Jailbait (24 page)

My tongue lashes against her clit. I lick. I suck. I bite. Just minutes later Pepper cums, pulling my hair so hard it hurts. Carefully, I set her down, heels clicking on the limestone. She’s still panting, hardly able to stand.

I put my arms around her, bringing her away from the railing and toward the lounge chair. Pepper has a different idea. She unhooks her bra and turns away, looking behind her as she rolls her bra straps off her shoulders.
 

She stops by the pool and turns around. “Take off your clothes and get in here.”
 

I unbutton my shirt as I walk, ready to literally rip the fabric from my body. I need to feel her skin against mine. Now. Pepper unbuckles the straps on her shoes and steps into the pool. I hurry to go in after her.
 

The water is warmer than I expected, and feels perfect around our naked bodies. Pepper wraps her arms around my shoulders, floating weightlessly. She runs a wet hand through my hair then kisses me, tongue pushing into my mouth. I spread her legs and push her against the side of the pool.

Pepper lowers herself onto me, and water splashes over the side of the pool, wetting the stone around it as we fuck like it might be the last time. Because it very well might be.
 

We get out, wrap ourselves in towels that are ready and waiting in a storage container disguised as a bench, and move closer to the fire.
 

“I need to tell you everything,” I say, hating how this is ruining the moment.
 

“No, you don’t.

I raise an eyebrow. “Why not? You said you wanted to know, right?”
 

“Oh, I do. But I said you’re not leaving here until you tell me everything. So if you don’t tell me everything, you’re not leaving.”
 

“That is tempting,” I say and rub my hand up and down her smooth leg. “But you need to know. If everything goes back to who I think it’s going back to…things are bad. I need to go check it out before I can decide what to do.”
 

“And then what?” she spits. “Say you find out it
is
connected to…uh…whoever.”

“The Jackals,” I say the name out loud. “It’s a motorcycle club.”
 

“So it goes back to them. Then what are you going to do? Give the leader a stern talking to? You said not even the police can help. So how are you going to put an end to this?”
 

I shake my head. She’s completely right. If Bryce Fisher, that piece of shit president of the Jackals, is behind all this, I don’t know what I would do. He got his money, but it’s deeper than that. I left when he said I couldn’t. I got out when no one was allowed to. I know shit about his club and his members. Hell, I know he was cheating on his wife. In his eyes, I disrespected him and I disrespected the club. And for that, I must pay with blood. And if not mine, then the people closest to me will bleed.
 

“I don’t know. Kill him?”

“That isn’t funny.”

“Who says I’m joking?”
 

“You’ll lose everything and go back to jail if you kill someone,” she says.

“If it keeps you safe, then it’s worth it. I love you enough to lose everything.”
 

“And I love you enough to refuse to believe that’s true!” City lights reflect in her eyes. “And I’ll lose you. We didn’t go through hell and come this far, to
only
come this far
. We have options. Options that don’t involve
you
killing anyone.”
 

“Are you suggesting a hitman?”
 

She wrinkles her nose. “Kind of. I don’t know how to, though.”
 

“What, they don’t teach you that in billionaire heiress class 101?”
 

“I must have skipped that day.” She lets out a breath and rests her head on my shoulder. “We can go on vacation. Spend a few weeks in Europe. Will they give up and move on?”
 

“I’ve been here for almost two months,” I remind her. “And they haven’t given up yet.”

“And you think they’ll go after me to get to you.”
 

“Yes. Hurt what I love most. I don’t think it’s hard to tell that losing you would hurt me more than anything.”
 

“But I don’t get it. You paid back the money your dad stole. Is this really an ego thing?”
 

“Ego is big for clubs. Sometimes it’s all they have to go on. Ruin the reputation and the club falls apart. Plus, I know things.”
 

Pepper suddenly sits up. “What do you know?”
 

I let out a snort of laughter. “All kinds of shit.”
 

“Illegal stuff?”
 

“Yes. This club…it’s organized crime, Pepper. That’s what I need you to understand. They’re dangerous. I never wanted to be involved. After my dad died…they didn’t just make me pay them back in cash. They made me wear their colors, made me work as an enforcer. That’s why I got arrested again. I was sent to handle a dispute and things got out of control. The cops were called before I got away from there.”

“Gray,” she interrupts. “You have dirt, right?”
 

“Yeah, I do.”
 

Her eyes sparkle. “Enough for a takedown?”
 

“Maybe. It’s not that easy. I can’t just go tell my story to the cops and then they’ll rush in and arrest everyone.”
 

“I know, but it’s a start. And if the club is as bad as you say they are, they need to be taken down.”

I nod, wishing I shared Pepper’s enthusiasm. In a perfect world, I would give a detailed statement that sparks an investigation, and in just a few months time, the officers of the Jackals Motorcycle Club would be reaching for the soap behind bars. The bounty for my bike and my head will be taken off the table and eventually it’ll fade away.
 

Who the fuck am I kidding? The cops will look at me and see a man who used to wear the Jackal patch, a man who broke the law more than once. Why would they even take me seriously?
 

I don’t live in a perfect world. The closest thing I have to perfect is cuddled up next to me, completely naked, covered with only a towel. She loves me enough to stick by me through this shit storm, to risk the thunder and lightning that comes along with it.
 

And I love her even more. Enough to finally see the line that divides what I want and what I need. Enough to know that sometimes walking away is the only shelter from the storm.

*

I wake up first. Pepper is tucked under blankets next to me, sound asleep. We’re in one of the five bedrooms in this ridiculous penthouse. Early morning sunlight bathes central park, and I stare at it in awe as I stretch. I use the bathroom, and then wander around looking for the kitchen. It’s on an entirely different floor. There’s no food, and I’m not sure if Pepper had things cleaned out or if Alcott never bothered with making his own meals.

The light of a new day has me feeling hopeful, and I find merit in what Pepper said last night. I’ll be doing the world a favor taking down the Jackals. Watching Fisher get cuffed and shoved into the backseat of a police car while I stand next to Pepper would be the best “fuck you” ever.
 

Those types of things take time, and I’m not sure it’s something we have. And that’s assuming the law believes me in the first place. If Pepper backs me, I have more of a chance. But it still feels like a total shot in the dark.
 

Stomach grumbling, I get back into bed and spoon my body around Pepper’s. I doze off for a bit, but am unable to turn off my mind and go back to sleep. Pepper gets up two hours later, and handles the lack of food and clothes situation going on in this place. She has a personal shopper—that’s a thing? —bring us clothes and a delivery service brings food.
 

We stay at the penthouse for the rest of the weekend, watching TV, using the pool, and having sex. Lots of sex. And not talking about anything bad. It’s the closest to normal we’ve had since we rekindled our relationship, and things almost feel back to how they were…but this whole thing hangs above our heads like fucking D-day.
 

When Monday rolls around, Pepper has to go into the office to sign on the new partnership, and smile for cameras during a press conference about the new business venture. While she’s busy with work, I plan to go back to my place and gather up the few personal items I have and meet Pepper at the manor. She’s doubled her security and will be leaving from the rooftop of her building via helicopter. I hate leaving her, but I feel confident she’s safe.
 

She gives me keys to her father’s Mercedes to drive back to my house. My bike is at the manor, I’ll need the extra room for all my crap, and this car isn’t something that can be traced back to me.
 

I park in the driveway and wave to one of my neighbors, who is staring curiously at the $200,000 car I just got out of. I dig my keys from my pocket and go to stick it in the front door.
 

The door creaks open on its own. Oh, fuck. There are scratch marks all over the lock. I drop the keys, ball my fists, and step inside. The place is trashed, and the words “You’re a dead man, King” have been spray painted on the wall opposite the door.
 

“God fucking dammit,” I mutter. Something clatters to the ground in the kitchen. Full of rage, I storm in there. A Jackal patch holder is ready and waiting, but is no match for me. I throw a few punches and knock him the fuck out.
 

And then two more swarm in. They go at me, but instead of trying to knock my head in, they grab my arms. A third man comes around the corner.
 

“Grayson King,” Bryce Fisher sneers. “It’s been too long.”
 

I lunge forward, breaking free. The two guys grab me again, shoving me against the wall. They’re struggling, hardly able to hold me. Fisher leans against the island counter and puts a cigarette to his lips. A needle pierces my skin, and the last thing I remember is the glow of his lighter.
 

Chapter Twenty

Grayson

Six years ago…
 

“How the hell did you pay for it?” I ask my father, getting into the passenger seat of his truck. I’ve spent the last six days in the county jail waiting to appear before a judge and see if I’d get bail or not.
 

I did, but because there were holes in my story, it was set high. There were plenty of things I couldn’t explain—who sold me the pot, how much I paid, where I was when I bought it—and the only thing that saved me was a clean drug test.
 

“Don’t worry about it, kid.” My father goes around and gets in the driver’s side of the truck.
 

“You didn’t take it from the money you owed the club, did you?”
 

“Relax, Gray,” he spits, feathers ruffled already. “I’d think you’d be a bit more grateful.”
 

“Grateful? I went to fucking jail for you!”
 

His face pales and he shakes his head. “Sorry. You’re right. And no, I didn’t.”
 

“Then where did you get it?”
 

“I said, don’t worry about it.”
 

I buckle my seatbelt and let out a breath. “You wouldn’t be here if you took it from the club,” I voice my thoughts.

He stiffens. “No, I wouldn’t be.”
 

“You’re paid up, so why not leave?” I turn to face him. “Come back to New York.”

“I can’t leave the club. They’re like family.”
 

“I
am
family,” I huff. “And maybe someday you’ll have more family.”
 

My dad grins. “You’re thinking about knocking Pepper up? Things are serious.”
 

“Were,” I mumble. “I need to go to her and fix this. You do realize she has no idea why I didn’t return her calls, right?”
 

My father doesn’t say anything in response. He takes his left hand off the steering wheel and shakes it, then opens and closes his hand a few times. “Damn things been tingling all day.” He heavily sighs, then puts his hand back on the wheel. “Hungry? Did they feed you all right in there?”
 

I make a face, but shake my head. “Can we just get back to your place? I want to call Pepper.”
 

“Come on, don’t you have a little time for your old man?”
 

“Fine,” I huff. “And I am hungry.”
 

“Good.”
 

We go to the diner we went to the night I landed. I order the same thing, too anxious and eager to get the hell out of there to waste time looking over a menu. My dad makes small talk with the waitress, and I think she’s the reason we came here again. Dad keeps rubbing at his arm and his jaw. When he puts his hand over his chest, I get concerned.
 

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” I say and put a handful of fries in my mouth. Eat fast, leave fast. I can get back and get to my phone.
 

And then I can hear Pepper’s sweet voice.
 

“I’m fine. Been having pains on and off for weeks. It’s nothing.”
 

“Oh, okay.”
 

“No one got their hands on your ass in prison, did they?”

“Dad!” I stare at him wide-eyed.

“Kidding. You’re all big and grown but I can still embarrass you.”
 

He laughs, then I laugh, and it hits me that I miss him. We were never what I’d consider close; neither of us are emotional like that. I know he cares about me and went through a lot to gain custody of me when I was a kid. Used to moving around from being in the military, he couldn’t stay put after he retired. I had my life in New York. A job. School. Friends. Pepper.
 

He hit the road on his own, taking solace in the motorcycle club. I knew a little about The Jackals: they’re new and small, only have two chapters on the west coast…and they take no mercy. I think that’s what appealed to my father so much. After years of taking commands from someone else, he’s doing what he wants.