Property of the Bad Boy

by Vanessa Waltz

  “Where the fuck is the president?”

  “My name is Reg. I’m president now.”

  Fuckhead.

  The cocky asshole stops a foot in front of me and then recognition slowly worms into my mind. He was the VP—a guy I barely knew.

  “Where’s Jett?”

  He points to a distance about fifty meters away, to a huddled mass curled on the ground. Blood stains his leather cut. It looks like there’s a hole blown right in the middle of it. Jesus.

  “He deserved to die the moment he handed over one of our own like a common whore.”

  My insides knot. “Where’s my fucking wife?”

  An impish smile creeps over his lips. “Why should I give her back to you?”

  “Maybe you’ll find out why after I shove my fist up your ass.”

  A gun slams into my back, the dull pain cracking over my bones as Reg laughs his ass off.

  “Relax. We owe our friend here a great debt for bringing us the Cravotta boss.”

  He jerks his head and the doors of the clubhouse open. A slim, blonde woman stumbles out and a huge weight lifts from my shoulders. Beatrice. She’s okay.

  Her hair spills over her shoulders like liquid gold and I hear her delicate cries from across the courtyard. My senses flame into overdrive.

  “Jack!”

  Hearing the desperate cry from her lips feels like a hand reaching between my ribs and yanking. I stride forward to bring her into my arms, to soothe that ache in my chest.

  An arm catches me.

  “Whoa,” Reg says. “Slow down. We’re not done here.”

  I’d like to take the arm stopping me from holding my wife and rip it off.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He cocks his head. “What’s with the truck?”

  Truck? Jesus, I almost forgot.

  “It’s a peace offering. That thing is stacked with the arms we were going to sell to the MC.”

  Reg eyes me like a shark. “Let me get this straight. I help Sal hide your woman from you, and you give me a gift?”

  His boots scrape at the dirt as he prowls around Johnny’s limp body. A motion with his hand makes them prop him up to a sitting position. His head lolls on his shoulder and Reg’s palm slaps him. Johnny’s eyes open dramatically.

  “Do you take me for a fucking idiot? Let me guess, it’s loaded with your men or a bomb.”

  “Wrong,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. “Send out your men to check it if you think I’m lying.”

  “It has to be rigged to blow.”

  A growl rumbles my chest. “If you think I’d risk my wife’s life like that, you’re a fucking moron.”

  He yanks the gun from his side and grabs the scruff of my neck, burying the muzzle in my flesh. Beatrice cries out, and then I see Sal behind her, yanking her back.

  Take your fucking hands off her.

  His breath billows over my cheeks. “You’re pretty fucking brave to call me a moron.”

  Don’t fuck this up, Jack.

  “There’s nothing in there that’ll hurt anyone in this MC.”

  That, at least, was perfectly true. I force myself not to make eye contact with Johnny. Fuck, we have to speed this up.

  Reg’s dark eyes scan me, and he smiles. “Go,” he says to the bikers clustered at the gate. “Search it. Check for false walls—everything.”

  A few tense minutes pass in the courtyard, and my eyes find Beatrice, who stands just within reach of the man responsible for making my life a living hell. The plan runs through my mind, but I don’t give a fuck about killing bikers.

  I just want her.

  “Prez!” one of them shouts, minutes later. “Everything looks good. Tons of ammunition in there.”

  Reg’s smile widens. “Well, well, well. Drive it in.”

  Yes.

  The headlights of the truck illuminate the packed earth, casting deep shadows over its grooves. The engine growls and the wheels crack the ground. The head of the truck passes the gate. Then with a loud whine and a violent shudder, the engine stalls. It stops.

  This is it.

  “What the fuck happened?” Confused, Reg takes a step forward and Johnny’s eyes open, wide and alert. His hands twist behind his back. They break free of the zip tie.

  A speeding black mass howls toward the fortress, and the loud roar confuses them.

  “What the fuck did you do?”

  He whirls around as the car smashes through the gate, past the stalled truck. Another one follows it, and muzzles flash like fireworks in the dark. I hurl myself to the ground as Johnny slips the blade from his sleeve and slashes at the heels of the man standing behind him. The bikers fire back at the two cars, windows exploding. I help John tackle the man and we wrestle the gun from his hand. Pop-pop. Two gunshots to his temple silence him immediately. I seize the gun strapped to his ankle, and bullets pepper the ground next to me. Where’s Beatrice?

  She’s gone, disappeared in the chaos. Probably with that rat, Sal. Fuck.

  The guys in the cars are pinned. Blood streaks down into little puddles. I grit my teeth as screams erupt around me and sprint around the clubhouse for cover. I grab the back of Johnny’s jacket and yank him around the corner.

  “This is fucking crazy.”

  Behind Johnny’s back, there’s movement. I raise my hand and fire, and a biker drops his gun, dead.

  Johnny claps my shoulder in thanks.

  “I need to find her.”

  A stream of men pours out of the clubhouse, and for a moment it looks like it’s going to be a slaughter. They aim their guns, firing at the backs of their own brothers.

  “What the fuck?”

  A wry grin crawls over John’s face. “Sal’s not the only one with deep ties to the MC. Let’s go find your wife.”

  I flatten myself against the wall and use the butt of my pistol to smash a window. The glass sticks out in jagged pieces and I climb carefully into a darkened bedroom. Thank God it’s empty. Johnny climbs in after me and lands with a soft thump. Our footsteps creak on the floorboards.

  “We just have to check room by room. He’s here somewhere.”

  My hand finds the doorknob in the dark and I twist it open. I burst out, turning left as I aim my gun down the hallway. Johnny turns to the right.

  “Clear.”

  We inch down the hall, kicking open another door that holds a group of frightened children. One look at their tearstained faces brings a swell of rage for the MC. I slam the door shut, knowing that it’s a matter of time before we’ll open a door and someone will be ready for us.

  Heart rate jacked, I palm open a door and feel a rush of air. A scream of pain explodes in my ear and I fire into the direction of the sounds. A biker holding a rifle slumps over on the upturned bucket and crashes to the ground.

  “Fuck!”

  Shit. Johnny!

  He clutches his shoulder, eyes screwed up in pain as the hand holding his gun falls limp at his side.

  “Shot.”

  “Fuck!”

  No, no, no!

  I throw Johnny’s arm over my shoulder and drag him to the closest empty room, depositing him on a bed. His suit is wet with blood and a trickle of red pours out of his sleeve.

  “Fucking bastard got me.”

  I grab the sheets from the bed and tear at them with my knife.

  “It’ll be all right. Looks like it went right through.”

  “Putain.” He hisses in pain as I peel away his suit and knife away his shirt. A dark hole floods with blood in the meat of his shoulder. I look around his back and see the exit wound.

  “My wife’s going to fucking kill me.”

  The mention of his wife reminds me of mine, still lost—still in the grasp of that psycho. I wrap the sheet around his shoulder, looping it under his arm and tying a tight knot so that he winces in pain.

  “Okay. Stay here.”

  “Fuck that,” he growls. “I’m not going to just sit here.”

  “Boss,
you’re hurt. Stay put. We can’t survive if you die.”

  He stands up, his color dulled. Something more than pain swirls in his eyes. “I never wanted Mike dead. I would never do that to one of my own.”

  It’s the closest I’ll ever get to, “I’m sorry.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

  I turn away from him and open the door, getting one last look of him sitting down on the mattress, giving me a stiff nod. Then I close it behind me and I run into a thick body. We collide, and my gun flies from my hand. Then I notice that black-bearded face—that fucking asshole who taunted me in the courtyard. Reg.

  I tackle him before he can recover, his back slamming into the wall. His knee hits my guts and I let go, winded. Then a sharp elbow strikes my back and I’m knocked down. My body sprawls as pain radiates from both sides, then I lunge for my handgun. It scrapes on the wood. Reg’s legs straddle me, and then I twist around. BAM!

  Black pools widen with shock as his huge hands clutch his stomach.

  I pick myself up, enjoying the sight of the biker writhing on the floor, hand on his bleeding guts.

  “What the fuck did you say to me? I didn’t deserve Beatrice?”

  He mouths something incoherent.

  “Fuck you.”

  I kick his hands away from his stomach and I press down on his gunshot wound with my foot. Screams tear through the distant rat-tat-at of gunfire outside.

  I would kill him, but I need to save every round for Sal.

  Blood spurts from his mouth, and then I know he isn’t long for this world anyway. Better to let the fucking prick die a slow death.

  I step over his body, eyes scanning the deserted club. Where the fuck is he? I look through windows, and then I see shadows in the president’s office. Vito and Tim stand outside as sentries.

  Bingo.

  They’re Sal’s men.

  I suck in breath as I raise my gun, visualizing the attack in my head. Two shots in quick succession. My chest deflates as I exhale. Shots ring out in the clubhouse—too fast for them to react. They slump down dead as red paints the walls behind them.

  I make a beeline for the door and wipe my palms on my slacks, sucking in air. Aim and fire. Do it quickly. Don’t hesitate. She’s too important.

  I kick open the door, and her scream sends a frenzy through my system. Beatrice is thrust in front of me, that fat fuck hiding behind her like a coward.

  “I’ll fucking kill her. Not another step.”

  He grabs her hair like a ponytail and yanks her backward so that she sits on his lap, his pistol buried in her neck.

  “Jack!”

  Christ, I can’t bear the sound of her crying, so I force myself to look into that rat bastard’s eyes.

  My gun hovers, trembling. “Why?”

  For years I depended on him. Trusted him. He was like a second father to me—a guy who always had my back. Why would he betray everything he had built with me?

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you kill him? He was my brother. Everyone loved him.”

  Sal looks back at me, his face infused with rage. “I needed to create a reason for you to hate Johnny. It was nothing personal.”

  Nothing personal.

  There’s nothing but detachment in his voice. Just business. No big deal.

  I almost fire a bullet into his fucking brain right then. “You ruined my life.”

  “Jack, what the fuck was I supposed to do? Your brother was paralyzed—he didn’t even want to live. The guys who did it said he didn’t even struggle—”

  “DON’T LIE TO ME!”

  His round face wrinkles as he adopts a stricken tone. “I needed Johnny to go. Look at what he’s done to this family. He made peace with these fucking savages after what they did to your brother. He’s weak.”

  I’m still putting it together, seething with rage. I have to find out every detail. I need to know the depths of his treachery.

  “You tried to have me killed at that arms deal, didn’t you?” I recall how they aimed at me and fired.

  “They weren’t supposed to touch you. I just wanted to start a war to pull John in different directions.”

  A vicious hatred churns in my guts. “Then you had them come after my wife.”

  He shrugs remorselessly. “I needed to give your ass a kick to go after John.”

  And it worked.

  “You are one sick son of a bitch. When I get my hands on you—”

  Beatrice cries out as he digs the metal into her flesh. “Put the gun down. I’ll pull the trigger right now. There’s nothing stopping me.”

  “It’s over. You lost.”

  For the first time, Sal looks angry. His face burns a deep red. “Not yet!”

  “I just put a bullet in the new president’s stomach.”

  “Miserable cocksucker!” He grips her neck and she makes a sputtering sound. “Have you any fucking idea what I would have done for the family? You would’ve been promoted—I was going to make you underboss!”

  “Like I give a fuck about being your lapdog. You’re just a fucking snake, too cowardly to get rid of John yourself.”

  Beatrice’s hands roll something in the waistband of her jeans, and I see a glint of silver.

  No, don’t!

  Her blue eyes blaze at me.

  “Put the fucking gun down!”

  I splay my hands, lowering my body slowly as I let the gun dangle in my hand.

  She screams, and Sal adjusts his grip on her neck to muffle the sound, but she twists in his arms.

  “AH!”

  The gun slips from her neck as she buries the switchblade in his belly. Bright red spills over her hand as she pulls out the knife and stabs him again and again. Shock paralyzes me for a moment.

  Then I lunge at the arm holding the gun and it fires. The bullet lodges into a picture frame. Even though Sal’s got a fucking knife sticking out of his stomach, he’s still strong. Heavy blows smash across my jaw, but I dig my thumbs into his eyes until he screams. Beatrice holds my gun, aiming at him. I grab her skinny wrist and aim at his head.

  “FUCK!”

  One pull of the trigger cracks open Sal’s head. A dark-red stain paints the wall as he slides down to our feet, dead.

  Jesus Christ.

  Beatrice makes a whimpering sound, and I’m still worked up into a frenzy. It’s still not real.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” I scream at her pale face. “You almost got killed!”

  “I had to do something,” she says, looking at her bright-red hands in shock. “I couldn’t just sit there.”

  Her smooth skin glides under my hands as I take her head, my chest ballooning with gratefulness. “What would I have done without you?”

  If she died because of me, I don’t think there would ever be any getting out of the hole I’d fall into.

  Those rosebud lips tremble. “I love you.”

  I bend my face, forgetting that there’s a fucking war outside. I need to soothe the horrifying ache in my chest. She almost died. The woman I love almost lost her life and our baby’s life.

  I barely touch her, the relief pouring into me so painful that I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. I inhale deeply, steeling myself as I thread my hand through her gorgeous hair. She gasps as I yank hard. “Never, ever do that again.”

  I want to take her right now—teach her a goddamn lesson. I know it’s fucking crazy, but my dick jumps at the thought of taking her in this club.

  A tear slides down her face. “I’m sorry.”

  The sadness choking her throat makes me break, and I pull her into my arms, certain that I’ll never let go of her.

  * * *

  The fog from the shower clouds the glass, but I watch the shadow of her figure move like an erotic private show. Even when my body is scored with cuts and bruises and I feel like collapsing over my bed, fucking my wife still consumes my thoughts. My hand strays to my cock, which grows uncomfortably hard beneath my briefs
. I slide them off and pull off my shirt, and then I step to the shower door and grasp the handle.

  Steam rolls out of the shower as I open the door, revealing Beatrice’s wet, naked curves. My cock makes an impatient twitch and I join her. Her blonde hair darkens under the water, making her skin glow as she stands under the hot stream. Her lips pull into a small, tired smile. Small hands reach around my waist and pull me against her. I hold her as my heart tightens and releases in a way I’ve never felt before.

  She soaps my back and I let her wash me. Her hands curl around my balls and glide up my shaft. My cock hardens under her grip and she gives me a sly grin.

  “We need to talk about what happened.”

  The smile playing on her face falters. “What about it?”

  You risked your life.

  My hands slide from the curve of her back to the gentle slope of her stomach and those beautiful tits. I seize her nipples and pinch hard.

  “You said you would listen to every word I said. You didn’t listen. You were fucking reckless.”

  Beatrice flinches at my tone. “What was I supposed to do, just let him kill you?”

  “It wouldn’t have gone down like that. We’re having a baby,” I growl, my nails biting into her nipples. She exhales a sigh that makes my dick throb as my hands caress her tits, moving back down under her ass to lift her in my arms. I brace her back against the glass.

  “You can’t risk that life inside you for anything. Do you fucking understand?”

  She glares at me steadily.

  No, she doesn’t.

  I catch her bottom lip between my teeth and I bite down. Then I move my iron-stiff cock right between her legs, rubbing her clit. She moans in between kissing me back.

  “Your job is to raise my kids. Mine is to provide and keep you safe.”

  “I—I know.”

  The length of me slides along her pussy and ecstasy hits me like a live wire. Fuck, I’ll always need her pussy. Over her shoulder I catch a glimpse of that smoking-hot tattoo. Property of Jack.

  “You know damn well.” My hand rips over her ass, blood rushing to her skin as the sound cracks the air.

  “Why can’t you be sweet with me?” she says with a sigh.

  My heart wants to. I want to carry her in my arms and lay her down on my bed. I want to make love to her, and not fuck her hard like I need to.