“Oh, Jackson.”
Jasper could hear the pain in her words.
“Are you okay?” She ran her hands over his torso, checking for injuries. Vick turned to Jasper. “I don’t think he’s hurt.”
“Good.” At least they didn’t have to take him to the ER. Under the influence, Jack could be combative.
“Vick? Is that you?” His words were slurred, and he had trouble keeping his eyes open.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’ve got you.” She slung one of his arms around her neck.
“Come on, man. Let’s get out of here.” Jasper took the other side.
Together, they lifted Jack and half-dragged him to the front door. When they got to the SUV, they dropped him on the back seat.
Minutes later, they barreled down the road. Jack snorted, snuffling against the upholstery. Jasper would have to use a power washer on the damn thing.
She drummed her fingers on the glove compartment, shifting in her seat. He’d never seen her so restless. Vick clasped a hand over her mouth. Jasper wondered if she did it to keep from screaming.
“Where to?” Jasper asked, breaking the uneasy silence.
“My place, for tonight at least. How could he do this again?” Her fingers curled into fists. “I thought it might be different this time.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. Thank you for comin’ with me.”
“Anytime, Vixen. I’ll always be here for you.”
She shot a glance at Jack. “I’ll bring him in tomorrow after he’s sobered up. For now, he can stay in the spare bedroom.”
“Think they’ll take him back? Don’t those places have a zero-tolerance policy?”
“They didn’t even want Jack to begin with, but I gave them a ‘donation.' Jack’s been in and out of treatment all over the city, and he’s been kicked out of all the programs.”
Jasper wondered how much it’d had set her back and where she’d gotten the money. She was still paying off an enormous student loan. He hoped Vick hadn’t borrowed the cash from the outfit because owing them favors never worked out well.
But now wasn’t the time and place to ask, so he zipped his lips, and kept on driving.
Chapter Six
I got this.
Vick wrapped her chilled fingers around a hot cup of coffee. The next morning she sat at a table in Sugar Daddies waiting for the bikers.
When she’d left the house earlier, Jack had still been sound asleep in the guest room. He needed the rest, and she hadn’t been ready for their inevitable argument anyway.
One crisis at a time.
The bakery was an unlikely place to hire bodyguards. While she didn’t have much experience with this type of thing, it should probably happen in a back alley or a bar.
Fortunately, Walk had his hands full with a group of women and their toddlers. With any luck, she could conclude her meeting without him sticking his nose into it.
Thank goodness. This whole mess would be tricky enough without having to get rid of him.
Just then, the front door swung open, and Ace and Justice swaggered over to her table.
Vick recognized them on sight. As part of her position with the Lone Star Mafia, she’d run background checks on the whole gang—credit reports, arrest records, and any other juicy details. They each had a neat little file in her office.
The Horsemen were an outlaw biker gang who ran Hell, the town next to Crimson Creek. The Four Horsemen had been hoodwinked into helping the mafia. Vick wasn’t privy to the details, but whatever Byron had on them, must be damaging.
Vick spent most of her time around dangerous men. The bikers were merely a different breed. Unlike the suit and tie mafia members who considered themselves gentleman criminals, the bikers were road dusted, rangy, and a lot less civilized.
Ace had cropped black hair and caramel skin. He wore a pair of jeans so tight they outlined his firm, muscled thighs in exquisite detail. His Four Horsemen leather cut was draped over a black T-shirt.
Justice had light brown hair with bright blue eyes, and his skin had a golden hue, although his face was gaunt, his cheeks hollow. He wore a pair of fitted jeans and a black hoodie, beneath a leather cut like Ace wore.
The man swayed on his feet, and Vick wondered if he’d been drinking.
At eight in the morning? A drunken armed biker wouldn’t be much help.
Both men were handsome. Vick noticed in an abstract way. She’d have to be blind not to, but neither man inspired the pulse-pounding, throat-closing butterflied fretfulness Jasper did.
Justice sat next to her, while Ace took the other side.
“Wanna order somethin’?” Vick asked, to be polite.
“Not hungry.” Justice stifled a yawn.
“Naw, I stopped at Hades for sausage gravy and biscuits.” Ace placed a hand on his flat stomach. Hades was a diner and motel in Hell, Texas. From what she’d read on Yelp they had good food. Vick had never gone though. A member of the outfit wouldn’t be welcome at the establishment.
“Then why’d you wanna meet here?” Vick asked.
She couldn’t shake the notion that it’d been a mistake. The mafia had eyes and ears everywhere. Or maybe I’m a touch suspicious.
“Our prez would have our asses if he knew we so much as broke bread with you, let alone took on a job.”
“I know for a fact you’ve flown Dix to Dallas and back, at least once.”
“Now and then I schedule private flights. The prez don’t need to know everythin’ I do.” Ace frowned. “How’d you find out?”
Ace had been in the Air Force, hence the road name. While Justice had been a Navy SEAL. She figured with their military backgrounds, they could pull this off without a hitch. And since Ace had already worked for Dix, and Justice had tagged along on the voyage, she’d figured they were both likely candidates for a secret mission.
“Because I’m good at my job, but this gig has nothin’ to do with the outfit.” She had to clarify the situation.
“Yeah?” Justice raised a brow. “But you’re one of ‘em.”
“Kind of.” Vick broke the law while seated at her desk. She’d never actually hurt anyone. Though, she doubted the feds shared her moral ambiguity on the matter.
“So whatcha want?” Ace asked. “You were all mysterious on the phone.”
“We’ll get to that in a second. I’m a bit surprised you even came.”
“We were curious,” Justice said. “We wanna know what’s comin’ next.”
Vick couldn’t blame them for suspecting a plot.
“I need your help.”
Justice snorted.
“And we’d help you because…?” Ace folded his arms across his muscled chest.
“Because I’m in trouble.”
“I’m sure one of your mobster buddies can take care of it.” Ace stood. “Best of luck.”
“Please stay. At least hear me out.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. For a moment, she thought he’d tell her to go straight to hell, and she didn’t mean the town, but he slumped down in the chair once more.
“We’re listenin’.” Justice leaned back in his chair.
“This better be good.” Ace scowled.
“Actually, it’s bad which is why I need you. Let me give you a snapshot. A guy, a former client of mine, is stalkin’ me—showin’ up all over the place. I’ve told him I’m not interested, but he hasn’t backed off.”
Vick had considered creating a plausible story, but they’d find out the truth from Simon anyway.
“What kind of client?” Ace asked.
She sucked in a deep breath. “In college, I worked as an escort. Simon Caldwell was my client—the only one, as a matter of fact. And more recently, I had a problem—the expensive kind, and I called him up because I needed cash.” They didn’t need to know about Jack’s situation. “We worked out a trade, but I’ve repaid my debt and then some.”
“And he wants more.” Justice sighed.
Vick relaxed.
She didn’t detect even a hint of censure in his tone.
“You were a whore?” Ace shook his head.
She cringed. “No, an escort. It’s not like I walked the streets.”
“Same diff, honey.”
Not even close.
She could argue the point, but why bother? People looked down on sex workers—strippers, cam girls, phone sex operators. As though anyone who marketed her sexuality was trash.
Well, Vick didn’t have the luxury of high morals. Growing up poor had given her precious few avenues out of poverty, and she’d taken the first off ramp she could find.
“And you really expect us to believe you only had one john?”
“Simon was my client. And you’re free to believe whatever you’d like, but it’s the truth. I became his mistress, and he demanded exclusivity.”
“He wanted the girlfriend experience, huh?” Justice asked.
It was a common request. Simon had wanted a make-believe relationship. Basically, she’d portrayed a perkier, highly sexed version of herself. Simon had the illusion of a girlfriend with no drama and a lot more sex.
“Yes, and I was with him for quite a while. We started up again a couple months ago. So, you see, I can’t go to the outfit.”
“They don’t know?” Justice asked.
“No, and it’s gonna stay that way.” Vick lifted her chin.
Ace chuckled. “Well, you just handed us a bargainin’ chip, honey.”
“Cut it out, brother.” Justice kicked Ace under the table, then turned to her. “We ain’t gonna tell anybody. It’s none of their damn business.”
“Thank you.” Vick released the breath she’d been holding in. “I figured you wouldn’t.”
“Oh?” Justice lifted a brow.
“I’ve researched the club. You’ve got a soft spot for women, particularly ones in trouble.”
The Horsemen had a reputation as vigilantes—riding to the rescue of damsels in distress. They’d “taken care” of child molesters, rapists, and jerks who refused to pay child support.
Ace snorted but didn’t deny it. “You’re in trouble then?”
“Yeah, Simon showed up outside of Lone Star Lounge and roughed me up, before Bonnie ran him off with her shotgun.” Vick pushed up her shirt sleeve to reveal the bruised wrist. “Before that, he tried to take off with me at Poison Fruit.”
Justice hissed in sympathy. “He shouldn’t have put his hands on you.”
“And she should’ve put some lead in his ass.” Ace glanced at Justice who nodded in agreement.
Gotcha. She knew the bikers wouldn’t be able to resist protecting her.
“Did he threaten you, too?” Ace asked.
“Yeah, he said it wasn’t over, and I’d see him again.” Even thinking about it gave her a case of the shivers.
Ace groaned, then said, “No he didn’t.”
“Uh, yeah, he did. Read between the lines.”
“I am, honey, but it doesn’t meet the legal definition of a threat,” Ace said.
“Trust us,” Justice said. “We know how to walk up to the line without crossin’ it. He’d have to be specific about what he’d do to you.”
“What do you mean?” Sure, she had exposure to the criminal element, but she wasn’t the one going around intimidating folks. Apparently, there’s an art to it. Who knew?
“Somethin’ like I’m gonna shoot ya in the head tomorrow night.” Justice pantomimed a gun with one hand.
“Well, next time, I’ll ask Simon to be more precise. Heck, I’ll record it on my phone, too.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. We ain’t the police, so the threshold’s a bit lower. And we wanted to know what kind of guy you’re dealin’ with.”
“What would you like us to do?” Justice asked.
“Since Simon ain’t lettin’ this go, I want you to have a come-to-Jesus meetin’ with him.”
“Gotcha.” Ace looked a bit too happy about the prospect for her liking.
And she wouldn’t hate it if the bikers got a little rough with him. Her wrist still ached.
“Simon’s a lawyer, not an outlaw biker or a member of the outfit, so a scary talk from two armed men should clear this up.”
His family had oil fields all over Texas. Since his father passed on a few years ago, Simon inherited all their holdings, but he’d gone to law school and worked for a big firm in Dallas as a criminal attorney.
Occasionally, Simon had mentioned both topics. And she’d been paid to be the perfect girlfriend, so she’d nodded and listened, but most of it had gone in one ear and out the other.
“So, he has both money and power.” Ace grinned. “Means he got somethin’ to lose.”
“Yeah, he’s loaded.”
Back in the day, Simon had taken her to expensive dinners, pricey hotels, and he’d even bought her some designer clothing, mostly lingerie. And once they’d gone to Barbados for a long weekend.
And when she’d asked him for a loan to pay off her brother’s drug debts and get Jack some treatment, he’d wrote her a check on the spot. No problem.
“Good, we can charge him the asshole fee then.” Ace cracked his knuckles.
“The what?’
“The asshole fee,” Justice said. “As you pointed out, our club helps underdogs. It would be shitty to charge them for our help.”
“Got it. You make the jerks who wronged the victim pay up then.” It was an ingenious system, really and she liked it on principle.
“Yeah, unlike your cheesedick mafia boys, we don’t prey on others.” Ace curled his lip.
Cheese…what? She gritted her teeth. And, hey, I’m countin’ at least one, er, penis at this table.
Justice chuckled. Apparently, he’d read her expression. Vick didn’t have much use for Ace, but Justice seemed like a decent guy. She wondered if they’d met under different circumstances if they might even be friends.
“They ain’t so bad, you know.” Byron had his moments, and Tucker had a reputation for being awful, but Jasper could be downright gallant at times.
“Yeah, they are,” Ace said. “The worst of the worst, actually.”
“Aw, she don’t seem so terrible.” Justice offered her a smile.
Vick returned it. “Thanks.”
“If you two are finished makin’ nice, we should hit the road.” Ace got to his feet. “Tell you what. Give us the details—where Simon works, what kind of car he drives, where he lives, and such. And we’ll pay this fella a visit tomorrow. That work for you?”
“Yep.”
“We’ll give you a call and let you know how it went.”
“Fantastic. Thanks.” She wrote down all the info and handed it off to Justice. The bikers strolled out the door, and for the first time in months, Vick relaxed a bit, drooping against the back of the chair.
Things were looking up. The bikers would nip this problem in the bud, and then things could go back to normal.
Or as close as it gets when a girl works for the mob.
***
Jack didn’t wake up until noon.
Vick had come home for lunch to find him still wrapped in blankets. For a moment, she stood in the doorway and watched him sleep.
His problems started with alcohol—stealing beers from the fridge and weed at friends’ parties. It’d ramped up to ecstasy, then OxyContin, and then, after the pill mills dried up, heroin. People often said someone had an “addictive personality,” but genetics played a role, too.
Since both of their parents had been addicts, they’d gotten a double DNA dose of addiction. Although, it’d never been an issue for Vick. Then again, she’d limited herself to a glass of wine or two because she hadn’t wanted to risk it. While her friends had been chugging down alcohol in college, she’d offered to be the designated driver.
Snuffling, Jack rolled over in bed. He’d always been a night owl—staying up to all hours, slinking home right before dawn. She loved him, always would, but sometimes she felt like slapping some sense i
nto Jack.
Vick settled for bouncing on the end of the bed and jostling him awake.
“Mornin’,” he drawled. Jack yawned and stretched his arms over his head, like a lazy cat. “I need coffee.”
Great. Even more chemicals flowing through your system.
“It’s afternoon, so you’ll have to make another pot.”
“Cool.”
He stumbled into the kitchen and Vick followed. She didn’t offer to help. Jack poked around until he found everything he needed. Eventually, the coffee pot sputtered, the carafe filling with amber liquid.
Vick straddled a kitchen stool, studying him.
According to their mother, Jack was the spitting image of their wayward father. Vick hardly remembered the man, because he’d taken off when she was a toddler and hadn’t come back since.
Jack was tall, lean, with dark hair like hers, and the same blue eyes. Although, Jack wasn’t as handsome as he used to be. The drug use took a toll on his body. His skin had a sallow appearance, he’d lost a lot of weight, and there were several gaps in his smile now.
Vick wondered if her unconditional love was enabling him, too. She’d given him a free pass because of the trauma they’d experienced after their mom’s death.
But she’d still grown into a responsible adult. What was Jack’s excuse?
Jack still lived like a teenager—working a job until he got bored with it, and either got fired or quit. He didn’t have a direction in life, tumbling from one situation to the next.
He’d never even asked her how she’d settled his debts, as though it didn’t matter to him. Like Jack had just assumed she’d take care of it, no matter what he’d done.
“As soon as you get some breakfast, I’m gonna take you back to the Brighton Place.”
This time around, she’d been able to afford an excellent detox program, on Simon’s dime. He’d stayed at the hospital until the drugs were out of his system, then moved into a sober group home with around the clock staff members—sober companions, social workers, a counselor.
She thought he’d get clean this time with all that assistance. Guess not.
“Why? I don’t need to be there.” Jack leaned against the white Formica counter. “I'm all right.”
Her answer was a raised brow.
Blood Money (Lone Star Mobster Book 3) Page 5