Bad Beat (Regulator Biker Series Book 1)

by Carolina Mac

  “Holy hell, Portia, look at the size of this fuckin’ room, or should I say rooms. There are a living room and a separate bedroom. This can’t be one of their regular rooms.”

  “Not exactly regular, sugar. They only allow pets in the suites. A money grabbing rule if ever there was one.”

  “That’s for sure. Please, don’t tell me how much this cost.”

  “Have no fear, my darling. The price will never pass my lips.” I kissed him and giggled. “Let’s see how well we do at the tables, and then we can decide whether to sleep here or move on.”

  With Angel settled on her blanket, I filled her water bowl and gave her a Dent-a-bone before I changed my clothes. I pulled on a short denim skirt, topped it with a tangerine tube top and slipped on a navy hoody. I added black eyeliner, mascara and a couple of squirts of perfume. Then I paraded around Jackson. “What do you think?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That should take their minds off their fuckin cards.”

  “You’re the only one I care about. Let’s go kick some ass.”

  The poker area wasn’t large—six tables near the back wall of the casino. We had to weave through the rows of slot machines to find it.

  “I hate it when the poker room isn’t separate,” said Jackson, “those fuckin slot machines playing that happy music—it drives me nuts.”

  Jackson’s words made me aware of the clanging and the ‘happy music’ as we walked through. “It is noisy in here.”

  Four tables were open. The player’s waiting list wasn’t long in the middle of the afternoon, and the poker supervisor seated us at our respective tables a few minutes later. The waitress came around and I ordered a beer. I posted, lost the first hand, then folded for the next half hour, watching the men at the table. I took special note of the winning hands they showed to see what kind of crap they were playing, just like Jackson taught me. For the next two hours, I played only the best cards and I bet large when I had them. I called an all-in with pocket kings and won over two hundred. My chip stack was growing and the men were regarding me as a player. During a dealer change, I took a walk by Jackson’s table. He had more chips than me and was in a big hand. I didn’t want to distract him. I made a quick side trip to the powder room and returned to my table.

  A little later, Jackson came over and stood behind me. I folded my hand and stood up. “Are you finished,” I asked.

  “Nope. Just hungry. I wanted to know if you felt like having some lunch?”

  “My stomach’s growling. Can we leave the table?”

  “We can have an hour without losing our spot. I asked the dealer.” He took my hand and walked me to the restaurant on the other side of the casino. The food was mediocre, but not terrible. On the way back to the tables, Jackson said, “Are you up, baby?”

  “I think I’m up about three hundred. What about you?”

  “About four-fifty. Cash out when you want to and go see about Angel. We can come back later tonight, if you want to sleep here.”

  “Okay. If I’m not getting super cards, I’ll take a break and walk her shortly.”

  Jackson nodded and went back to his table.

  I sat down, forfeited my missed blind money and checked my hand. Pocket queens. When it came around to me, I raised to fifty bucks. That raised a lot of eyebrows at the table. Two guys called me.

  The flop came, Ace-Ten-Five rainbow—three different suits. Seat three was a short stocky guy with a shaved head, wearing a muscle shirt. He bet twenty-five bucks. I was guessing he had either an Ace or a Ten. I called. Seat nine called as well.

  The turn was a Queen. Now I had trip Queens, but one of those guys could already have a straight. Seat three bet twenty-five again and I raised to seventy-five. If he was waiting for one more card, he would have to pay for it. Seat nine folded. Seat three called the raise.

  I held my breath for the river card. The dealer turned it over and it was a Five. Seat three shoved all the chips he had in his stack over the line. The dealer counted them. She looked at me and said, one-forty.

  “Call,” I said. Seat three turned over his pocket Tens for a boat and I flipped over my pocket Queens.

  The dealer pushed the pot towards me as seat three threw his cards, jumped up and yelled, “You stupid bitch.”

  I looked him in the eye and smiled. “I raised you, sweetheart.”

  By then Jackson was standing behind him as well as the pit manager. “The next time you insult my wife, you won’t hear me behind you when I pop a cap in your ass,” Jackson snarled.

  I left the table and cashed out, then spoke to Jackson on my way to get Angel. “I’ll walk the dog then come back and see what you want to do.” He nodded, but I could see by the tension in his jaw that he wasn’t over the incident with seat three.

  After Angel’s tour around the property, we returned to our suite and took a nap. The king size bed was comfy as I stacked up four of the fluffy pillows and stretched out on the chocolate brown duvet. I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew, I woke looking straight into Jackson’s big brown eyes.

  “You didn’t come back to the poker room, and I panicked,” he said. “Do you want to have dinner and play a little more later?”

  “How are you making out?”

  “I’m playing tight and I’ve made about five today. A lot of these local guys are big drinkers and they play bad cards.”

  “Why don’t I get cleaned up, and after dinner we’ll see what the evening crowd brings to the poker room.” I yawned and sat on the side of the bed.

  “I’ll take the dog outside, have a smoke and come back.”

  Jackson was doing well at the tables and didn’t want to leave—didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. I zipped into the marble bathroom, redid my make-up and tried to tame my mop of hair. I sprayed perfume on my neck as he came in the door with Angel.

  “You smell good.” He hugged me and buried his face in my hair.

  “In case seat three hits on me.”

  “If that prick says one word to you, I’ll kill him.” Jackson spoke through clenched teeth and I shivered. “You know I mean it.”

  Please don’t kill anybody because of me.

  “I know you do.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s go take their money.”

  We put our names on the list while we ate dinner, and returned to the tables for a couple of hours. Jackson made another two hundred. I was card dead and folded most of my hands.

  “I’m going upstairs to take a bath. Don’t leave the table until you want to.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JACKSON MANEUVERED THE awkward Hummer out of the casino parking lot. “How far is Albuquerque?” He headed for the on-ramp of the I-40.

  I struggled with the map, refolding it to see where we were. “About a hundred miles, more or less.”

  “We should be there before noon.” He adjusted the rear-view mirror, watching the bikes sway on the trailer as we bumped over a rough patch of road.

  “We’ll have to stop for breakfast. No freebies at the casino this morning.” I poked him in the ribs. “You must be hungry.”

  “I was getting used to raiding the breakfast room everywhere we stayed.”

  “The casino was worth the stop-over. Gave you a little bankroll for Vegas tomorrow.”

  Jackson frowned. “Is tomorrow the eighteenth? Shit, time went fast. Do you think we’ll make it all the way tomorrow?”

  “We do or we don’t, makes no difference. We’re gypsies, we can adapt.” I giggled but Jackson didn’t even smile.

  “I was thinking of our reservation, that’s all.”

  “You’re the practical one in this duo.” I squeezed his arm flipping through a brochure I picked up on our way out of the hotel. “I think we can make it by tomorrow night, no sweat.”

  Jackson eyed the pamphlet with interest. “Do you see something there that you want to see, baby?”

  “When we get to highway eighty-four, take a left. I’d like to drive down to Fort Sumner and
see Billy the Kid’s grave.”

  “Right on,” Jackson spoke with enthusiasm. “Good call. We can’t miss that.”

  It was an hour out of our way but definitely worth the trip. We strolled through the Old Fort Sumner Cemetery and stood reverently as we read the date, April 28th, 1881. Billy’s grave was flanked by the graves of his two buddies, Tom O’Folliard and Charlie Bowdre. All three burial sites were caged to protect them from souvenir hunters.

  So much for resting in peace.

  We stopped around noon for brunch at a little diner on the outskirts of Albuquerque. Jackson finished his lunch, my lunch, and two pieces of lemon pie. “I picked up this brochure on Gallup. It’s not far from here and has dozens of trading posts. It’s in Navajo country and I’m pumped for the red rock mesas and pictures of the canyons,” he said.

  “How long until we get there?”

  “A couple hours. We should be there by two, two-thirty.”

  “Well, rev up your camera, cowboy. We’re on our way.” I paid our bill and we headed out to the Hummer.

  Jackson hopped in the passenger side, gave Angel the bone from his steak and then fiddled with the camera chip while I drove. “We can download our pictures into the i-Pad and look at them whenever we want.”

  “That’s your department, techno-boy.”

  “I’m glad we have air in this mother—might get up to a hundred today out here in the desert.”

  “We better keep an eye on Angel. Make sure she drinks enough water.”

  ***

  THE SKY WAS overcast as we pulled into downtown Gallup. Dark clouds hung low over the landscape, the hot air overburdened with moisture. A gray mist rose from the river giving it an eerie feel as we walked Angel along the bank. Birds in the trees chirped news of the coming rain. Jackson removed Angle’s leash and encouraged her to wade into the shallow water and cool down. She slurped up a lot of water, jumping a little when a school of minnows touched her leg.

  A couple of bikers were smoking at a picnic table under a tree. Jackson ambled over and chatted with them while I watched Angel.

  “What’s up with those dudes?” I asked when he returned to the river bank.

  “They’re just touring around. Said they were stopped twice by the cops and searched for drugs and weapons. There’s some kind of a state-wide blitz on right now against bikers. Also, told me they stopped into Grand Canyon Harley yesterday for a look, and they have tons of new stock. I’ve been lookin’ for a different bandana for a while. Those screen-printed fuckers leave paint on your skin when you sweat. Maybe we need Grand Canyon t-shirts?” Jackson asked with a grin.

  “Definitely, we do.” It warmed my heart to see him so happy. Along the main street of Gallup, we checked out the little shops overflowing with Navajo art and jewelry. I couldn’t help myself when I spied a gorgeous eagle pendant in silver and turquoise. I had to have it. Jackson put it around my neck and did up the clasp. I checked the mirror and smiled.

  “That is the nicest fuckin’ necklace I’ve ever seen,” he said, taking my picture. “Hard to believe everything is made by hand.”

  We bought hot dogs for lunch from a street vendor, before continuing our drive through the red rock mesa area. Jackson had a heyday taking pictures of the amazing terrain.

  “Even though it’s cloudy, I think these pictures will be clear. This is a good camera.”

  Back in the Hummer heading for Arizona and Jackson was still raving about the canyons and the red rocks. “I can just picture John Wayne riding through here on his horse.” He paused, deep in thought. “Wish I’d seen the Wild West.”

  I chuckled. “You were born too late, cowboy.”

  “Wish I wasn’t,” he said with a pout.

  “They probably rent horses around this area, and you could go riding. Let’s watch for signs. That might cheer you up,” I said. “Can you ride a horse?”

  “If I can ride a bike, I can sure as hell ride a horse.”

  I smiled and flipped through the book of attractions. “Here’s one. Tomorrow on our way up to the Grand Canyon, there is a place offering trail rides. I’m marking that page in the book.”

  The siren whining behind us startled me awake. Jackson eased the Hummer onto the shoulder and stopped all the while cursing the air blue. “Fuck, they’re going to search us because we have a bike trailer.”

  Heat rose in my neck while a fragment of an idea flashed through my brain. “Let me handle it, Jackson,” I whispered, “I’m not losing all those fucking guns.”

  The officer came up to the driver’s window and Angel growled. “Step out of the vehicle, please.”

  Jackson and I both got out and I walked around to the driver’s side. I handed the cop my license and registration for the Hummer. He was a tall young man with blond curly hair and reflector shades. But he was a man.

  “We’re on vacation from Canada, officer,” I said with a flirty smile. I fluffed the right side of my hair and shook my head. “My name’s Annie. Do you want to see my bike?”

  “Sure, I do, miss.”

  I walked with him around to the bike trailer, chatting him up and asking him personal questions in whispers, trying to make him hot for me. It wasn’t hard. If Jackson was hearing it, he wouldn’t be pleased—even if it worked.

  “Beautiful bikes, Miss Annie. Where do y’all plan to ride?”

  “Grand Canyon and Red Rock Mesa areas.” I giggled and winked at him. “Can’t wait.”

  “Any guns or drugs in your possession Annie?”

  I took a step closer to him, my leg almost touching his. I could feel the heat from his body. “No, officer, I don’t use drugs and I don’t know how to shoot a gun. But I bet you do,” I leaned closer to him, pointing at his holster and whispered, “You’ve got a big one there.”

  “He gave me a wide grin. “Have a safe vacation, Annie.”

  “Thanks, officer. Hope we meet again.”

  He sped off in his cruiser in search of another law breaker and Jackson gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. Color rose up the back of his neck and he set his jaw as he stared straight ahead. Anger oozed from every pour. “Fuck, Annie, I didn’t like you talking to him like that. Made me so…”

  “Jealous?”

  “I could hardly keep it together, baby. I wanted to tear him apart.” He shook his head, his teeth clenched together. “Don’t do that again. I can’t fuckin take it.”

  George was the same—cut from the same cloth.

  Jackson turned off the engine and the big Hummer engine fell silent. “Where are we?” I asked sleepily.

  “The Marriott in Flagstaff. I’m tired and Angel has been in the truck long enough.” He pointed to the hotel, “Do you think this looks okay?”

  I glanced up at the entranceway and nodded. “Sure. I’ll go in and get us a room.” The desk clerk was accommodating and gave us a room on the first floor. I picked up the key cards and motioned to Jackson, “Drive around the side, room one-sixteen.”

  Jackson came in and flopped on the bed. “I’m so damn tired. I think it must be the heat.”

  “Maybe you drove too long without a break. Wake me up when you’re tired next time and I’ll drive. I don’t mind.” I cranked up the air, got Angel a bowl of water and walked back over to the bed. I pulled Jackson’s shirt off over his head, rolled him over onto his stomach and rubbed his back.

  “Oh, that feels so good,” he mumbled. “Don’t ever stop.”

  I pulled his boots off, then rolled him over and unzipped his shorts. I tugged them down and left him lying there in only his briefs to cool off. After I unloaded our belongings from the Hummer, I found some body oil in my toiletries bag and gave Jackson a rub down from his neck to his toes.

  “Whoa baby, I can’t believe how good that made me feel. I think I might live.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JACKSON BARGED THROUGH the door carrying coffee, bagels and cinnamon buns. Angel jumped up from her blanket to greet him. He had been feeding her blue
berry muffins from the breakfast buffet every morning. “Hey, girl.” He spoke in a whisper to the dog, set down his wares and began removing the paper from Angel’s muffin. “Didn’t mean to wake you, baby. It’s still early.”

  “That’s okay, glad to see you have more energy this morning. Although, I can’t say you were a slouch last night. You made a pretty impressive comeback after your slump.” I giggled as I untangled my legs from the sheets.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Today is such a big day for us—The Grand Canyon, and then Vegas. Holy shit, it’s like every dream I ever had is coming true.”

  I walked over and mussed up his hair. “I love you, cowboy,” I whispered. I sat on his lap while I poured cream into my coffee. After inhaling a cinnamon bun, I had a quick shower and dressed. Jackson was so gung-ho, I didn’t want to keep him waiting for fear he might explode. By the time I finished my makeup he had walked the dog, loaded the Hummer and was lurking near the door staring at his phone. “Everything okay at the club?”

  “Rusty asked me a couple of questions that he should have known the answers to.” He shook his head, disgusted with his VP and blew out a big breath. “Uh huh, all good.”

  At Williams, we hung a right onto highway sixty-four and headed north to the canyon. After driving about an hour on a desolate, boring highway, we came to a gridlock out in the middle of nowhere. Jackson jammed the Hummer into park and stepped out to see what was causing the problem up ahead. “There’s a shitload of reindeer on the road.” He chuckled.

  “There are herds of elk in this area,” I said, pointing to the brochure.

  “Never seen either one, elk or reindeer. I’m from the city.”

  When the way was clear and the herd had meandered into the field, taking their own sweet time, the traffic crawled forward. A few miles farther north I pointed to a sign for the riding stables, and Jackson veered off the main road.

  We ventured into the tiny office. The front façade was wooden, board and batten, built to represent a replica of an old livery stable—Hollywood style. Inside a couple of would-be riders were occupying the only two chairs. An old fellow with a weathered face, wearing a sweat-stained cowboy hat, leaned on the small counter.