Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) (36 page)

JAK.
I sat in the driveway with the window down. Waiting had never been one of my strengths. I stared into the passenger seat at the photo album from my past. Reluctantly, I opened the cover. My last entry, a series of photographs of Graham and I before and after our pre-Navy haircuts was on the page facing me. On the top of the page, long locks of each of our hair taped against the page with twenty-year-old Scotch tape. We had each saved them as a reminder of our friendship. Who would have guessed then how useful they would become later. I felt my heart rate increase as the Commander’s car slowly entered the drive. As he cautiously inched his vehicle beside me, he rolled his window down and remained in the car.

Resolving the mystery and moving forward with my life was something I felt I desperately needed to allow me to find peace. Attempting to make sense of everything and fully understanding it would certainly be impossible. Proceeding with living life and allowing myself to heal from the wounds of my past would provide me with a comfort twenty years of fighting could not.

“Kennedy, I’m going to remain in the vehicle. I have no idea where your head is right now,” he explained as he leaned out of the window.

“Match?” I asked.

He nodded his head.

“Positive?” I asked.

I knew a DNA match would be positive. I needed to hear it.

“That’s affirmative, Kennedy. It’s a match. Father-daughter, no doubt,” he nodded.

“Toss it in the window, Commander,” I sighed.

I stared down into my lap. As tears welled in my eyes, I realized I was beginning to cry for more than one reason. Filled with emotion and free of sleep for almost seventy-two hours, I was on the verge of a breakdown; but the tears came naturally from two simultaneous feelings. Love and pain. As the envelopes and a plastic packet landed in the seat beside me, I stared at the thighs of my jeans. His stern voice caused me to look his direction.

“We done here, Kennedy?” he asked.

I cleared my throat. A single tear dripped down my cheek, “Jak, Commander. Remember?”

“Glad you’re back, Jak,” he said as he opened his car door.

“I’ve got to hop on a bird and get back to Wichita. This investigation is almost over, but we’re done here,” I said as he leaned in the window of the car.

Another tear worked its way alongside my nose and collected on my upper lip. Yet another followed. Still focused on me, and never having seen emotion from me whatsoever, his eyes widened.

“Jak, you need a cup of coffee? A place to sleep?” he asked.

“No sir,” I responded as I shifted the car in reverse.

“I need to pick a girl up off the floor until her legs dangle,” I smiled as I wiped the tears from my eyes.

“Fair enough,” he grinned.

He had made the statement many times over the years. I’ve always said we mimic those we admire. I pressed my foot firmly on the brake and smiled the best I was able.

“Fair enough,” I repeated.

As he stood from the car window, I backed out of the driveway. Sitting in the street, I shifted the car into drive and held my foot on the brake as I lifted the DNA test and envelopes from the seat and dropped them into the bag. As difficult as it was for me to accept or understand, I now knew the answer to my little mystery. The top envelope was clearly marked by my hand writing. The name I had scribbled onto it before giving it to the Commander, without a doubt, was Karter’s father.

Graham.

JAK.
Although it wasn’t necessary, I felt I had one more thing to do for my peace of mind. I pulled my ball cap tight onto my head and lowered my gaze to the floor as I walked past the security camera. I really had nothing to hide, but I didn’t want Karter to know what I was preparing to do. With the bag over my shoulder now filled with a few tools and a flashlight, I pressed the security code on the keypad. As the magnetic lock on the front door buzzed, I pulled it open and walked to the elevator.

As the elevator door opened into the lower floor parking garage, I stepped around the corner and into Karter’s parking stall. Her motorcycle was parked right where she had left it before she went to the art show. As it was two o’clock in the morning, I had very little doubt Karter was doing anything but sleeping - something I clearly needed to join in on, as I had not slept in days.

I stood beside Karter’s bike and stared. The past I had spent two decades forgetting was all too clear now.
Graham had worn a helmet religiously and I never quite came to an understanding of why he wasn’t wearing a helmet on the day of his accident. We had been drinking, but neither of us would have been considered drunk from a legal standpoint. Post mortem toxicology tests on Graham did indicate he had consumed alcohol, but supported the fact he was not drunk. As Graham and I had the same amount to drink, and we were the same size and weight, I always assumed I wasn’t legally drunk either. I never really drank before the accident; and I had not one single drink of alcohol since. As Commander Warrenson always said,
men who don’t drink always have a story associated with why.

It seemed I had one too many.

We were not racing, but it was difficult for anyone to believe it. We were riding back to town on a twisting road. Both of us were knowledgeable about where we were riding and the layout of the road. As I came around the second corner, Graham shot passed me at a high rate of speed. I was traveling approximately 60 m.p.h., and I expected Graham’s speed was in excess of 100 m.p.h. When I got to the fourth curve, I saw his bike in the ditch. He was against a tree beside the road, dead at the scene. His head impacted an eighty-year-old oak tree without a helmet to protect it. To explain the accident scene as grotesque would be an understatement.

It wasn’t the first time Graham had wrecked his bike. A terrible wreck almost a month prior to his death smashed his bike up pretty bad, but his helmet saved his life. We had spent nearly two weeks solid repairing his bike prior to the second wreck, and almost immediately after the repairs, the second wreck took his life.

The damages to his motorcycle from the first accident required a repair to the exhaust port of the motor. A bolt had been pulled from the exhaust flange and out of the cast iron head during the collision, stripping the threads. A permanent heli-coil was added to repair the damaged exhaust bolt hole. At the time, it was much cheaper at ten dollars than a two-thousand dollar engine. If my suspicions were correct…

After removing the bolts from the head, I pulled the exhaust to the side and pointed the flashlight in the bolt hole. Even though it was over twenty years old, the heli-coil repair we had made in my mother’s garage was unmistakable. I lowered myself to the floor and pulled my knife from my pocket. On the underside of the frame in a location where it would never be detected, I began to scratch the paint from the frame. After scratching through two coats of clear coat and a few of the black away, I didn’t even need my flashlight. The dark green paint was undeniable.

Karter was riding Graham’s old bike.

And she had no idea of the bike’s origin or who used to ride it. Two things still lingered in my mind and troubled me. I didn’t need the answers immediately, but my curiosity was killing me. For one, I wanted to know why Shelley told me Karter was
my
daughter. I could see no real reason to support her making such a statement, especially when
she
knew who the father was. Secondly, I wanted to read the letters Shelley wrote. I stood in an almost trance-like state and recalled what Shelley had said prior to me asking about Karter.

“Why didn’t you respond to my letters, Jak?”
Shelley asked when I was preparing to leave.

“What letters?”
I had responded.

I stared at Karter’s bike and considered Shelley’s response.

“The letters, Jak. Don’t be stupid. I wrote you for a year. You never responded. Maybe once a month for a while, then I wrote once a week for a few months. I never heard from you.”

I wondered what the letters may contain. I didn’t need to know immediately, and they wouldn’t change a thing. As far as I was concerned, Karter needed to know nothing of any of my recent findings. My secrets should remain just that, secrets. There would be zero value in Karter finding out her mother had cheated on her high school sweetheart with his best friend and became pregnant. There was a reason Shelley had never told Karter who her father was. To do so would be to admit she was a liar and a cheat. Undoubtedly, Shelley’s knowledge of Graham being the father had haunted her for a lifetime. In a town of 900, to admit what she had done would cause the small city to brand her a whore and a cheat.

Regardless of who her mother may have been, I loved Karter and would always love her. I knelt down, quickly placed the two bolts back into the exhaust flange, and stood. After wiping my fingerprints from the chrome exhaust, I walked to the elevator. As I waited for the doors to open, I tossed my rubber gloves into the trash.

As the elevator reached Karter’s floor, I sighed a sigh of relief.

In an almost sleep like state, I slowly stumbled to Karter’s door. She was a light sleeper, and I expected she would wake up from my phone call. I scrolled to her number, pressed the icon, and listened as I heard her phone ringing through the thin walls.

“Oh my God. Jak?” she answered after two rings.

“Honey, I’m home,” I sighed.

“I thought you were dead,” she breathed into the phone.

“I’ve never been more alive,” I responded, “unlock the door.”

The squealing I heard from the apartment followed by the thundering steps was enough to bring me out of my sleep like state. Having no knowledge of the last four days of hell I’d been through and what I had considered, I would be far more excited by holding her than she would be by being held, that much was certain. As the door opened, I stared into the eyes of the only woman I had ever truly loved.

As she collapsed into my arms, I lifted her from the floor.

And I let her legs dangle.

JAK.
“So you said we’d discuss it in the morning, it’s almost ten o’clock, sleepy head, you awake yet?”

I rubbed my tired eyes and glanced toward Karter’s voice. She stood beside the bed in what appeared to be a pair of jean shorts and nothing else. I blinked my eyes and tried to focus. Sure enough, she stood with paint brush in hand, half-naked and barefoot. I smiled and rolled to my side as I admired her. Karter was just…

Perfect.

“I’m awake, let me get up,” I chuckled.

The house smelled of coffee and bacon. I tossed my legs to the side of the bed and pressed my feet onto the floor. As I stood, I realized I was naked. I had no real recollection of even getting into the bed the night before, let alone getting undressed. I rubbed my eyes again and looked around the room.

“On the dresser, I folded them,” she grinned as she tapped the tip of the paint brush against her lip.

“I don’t even remember getting undressed,” I sighed as I walked to the dresser.

“You didn’t. You passed out. I undressed you. I like you naked more than I like you in boxers, so…” she tilted her head to the side as I pulled my boxers over my thighs.

“You little shit,” I laughed.

She tilted her head to the other side and smiled, “So, were you on a mission?”

I turned to face her as I pulled my pants on, “Yes, and as a matter of fact, my last.”

“You promise?” she asked.

I nodded my head as I buttoned my pants, “Yes, I promise.”

“Were you out of the country?” she asked.

“I was in a place farther away than I have ever been,” I said softly.

She shifted the weight on her feet as I approached her, bending her right knee slightly. The nipples were full on her tan perky breasts. Seeing her standing in the doorway half-naked was all I could take. To think my nightmare was over provided a relief of epic proportion.

“What did you have to do?” she asked.

“It’s classified, but I can tell you this. The Commander and I had to find someone. Someone only I knew how to find. It took several days, but we found him, and everything is going to be just fine,” I smiled as I reached around her and hugged her.

“Was he okay?” she asked.

I considered her question and before much thought, I responded, “No honey, he was dead. We knew he was dead; we just had to find him. But everything’s fine now. That’ll be the last time I ever leave you.”

“I read about that. Never leave a fallen teammate behind. I like that,” she breathed into my neck.

I was prepared to forget Graham, forget Shelley, forget the war, and forget the killing. It was time for me to begin my new life of loving Karter, and nothing short of doing so was going to satisfy me. As I lifted her from her feet, she squeaked and squeezed me in her arms.

“What are you working on?” I asked as I carried her out of the bedroom and toward the kitchen.

“Just goofing. Guess what?” she whispered into my ear.

“Uhhm, what?”

“I made forty grand this weekend,” she said softly.

“Say again?”

“Forty. Grand,” she giggled.

“How?”

“I sold everything I took to some guy in New York. He’s a big time fucker of some sort. Stephen Greene. He has shiny shoes,” she said matter-of-factly.

I stopped and tilted my head toward hers, “Well, good for you and good for him, I suppose. I’m proud of you, honey. But if you included the painting from my place, Stephen and I are going to have to have a little talk.”

I began to step toward the kitchen with her in my arms. Having her skin against mine, in itself, reassured me Karter and I would spend forever loving each other. Now I would be able to take care of Karter, placing her wants and needs before all other things. I felt certain guilt for not being able to explain my newfound joy. To her, nothing had changed. To me, I had conquered an obstacle and opened a new door, allowing us to spend a lifetime loving each other.

Still suspended above the floor and in my arms, she bent her knees rearward and held them in place, “Nope, it’s still there. I was just going to paint another. Not of me, but of you. I’m going to hang your sexy naked ass on the wall.”

She kissed me on the lips lightly and I lowered her to the floor. I turned to face her easel and immediately admired an abstract likeness of my naked self on canvas. The painting wasn’t quite complete, but it was clearly of me lying on my side, and from my calf to my shoulder. I changed my gaze from the painting to her and smiled without speaking.

“I took pictures of you this morning,” she chuckled.

“I see,” I responded, “I like it.”

I turned to the kitchen counter. Three piles of mail eight inches high were stacked on the counter. Beside the mail, four newspapers sat, each opened to the obituaries. Undoubtedly she read them as soon as she returned from her weekend away. Karter and her obsessions…

“Mug the mailman?” I laughed as I nodded toward the piles of mail.

“Oh, no,” she said as she stepped between me and the counter.

“I’ve been so preoccupied with you since we met, I hadn’t been to my box. I was bored last night when I got home, so I got the mail. Ninety days’ worth,” she laughed.

I shook my head in disbelief. Seeing her standing in front of me half-naked and proud was a testament to who Karter was. She didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. Whether or not I was in her apartment enjoying her company, she’d probably be painting naked. I softly smiled as I admired her smooth tanned skin and womanly curves. Feeling almost overwhelmed with emotion from the realization of Karter and I being able to continue our relationship, I leaned toward her and closed my eyes as we began to kiss.

As we kissed, her hand immediately reached for my belt. The anticipation of sex caused me to immediately become aroused. I kissed her more intimately until the kissing became almost rough. Together, we stumbled along the kitchen island toward the front door as we continued to kiss. She fought to unbutton my jeans. Her back slamming against the front door was a reminder we had reached the end of the corridor and ended our potential escape from what was certain to happen. I heard my zipper unzip.

“Three days is too long, Jak. I need it,” she gasped as she fumbled to remove her tiny shorts.

Feeling as if I was in an entirely new and far more secure relationship with Karter, I responded differently than I expect I would have previously. I had never felt insecure with Karter or questioned our love, but now I was absolutely certain nothing could or would tear us apart.

“And I’m going to give it to you. It’s a good thing you’re naked, turn around,” I demanded as I pressed against her left shoulder and spun her half way around.

As her body rotated, she released my jeans and they immediately fell to mid-thigh. She exhaled audibly, kicked her shorts across the floor, and leaned against the door. As she turned her head sideways and pressed her check against the wood, I raised my right foot and fought to kick my jeans to the floor. After freeing my legs from the bindings of my pants, I reached through the hole in the front of my boxers and pulled my stiff cock through it.

I reached down with both hands and gripped the bottom of her ass with my fingertips. Using my index fingers, I gently pulled her pussy lips apart, making room for my cock to slide into her with ease. Her wetness caused my fingers to slip, and as I fumbled to pull her thighs apart, she reached between her legs and guided the tip against her wetness. As I raised my fingers to meet her ass, she bent her legs and lowered herself onto me, encompassing half of my rigid shaft.

“Holy fucking shit, Jak. This feels
so good
,” she gasped as she straightened her legs.

The feeling of being inside Karter wasn’t one of simply having sex. As if the inner structure of her body was made to accept me perfectly, we carefully fit one another in a manner which was undeniable. Regardless of the position we used for our sexual adventures, everything always slid into place without pain or uncertainty. The pleasure of our bodies touching was nothing short of magic. With her face against the front door and her back arched, her ass fit against the curvature of my hips perfectly.

As she bent her legs and carefully lowered herself onto my cock, I thrust my hips upward and held them there. My upper thighs now pressed firmly against her ass, I looked down at the floor. She was standing on her tip-toes. As I focused on her feet, she lowered her heels to the floor slowly.

She struggled to turn her face away from the wooden door. As I spread my feet shoulder width apart she looked at me with sheer disgust.

With her hand between her legs, she tugged on my boxer shorts, “Are you fucking kidding me? What is this fabric matter between us, Jak?”

“I couldn’t wait to take them off,” I responded.

She exhaled and rolled her eyes, “That’s cute Jak, but they’re gross. I like looking at you when you wear them, but I don’t want to fuck you with them on. Take ‘em off.”

I rose on the balls of my feet and pressed myself deeper into her wet pussy. She gasped, held her breath for an instant, and exhaled as she closed her eyes. Feeling as if I’d made my point, I relaxed. As I did, she arched her back drastically, pressed her hands against the door and her ass against my thighs – pulling her pussy away from my cock. As she quickly spun around and grabbed the opening of my shorts, I grinned.

She knelt in front of me and gripped the opening of my shorts. I stared down at her hair and lightly shook my head from side to side and smiled. As she looked up and met my gaze, she rolled her eyes and bit her lower lip, exposing her snow white teeth.

There was never a dull moment with Karter.

“Take,” she said as she pulled against the material with both hands.

“These,” she grunted as she yanked again, ripping the material slightly.

“Motherfuckers,” she shouted as she tore the material even more.

“Off,” with her final yank of the opening in the shorts, she tore them into two lengthwise shards of fabric. Now with an elastic waistband around my waist and two separate pieces of torn cotton dangling on either side of my upper thighs, I was free of any form of obstruction.

Sort of.

She stood from her kneeling position and stared down at the mess of material. Feeling ornery, I pressed my hands into my hips and raised one eyebrow.

“I’m not done,” she breathed as she stepped around me.

I watched as she pranced to her bedroom. After a short pause, she walked from the room with her right hand clasped into a fist. As she stepped in front of me, she held her hand to her side and flicked her thumb against the blade of her knife. As it snapped into the locked position, I shook my head and chuckled.

“Don’t be laughing, you might cause me to slip and slice something I don’t really want to cut,” she said as she slid the back side of the blade against my stomach.

With a slight upward stroke, she cut the waistband in two, and the shorts fell to the floor. I looked down at my now half flaccid cock and sighed.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll fix that. But there’s a new rule around here,” she said as she nodded her head toward my waist.

Without folding the blade into the handle, she laid her knife on the edge of the kitchen countertop, “No more boxers, ever. You’re going commando from here on out, agreed?”

I rolled my eyes lightly and shook my head, “Agreed.”

Without a doubt, this wouldn’t be the last of the changes I’d make in an effort to suit Karter. In time, we’d both be seeing differences in ourselves and in each other. For twenty years, my life had been the same thing over and over. I was prevented from making change. Now, to think I had the ability to make modifications at will and to do so with Karter’s best interest in mind was extremely satisfying.

She kicked the torn pile of cotton boxers to the side and stood in front of me, smiling.

“Now maybe you won’t be short stroking me,” she said matter-of-factly.

As she stood naked between me and the door, I pressed my fists between my biceps and chest. I crossed my arms like an angry child and responded, “Short stroking you?”

“Mmmmhhhhm,” she grinned.

“Short stroking?”

“That is affirmative sir,” she nodded.

I rocked up and down on the balls of my feet, “So now I’ve got a little cock?”

“With that pile of shit on,” she paused and pointed at the shredded shorts.

“You couldn’t get
in
there. You were short stroking me. I felt like I was being fucked by a midget or something,” she chuckled.

I uncrossed my arms and turned my palms upward, “A fuckin’ midget?”

She raised her hand to eye level and held her thumb and forefinger two inches apart as she stared at the distance between her fingers, “Mmmhhhhm. One with a stubby little cock.”

“Turn around, I’ll show you just how deep I can get,” I demanded.

“Promises, promises,” she sighed as she slapped her hands against the door and spread her feet apart.

She looked as if she was preparing to be frisked by a police officer. My guess was she probably had a little experience at it. She looked all too versed on the procedure. Trying to act as if I was actually angry, I stroked my cock as I stepped toward her.