Property of the Bad Boy

by Vanessa Waltz

  I slide my arm from her and tear my gaze away as I walk out of the bedroom.

  “I don’t know what the hell you are.”

  * * *

  “So you decided to get married—just like that?”

  Detective Asshat is not buying our bullshit. He leans over the table with his suspenders and his wire-rimmed glasses, looking too fucking serious for his own job.

  Beatrice sits in my lap, positively glowing as I wrap my arms around her waist and give her a kiss on the side of her head.

  “Yeah. True love knows no bounds, and all that shit.”

  Her nails dig into my neck.

  “Excuse me?”

  The other one, Detective Fatass, slams his meaty fist on the table, making Beatrice gasp.

  “Stop fucking around, you piece of shit. We know you were at the Trudeau airport, along with Johnny Cravotta and his crew.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you stopped scaring my wife.”

  Beatrice turns her head to look straight at Detective Fatass. “He was with me that night.”

  “What were you doing for five hours?”

  “Fucking.”

  Beatrice sends me an appropriately scandalized look, which I wave off.

  “For five hours?”

  “You sound surprised. Is your stamina not up to snuff?”

  Fattass’s face deepens to an ugly puce color. “You’re telling me that you were having sexual intercourse with this woman for five hours straight?”

  “I took a few fifteen minute breaks because her pussy was getting sore.”

  The look of pure rage might not be entirely feigned on her part.

  I smile right in the face of those jerk-offs.

  “We’ve given our statements. Can we go now?”

  Her nails dig hard into my skin and I smooth my hand over her belly, giving her a small pinch.

  Yeah, see how you like it.

  “Yes.”

  The two detectives look like they’ve been denied a great treat, and Beatrice slides off my lap. She walks away from me and gives me a look filled with poison behind the two cops’ backs.

  “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t.”

  I sweep past the two cops and palm open the door. Well, that was easy, wasn’t it? A bubble of unease swells inside my stomach. Sure, I got off lucky, but that doesn’t mean I’m off their radar. One screwup and they’ll find a reason to make an arrest. It only takes one filthy rat to bury me, and the MC is full of them.

  I wrap my arm around Beatrice’s small waist, hating how my blood pounds when she stops in the middle of the hallway and turns in my arms with a scorching gaze. She grabs the scruff of my neck and brings me closer, wearing a cute smile. Her lips crush mine as she pushes my back into the wall. Heat floods my veins as her tongue flicks inside my mouth, teasing me.

  What the fuck is she doing?

  We’re in the middle of the police station, and she’s shoving her tongue down my throat. Not that I mind, but it’s a little weird even for me.

  But I stop worrying about that when I feel her curves pressing into my body. God, I want her. I kiss her back, my arms wrapped around her because I want to touch every inch of what belongs to me. Beatrice pulls away, smiling, her eyes heavily lidded.

  “I love you, baby.”

  She makes a trail with her fingers up my chest as I recover from what feels like a heavy book thrown in my face. Has she lost her mind?

  “Uh—what?”

  A triumphant snort from a man brushing past us in the hall averts my attention. Detective Fatass sneers at me with a side glance, and I turn back to Beatrice, her smile strained.

  “I love you, too. Let’s go.”

  Nothing ever sounded so forced. Beatrice cringes at my tone, her eyebrows narrowing before she gives a bizarre laugh and kisses my cheek.

  I grab her upper arm and lead her down the hall, and it’s only once until we’re outside and well out of sight that she rounds on me, shoving my chest.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I don’t like the way she looks at me. I take a step back and brush my jacket, pretending to be cool when I feel hot.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “You’re treating this like a fucking joke. ‘Love knows no bounds, and all that shit’? Are you crazy?”

  “Give me a break. They already know we’re full of it.”

  She rolls her eyes. “After that performance, yeah.”

  “What, am I supposed to fawn over you like some lovesick moron?”

  Her stony gaze meets mine, and I feel a ripple of anger from the contempt burning in her eyes.

  “Do you want to go to jail?”

  I don’t have time for this. “Get in the fucking car.”

  The car door swings open in my hand and I watch her duck her head as she slides into the passenger seat. I slam the door shut and the car trembles with the force. My hands clench over the edge of the hood and the window as rage boils my insides.

  Calm the fuck down.

  I get into my car and we drive out of there in complete silence. I’m afraid of the mood I’m in. Lately I’ve been in towering rages only tempered by drugs and booze. Johnny made me quit the drugs, but I couldn’t stop drinking. It’s the only thing that helps.

  I roll up to the curb in front of my house, but I don’t cut the engine.

  “I’m going out. I’ll be back later.”

  Blue eyes cut at me as she turns her head and presses her lips together. Beatrice knows that I have a week off work. There’s a splinter of pain in her eyes that almost immediately glosses over into what she tries to pass off as indifference.

  “Whatever.”

  Yeah, whatever.

  * * *

  The drinks keep coming, and I slam them down like I’m dying of thirst. It’ll take a few hours before I’m okay to drive home, but I’m fine with that. Anything to avoid being in the same room with my wife. The wife I keep fantasizing about: her naked curves in my hands, the way her pussy wraps around my dick, her lips, her tits—everything. I’m not supposed to want her; I’m supposed to hate her.

  A hand slaps down on my shoulder. “How’s the marriage?”

  Johnny slides on the stool next to me, and I choke down my bitterness.

  He’s the boss. He’s the boss.

  “Pretty shitty so far.”

  His hand casually grips the back of my neck, and he gives me that fake smile that always precludes pain.

  “Come with me. I want to talk to you.”

  I slide off the stool and follow John’s strong grip into the back rooms of Tommy’s bar. He drops the smile the moment we’re alone.

  “What the fuck are you doing in this bar?”

  “I can’t have a drink without your permission?”

  He grits his teeth. “You’re supposed to be spending this time with your new wife. That’s why I gave you a week off.”

  Why don’t you fucking lay off me, you prick?

  “Ignoring her like this the day after your wedding is an insult to the MC—and an insult to me.”

  Violent images stream through my brain, interrupting the voices screaming at me. Do not piss off John. He’ll get rid of you, just like he got rid of your brother.

  “I need this marriage to work. You will not screw this up and cost me this alliance.”

  “You spit on the memory of my brother, and I’m supposed to be grateful?”

  Fuck you.

  Johnny’s irate face swims closer. “You better be really fucking careful how you talk to me, or you’re going to wind up just like him.”

  “Jack!”

  A familiar voice barks at me. Recognizing Sal is the only thing that stops me from lunging at Johnny’s throat. Thankfully the asshole turns around and walks out of the back room.

  “Come here, damn it.”

  Sal is a beefy guy with a round, honest face. His dark-blue blazer hangs over his belly, and he pats the table where he’s sitting
, gesturing at me to sit down. He’s a friendly guy, but he’s still the underboss. Just one rank removed from boss.

  “Sit down, Jack.”

  I’m still pissed off, but he gives me a look that’s enough to shut down my smart mouth. Heaving a sigh, I pull back the chair and sit my ass down.

  He reaches across the table, concern knitting his face as he grabs my hand. Usually I don’t like being touched. When my brother died, every pat on the back felt fake. I look at these people—these men who are supposed to be my brothers—and I wonder which one of them did it, if the family was responsible. Which one killed him?

  “I’m worried about you.”

  A smile tugs at my mouth. “Is that right?”

  “The way you talk to the boss is going to get you clipped.”

  I know that. I’m probably one more fucking sentence from getting a bullet to the back of my head.

  “I can’t fucking do it anymore. I can’t pretend like my brother isn’t dead.”

  “No one’s forgotten.”

  “He has. That son of a bitch. You know damn well he had something to do with it.”

  Sal gives me a warning look. “Watch your fucking mouth.”

  “You know I’m right.”

  “I don’t. He was worried your brother would flip, but he would never do anything like that without proof.”

  Lead settles into my guts and I ball my fist under Sal’s hand.

  Oh Jesus Christ.

  He did it, didn’t he? It’s confirmation for me. He did it. He was afraid my brother would talk. What about what the nurse said? A man in a suit. Thin face. Someone from the mob commissioned this hit, but I can’t find a shred of fucking proof. The man at the top makes all the decisions. It’s him.

  That sick, helpless feeling consumes me again. How the fuck am I supposed to kill a boss? I’ll be honest. Things like this happen to people’s families. Guys fuck up. They get killed. It happens all the time and we’re just supposed to swallow down our pride and accept it.

  I can’t accept it.

  “Jack, I know that look on your face.”

  I pull my hand away from his, my brother’s loss hitting me hard like a knife to my gut.

  “When both of our parents died, he was the one who raised me. I was eight and he was a teenager.”

  “Yeah, you’ve told me.”

  “He dropped out of school to take care of me.”

  It’s odd how little I remember of my parents. It was just Mike for a long time.

  Memories of my older brother cycle through my head. He was always so goddamn tall. I see him in slacks and suspenders, rolling up a paper bag lunch. He hands the bag to me with a wink. “Here, kid. Learn something.”

  My chest feels like it’s caving in. I miss him. He was always the faster one, the smarter one, even when we were both adults. Mike was better than me with a gun, got more girls than I did, and everyone loved him. He was more than just a brother or father. He was a god. I worshipped him.

  Seeing him like that on the hospital bed, his spirit completely broken, was like watching him die. There was no twinkle in his eyes—no wisecrack—just listlessness. Waiting for death.

  Fuck.

  “I know you loved your brother, but you’re no good to him dead.”

  Sal’s fucking right.

  “I know, but what am I supposed to do?” I hate how my voice cracks. “What would Mike do?”

  Then his voice drops to a low growl. “Mike would have bided his time until the opportunity came to hit back at those assholes.”

  “You don’t think this is going to last, do you? This alliance?”

  “Somebody’s going to talk. Johnny can’t get to all the witnesses.”

  Fuck.

  “Sooner rather than later.”

  “And then?”

  “Then you go to jail when your wife rats you out, and we’re back to where we fucking started, at war with the Devils MC while this investigation kills this family.”

  A cold feeling spreads down my limbs. How long would it take Johnny to decide to get rid of me while I’m in prison? I have no more leads to follow now that I’ve whacked the nurse. I can’t very well start interrogating people in our crew.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  Sal talks in a voice low enough so that I have to strain my ears to listen.

  “Get on his good side. There’s a job Johnny wants done by the end of the week. If you want to do it, let me know.”

  “All right. Send me the details.”

  The chair scrapes back as I stand up from the table. Fuck, my nerves are all jangled from this. I hate feeling jumpy, but if Sal’s right then I have to be proactive. I walk to his side and bend over, embracing him.

  “Thanks, Sal. I don’t know what I’d do without you looking out for me.”

  He pats me on the back. “I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself, Jack.”

  “No, trust me. I’m on it.”

  I should have never let myself go like this. There’s too much at stake, and I don’t want to die. My brother’s dead, but that doesn’t mean I have to join him. Not when there’s a chance to get back at the people who destroyed him.

  The car’s engine vibrates beneath my feet as I drive back to my place, everything that Sal said running through my brain like fire. I’m still untangling all the strings.

  Bide your time.

  Until what?

  Until you can make a move on John, or the bikers, or both.

  I listen to that steely voice inside me. Sal all but confirmed that John was the one behind his murder. And what if he’s right? Someone will talk and the alliance will crumble, and I’ll have this wife as a fucking liability that no one will trust.

  Fuck the girl. Make her yours. Take her from them.

  Yes.

  Make her part of your family.

  The list of my family is pretty fucking small. It’s just me, aside from a handful of aunts and uncles on my mother’s side who I’ve never met.

  The voice inside me laughs.

  I can’t figure it out, and blood churns through my head as I drive home. Like it or not, that biker wife of mine is my ticket back into Johnny’s good graces.

  I’m after revenge. It’s time to be smart about it, and that means making nice with the girl, bringing her along to all of the family events, and showing everyone else that I can make my biker wife toe the line.

  As I roll up to my place I see something that’s like a gunshot to my chest. Something that burns inside me like acid.

  A man wearing a leather cut jacket. He’s standing at my door, peering inside the window.

  All of a sudden the sound turns off. I see myself cut the engine and the car door flies open. I pounce on him before the bastard can turn around. My hand grabs the back of his neck and I yank. He falls, tripping over the stairs. His body sails over them until he reaches the landing and then his head cracks over the pavement.

  Cool rage controls my movements. I lift up my foot and slam it into his chest. I feel the crunch of his bones underneath my feet. Again and again. His beardless face twists with moans that I can only barely hear. He flails like an ugly insect on the ground.

  Then a soft touch curls around my arm, and the sound finally returns. It’s a feminine voice, screaming in my ear. “STOP!”

  I ignore her and bend over the piece of shit moaning at my feet. “Come to my house? You show up at my fucking doorstep?”

  My boot lashes out, connecting with the side of his ribs. He flips over and I see the white embroidery: DEVILS MC.

  “Jack, stop!”

  He moans. “I just wanted—”

  “You just wanted to what?”

  I bend down and grab a handful of his brown hair, and I wrench him to a sitting position.

  “I wanted to visit Beatrice.”

  I lower my face to his until he flinches from my closeness. “Stay the fuck away from my wife, or I’ll kill you.”

  “I wasn’t trying—”


  “Get the fuck out of here!”

  Then I release his greasy head and turn around, burning with rage as I grab Beatrice’s arm and drag her up the steps.

  “What the hell did you do?”

  I throw her inside the apartment. She jumps when I slam the door.

  “Who the fuck was that?”

  Big blue eyes widen at me as she tugs the hem of her skirt down. The sight of long, creamy thighs distracts me for a moment.

  “Paul—he was just—he wanted to see if I was okay.” Her eyes fill with tears. “You didn’t have to hurt him.”

  I take another step forward, noticing that she has her hair piled up on her head. Delicate blonde wisps frame her face. It only makes her look even more fragile.

  “I told you that I didn’t want to see them at my house. Ever.”

  “They’re my family.”

  “Your family destroyed mine. He was all I had, don’t you fucking understand that?”

  My hand throbs from the beating I gave that piece of shit. Fear shines from her wide eyes. She looks as though I fucking hit her. I take a step closer and I grab the back of her delicate neck, inhaling the spicy scent of ginger.

  “It’s not fair,” she breathes, her eyes squeezed shut.

  I feel her breaking under my hands, shaking like a delicate bird. My fingers sweep under her chin.

  “Look at me.”

  She obeys. I stare into her liquid blue eyes, tiny droplets clinging on her blonde eyelashes.

  “I hate to break it to you, but life’s not fair.”

  “You shouldn’t punish me for this—I had nothing to do with the people who killed him.”

  “You’re complicit. You’re one of them.”

  “They don’t care about me!”

  Something inside me breaks as her eyes well up with tears and they suddenly spill over her cheeks.

  “My dad never wanted me to do this. I should have listened.”

  There’s a freckle on her upper lip. Blood pounds through my cock. She shakes her head.

  “Maybe you should have.”

  Her mouth twists into a savage snarl and she shoves my chest. “I hate you!”

  I grab her flailing arm and drag her into the bedroom, where there’s a full-length mirror. I reach up into her head of hair and dig my fingers in as confusion shivers over Beatrice’s face. I watch myself, smirking, as I snake my arm around her waist to pin her to me.