and a hoody—always cold as hell in there. They keep the temperature low to help you stay awake. The longer you stay there, the more of your money they take.”

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  “Personal experience. I went there a couple times wearing a t-shirt and cut-offs, and froze my ass off.”

  “Okay, I’m pumped,” I said, heading upstairs to the shower. I dressed in black jeans, black boots and a black tube top with a hot pink hoody on top.

  As I came down the stairs, Jackson whistled. “Don’t know how you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Look so hot all the time. Makes men crazy.”

  “It does? I didn’t realize—do you want me to change?”

  “Hell no. Those other poor bastards can eat their hearts out.” Jackson locked up the house and we headed out to the Hummer. “I came out and started this mother a while ago and turned the air on—it was so fuckin hot yesterday and today.”

  “Labor Day weekend is usually a scorcher in Toronto. It’s tradition.”

  Jackson looked over his shoulder as he backed out the driveway. “I called ahead to the poker room and put my name on the list.”

  “You have to be on a list? Can’t you just go and take an empty seat at a table?”

  “Nope, you wait on a list until they call you, and the pit manager tells you where to sit.”

  “No way. This is so amazing.”

  “You’ll learn tons by watching the games. You’ll have to stand behind the rail, but you can see everything from there.”

  “Do we need to drive to the bank?”

  “I’ve got a couple hundred to start. See how it goes. They have bank machines there anyway. People would go nuts if they didn’t.”

  “They would? Why?”

  “Gambling is an addiction. People go crazy when they can’t get more money to lose. It can be like a fuckin’ sickness.”

  “I’ve got a lot to learn. Growing up in foster homes, I don’t have too many social insights.”

  “Whatever the hell that is.” He grinned and flicked a butt out the window. “You’re perfect without them.”

  The parking lot was jammed with rows and rows of vehicles when we arrived. Jackson drove the Hummer around a couple of times before he found a spot wide enough for ‘the mother’, as George used to call it.

  I miss George so much. If I could only have him back for one more day.

  We walked through the tinted double glass doors at the front, past security guards that welcomed us with a smile, and the first thing that struck me was the lack of light. This casino had poor lighting. We passed a huge bar to our right made out of fieldstone with a huge fake tree in the middle of it. An arrow pointed to slot machines down a wide corridor lined with a row of bank machines. On the way to the poker pit there were tables for Blackjack, Let it Ride, Roulette and other games I’d never heard of.

  The curtains lining the walls were bright red—they would certainly keep you awake. Multiple overhead screens listed the names of all the people waiting to play different poker games. Jackson explained every detail to me as we moved along and answered all my questions. He was a patient man. We watched a game in progress from behind the rail while we waited for his name to be called and I was surprised by the number of women playing on each table.

  Jackson heard his name over the speaker, reported to the poker desk and the pit manager seated him at a table close to the wall. He was too far away for me to watch him play from behind the rail. I gave him a little wave and made my way back to the bank machines. I wanted to have extra cash in case he needed it and didn’t want him to ask me for it. It was my fault and unfair, that he didn’t have a job or money. After I had the cash in my purse, I went to the bar and ordered two Buds. I walked back to the poker pit and asked the manager if I could give Jackson his beer. He nodded and said sure, as long as I didn’t stand behind the table and bother the players. As if.

  “I got you a beer,” I whispered, handed him the glass and left. I watched the other games and memorized the betting rounds after the flop, the turn, and the river cards. I thought I might be able to play at a real table after a bit more practice at home.

  An hour later, I could see from where I was standing that Jackson’s chips were getting low. I got another beer for him at the bar and went back to the poker manager. He nodded as I passed and I took the beer to Jackson’s table. I handed him the glass with my left hand and shoved my right hand with a wad of bills between his legs. He looked startled for a moment and flashed me a questioning look as I walked away smiling. The next time I looked over at him he had a lot more chips and a grin on his face.

  Time passed and I was concentrating on a high stakes game when Jackson came and stood beside me, “I’m on a dinner break. Can you eat?”

  “Sure. I’m starving,” I said. “Do they have a restaurant?”

  “A buffet. We can try it if you want.” He took my hand and we walked to the other side of the casino. “Thanks for the cash. I was getting short stacked, but I’m doing a lot better now. You freaked me out when you shoved your hand between my legs.”

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t know how to give you the cash without making it obvious.”

  “That was one way,” he chuckled, “No complaints here.”

  The restaurant was almost empty. Black table cloths over metal tables with hard chrome chairs. Definitely not fine dining. The hostess seated us, took our drink orders and told us to help ourselves to the food. We filled our plates with prime rib and all the trimmings at the hot buffet and walked back to our table. Although there was little ambiance, the food was excellent, and I was glad to sit down for a while.

  “I have to go back,” Jackson said, after his third trip to the buffet. “My dinner break is over.” He checked all the messages on his phone and raised his eyebrows at one of them. “I have to return a call outside, and then I’ll go back.”

  “You go ahead. I’m going to have another coffee, and then I’ll come down and see how it’s going,”

  He gave me a quick wink and headed towards the exit.

  After my second cup, I toured back down to the poker pit and could see that he had rows and rows of red chips. If I remembered correctly, the red ones were worth five dollars each. After another half hour, he stacked his chips in plastic trays and headed for the cashier’s window. I walked over and waited beside him.

  “I had a good run, Portia. I got your money back and I made five hundred. That’s a good day.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” I squeezed his arm. “Do you want to have a drink at the bar before we leave?”

  “No. I think I need a smoke worse right now. We can have a beer when we get home.”

  “I forgot about the no smoking thing. That must have been tough for you.”

  “It’s not too bad when you’re concentrating on the game. A lot of the guys run outside every few minutes, but I think you lose your card flow when you do that.” As soon as we passed through the double doors of the casino, he lit up. “You know, if we’re going to do this full time the next few weeks, I should try to quit smoking.”

  “Your call on that one, sugar.”

  “I like it when you call me that.” He grinned and slipped his arm around my waist.

  It was late when Jackson turned the corner and steered the big Hummer onto our street. Angel had been in the house all day and was frantic to romp in the back yard. I opened two beers and took them out to the patio. The evening air felt muggy—warm and sultry. I shrugged my hoody off, tossed it over the back of a chair and sat down.

  Jackson inhaled and exhaled slowly. “It’s hard being close to you and living in the same house in our… current situation. Shit, that was a big sentence for me,” he said with a chuckle
.

  “What situation is that, Jackson? Could you spell it out for me?”

  “You know what I’m talking about,” he said hoarsely.

  “I know what you’re talking about, and I think when the time is right, that situation will adjust itself.”

  Jackson grinned.

  “But for now, I need a bit more time to get my head together.” I walked around the table, stroked his hair, then bent down and kissed him. A long gentle kiss on the mouth. “See you in the morning,” I whispered.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MY BIKE HAD been sitting on the trailer in the garage ever since Jackson brought me home from the cabin at the end of June, and now that I had emerged from my cocoon, I was dying to ride. As I passed the workout room on my way to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of him but said nothing. After his shower, he swaggered into the kitchen wearing just a pair of cut-offs.

  “I could smell bacon. Am I in time for breakfast?”

  “You are. I was just about to call you. I made a batch of pancakes.” I loaded up a plate with a stack and a side of bacon and set it on the kitchen table. “Do you want juice?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  I poured orange juice and reached for the maple syrup. “I was thinking…”

  “Oh, oh,” Jackson chuckled. “More thinking, that could be dangerous. Let’s hear it.”

  “Haven’t ridden my bike for such a long time, I thought this morning I’d ride for a while.”

  “We could ride up to the range if you want to. I could use the practice. My Smith and Wesson is shooting to the left.”

  “I haven’t held my Beretta for two months and I like to know that I’m prepared.”

  “You’re more prepared than most of us, Annie.” He cleaned up the syrup on his plate.

  “Okay. Let’s do that and when we get back I’ll cook the steaks and potatoes on the grill the way you like them.”

  “I’ll have Rusty spread the word to any of the boys that need to see me that they can meet me up there and when we get back, maybe we can play some poker after dinner.”

  “We can. I was toying with the idea of going back to the casino tomorrow and giving it a shot myself. I’ll be nervous, but you have to get that first time over with.”

  “You’ll learn more at the table than from any book or from anything I could tell you.”

  I nodded. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and get dressed for our ride.”

  “Yeah. I guess riding in cut-offs would be a bad idea.”

  “Especially if you dumped and dragged your bare legs along the pavement. Ouch.”

  By the time, I had dressed to ride my Harley, Jackson had the bikes ready to go and they were both sitting in the driveway. I stowed the Beretta and the ammo in my saddle bag with my wallet and did up the strap on my helmet. “Do you have your gun?”

  “Yep. I packed it with the ammo. Is this going to be tough on you, Portia? I know you and the boss went to the range every Sunday.”

  “It was our Sunday thing, and you’re right, this first time will be hard, but I have to face it and get past it.” I blew out a big breath, “Now or never. Let’s go.”

  We revved up the Harleys and roared up the street to the corner, then headed north-east out of the city. The practice range was an hour north of Toronto on property owned by the club. It was a large acreage situated on a back road with no neighbors for miles.

  My balance was off, and I was noticeably weaker after two months in bed. My bike felt heavy and awkward, my arms felt like jelly holding the bars. At the first set of traffic lights, I dumped it. Horns honked behind me as I struggled to right the big turquoise machine and panic welled up inside me.

  “Don’t pay any attention to those assholes,” hollered Jackson as he came running from the shoulder to help me. He lifted the bike up and I threw my leg over. “Go, I’ll catch up.”

  At the next intersection, I was wobbly but by the time we reached the range I had regained control of my baby. Jackson was a natural. He was as comfortable on his chopper as he was on the sofa and looked like he was born to ride. We parked, shed our jackets and helmets and retrieved our guns from the saddlebags.

  Walking down the hill to the target area brought back memories of Sundays here with George. He was the best shooter in his club and my mentor. He taught me everything there was to know about guns and marksmanship. He called me ‘Annie’ for Annie Oakley and often told me she was the finest female shot that ever lived. I could feel my eyes burning.

  Jackson noticed and took my hand. “You okay?”

  “I will be,” I mumbled, as we reached the target area. After I loaded the Beretta with the practice ammo and fired off a few rounds a lot of the tension drained from my body and a sense of calmness and familiarity took its place. When I checked the targets, my first few shots were off the mark. Two months was too long without practice. When I finished, I took my sound mufflers off and waited for Jackson to check his targets. “You’re a dead eye.” I grinned at him.

  “I’ll never beat you, Annie. Not in a million years. You’ve got the gift. I think you could beat me with your left hand, you’re so good with both.”

  We trudged back up the hill to the shack where the boys kept beer in a cooler. I carried the guns and the ammo boxes over to one of the picnic tables in the shade and sat down. Jackson followed behind me with a couple of bottles of Coors.

  “Hardly anybody up here today,” he said. “Must be away for the long weekend.”

  “Maybe at Coulter’s cottage.”

  Four guys were drinking beer at a table under a tree and Jackson nodded to them. Since he had been running the club from my house for the past couple of months, some of the new guys didn’t know him. Too bad for them.

  “Getting it on with the boss’ old lady?” One of them hollered.

  “I am the boss you fucking low life.” Jackson strode to their table and cuffed the mouthy one across the head. Without hesitation, Jackson twisted the biker’s arm up behind his back and the bone cracked. “You just dug yourself a hole, kid.”

  I raised my eyebrows seeing a side of Jackson that I never knew existed.

  “Those fucking prospects never know their place. Most of them are just runaways and if they make it through the first year into the club they think they’re bad-asses. That guy won’t make it past the next meeting.”

  I looked over at the boys and was amazed how young they looked. Why they wanted to be part of a bike gang was something I hadn’t figured out. But for my part, getting involved in club business or asking questions was not an option. I had learned that the hard way with George. There was a line and I had learned not to cross it.

  I winked at Jackson and switched tracks.

  “What?”

  “You are so sexy when you have your serious face on.”

  “What’s my serious face?”

  “You know the one.”

  “If I did, I have it on all the time if it turned you on.”

  “Do you want to turn me on, Jackson?”

  “More than anything.”

  “More than poker?”

  “More than poker.”

  I ran my hand up his arm, tracing the snake tattoo. “I have to wait until it feels right.”

  “I can wait.”

  “Glad we got some practice in. Sometimes you don’t get a chance for a second shot.”

  “So true.” He tipped up his beer and drained it.

  I glanced at the spot beside the shack where Kenny Portsmith had fallen when I killed him. I had only one shot that day and a split second to save George’s life.” I sucked in a big breath and finished my beer. I rubbed the cold bottle across my forehead, then walked across the dirt path and packed the guns into the saddlebags.

  JACKSON PARKED THE bikes in the garage while I shoved the key into the lock and quickly turned off the alarm. Angel blasted through the front door and ran out to greet us. I gave her a hug and she licked my face. “We have to get back into our running routine, girl,” I s
aid to her.

  “Do you run with Angel?” Jackson asked.

  “Down in Riverside Park. We run along the river path for a couple of miles. Do you like to run?”

  “I’d rather run outside than on the treadmill if the weather is good. You can’t be a bodyguard without the body.”

  “You’ve got the body part down.”

  He grinned at the compliment. “Thanks.”

  We finished dinner and I cleaned off the patio table. “While the coffee’s brewing, I’m going to take Angel for a walk, and then we can play poker.”

  “I’ll come with you. I want to see where you run. Wait until I get my trainers.”

  I changed into shorts, a tank top, and Nikes. I shoved a sweat band on to keep my mop out of my eyes and snapped Angel onto her leash. We sat on the front porch steps and waited for Jackson.

  “Ready,” he said, as he locked the front door. “You look athletic.”

  “I’m a wimp.” I stood up and did a couple of stretches.

  “Not buying it.”

  We started off at a brisk walking pace and when we got to the park we jogged along one of the paved paths. Jackson wasn’t even breathing hard, but I was panting and showing all the signs of being out of shape. The whole while since we left the house he had been checking around us and behind us. It made me nervous, but I was guessing that’s what bodyguards routinely did.

  “Man, I’m so out of it,” I gasped. Staying in bed for two months was so stupid.”

  “Sit down on that bench until you get your wind, and then we’ll go back.”

  Once I was breathing normally I stood up. “Ready. Let’s do it.” We walked back home with Angel in the lead and Jackson holding my hand. He was a hand-holder. There was so much I had to learn about him. Life throws curves at you and I wasn’t about to miss catching this one. “Next time I’m bringing a water bottle,” I grumbled.

  “You could have stuck your head in the river.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “You’re easy.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Back at home, we played poker and drank strong coffee until midnight.