Black Jack Read online

  I gave him a scratch on top of his head. “Is that what you wanted?”

  He pushed up against my hand. Yes, thank you for obliging my command, human.

  I’d always loved this little apartment at this time of day when the sun shone in just right and painted everything in a morning glow. All my plants seemed a little greener, the jewel tones of my mismatched thrift furniture a little brighter, my white kitchen cabinets a little crisper. The sunlight showed all the cat-hair dust bunnies too, of course, but those were impossible to stay on top of. Toes had long fur and he shed enough to sometimes convince me there were actually four cats living in my apartment.

  He pooped enough for four cats, too.

  My timer went off and I plunged my coffee. In four minutes, it would be ready to drink. I spent the time puttering around my kitchen. I unloaded the dishwasher, wiped the counters, and changed the water in the mason jar I used to hold fresh-cut flowers. Once a week, I liked to buy myself a bouquet, usually just daisies or something because they were cheap.

  My mother used to buy herself flowers all the time. Sometimes my father did, but he was an exceptionally busy man, and he chose to show his love in other ways. She enjoyed having pops of color in the home, as she would say, and claimed nothing made a room feel brighter or fresher than fresh-cut flowers. Unlike me, an adult woman who didn’t own a single vase, my mother had an entire collection of crystal vases as well as ceramic ones. She used to paint when she was younger, and when she and I would go to a ceramic studio for a Sunday afternoon, she would paint vases or dishware and I’d paint random animals to put on the shelves in my room.

  I named each and every one of them and would introduce them to my father the day we brought them back from being fired in the kiln at the studio. My father would ask me questions about the animal I’d painted while my mother cut stems, filled her new vase with water and a dash of sugar, and spend fifteen minutes deciding where she wanted to place them.

  Her top three locations were either a windowsill, the kitchen table, or her night stand.

  When my coffee was done, I took it and sat in the sun pouring through the window. Toes came down from his perch and curled up beside me, using my ankle as a pillow, and promptly began to purr. The gentle rumble in his chest calmed my body but not my mind.

  Despite the tranquil morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about last night.

  About Caroline Bates.

  She and I had history. Not the sort of history a lot of young women had, however. We didn’t go to school together. We didn’t meet on a playground or date each other’s ex or share a part-time job in high school.

  No, we shared none of that.

  We shared this place. My home. The bar.

  Her father had wanted it for himself for well over three years now. When he and his merry band of criminals rolled into town on their Harley’s, none of the born and raised locals gave them a second thought. We were used to men on choppers. The Devil’s Luck always rode around town on their bikes. Sure, a lot of townsfolk hated them because of their seedy reputation and recklessness and how they often turned their noses up at the law and refused to bend to rules, but people struggled to find reasons or examples of how the Devil’s Luck made us unsafe.

  But the Wolverines?

  They were a totally different story.

  I didn’t know the ins and outs of the operation, but I knew Walter Bates had a large crew of loyal men serving him and his cause. They wanted this town for themselves and had already claimed more than half of it. Businesses were allowed to continue running so long as they paid a decent chunk of change to Bates’s operation on top of their monthly lease and insurance fees. The cost had run hundreds of people out of business.

  Other establishments, he seized for himself. Walter seemed to prefer the big earners like casinos and bars—places where he could run his drugs through.

  I knew that was what he wanted Reno’s Well for.

  The thought made my blood boil.

  My father built this place with his bare hands and poured all the love he possessed into it. He started a business for himself here, made friends and family here, and even fell in love under this roof. I was conceived here. After I was born, my parents lived in this very apartment with me for a few months until they could move into their first real house, only about a seven minute drive down the road. A young couple rented this place and the extra money went into a savings account for me.

  I still had those funds and hadn’t decided what to do with them yet. I’d considered using it to put upgrades into the bar, but with Walter Bates knocking at my door trying to steal it out from under me, I’d had second thoughts. Even though I had no intention of handing my home over to him, I still knew deep down that it might end with him taking it anyway.

  I’d rather it burn to the ground than fall into his hands.

  I sighed.

  Toes lifted his chin from my ankle and chirped at me. Are you okay?

  I pet him between his big amber eyes. “I’m scared, buddy. That’s all.”

  He put his chin back down and snuggled in closer, tucking his tail in around himself and folding his paws under his chest. I continued to pet him absently while I sipped at my coffee.

  Caroline strolled through my thoughts again in her sleek black outfit.

  The psychopath truly thought this town would be all hers one day. When her father was gone, a day I had prayed for more than once, she would step up and take his place. There would be no way to know whose rule would be worse, hers or her father’s.

  All I could hope for was that it wouldn’t come to that, and Jackson would find a way to put a stop to the Wolverines and their ruthless take over.

  Jackson.

  Had he made it home last night?

  Had my call to Brody been useless, or had I done some good by being concerned?

  Would Jackson be upset if I intervened where I didn’t belong?

  Toes started chewing on my silver anklet.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling my foot out from under him. “That’s not for chewing on.”

  He huffed at me, hopped off the couch, took six steps to the right, and plopped onto the floor to bask in the sun some more.

  I checked the time. I’d have to open the bar shortly, so I finished my coffee, got changed, and headed downstairs to turn on the house lights and clean up the broken glass left by Caroline. I’d lacked the nerve to stay downstairs last night and clean it. Now, in the daylight, it wasn’t so bad.

  My staff started rolling in just before eleven o’clock. With all the evidence erased of both Jackson and Caroline’s visit, they were none the wiser to the events of last night or the stress that had a vise grip on my chest.

  I slapped on a smile and hung out in the kitchen with everyone while they turned on the ovens, unloaded the last load of dishes from the industrial washer from last night, and started some food prep.

  Morgan was the first server to arrive for her shift, and when she came into the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of water and looked conspiratorially around at the rest of us. “So, did any of you hear about what apparently happened outside the Den last night?”

  I stiffened. “What?”

  Amber, the young line cook, stopped chopping garlic. “I heard there was a fight.”

  My other line cook, a middle-aged man named Gavin, grunted and shook his head. “There’s always a fight at that shithole. What else do you expect from Bates’s thugs?”

  Morgan grinned. “It wasn’t just Bates’s thugs.”

  The kitchen hushed. My busboy, who’d just come through the kitchen doors, joined in and so did another waitress, and soon, all of us were leaning in toward Morgan as she spoke animatedly with her hands, telling us what she’d heard went down.

  “Well, I heard from Mindy that Tracy Kiss—you know that poor stripper always caught in Walter’s net? Anyway, Mindy said that Tracy was at the Den last night when this guy showed up looking to start a fight. She didn’t get a good look at him, bu
t she said he was wearing a military uniform.”

  “Jackson,” I breathed.

  Morgan nodded enthusiastically, like I’d just won a round of Jeopardy. “Yes, Jackson. Tracy says he was drunk as a skunk when he stumbled up to the front door and picked a fight with the big dumb one, Jim or John or something. Apparently—and I don’t know how true this is because it came from Tracy—but apparently Black Jack choked Jim out with his own belt. How wild is that?”

  The men in the kitchen whispered amongst each other in awe while the girls practically swooned.

  “Was he hurt?” I asked.

  “Jim? I don’t doubt it.” Morgan snickered.

  “No, Jackson,” I said.

  “Oh.” She frowned and gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. Tracy told Mindy that the fight got pretty bloody and a bunch of Black Jack’s boys showed up in a pickup truck and got him out of there before it could get any worse. Lucky thing, huh?”

  Everyone in the kitchen started talking about how glad they were that Jackson was back, and they swapped old stories of all the crazy shit they’d heard about him doing in the past, like the time he had a bad crash on Mill Road. They spoke about him like they might a legend, and I sat back and listened, all the while playing over and over in my head how drunk he was last night, how hollow and empty he seemed.

  Had he gone there to pick a fight and win?

  Or had he intended on losing and my phone call saved his dumb ass from getting killed?

  Chapter 8

  Jackson

  “He had a death wish,” I heard Mason say.

  “Fucking bullshit,” Grant grumbled close by. “Jackson isn’t suicidal. He was drunk and pissed off. Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you were in his shoes?”

  “Pull a stunt like that?” Mason said. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  I didn’t know where I was. All I knew was my head was pounding like I’d been hit by a bus—or the fist of a man the size of a bus—and I was lying down. A cool compress applied to my face, mostly my right cheek, was soothing but not enough to steal away the pain.

  I’d been unconscious for some time, I assumed. After my friends picked me up outside the strip joint, they must have brought me back here, wherever here was.

  Brody added his voice to the mix. “Where’s the bike?”

  “I put it back in the shop,” Grant said. “Still beats the shit out of me how he broke in there and got it out.”

  Mason sighed. “He’s a jack of all trades.”

  Someone removed the compress from my face and replaced it with another. They gingerly applied pressure to my cheek and jaw, and I knew immediately this was a woman’s touch before she spoke.

  “Will you three lower your voices? He needs rest,” my little sister, Suzie, said.

  Suzie. Shit. I’d dropped the ball. Instead of drinking my face off last night, I should have gone to her. I should have checked in on her. I should have done anything other than the damn thing I’d done.

  “Sorry, Suz,” Mason muttered.

  Sooner or later, I’d have to face the music and open my eyes, so I forced them open and stared up at a popcorn ceiling and a fan turning in lazy circles over my head. The blades were white, and a frosted glass bulb with a floral pattern hung from it. Two chains dangled and swayed in the breeze from the fan. The room still felt too warm for comfort.

  “He’s awake,” Grant said.

  Everyone rushed to the side of my bed, except for Suzie, who was right there at my side perched on the edge of a chair. She shimmied the men out of her way as she stood up and leaned over me, resting a gentle hand on my chest and tucking a stray piece of brown hair behind her ear with the other.

  “Jackson,” she said softly, “what the hell were you thinking?”

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I said.

  Her lips pressed into a firm line and her eyes narrowed. Suddenly and quite mercilessly, she smacked my chest hard.

  “Ow,” I barked.

  She hit me again. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Jack? Do you know how hard it’s been to sit around waiting for you to come home for five years? Five years, Jack! And when you do come home, you don’t bother coming to see your little sister. Oh no, you drown yourself in vodka and drive over to the Den, where you know some thug will put you out of your misery. Well, guess what, you selfish asshole? If Jim had killed you last night, I’d have lost both of my brothers in the span of a week!” Her chest heaved with every breath as she glared down at me. Her eyes, deep brown like mine and like William’s, flicked back and forth between mine. “Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Mason cleared his throat. “We’re gonna, uh, wait for you down the hall, Jackson.”

  Brody stepped outside of the bedroom. “Godspeed, brother.”

  Suzie shot a menacing glance in their direction as Grant hurried off after them and closed the door, leaving me alone with my baby sister.

  She huffed, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared hotly at me.

  I propped myself up against the headboard. “I’m sorry, Susan. I… I don’t have a good explanation. My head wasn’t on straight. You know how I get when I’m angry. I just… saw red.”

  “You saw red?” Suzie rolled her eyes and slumped down into her chair to cross one leg over the other. She wore a pair of navy-blue sweatpants that I was fairly certain were not made for women and a white tank top. A gold chain around her neck with a gold medallion hanging from it caught my eye. She saw me notice and lifted the medallion from her chest to press it to her lips. “It’s William’s,” she said, even though I already knew.

  “I’m glad you have it.”

  “Mason took it for me after…” She trailed off as her voice started to croak, and shook her head almost violently. “I’m so mad at you.”

  “I know.”

  “You were an idiot. What were you thinking going after Bates alone last night? He killed our brother, Jackson! They’d be more than happy to kill you too, and you thought it was a great idea to just hand them the opportunity on a silver platter?”

  “I couldn’t sit around and do nothing.”

  Suzie prickled. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I never said you should sit around and do nothing. I’m saying you shouldn’t have tried to take him on alone. What do you think the rest of us are? Chopped liver? We want to help, Jackson. We want to level the score just as badly as you do, but how are we supposed to do that when you’re operating like a one-man show?”

  “You’re not part of this, Susan,” I growled as I sat up straighter and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

  She stood. “Like hell I’m not. I have just as much right to this fight as any of you. And don’t call me Susan.”

  I almost laughed. Almost. And I might have if my body didn’t hurt so bad and my sister wasn’t looking at me like she was capable of committing murder herself. “The only fight you have a right to is the one with me,” I growled. “You will steer clear of Bates and his entourage. Do you hear me?”

  Suzie rolled her eyes. “You’re just as stubborn as you were before you left. And here I was thinking the military might beat some of the stupid out of you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  I pushed myself to my feet. The bed creaked and groaned in protest, and so did my aching body. I clenched my teeth against the pain in my bruised side and touched gingerly at my face, feeling split and swollen skin under my left eye.

  Suzie sighed and turned to the door. “I’ll get you some Tylenol and water.”

  “Wait.” I reached out and caught her wrist. She froze but didn’t turn back to me until I forced her to and pulled her in close to rest my chin on her head. She still felt small in my arms, like she always had even when we were kids. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m truly sorry, Suz. I didn’t mean to scare you, or hurt you, or make you feel like I was willing to leave you. I’m not. I promise.”

  She trembled and wrapped her arms ar
ound me. Her fingers curled into fists in the back of my shirt as she began to sniffle. “I’m sorry too.”

  I took a deep breath. At least I still had her. She was enough. Enough to keep me here fighting. Enough to stay behind and let William go.

  Suzie nuzzled her face into my chest. “We’re burying him tomorrow.”

  I held her a little tighter.

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” she whispered.

  “We’ll do it together. We’re not alone.”

  Suzie cried, and I wondered how long she’d held herself together before she let all her pieces fall apart. I hated that I hadn’t been there for her when William died. I had so many questions and so many fears about what the last six days of her life had been like. I prayed like hell she hadn’t seen the aftermath—that she hadn’t seen the blood or the bike or William’s body. I wanted to ask, but the frog in my throat stole my voice.

  Finally, after several minutes passed and her sobbing ceased, Suzie tipped her head back to look up at me with glossy brown eyes. “You need a shower. You stink.”

  Brody’s shower was pretty luxurious compared to the ones I was used to using on base. He’d done a house renovation a few years ago and upgraded his master bathroom with a steam shower with a lot of cool features. I didn’t understand what half the controls did, and I burnt the shit out of myself when I first got in, but I left the bathroom wearing some of his clothes, feeling like a new man.

  I met the others outside on the back deck, where most had a beer in their hands. Suzie sipped a soda with the can half cracked. She’d done this since she was a little girl to keep bugs out of her drink after she nearly swallowed a wasp that stung her tongue.

  She’d had a hard time speaking properly for days, and William and I teased her endlessly about it. I suspected she’d enjoyed our panic and concern when she was first stung a lot more than everything that came afterward.

  The attention of everyone on the deck shifted to me, and I looked around at the grim faces looking back at me.

  There was Mason, William’s best friend and the Vice President of the club. He’d assumed the title of High Roller damn near a decade ago but earned the VP position only when William took my place five years ago.