Wicked Legacy: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Rough Jesters MC Book 8)

by Brook Wilder

  Cora didn’t respond and I kept my eye on the headlights in the mirror, having a pretty good feeling of who was tailing us. It wasn’t the cartel, that was for sure.

  I directed her to the apartment I was renting, and she pulled over on the street, shutting off the engine. The car that had been following us chose that moment to drive by slowly and I grabbed Cora’s arm, pulling her out of the line of fire in case he unloaded on the car.

  It drove by without incident and I let out a breath, releasing her arm. “That was Red’s,” she said quietly as the taillights disappeared in the distance. “I have no doubt.”

  Yeah, neither did I.

  Tucking the list back in her bag, I opened the passenger side door, climbing out of the car. “Come on,” I said wearily. “Let’s get off the street.”

  She didn’t argue and together we walked to my apartment, a ground-floor unit that I had found already furnished. Opening the door, I flipped on the light and allowed her to enter, locking the door behind us. My knife came out of my waistband first, placed on the counter.

  Then I divested myself of the small revolver I carried in my boot, knowing that Cora was watching my every movement.

  “You are like a walking gun store,” she finally said as I straightened, grabbing for my cell phone.

  I chuckled. “You should see me when I am in the States.”

  “I guess it doesn’t hurt to be prepared,” she said, setting her bag on the counter. “I wonder why Red was following us.”

  “Because he’s a jealous bastard and didn’t like the fact you came home with me,” I answered. I knew the old man would be stewing in his anger tonight, thinking that Cora and I were sharing a bed, giving me what she had refused to give him.

  It was almost laughable. “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head, looking around the apartment. “This is nice.”

  “It’s not mine,” I answered, walking over to the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water. “I’m just renting it briefly.”

  “Oh,” Cora replied, hugging her arms around her waist. “You know I could go home now. There’s no danger and he will never know the difference.”

  Turning to look at her, I set the water on the counter, pushing it toward her. “Or he could be staking out your apartment, waiting for the moment you get home to finish what he started tonight.” I wanted to be a bastard and ask her if she had ever allowed him to take the liberty of fucking her, but she would likely take offense to the questioning and leave.

  I didn’t want her to leave. “I’ll get you some spare clothes to sleep in. The shower is all yours.”

  “Thanks,” she said softly, pulling her hair out of the ponytail. “A shower would be nice.”

  I grunted and walked into the small bedroom, rifling through the clean clothes I had in the closet and pulling out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt that I had brought along with me. I only had three sets of clothes here, but hey, they were clean, and I would gladly sacrifice them to know they were caressing her body tonight.

  That and I was probably going to end up giving up my bed too. I glanced over at the unmade bed, wondering if she would be inclined to share it. The couch was lumpy and highly uncomfortable.

  Carrying the clothes into the living room/kitchen combo, I handed her the pile. “Towels are in the cabinet.”

  She took them, giving me a small smile. “Thanks. I won’t be too long.”

  I managed a nod, leaning against the island as she walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Damn. Now I was going to picture her taking a long, hot shower, the water sliding off her body in rivulets.

  It was a picture I wanted to be part of.

  My cock tightened and I groaned, placing my head in my hands. I should think about what was important, that I needed to send the list to Chains and get that ball rolling.

  I needed to keep my head in the game but when the muffled sound of the shower filled the air, I shook my head.

  It was hard to concentrate when Cora was currently naked in my shower.

  My shower.

  “Damn,” I said, grabbing the water. I needed a drink.

  Chapter 11

  Cora

  I cut off the water and stepped out of the shower, grabbing one of the towels I had placed on the counter. I really didn’t know what I was doing here, but the moment that Red’s car crept past mine, I knew I wasn’t safe. Either he had been trailing us because I had taken Clayton with me or because he had found out that I was working with the resistance.

  Either way, I was safer here with the biker than I was at home.

  I toweled off quickly, draining the water out of my hair in anticipation of what else was going to happen in these early morning hours. I was alone with my child’s father.

  A gorgeous-looking man, at that. I was about to slip on his clothes and walk out of his bathroom like I lived here.

  It was all too cozy.

  Sighing, I slipped on his clothes, smiling as I noticed that his faint scent still clung to the fabric. The T-shirt was surprisingly tight across my bare breasts and my cheeks flushed. It wasn’t much better than the tank top I had on prior.

  At least the sweatpants were baggy enough. I felt strangely comfortable without my underwear on, but I wasn’t about to tell Clayton that.

  A tortured laugh escaped me at the thought. He didn’t care if I had underwear on or not. All he cared about was that list I had pilfered from the cash register, surprised that Red would leave it in plain sight for anyone to find.

  When I had found it, I had immediately tucked it into my bag, my heart racing in my chest. This was the sort of break that Siren and Clayton needed and I had just found the evidence.

  Had Red found out that I had taken it or was his stalking really because I had refused to sleep with him in the storeroom?

  After I shoved all my clothing in my bag, I walked out of the bathroom, finding Clayton right where I left him.

  The man was sinful, and I felt dirty just looking at him. “Thanks for the clothes.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, glancing at the clock on the stove. “You want to get some sleep?”

  I answered by yawning, bringing a smile to his face. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  I gestured toward the couch. “If you will just bring me a blanket, I can sleep there for a few hours.”

  “Hell no,” Clayton answered. “You are going to sleep in my bed.”

  Sleep in his bed? Would he be there too?

  The look on my face must have said what I was thinking, for Clayton shook his head. “Alone, of course, unless you are looking for company.”

  Oh, what a tempting thought. What would it hurt, anyway? I could forget all of this was going on and enjoy myself with the man who had given me such a precious child.

  But that would be a mistake and only complicate things further. “Good night, Clayton.”

  He hung his head. “Good night, Cora.”

  I hurried to the bedroom before I could change my mind, not bothering to shut the door behind me. I had nothing to fear from Clayton other than losing myself.

  As I climbed under the sheets, I sighed as his scent enveloped me, warming me to my core. What was I doing here? This was craziness, that he and I had come back together like this after a year. Now we were both embroiled in the resistance, tangled up with the cartel, and all the while, trying to figure out where the future lay.

  I knew where my future lay. It lay in the small girl that was currently sleeping at my sister’s place, her dreams innocent and full of happiness. My future lay in the bank account that would carry all of us to the States and start a new life, away from the ugliness of the cartel and of Red O’Neil.

  Clayton didn’t have a part in my future, though now I was wondering if I was going to have to rethink that. What if he came around and decided that he believed Amelia was his? What if he decided that he wanted to be part of her life and wanted to help us settle in the States?

  What if he wanted
to work things out between us?

  I wasn’t opposed to the fact. I mean, most women wouldn’t be, given Clayton’s looks alone. What I was opposed to was the violence in his life. I couldn’t subject Amelia to that kind of life.

  Blowing out a breath, I turned to my side, tucking my hands under the pillow. What kind of man was Clayton anyway? He had shown great restraint with Red tonight, though I could see the strain on his face when Red had come out at the end of the night. Given the right opportunity, I imagined that he could kill Red with his bare hands.

  But there was also another side of Clayton I had only seen briefly, in the hallway, when he had seemed concerned for me, and tonight, when he had given me his clothes and his bed without even putting up a fight. There was a soft side, one that I didn’t think I would be interested in until now.

  Ugh, why was I thinking about him in this manner? Once this was all over with, he would go his way and I would go mine, giving him opportunities to see Amelia if he chose to do so. We weren’t going to be a couple; we weren’t even going to touch in any other manner than the way we had already.

  As soon as the thought crossed my mind, my heart called me a liar, but only because I craved that sort of interaction again. I wanted to erase the dirtiness that Red made me feel whenever he touched me and move to something that touched my soul.

  Clayton was not the guy to give me that.

  ***

  After a few hours of restless sleep, I rose in the semi-morning light and slipped on my shoes, grabbing my bag. I needed to go get Amelia from my sister and go home, to return to a normal existence so that no one would think more than what this was.

  Truth was, my dreams had been filled of Clayton, some from my memories of our night together long ago and some made up to make it spicier.

  I had to get out of here.

  Silently I walked out of the bedroom, feeling my heart squeeze in my chest as I saw him on the couch, his large frame sprawled out uncomfortably on the too-small surface. He had stripped off his shirt, his bronzed, muscular chest on full display in the early light.

  The blanket he had draped over his lower half teased me at his tapered waist, but it wasn’t just his rugged good looks that caught my eye.

  It was all the scars that dotted his skin’s tanned surface. I sucked in a breath as my eyes touched each one, some smaller than others, but all relatively disturbing if one did not know what sort of life the biker lived.

  Who had done this to him?

  Had he suffered?

  Were the scars deeper than just the skin alone?

  Why did I care?

  Grinding my teeth together, I forced my feet to move toward the door. I didn’t care. He had all but called me a liar about Amelia and hadn’t shown an ounce of compassion toward me until last night.

  I shouldn’t care.

  Easing the locks out of their resting place, I pulled open the door, stealing one more glance at the sleeping biker. Here he was vulnerable. Here he wasn’t the foul-mouthed guy that had rocked my world in one night and left me with a present that had changed my life forever.

  He was just a guy.

  I walked out of the apartment and shut the door behind me. I couldn’t allow him to get that close to me. I couldn’t feel sorry for him. The moment I did so, I would open my heart up to potentially being broken in the long run. There were others to think about now, others to consider in my future.

  He couldn’t be one.

  ***

  It was right before opening time that I looked around the bar before sliding the list back into its place, my heart returning to a normal rhythm the moment I shut the cash register drawer. I had done it. I had taken the list, given the information to the right people, and returned it without Red or anyone else noticing that it was missing.

  If I didn’t have Amelia in my life, I might have thought of this whole spy thing as a permanent solution.

  Dropping my bag behind the corner, I felt my phone buzz, pulling it out to see the responding text from Siren, stating that she had gotten the list of deliveries. My job was done.

  Now it would be up to them to do something about the list.

  Chapter 12

  Chains

  I pushed away from the makeshift desk with a grimace, feeling the wear and tear on my bones like nothing else. It fucking sucked getting old and I knew by the time I was sixty, I would be in a damn wheelchair.

  Maybe I could get one that was shaped like a bike.

  Hell, they would have to put me in the ground at that point. I wasn’t going in no damn wheelchair.

  “There,” Kris said, sending out the last of her texts. “I let everyone know about the deliveries. We will let them pick it up from the bar but stop the truck just outside of town. Should be easier that way and hopefully less noticeable that we are across the border.”

  I grunted. When Halftrack had sent the list, she had jumped on it immediately, likely itching to do something to contribute to this war we had with the cartel. Me, I was missing our home, the original clubhouse, and my damn bed. From the moment we had landed in Mexico, Kris had done nothing but work, sometimes falling into the makeshift bed in the temporary clubhouse as the sun was rising and I was getting up.

  I didn’t know what she was trying to hide from, but I hated it. Kris was everything to me. I had lost her once in my life and I had no thought of ever doing so again, but it seemed that since we had gotten balls-deep in this cartel business that we were drifting further apart.

  I wanted my wife, my partner, back.

  Kris looked up and caught me staring. “What?”

  “Nothing,” I grumbled, stretching out my legs to avoid the cramp I could feel coming on. “Who should we send first?”

  “The Bitches, of course,” she said immediately, irritation in her gaze. “They can get in and out without being noticed.”

  “The Jesters need to go,” I argued, thinking about Crankshaft and Ironsides and how quickly they could eliminate the threat.

  She stood, crossing her arms over her chest, a chest I hadn’t touched in a long time. God, we used to go at it like rabbits before all this shit happened with the clubs.

  Now I was lucky to get a damn kiss from her. “Don’t do this, Rex,” she said firmly, her eyes flashing angrily. “You still think that the Jesters are superior to the Bitches. I might have lost two of my best people, but it doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

  I noted she was referring to herself and not the club. Was that her issue? Did she think that everyone saw her as weak? Kris was far from it. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it, but the guys can take it by brute force, Kris, and you know it.” Besides, she couldn’t afford to lose any more members. The ranks were thin as it was, especially with the loss of Mama Bear and Siren recently. Kris had also been against trying to contact Siren in the first place, and I’d told her she needed to keep her emotions separate from work.

  That had earned me a few nights on the damn couch as a result. God, she was so testy these days.

  Kris threw up her arms. “Fine. Whatever. Do what you want to do. I don’t even know why I am here to begin with.”

  Shit.

  I stood, walking over to place my hands on her shoulders. “Kris, don’t do this. I’m just trying to help. You know that.”

  She clenched her jaw. “It doesn’t feel like it sometimes, Rex. Sometimes I think you are reverting to the way it was the first time and you know I can’t deal with that again. I can’t be that person again. I won’t be that person again.”

  I kept my anger in check. The first time around I had lost her. “I’m trying to be accommodating, Kris, but you have to meet me halfway.”

  She stepped away from my touch, the loss instantaneous, and I felt her disconnection. “You’re right. You always know better. I’m going to lie down.”

  I watched as my wife walked out of the room before shoving my hand through my hair in frustration. She always thought the worst about me and no matter how many times I told her that I
wanted this to be a partnership, it never got through.

  “Whoa, maybe I should come back.”

  I glared at Ironsides, my second-in-command. “Just get your ass in here.”

  He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Care to talk about it?”

  I shook my head. While Ironsides and the rest of the damn club were well aware that we weren’t getting along as well as we once had, I didn’t need a damn therapist to give me any advice on my wife.