Lucas (A Billionaire Bad Boy Novel)

by Adriana Jones

  The room was a mess, a burial ground for used tissues. It was a much bigger apartment than Red’s. Joy dropped onto the sheets covered with old photos, a photo album picked apart and plucked one by one, each petal agonized over until the flower wilted on the bed Joy and King used to share.

  She would kill herself with tears by going through all of those memories. Joy, even at that moment, commanded an air of respect. Her hair might have been frizzled and unkempt. Her makeup might have been smeared, giving her raccoon eyes, but she still held herself firmly and faced me dead on.

  “Ashley, I’m glad you came,” she said with a squeeze. Another woman with a huge bust who almost smothered me. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Of course. I’m so sorry.”

  I sat on the bed next to her. She had to push away the photos for me.

  “Sorry, move it out of the way. I was just looking at all the old pictures.” As soon as she said this, a sob caught in her throat. She paused for a moment, then bawled into her hands.

  I wrapped my arms around her and let her cry onto my shoulder. The great old lady’s tears kept flowing, shaking the both of us in their fury.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone. I still don’t want to believe it.”

  There I was, an undercover agent, trying to comfort the president’s old lady. If she knew who I was, she would be repulsed, but I thought about Red, about how I wanted to bawl only thinking about him gone.

  One day, he’s full of life on the back of his bike, telling you there’s no chance of trouble, the next...gone.

  “We’re here. All your sisters are here.”

  She wiped away a tear. Trembling, a smile shook free of her curled lips. “You’re not even a sister yet, but you talk like one. I like you, Ash. I called you in here because I can’t face them. We might have just met, but you’re easy to trust. I don’t think you would have it in you to speak behind my back. They can’t see me weak.”

  Tears rolled absentmindedly down her cheeks. My fingers itched to reach out and wipe them.

  “It’s all right,” I said, “You’re not super woman. No matter who you are, you’ve got to be sad at this moment otherwise you wouldn’t be human. King, he was a tough guy, but he was kind too, wasn’t he? If he lost you, I would expect that he would react the same way.”

  “Oh, he would,” she said, balling her eyes into my chest again, but not a torrential downpour like last time. She pulled back, wiped her nose, and let some happiness shine, a small break in the storm.

  “I’m sure after he was done breaking some skulls and getting pissed, he’d have a good cry.”

  “Everyone here respects you. Seeing you cry isn’t going to make them think you’re weak. They want to help you. That’s what this sisterhood should be about, right? I don’t want to get too sentimental on you, but if you can’t trust them, who can you trust?”

  “You’re right. I should let them in.”

  “I understand,” I said, seeing her pick up a picture of King, still big, but leaner, standing next to his father in an army uniform. They both held The Blessed Bastards’ flag, and both held themselves high and proud.

  She held my hand, her cold fingers wrapping around mine, thawing hers. “I don’t know what I’m more of...sad, angry, frustrated. It’s all too much. One second I want to go out there and grab a gun, the next I want to shove my head in these pillows, throw off my jacket, and curse the day I ever wore it. These colors took him from me.”

  With a deflating sigh, she rearranged the sprawl of pictures before us.

  “He was a good man. The best. Makes me wonder what I’m going to do without him.”

  “Everyone will help you. You have a lot of friends who want to help.”

  “King wasn’t much for funerals. He said all he wanted was a good barbecue, a lot of beer, and a good time. He wanted his funeral to be how he lived.”

  After another sigh, she said defiantly with the last tears drying up, “I’m ready for the beer and the barbeque. Having a good time might be off the list.”

  I held my hand out. She took it. Pride swelled in my chest.

  “You’re going to make one hell of an old lady. I can tell already,” she told me.

  I didn’t say anything as we marched to the door.

  She could hate me later.

  Right now, she needed a shoulder to cry on. I would gladly lend mine.

  Red

  The casket had to be closed. Dressed in our jackets, most of us already plastered, the priest read from the good book. It was still hard to believe that King was inside of that box. He seemed too important to ever leave.

  I kept my eyes lowered out of respect. It was fucking painful to look at my brothers and their old ladies who were hurting. My eyes would furtively glance at Ash, tucked behind everyone else in the corner of the meticulously gardened lawn. In her black curve-hugging dress, she looked dangerously beautiful. I couldn’t wait to rip it off her and fuck her until I felt better.

  But that couldn’t happen. I had to remind myself that we weren’t fucking. It was over. I thought about what would happen if someone tried to talk to her, if Lee tried to slap her ass again or something more. I said I wouldn’t step in, but maybe I would want to out of jealousy.

  She played the part of old lady well enough, but that was all it was, a part. Sooner or later she would understand that she couldn’t hang around this place like it was a social club.

  Fuck, she looked pretty. Her eyes, full of pain, over that man she hardly knew. I wanted to make her feel better. I got this terrible need to try to comfort her. All of my senses were heightened, my muscles pumping, wanting to reach out and walk toward her.

  Lifting that dress over her ass and being inside her would definitely comfort me as well.

  My attention snapped back to the grim reality before me. Joy threw herself off her seat and at the priest, who droned on his priestly words, but no one was really listening, at least I wasn’t, and it looked like Joy didn’t care either.

  “That’s enough. Start the music,” she screamed.

  The priest peered down at the book, ran his finger over the passage and read faster.

  “We now send King Jr.—”

  Some Stones song kicked in, drowning out all the sorry tears. An absurd laugh escaped me. That was how King would’ve wanted it, some badass song kicking in as he was about to be lowered down to the worms. Joy took the Bastards’ flag, and along with Boots, they both laid it on top of his casket.

  Making the sign of the cross, the priest finished, removing himself to the outer circle to watch as King descended into his final resting place. Joy slumped back into the arms of her friends. Tears erupted once the casket lowered.

  I had to wipe my eye to stop the tears from rolling down. Holding my head high, I clasped my hands and looked at all the people who loved him, who would die for him. King was leaving the world like we all wished we could.

  When the song ended, and the casket stopped, there was an outburst of weeping. The song helped make it better before, but now the emptiness was everywhere, surrounding us all. With King gone, I looked to what was next. Action. Revenge.

  Boots would’ve killed me to think of it. King too if he was still alive. Orders were to hold off on retribution for after the funeral. Don’t even think about it. Don’t even think a word of it in your head. Boots meant it. Pay your respects first, then deliver them to The Defilers after.

  We still needed to party, like King asked us to.

  Except nobody really looked like they were in the partying mood at the moment.

  But I could hear King scolding me in the back of my mind. I would miss the old man. I still couldn’t believe he was gone.

  Lee, stalking the outside of the gate, spoke into his walkie-talkie, communicating with the others on security.

  Boots was right. We all needed to kick back. There would be time for revenge later.

  When I turned back to check on Ash, she was gone. I headed back to the bikes. I would se
e her back at the compound, I hoped. It disgusted me that I hoped that.

  The girl had really gotten into my head. In a bad way.

  IBWTO (Chapter 7)

  In true Bastard fashion, we all went back to the bar to share a drink and gorge ourselves with as much food as humanly possible. The girls were busy in the kitchen with Grimes, who offered his cooking services. He was one hell of a cook. I could attest to that, having tried many of his signature wings. Apart from King, Grimes was probably the most important to the clan, just for those wings.

  I sat in one of the booths, liking what I saw, the absence of the hanger-ons much appreciated. Old ladies attended to everyone, along with some of the guys acting as bartenders for extra help. They were all dressed in black for the funeral. Not much of a change. Black was our color.

  I sat in a booth with my brother, Cole, and Ramos, but my attention was elsewhere. Ash was somewhere. It didn’t feel right to let her out of my sight as I simply sat there and waited in a booth like a chump. Forget the food they were cooking up, I wanted to sink my teeth into those tender curves sensually riding her black dress. Big, sparkling earrings, and a fancy white necklace, her cleavage was absurd, her breasts pressed together, trying to force their way free of that hot plunging neck line.

  I wanted to run in and stick my dick between those tits. Explode all over her pretty neck.

  Fuck, where was she?

  Ash was too much of a distraction. This night was supposed to be about remembering King, but then I realized that King would probably want me to be happy and stick my dick in her to forget all of the bullshit between us. King couldn’t stand bullshit. Little details weren’t important. Big picture. That’s what mattered. I could learn a lot from that.

  “What are we eating?” Jackal asked. For being much skinnier than me, Jackal had one hell of an appetite. He was always eating, always scrounging around for food as a kid. Nothing changed.

  He got the killer metabolism. My body was formed out of hard work, discipline, and careful calculations. If I didn’t hit the gym, punch some bags or do some running, I would be a high-strung prick. Obviously, dragging myself through hell at the gym did little to help my mood sometimes. Ash could attest to that.

  Not paying attention to my brother, I got up and walked to the back.

  The kitchen bustled with workers. Old ladies hummed between stations with Grimes at the lead, deeply focused with a bowl of mixed spices. They were all dressed in proper kitchen attire. If I didn’t know better, I would think I walked into a five-star restaurant.

  Roxy rushed from the ovens past the cutting stations and to the front of the line, heading my way. Her hair in a bun, I had to smile. Her features were sharper and more mischievous than ever without her curly locks draped low.

  “Lost your way, little pup?”

  “Get off, Roxy. I can be back here.”

  “Sure you can, but we’ve got work to do.”

  She pursed her lip and hissed “tsk, tsk,” then spun on her heels, returning to work. Ash strolled around the corner. She had an apron tied tightly around her waist, accentuating the swell of her ass. My fingers twitched to dig in, to drive myself inside to her end. She leaned over while chopping salad, further plumping her ass and just about wagging it in my face, like dangling a treat in front of a starved wolf.

  Seeing her helping out, deep in her charitable work, I had second doubts about whether she was made for this kind of life. She seemed to be getting along fine with everyone. Everyone but me. The thought of pounding her hard while she had nothing on but that apron got me instantly hard. I needed to shut my eyes, scrunch my fists, and get on with it.

  On my approach, Ash looked over her shoulder and spotted me. She went right back to cutting like I wasn’t there.

  I stayed behind her. She had no choice but to say something.

  “What’s up, Red?” she asked as she drove her knife through a pepper and thumped the cutting board.

  “Checking to see if you’re still here.”

  She flashed a beat of eyelashes then returned to the cutting board. “Is that all? Thought you weren’t going to do that.”

  How could I deny that sweet, sexy thing? I could use every inch of her body until she was tamed and under my spell, buckling and riding my swollen cock into a blinding orgasm. A few of those and all of our problems would be forgotten.

  “It’s hard to look away when you show up wearing that.”

  “I’m wearing an apron,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Not from behind,” I said. I did what I wanted to with no regrets. I slid up behind her and pinned her waist, thrusting my hard cock between her cheeks.

  One touch and I was throbbing, growing firmer than I could ever remember.

  “Off, Red. You made yourself perfectly clear. I’m not even good enough to be a whore.”

  My hands swerved from her hips to her ass, then lower, to the lip of that forbidden dress. Rip it right off. Fuck her on the kitchen counter. Who cares if anyone watches? Pour yourself inside and ravage her until the words between you disappear. Words get in the way. Your cock is the answer.

  “Fucking hell, Red. Can’t you see I’m trying to help?” she snapped.

  “All right, babe. You keep trying to help, but we’re not through.”

  She spun around and shot raging fireballs out of her eyes. My cock jerked back.

  “You can’t,” she fumed under her breath, a warning.

  “I can do whatever I want here. You stay here, you’re under Bastard rules. But more importantly, you’re under my rule.”

  Her nostrils flared. She gripped the counter, pressing her ass against it, hiding it from me. It couldn’t hide forever.

  Roxy shouted from behind, “Is he causing trouble?”

  Ash shook her head slowly.

  “Go,” she said. “I’m not good enough for you. Grow up and don’t come running to me every time you get a boner.”

  She leaned in, letting me see her violent snarl, a look I never thought I could see on such a beautiful face. What kind of man would do that to an angel? I must be the devil. I must be a terrible person. The biggest fuckup on the planet.

  “I’m doing this to help Joy, then I’m out of here.”

  She tried to push me back with a finger to my chest. A step over the line, but I allowed it.

  “Go, please.”

  Shrugging my shoulders, grumbling, “Fuck it,” I headed back to the bar to commiserate. King was right. Forget the complications. “Drink and Be Merry” would be my new motto. Because trying to fix things wasn’t going so well.

  Back at the booth, Jackal and Ramos withdrew. Might be because I slammed my fists and steamed. Might be because I looked like I was about to turn some tables over.

  “Hey, save it for tomorrow,” Jackal said.

  Jackal was right.

  Tomorrow was a big day. My grip loosened. My shoulders hit the softness of the booth behind me and my tense neck relaxed.

  Tomorrow, The Defilers would be utterly destroyed. Everyone might be laughing and smiling now, but underneath, I could hear the battle drums pounding.

  “Gotta get some fresh air,” I said.

  “You do that,” Ramos agreed.

  I slid from the booth with my beer, some hoppy IPA. Outside, it was a windless night. I leaned against The Backyard next to my bike. I would probably brood out there, drinking my beer, since I wasn’t in the partying mood. Bastards could grieve. Bastards could really party. I wasn’t into any of it. I was into rage.

  Motorcycles stretched into the distance and even past the gates, leading to The Backyard like a red carpet. All of The Bastards’ chapters were in attendance. They would stay the night, some in the apartments, but most camping anywhere they found room.

  I heard Boots approach before I saw him. He slapped me on the back, almost making me spill my beer, which might’ve been a good thing, because I was feeling too angry to dull my hot blood with alcohol. Anger could give me an edge. Best to ride it out. Savor
it for tomorrow.

  “I got a job for ya,” Boots said, slurring his words.

  He stumbled, wavering, but luckily touched his back to the wall of The Backyard.

  “Thought we don’t start until tomorrow?”

  Boots lifted his beer and pointed the lip to the line of bikes. “Lots of help, but it’s pointless if we hit the wrong target. I was keeping an eye on you the whole night. You haven’t drunk much have you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m drunk, but not drunk enough I can’t spot a sober person.” Boots laughed. I stared him down.

  “All this help...Greytown, The Crossroad, The Black Peak chapter, all ready to roll, but it won’t matter unless we hit them where they’ll feel it most. You and Ramos need to spot their camp.”

  I tossed my beer bottle. In the morning, the cleanup crews could get it. I straightened, uncurling my shoulders like unfurling my monstrous wings, preparing to take flight.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Ready already? You don’t have anything to do before you go?”

  I paused. I shook my head.

  Boots snatched the back of my neck and brought me close, too close to his vodka breath.

  “We’re counting on you. Ramos has some leads.”

  He let go of me. Boots left while giving me some words of wisdom, “The desert will run red with their blood.”

  Two minutes later, cool, confident, like he was ready for a midnight joyride, Ramos stood before me. He was taller than most of the bikers. And better-looking too. Hey, I could say it, nothing wrong with that. It was an objective truth.

  “You look ready to go,” he noticed.

  “You too,” I said.

  We shook hands. Ramos looked relieved. He’d seemed uptight in the bar.

  “Where we going?”

  He waved me on. “Follow me. I’m not going slow.” He planted himself on his bike and greased up the handlebars. I dropped onto my own.

  “Don’t expect to go slow, brother. Let’s find where these rats sleep, and then tomorrow, blow their nest wide open.”

  Ever since King was ambushed, we’d all been carrying. This was supposed to be a recon mission, so it was best not to bring along heavy firepower. Best not to be tempted.