Begging for Bad Boys

by Willow Winters

  I walk slowly towards the cabin’s wall. A man’s body is slumped on his side only a couple of yards away. I kick the pistol from his hand, and it skitters on the rocky soil before coming to a stop. I lean down and check the man’s pulse. It only confirms what I already know.

  I let out a huge sigh. All three men are dead, and Alex is safe.

  For now.

  I know that the Templars won’t stop searching for Alex – especially not now – because their men now lay dead and bleeding into the desert soil.

  Chapter 8

  Alex

  I wake up to the rumbling sound of tires eating up the desert road, mile after mile. It takes me a few seconds before I remember how I got here: me stumbling to the truck, Jax half supporting my limp body. But I feel a million times better for some rest.

  Stones rattle against the windshield, sounding like the pitter patter of rain. The heat of the day’s rising sun – just now cresting over the horizon – warms my cheeks. The strength of it on my eyelids makes the whole world look like a burning ball of fire.

  I don’t open my eyes; not yet. Jax is stroking my hair, playing with the long red strands, and it feels too good. I wouldn’t interrupt this for the world.

  “Brother,” Jax says. My ears prick up. He’s not whispering, but speaking low – I guess into his cell phone. I can’t help but pay attention, though a part of me is ashamed for eavesdropping. Another part of me is glad for the intrigue. I’ve only been awake a few seconds, and my mind’s already drifting to last night’s butchery.

  “It’s been too long. I wish I was calling with better news. I’ve run across some old … friends, and I need your help.” Jax says. His fingers never stop playing with my hair. They move in long, lazy swirls, grazing my scalp in a delicious dance. I have to resist purring like a pussy cat; it feels that good.

  Jax pauses; I strain to hear the person on the other end of the line. It’s a lost cause.

  “Anything that goes bang,” Jack says in reply to an unheard question. “Lethal, nonlethal – I’ll take it all. I want to make it look like a Fourth of July out there.”

  I’m desperate to know what Jax is talking about. But if I sit up and ask, he’ll know I was eavesdropping, and I feel kind of embarrassed about that. Still, even though Jax probably saved my life, the truth is I don’t know squat about him. More importantly, I don’t know if the Jax I fell in love with, all those years ago, is the same man who’s sitting next to me, stroking my hair. This guy reminds me of Rambo. As much as I want to believe in him, I’m desperate to avoid disappointment.

  “You’re a good man, Zach,” Jax growls, ending the call. “I owe you one.”

  I hear a clatter of plastic as Jax tosses his cell phone into the well between our seats. His palm cups my scalp, and he digs his fingers through my hair. Jax massages it so expertly that I’m hard-pressed to believe that he spent the last six years learning to blow things up. He would make a damn fine spa employee.

  Now that’s an idea. I start daydreaming of a future with Jax and me together – and no one trying to shoot at us.

  “How long have you been awake?” Jax asks. His voice is tinged with a smile. I picture him looking down at me with a grin tickling his face.

  I shoot upright with a start. “How did you know I was awake?” I yelp, my head snapping to my left. Jax has been driving all night, but he barely looks tired. Maybe he’s got a couple more creases lining his handsome face, and he’s wearing a hint of shade underneath his eyes, but that’s it. Otherwise, he looks fresh, and not a day over twenty-five.

  I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and grimace. I can’t say the same about myself. My hair is a mess: half the result of trying to sleep in a car, and half from Jax’s attentions. It billows around my head like a fiery cloud. I wipe the sleep from my eyes.

  Jax just chuckles. “Magic.”

  I shoot him a sour look and elbow him in the ribs. “I’m no fun before my coffee,” I grump, looking out at the sun cresting the brush and rocks of the desert, “or did you forget that? By the looks of all that empty sand out there, I’ll bet you haven’t picked me up a cup of anything hot.”

  “You started breathing differently,” Jax smiles, looking at me in the mirror. “Shorter – almost like you were trying to keep quiet.”

  I shrug and fold my hands over my chest. “All right, you caught me, James. So, Mr. Bond – I guess it’s time you showed me your cards. Who are these old friends of yours?”

  “Now that, Miss Moneypenny …” Jax says, winking at me – his blonde eyelashes glittering at me in the morning sun – “Is classified.”

  I turn to face him and scowl. “Coffee, Jax – remember?” In truth, it’s not the coffee I keep thinking about; it’s what happened in that cabin last night. It’s the blood that’s on my hands.

  “Oh believe me,” Jax grins, “I remember. Hell, I’d rather go head-to-head with a company of Taliban with nothing more than a pistol than see you before 9 AM. And I’m not just talking about your morning breath…”

  “Jax…”

  Jax throws his hands above his head. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. But only if you promise, hand on heart, never to spill a word of it to anyone, as long as you live.”

  I glance down at my folded arms. “I guess this will have to do,” I mutter.

  “Good enough for me,” Jax grins. I soften my stance. It’s hard to stay mad at someone who looks as goddamn rakish as Jax. He’s got that kind of wicked smile that could melt the iciest of hearts. And when it comes to Jax, I’m already warmed through.

  Jax stares at me long and hard. His eyes constantly flicker back and forth – checking to make sure the road is clear. This early, we’re the only vehicle in sight. “Someone else sold me out. I guess it is only right I tell you. You see, last night wasn’t the first time I’ve tangled with the Templars,” he says.

  I blink. It’s hard to process.

  “You –?”

  “Not here. I mean, not in the States. You know, I’ve been to a dozen countries and I still barely have a stamp in my passport? Least, not from holidays.” Jax says in an almost conversational tone. He cocks his head at me as if he’s waiting for an answer. I can’t speak.

  “Uncle Sam took care of everything. A C-130 isn’t the comfiest of planes, but it feels like business class compared to some of the rust buckets I’ve flown in, in Africa. And it beats the hell out of what happened in Mexico.”

  I go deadly quiet. I strain to hear every last word that comes out of Jax’s mouth. I remember how seriously he took his oath of service. I know there’s no way he would be sharing this – anything – with me if it wasn’t important.

  “It was a HALO insertion: high-altitude, low –.”

  “Opening,” I finish for Jax with a smug grin.

  His eyebrow wrinkles. “Yeah. How do you know that?”

  “You aren’t the only one with Netflix, you know …” I wave my hand like the Queen. “Anyway – do go on.”

  Jax frowns. “Six of us went in. The mission was a snatch and grab: some cartel boss’s son.”

  “The Templars…” I whisper. It’s hard to process it. While I was over here getting my ass kicked by a cartel that was hell bent on making me pay for the errors of my family’s ways – both errors and ways I had nothing to do with – Jax was handing out pain on the other side of the border.

  “Damn right,” Jax nods. “This kid – hell if I remember his name – was responsible for all their logistics this side of Texas. He was a real prick, too; constantly taunting the Mexican government on Instagram, like some rich kid from the Upper East Side. Guess he forgot to turn his phone off.”

  An evil grin spread across Jax’s face at the memory. I remind myself never to get on his bad side. I feel all kinds of lucky that his particular set of skills is reserved for people who hurt me.

  “What happened?” I ask. I’m desperate to find out.

  “Two guys got their parachutes stuck in the canopy. Had to cut themselves
out and boot pack to friendly ground, but they were out of action for the mission. I took the boys in – and we took the boy out.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Jax shrugs. “I’ve got no idea. He’s probably sitting in a maximum-security federal prison somewhere in Iowa. I just go – went – where I was told. But now that this has all happened, it feels like a hell of a –.”

  “Coincidence,” I say at the same time as Jax. He isn’t wrong. I don’t believe that there’s anything coincidental about it. I close my eyes. For a second I want to go back to sleep and let Jax stroke my hair, and forget all of this is happening. But I force them open. I can’t be that girl. I can’t let myself bob around like a plastic duck on the ocean, forever at the mercy of the waves.

  “Precisely,” Jax agrees. He falls silent.

  I try and piece everything together in my mind. “So you think this guy, this –.”

  “Ryan,” Jax says, supplying the name I’m trying to remember.

  “You think Ryan was involved in this? You think he knew about our history together and used me as what, bait?”

  Jax grimaces. “Hell if I know. I wasn’t supposed to look in that trailer. But this is the only explanation that makes any sense to me. Plus, Ryan is the kind of man who’d sell his own mother out for another slice of pie.”

  “Maybe…” I say, drawing out the word as I think. “Maybe he liked the symmetry of it. Liked the idea of making you deliver me to our own deaths.”

  “Could be,” Jax nods. “Seems like as good an explanation as any I’ve come up with, anyway.”

  I slump back into my seat. “It’s a complicated plan. Would have been easier to drive by and riddle us with bullets, wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s how you know it’s really him,” Jax grins. “Trust me; I spent two years rotating in and out of Afghanistan. If they left it to us grunts, the war would’ve been over by Christmas. But every time the CIA dipped their toes into the water, shit got … complicated.”

  “The CIA?” I squeak. The breath catches in my throat. “What are we getting ourselves into, Jax?”

  Jax reaches over and grabs my hand. I squeeze his tight: hard enough that, if it was happening to me, I’d wince. Jax doesn’t complain.

  “Unfortunately, babe, we got ourselves into this mess a long time ago. It’s going to take a lot to dig ourselves out.”

  A silence builds in the truck between us. It feels heavy on my skin. I don’t want to follow this conversation any further. I don’t want to know where it leads. The quiet is no better. My mind drifts to the things that I have done, and the things that are coming.

  Jax squeezes my hand. “Hey,” he says. His voice is clipped with obvious concern. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, Firework?”

  My head drops to my chest. I close my eyes and tried to concentrate on the warmth from Jax’s hand. It’s not enough. I can’t stay centered – I can’t stay sitting in this truck on this long desert road in the middle of nowhere with the cartel chasing after me. I can’t –.

  I fall away.

  My mind is heavy with shock. The shock of last night is catching up with me. I don’t know if I was running on adrenaline all this time – but whatever it was, it’s gone. It’s gone, and the walls are closing in on me.

  “Alex!” Jax says. His voice is loud enough to ward off the fog that’s enclosing my mind. I flinch, and my eyes spring open. “Stay with me, okay? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I don’t want to turn the thoughts in my head into words. I can’t help but feel that it’ll make them real. I shake my head, and beg Jax with my eyes not to make me do this. His jaw tightens and the muscles in his cheeks dance with tension.

  “Don’t go there, Alex. Trust me; I’ve been where you are right now.”

  I blink, and I see a dark circle growing on the cartel soldier’s chest. I watch him fall to the ground. I watch as his fist falls open and his pistol slips out. I watch as the last, ragged breath squeezes out of his punctured lungs.

  “Alex!”

  Jack yanks on my hand. My body jerks forward. The shock of the movement pulls me out of my fearful, dazed slumber. My eyes spring open, and search for Jax’s face. His eyes flash between mine and the road. The gray orbs are dark with worry.

  I swallow, my tongue straining against the dryness of my mouth. “I’m ... I’m fine.”

  “You are not fine,” Jax snarls, but I know it’s not at me. “You will be, believe me. I’ve been where you are. I’ve felt what you’re feeling. You’ll get through it, but you can’t hide from it. If you do –,” Jax pauses though his cheek muscles keep jumping. I get the sense that whatever he’s saying, he’s reliving in his own mind.

  “If you do, you’ll wake up dreaming of that man’s face the rest of your life.”

  I blink, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to stream out of my eyes. I can already feel their heat prickling me. I feel like I’m holding back an ocean of water with nothing more than my hands.

  “Why would you say that?” I ask.

  “Like I said,” Jax says, biting his lip. “I’ve been where you are. I killed a man, and I didn’t confront it. I hid from it: with alcohol; with my boys; whoever; whatever. I don’t recommend it. It’ll catch up with you in the end.”

  “What changed?” I ask, in a cracking voice. I feel like the world’s closing in on me. The guilt is oppressive. I don’t want to feel like this for the rest of my life.

  Jax lets out a heavy breath. His lungs suck in another helping of air before he replies.

  “You.” He says. Jax leaves the word hanging between us for a second, ringing out in the silence of the truck like a hammer blow. “The last time, the first time – it was you. You pulled me out of a slump I thought I would never escape. You did that for me. Let me do the same for you.”

  I feel my eyes water. Jax’s honesty is so brutal it hurts, so cutting that I can’t help but listen to him.

  “What about last night?” I ask, struggling against the tightness of my chest. My voice sounds strangled. “Did you feel their deaths like you did the first? Do you get used to it – to killing? Because –.”

  “You never get used to it,” Jax mutters. “But you make your peace with it. It helps if you know why you’re doing it. Last night, I knew why. I was saving your life. I was building our future. I’m not ashamed of that. You shouldn’t be either.”

  I squeeze Jax’s hand. “I’m not,” I whisper. “And thank you.”

  Silence reigns in the truck’s cabin again. This time it doesn’t weigh down on me. I know I’m not over what happened last night. I won’t be for a long time. But Jax has shown me a way to cope.

  Sunlight flashes against a road sign. My eyes flicker towards it. I realize that I have no idea in what direction we are heading.

  “Vegas –?” I say, turning my head and tracking the sign until it disappears into the distance. I turn back to face Jax.

  “That’s right,” Jax growls, his jaw set. “We’re going to finish this: for good.”

  Chapter 9

  Alex

  I’m going to be honest. When I pictured what Jackson and I would do after escaping the murderous clutches of a gang of international drug smugglers – I expected it would involve lying low for a while. After all, I’ve been on the run for months, and I sure as hell never headed directly for the people chasing me. So, the second I saw the road sign pointing to Vegas, I found out that Jax doesn’t play by my rules.

  “We’ll take a suite.” Jax says, smiling at the hotel receptionist. She’s a pretty, young girl, long blonde hair, blue eyes – exactly the kind of person you’d expect to find behind the check-in desk at a Vegas hotel. Her eyes trace Jax’s slim, muscular figure with obvious approval, lingering on the flecks of dirt and smears of dust on his hard worn denim.

  A suite?

  I watch the indecision playing out in the receptionist’s eyes, and on her face. The battle raging inside her is as plain as day:
as much as she’d like a roll in the sheets with him, she doesn’t think Jax is good for the money. I can’t say that I blame her. I’m broke – spending the last few months hiding from the Templars has drained my bank balance dry. Besides, it wasn’t like my parents left me a single penny to inherit.

  “Certainly… sir. Can I take a card?” The receptionist asks. I watch as she studies Jax’s face. I can’t help but follow in her footsteps.

  “I’ll pay cash,” Jax growls, reaching into his denim jacket and pulling out a dog eared brown envelope. It’s creased where it once bulged.

  The receptionist blinks. I’m surprised – this is Vegas, after all. Then again, I don’t suppose many chancers come to Vegas to spend their money on a suite at the Bellagio.

  “Of course; that’ll be,” the blonde pauses, looking down at her computer screen, “sixteen hundred dollars please.”

  Jax counts out the money, laying down hundred dollar bill after hundred dollar bill on the marble counter. Finished, he slides a small stack of green notes towards her.

  “What name will this be under?” The receptionist ventures.

  “Mr.…” Jax pauses, “and Mrs. Kane.” He turns toward me and winks. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

  I don’t say anything: just raise an eyebrow in response. Inside, though, I’m much less composed. I say the name: “Alex Kane,” in my head, over and over again. I like it. Alex Kane sounds dangerous. She sounds like she wears motorcycle leathers and gets in bar fights. She sounds like she wears a Glock at her hip and a ring through her lip.

  “That’s…” The receptionist says, tapping away at her keyboard. “All settled then.” She hands over a couple of magnetic strip cards, and I watch like a hawk to see if she tries to graze Jax’s fingers with hers. I’m feeling righteously territorial right now. Apparently this new Alex is a killer, and she sure as hell isn’t scared of the desk girl at the Bellagio.