Black Jack

by A Parker

  Sometimes it was easy to forget who Black Jack really was and where he’d come from.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Jackson planted a foot on the step between my legs and leaned over his knee. “Are you sure?”

  Yes.

  No.

  How could I answer his question? I trusted him, but I feared what he was capable of. I knew he could and would hurt people, but I also knew he wouldn’t hurt me. And if he did hurt me? Well, I suppose that was what I got for playing with fire.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I said, this time with more resolve.

  Jackson unbuckled his belt. The tendons and veins in his hands and forearms stood at attention with every movement, and I watched, transfixed by all of him, as he unzipped his fly, dropped his jeans around his knees, and pulled himself free of his boxers.

  I almost gulped.

  All right. He can consider me afraid now.

  Jackson had been blessed in a lot of departments and it seemed entirely unfair that he’d won the jackpot with this, too. His cock was more than a little intimidating as he dropped to a knee on the step below me, took hold of himself, and yanked my panties to the side once more with his other hand.

  Apparently, we weren’t going to make it up the stairs to my apartment.

  He rubbed my pussy with one hand while he worked himself over with the other. I propped myself up with my elbows on the step behind me and spread my legs farther in invitation. He moved in closer. I waited, breathless and flushed, while he rolled on a condom. I hadn’t seen him pull it out, but I assumed it came from one of his pockets. He ran his cock over me. I was slippery wet, and soon he was too, and he pushed inside.

  I gripped the edge of the step behind me. “Oh,” I breathed as the pressure mounted and my body tried to make room for him.

  He growled. “You’re so fucking tight.”

  Maybe too tight for you. I grimaced as he gave me more and more until I thought I would have to tell him to stop. But then the pressure and the pain abated, and my head swam with a pleasant buzz while my body felt lighter and warm.

  Jackson interrupted my haze when he took a fistful of my hair and jerked my head back. I gasped, and he silenced me with his mouth over mine as he gave me one hard, deep thrust. I almost screamed.

  It was too much. Too good. Too deep. Too intense.

  Jackson took his time. Every movement was controlled and deliberate. His hips moved fluidly and my legs fell open wider until I could wrap them around his waist and use my heels against his ass to encourage him to give me more. He did.

  The stairs bit into my shoulder blades and lower back. They creaked beneath us with every thrust. I pressed my nails into Jackson’s back, feeling the ridges of muscle and scars alike as I trailed my hands down to his ass. I squeezed and he growled against my lips. His fist tightened in my hair and he grabbed hold of my shoulder with his other hand. He held me down as his rhythm quickened. Little stars burst behind my eyelids and I cried out with pleasure when I came. Jackson ran his thumb along my jaw and tilted my head back to trail kisses down my throat as he fucked me until he too came apart, and we finished in a sweaty, sticky pile on the stairs.

  The bar fell silent in the aftermath and the release brought more relief with it than I ever could have dreamed.

  I closed my eyes and smiled as Jackson pulsed inside of me, riding out the end of his pleasure.

  Chapter 12

  Jackson

  Samantha crouched down near the table where we’d sat and collected nearly a dozen black buttons from the floor.

  “Sorry about ripping your dress,” I said.

  Sam looked up at me. Her shoulder-length black hair was normally pin straight, but now it was disheveled with pieces sticking every which way. Some of her makeup was smudged too, especially under her left eye. “Oh, it was worth it. Besides, I can sew them back on.”

  “You sew?”

  She straightened with the buttons in the palm of her hand. She looked damn good in nothing but her panties and little red bra. She had a body made for fucking, that was for damn sure, and I wondered how much power was really in those thighs of hers.

  Perhaps next time I would find out.

  “Do I hint a note of judgment in your tone?” she asked.

  “Not at all. You just didn’t strike me as the sort of woman to know her way around a sewing machine.”

  “Because I usually wear jeans and T-shirts?”

  “I’m going to stop talking before I dig a deeper hole.”

  She smiled and deposited the buttons on the table. “Wise man.”

  I shrugged into my leather jacket and tipped my head toward the front doors. “I have to head out. The boys are waiting for me. You’re okay here on your own?”

  “In my own home and business?” She cocked her head to the side. “Yes, I’m fine. You go. I have to get ready to open for the evening anyway. I’m sure people will be looking for a place to have a beer and chat after this afternoon. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

  That, I did, and something told me I’d be needing her again soon. Her compassion, her smile, and her tight little body that just wouldn’t fucking quit. I had half a mind right now to take her again and fuck her right here on the damn floor. But I’d give her a break. She already had dark red marks on her lower back and shoulder blades from being railed against the stairs that would probably bruise.

  A reminder of our time together.

  She walked me to the door but hung back around the corner after she unlocked it to let me out. She didn’t want anyone outside to potentially get a look at her in her underwear.

  Before I stepped out the door, I put a hand on her hip and ran my thumb over the lace of her panties. The touch said more than I could with words, and she smiled at me before I stepped out into the setting Reno sun and walked down the porch steps of the bar and across the gravel lot to my bike.

  By the time I got on and started the engine, the front doors were closed again.

  Good girl.

  I rode straight to Toke’s, where I knew everyone had congregated after William’s service. His place was easily the nicest of all of ours, and it tended to be the usual hang for the Devil’s Luck because he had the shop where we stored most of our bikes or did any sort of mechanical work. He had a washing station built up on the outside of the shop too, which we all used like it was our own. He gave us shit about paying his water bills for him but we’d always turn up our noses and scoff.

  Toke’s parents came from generational money from the first beginnings of casinos and glory in Vegas. His great grandfather cashed in billions in Sin City, and Toke had inherited a glorious amount of money after his parents passed away. If they knew he’d use most of it to make his home the landing pad of a motorcycle club, they’d probably have written him out of their will.

  When I pulled into the driveway of his single-story sprawling bungalow, I could see people moving around inside through his living-room window. I rode straight through the side gate on the house into the backyard, killed the engine, and got off my bike.

  On the concrete pad in the backyard under a gazebo, my sister and Mason stood chatting. She held a glass of white wine while he sipped a beer, and she rolled our brother’s gold pendant between her fingers when he said something that made her laugh.

  I didn’t recall them spending so much time together before I joined the SEALS.

  Suzie spotted me coming up the path from the gravel lot in front of the shop and abandoned Mason to come say hello.

  “Where have you been?” she asked.

  “I had lunch with a friend.”

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she fell into step with me and followed me up the path to the gazebo. “Which friend? You don’t have any friends besides us.”

  Mason chuckled. “I’d wager Black Jack was with Miss Lye.”

  Suzie looked from Mason to me. “The chick who runs Reno’s Well?”
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  “How was she?” Mason asked.

  “Get fucked, Mase,” I said.

  “Like you just did?” he taunted.

  Suzie rolled her eyes and abandoned us in the gazebo. She marched across the lawn to the back patio, where the others were gathered. Soon, they all began making their way over to me and Mason, who still continued to pick at me about Samantha.

  Toke cracked a cold beer and handed it to me. “Did she treat you right, brother?”

  Abel snorted. “The real question is, could she handle the fucking meat between your legs? We’ve all seen that fucking thing. Poor girl probably can’t walk or sit down.”

  Suzie balked. “Can we not talk about my brother’s dick when I’m standing right here?”

  The men laughed. Suzie did not.

  “Settle down,” I told them. “Sam has been dealing with Walter Bates. She told me he’s been trying to take the bar out from under her for three years.”

  Gabriel nudged Mason in the ribs with his elbow. “I wonder what our Black Jack took out from under her, huh?”

  Jameson, dressed in all black save for a red kerchief tied through one of his belt loops, rocked back with laughter. “Her wits and her hymen I’d wager.”

  More laughter ensued, and Suzie huffed with irritation beside me. “It’s a miracle any of you get laid at all.”

  “Sweetheart,” Gabriel said, “you’re our little sister. You aren’t the target audience for what we offer.”

  “Thank God,” she mumbled, before adding, “don’t call me sweetheart, Joker. I’ll key your bike.”

  I put a hand on my sister’s shoulder and leaned toward her. “Suzie, can you give us a minute?”

  She blinked up at me. “Are you seriously going to talk business today of all days? We just put William in the ground. Can’t you let up for twenty-four hours?”

  “No.”

  Suzie’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but she hung her head and walked away, resolved to my decision. My little sister didn’t get to hang around and be privy to these kinds of conversation. I knew she wanted in with this club more than anything, so keeping her at arm’s length was crucial. Before I’d left for the military, I’d made William promise that he wouldn’t fall for her sweet baby-sister act. I knew for a fact she’d start working him to give her her own leathers once I was gone. He had to be as firm as I was.

  He’d held true to his promise. Apparently it had led to many fights between the two.

  When Suzie was out of earshot, I looked around at my men. “I know we all need a good laugh right now, but we won’t be having a go at Sam’s expense. She needs our help.”

  “Sounds like she already got some help from you, Black Jack.” Toke chortled.

  I set my glare on him. “Toke, shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you. I’ve had enough.”

  Toke muttered something under his breath before sipping his beer.

  Gabriel piped up. “Sam’s a tough chick. She’s had Bates nipping at her heels since he rolled into town and she hasn’t rolled over once. She’s under pressure from a lot of her regulars to give the bar up, too. Rumor mill has it that Bates not only wants her business, but he wants her ass, too.”

  “Not happening,” I growled.

  Gabriel shrugged. “Why not use her to our advantage?”

  The men shifted and looked from me to Gabriel.

  “Elaborate, Joker,” I said.

  “Well,” Gabriel said slowly, as if he suspected the words he said next might not sit right with me, “we could use her as bait.”

  I had already started shaking my head.

  Gabriel held up a hand. “Hear me out. She has something Bates wants and it’s only a matter of time before the bastard tries to take it by force. Sam knows that better than anyone. She knows what’s at stake. If we can be prepared for when that happens, we might be able to put an end to things before they have a chance to really get started.”

  I almost laughed. Almost. “Get started? Where the fuck have you been, Joker? This shit got started five fucking years ago and none of you said a word of any of it to me while I was gone. Not even William. The time for playing bait games and dangling a carrot would have been when Bates first rolled into town. But now? The fucker has his hands in every business and wallet, including the police department. We don’t have enough advantages to use Samantha as bait. It’s too risky.”

  Brody grimaced.

  “Is there something you want to say?” I barked.

  He met my eye. “Risk is our middle name, Jack. When a fight gets messy, we have to drop our gloves. Samantha wants Walter Bates out of Reno just as badly as we do. I suggest we give her the option to help.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “She’s a tough chick,” Abel added. “We’ve all seen her handle drunken customers at the Well. We’ve seen her break up brawls she had no business being anywhere near. I’m with Brody on this one.”

  “No,” I growled. “Handling a plastered sixty-five-year-old redneck is a different beast than handling Walter Bates and his crew. Jim nearly killed me the other night. Your heads are too far up your own asses if you think Samantha has a place in this fight. I’m not hearing any more of it.”

  Knox sighed heavily. “So, what’s the play then?”

  I looked around at my seven men, and they stared coolly back at me. I would die for any one of them, and I knew the feeling was mutual. I hated to think of Bates taking any one of their lives before we put an end to him.

  “Simple,” I said. “We get Bates alone and we put a bullet between his eyes, just like he did to William. Once we take down the headpin, the others will fall like dominos. Or they’ll scatter, and we’ll pick them off one at a time until the Wolverines are nothing but a miserable memory.”

  “Where do we start?” Mason asked.

  “We need insider knowledge,” Gabriel suggested. “Someone who knows the ins and outs of Bates’s operation. Someone like his Vice President.”

  Knox looked around conspiratorially. “Or his daughter.”

  Chapter 13

  Samantha

  Reno’s Well hadn’t been this busy since before Walter Bates’s reign. Almost every one of my tables were full with customers talking animatedly about the day—about William’s service. They spoke about the Devil’s Luck, about Black Jack’s bruises, High Roller’s steadfastness, and Suzie’s heartbreaking sobs when they lowered the coffin into the earth.

  As the night wore on and the drinks went down easier, conversation became a little braver, and soon Walter Bates’s name was dripping off tongues with disdain.

  “He’s going to get what’s coming to him now that Black Jack is back in town.”

  “They’ll bury him just like he buried William.”

  “Bates will suffer like he deserves.”

  “Reno will finally be free.”

  “The Well isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Fuck Bates and fuck his men.”

  “Another round on me! Cheers to Bates getting a round of lead in his skull!”

  As I made drinks and checked in with tables, I wondered if Jackson had any idea the sort of hope he’d stirred to life in people who had given up well over a year and a half ago. Did he know that they saw him as a hero? Did he realize the strength of his reputation? Did he have any idea how much braver he made the average man’s heart?

  Did he still see himself as the vigilante gang member with a death wish?

  I hoped not because he was so much more than that to me and these people. My customers flashed me smiles and rosy cheeks, and I offered discounts on tabs to show my gratitude for their business. It wasn’t easy holding things together these days, especially if a family had a lot of mouths to feed, so I appreciated them spending their money at my bar.

  Maybe those renovations I’d been dreaming about weren’t as far off as I’d thought.

  Around ten thirty, half an hour before I usually kicked everyone out for the night and locked up, the bar door swung ope
n. My back was turned as I stood behind the bar pouring a pitcher of beer, the last round of the night, for one of my tables. A hush fell over the bar.

  My mouth went dry.

  Without having to look over my shoulder, I knew whose heavy footsteps sounded on my floors.

  Walter Bates.

  There was more than one set. The scuff of several pairs of boots on my floor tipped me off to the fact that there were at least three of them, possibly four. I set down the pitcher of beer and turned, drying my hands on the rag I usually kept over one shoulder.

  The door fell closed behind the three men who stood under the antler chandelier above the entrance. Walter Bates, all six feet and three inches of him, wore black from head to toe, including the black bandana tied around his bald head. He scanned the bar with his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his pants, and his one blue eye landed on me. His other eye was white and milky with a scar running down his left cheek and up to his brow bone. I’d heard that he got it from a knife fight in prison, which was also how he’d lost his left pinky finger.

  Bates clicked his tongue as he strode deeper into the bar. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

  Women began collecting their purses hanging off the backs of their chairs. Men fished bills out of their back pockets to leave on their tables.

  Bates ran his four-fingered hand over the gray whiskers on his chin. “Aren’t you going to offer to pour me and my boys a drink, Miss Lye?”

  “You missed last call.” Somehow, my voice didn’t waver. Somehow, my hand didn’t shake until I set the pitcher of beer down.

  Bates chuckled deeply and ran his hand over his head. He caught the end of his black bandana and pulled it off, revealing his completely bald head swirling with inky black tattoos. Even though he was facing me, I knew there was the skull of a Wolverine on the back of his head with wide jaws dripping with saliva and eyes with slit pupils. It was a truly evil face, but it wasn’t as evil as the one smiling at me now.