Beyond Redemption: Joker (Serpents MC Las Vegas Book 1) Page 5

  Chapter Seven

  A buzzing sound entered his nightmare. Persistent and constant. Joker reached out in his sleep but couldn’t make it stop. He shook himself awake and lay there, breathing heavy in a clammy sweat. Fuckin’ Florida. Even with the AC cranked up, he was still sweating. He rolled over and swiped his phone off the nightstand, then hit the answer button so the damn thing would stop buzzing.

  “What?” he growled into the phone.

  “You got your shit together?” Digger. Fuckin’ great. Just what he needed to cure his raging hangover.

  “Yeah.”

  “You sound a little rough. Too much pussy?” Then Digger laughed, sounding like a dog barking in heat.

  “Nah, I’m fine.” He just couldn’t see straight.

  “No screw-ups this time. Cabana five at four o’clock.”

  “Wasn’t me that screwed up.” He rubbed at his burning eyes.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just get this done.”

  “Right.”

  They disconnected, and Joker threw the phone onto the sheets. His mouth was dry like it had been scorched with a blowtorch, and his eyelids scraped together like sandpaper. Rolling out of bed, he stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face until his skin turned numb. Then, he turned on the shower faucets as hot as he could stand it and let the steady stream pound the booze out of him. He hadn’t gotten this fucked up in a long time.

  After his shower, he downed a handful of Advil, ordered two pots of coffee from room service, and tried to put his day together. Polishing off the first pot brought him back to life, and now that the pounding in his head subsided, he had room to think about—Daisy. Fuckin’ great. Maybe he was better off with the pounding headache.

  What kind of fucked-up background brought her to this place? Drugs didn’t seem to be the issue. He’d been around enough users to recognize the signs, and she had none of them. He never met a woman more beautiful and self-confident. No matter how he spun it, he kept coming back to the same place. She fucked guys willingly for favors, and yeah it was her body, her rules, but he couldn’t get past it.

  Not that he’d have to worry about it. There’d be no chance of seeing her again after last night, and after the meeting that afternoon, he was on his bike and gone from Miami. He’d never been so happy to leave a place behind.

  At exactly three forty-five, Joker left his room and made his way through the hotel. After three days, he knew the layout, so there was no need for any bullshit surveillance. The weight of his gun pressed against the small of his back. He didn’t think he’d need it, but paranoia kept him alive more than once. He approached the pool area from the side, giving him a perfect view of cabana five and the three guys inside with similar Mediterranean features.

  The same cabana where he’d met Daisy two days ago. A short time for a woman to get so into his head, and so far under his skin that he polished off a good amount of Jack to forget her. Now he was walking into a meet that would mean the rest of his life with a nagging hangover because of a woman he met two fuckin’ days ago. Joker mumbled a curse and forced his head to get back in the game.

  Two guys sat at the table inside the cabana with another one outside the canvas drapes. No bathing suits, no booze, only three guys who wore black pants and white linen shirts. All business. Perfect. Get done and get gone. Their sunglass-covered eyes tracked him as he stepped onto the raised platform of the cabana, and he wondered which one was Charlie. They mumbled something to each other in Spanish, and then one stood.

  “Welcome, sit.”

  Joker did so, not thrilled with having his back to the cabana entrance, but this should be straight forward. Passing counterfeit bills for their drug deals wasn’t smart when doing business with one of the biggest cartels in Florida, but some guys’ balls were bigger than their brains. Their troubles in Florida had them running north to the Raiders for help. The two hundred thousand would pay off the cartel for the counterfeit money and keep them out of New York.

  Joker sized them up. The guy by the entry had the bulk of a cement wall, definitely all muscle. The other two were players, but neither one screamed boss or emitted any authority or presence of someone in charge. They were just following orders.

  Three against one, but Joker wasn’t worried. He doubted they’d pull anything by a crowded hotel pool, and even if they did, he’d been in much deeper shit and came out the winner. Give them the money, and they stay out of New York. Easy. Done.

  “Which one of you is Charlie?” Joker didn’t want to deal with flunkies.

  “Neither. We make the deal first.”

  Joker huffed out a breath. Great. The hangover pressure behind his eyes didn’t help his patience.

  “Your boss says you’re here to make us an offer.”

  Referring to Digger as his boss only amped up Joker’s frustration.

  “Pretty easy. Two hundred thousand dollars to stay the hell outta Raiders’ territory.”

  Both guys looked Joker over. “You got it on you?”

  Joker screwed up his lips. “What the fuck do you think? It’s locked up in the safe in my room, and the only one I’m handing it over to is Charlie. So you better get him here and stop wasting my time.”

  The little outburst relieved some of Joker’s tension, but when the two guys exchanged a smirk, Joker stilled in his seat and held a steady gaze on their faces with his right hand ready to reach for his gun if necessary. The air thickened around them, each waiting for the other to flinch.

  “Ahh, Charlie, just in time.”

  Joker turned in his seat to check out the newcomer and froze.

  Daisy—What the ever-lovin' fuck?

  She removed her oversized sunglasses, but her eyes showed no recognition, and for the second time, that surreal feeling as if he imagined this whole scene washed over him.

  She exchanged greetings with the men in Spanish, then turned and extended her hand to him. “I’m Charlie.”

  Charleen Daisy Mae Fletcher, “Charlie,” came into the world quietly. No fanfare, no family gathered in a hospital waiting room, anticipating her arrival or handing out flowers and cigars. Oh no, Charlie was pulled from her mother’s frail body by a tired midwife and laid on a set of dirty, sweaty sheets in a battered trailer on the edge of Beetsville, West Virginia.

  The eighth child of twenty-four-year-old Daisy Fletcher and twenty-five-year-old Jeremiah Stevens, and the only girl after seven boys. Her daddy, Jeremiah, hadn’t bothered to marry her mother, even after the seven boys, and surely wasn’t about to after what he labeled “The Mistake.”

  His loving words to the mother of his eighth child and baby daughter still echoed in her ears. According to her mother, he braced himself on the doorframe, took a swig of bourbon, then squinted in their direction and said, “Fuck, a girl. Ain’t got no use for a girl.”

  After that warm welcome, he went missing for a week until the sheriff came to announce he was in jail, again. Her mother, to her credit, stayed until little Charlie was eight, and then she took off too. So, Charlie was left in the care of her seven brothers, each one more dysfunctional than the other.

  Charlie had no choice but to grow up fast.

  The hot sun beat on Charlie’s back, but despite the sweltering humidity, a chill slithered through her, and a thin sheen of perspiration covered her arms with a foreboding dread. Her last job, her last con. She’d never had so much at stake, and the need to succeed made her heart flutter.

  The mirrored aviators Joker wore shielded his eyes, but the hesitation and slightly parted lips conveyed his shock. When he finally returned her handshake, his fingers wrapped around hers a little tighter than necessary, and her mind flashed to all the ways those hands had pleasured her over the last two days. When he released her, she pulled out a chair directly across from him.

  “I see you’ve met my associates.”

  Joker removed his sunglasses, and his eyes searched hers, looking for some recognition, some acknowledgment of their time together, but she
gave away nothing. Her insides might have been quivering, remembering the way he worked her body, but her expression and her eyes never failed her.

  Her cohorts stayed silent, taking their staring contest as a play for power, but Charlie knew Joker’s mind was scrambling. Replaying conversations, wondering what he’d missed. Conning him had been easy, but it hadn’t been as satisfying as she’d expected. The big build-up and the reveal left her empty, a hollow sense of remorse with deadly ramifications.

  Her heart pounded hard against her ribs, and she willed herself to pull it together, play this one last part, and complete the job. The first rule of survival: stay detached. Never let them see you sweat. She’d come too far to indulge her emotions. This meeting dictated her future, and she couldn’t let memories of their time together cloud her judgment. Not when she was about to give up the idyllic surroundings of South Beach, her luxurious condo on the beach, and the unlimited credit in every shop in Bal Harbour. Not now, not when she was so close.

  Snapping her brain back to business, she concentrated on her opponent sitting across the table. She reminded herself that Joker was a criminal, a thug, and worst of all, a biker with a deadly reputation, but she’d come up against worse, plus, she was fully armed.

  Not by a bulletproof vest or a barrage of weapons, Daisy's arsenal consisted of her body, her face, and her cunning ways. Weapons that served her well and acted as her insurance policy for most of her life.

  She’d zeroed in on business. Meet up, seal the deal, and collect the money. There’d be no pangs of conscience, no regrets for a man who didn’t exist. In, out, and then—freedom.

  Chapter Eight

  Daisy or Charlie extended her hand, and Joker missed a beat before he returned the gesture. His hesitation didn’t attract attention, but he thanked whatever power that still prayed for him that he’d worn sunglasses to hide his widened eyes. She rocked a pair of white pants, a sleeveless button-down shirt, and low-heeled sandals. A big difference from the fuck-me stilettos and skimpy bikini from two days ago.

  His brain scrambled in a fast rewind to every minute they’d spent together, but he came up with nothing. No tells, no innuendos, nothing that gave away her real identity.

  Daisy was Charlie? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. This woman was obviously a pro, and Joker probably stood at the end of a long line of people she’d conned. Oh yeah, she’d conned him good.

  Joker prided himself on knowing the score and always being one step ahead to keep himself alive, but he’d never seen this coming. He hadn’t tipped his hand, and when he thought about it, he was the one who initiated all the questions. How fucked up and confusing, but it wasn’t the time to figure it out. He had to keep his head in the game and treat her like any other player. Forget her soft skin and the way her cheeks flushed when she— Fuck, he needed to pull his shit together, and fast.

  The shuffling of chairs and the shift of power in the steamy cabana drew Joker back to the present.

  Joker slowly placed his sunglasses on the table and met her gaze head-on. How her eyes had fooled him. How he’d peered into them over the last couple of days and searched for deception but came up empty. Now he saw the hard stare of a boss—a leader who knew how to play the game and didn’t give anything away.

  She was as tough as any man he’d ever come up against, but what was her end game? Why all the bullshit of conning him and coming on to him? Maybe she thought sex would make him weak. Showed how little she knew. Right now, she was the enemy, and all that’d happened beforehand would now be forgotten. Joker’s job centered around making this deal for the club, getting his freedom for him and his son, and putting this fucked-up trip behind him. The way she’d made him laugh and ignore his responsibilities was forgotten. All the mind-blowing sex would be a distant memory. He now knew that she used her hair, her skin, and those fuckin’ eyes to draw him in, only to be spit out and stomped on.

  When he snapped back, all eyes were on him. He scrubbed his palm over his stubbled chin and played his silence off as a sign of power, not weakness.

  “Shall we begin?” Her voice cool and calm. Fuck yeah, she was good.

  “We all know the deal here. The Raiders are giving you two hundred thousand bucks to stay outta our territory.” Joker pulled on the silver hoop in his ear. “If you’re smart, you’ll pay off the cartel, and move on anywhere but New York.”

  The two across from him looked relieved while Daisy-Charlie’s eyes never wavered.

  “I’m assuming you don’t have the money on you.” Her tone even and controlled.

  She cocked her head, waiting for an answer, and he cursed himself again. This woman had fucked with his brain and body, and it would take more than a ride on his bike to get her out of his system.

  “Come up to my room, and we’ll make the exchange.” Her eyes flickered at the challenge in his voice, or maybe she was having some flashbacks of her own.

  “She’s not going alone.” The one guy nodded to the muscle.

  Daisy agreed with a nod of her own, and they left the cabana. An unlikely threesome. A goon, a thug, and a career criminal. Odd that he and Daisy were interchangeable.

  The air stilled the minute the three of them entered the mirrored elevator. The hard shell that Joker depended on for most of his life was firmly in place. The initial shock of Daisy’s true identity faded, and he forced his brain to focus. No more sex fantasies about a woman who didn’t exist, just business as usual. He’d make the exchange, add a threat if they decided to renege on the deal, and move on.

  His buddies would love this story, but this was one he’d be keeping to himself. Hard enough to admit that she’d played him and even harder to admit he’d fallen for it.

  The elevator door whooshed, and they exited. He inserted the keycard, released the door on the first try, and they entered the suite. Joker turned on them, making the muscle reach for the gun in the waist of his pants.

  He showed him his palms. “Ease the fuck up.” The muscle relaxed, and Joker motioned to Daisy. “I give her the money. You stay here.”

  Daisy nodded to the muscle, and he stayed in the living room, then she followed him into the bedroom. The last time they were in there, they couldn’t keep their hands off one another. They’d been so hot for each other—No, he had to shut that shit down.

  Joker entered the walk-in closet with her close behind him. Too close. He turned around. “Back off.” The last thing he needed was her knowing his hotel safe combination.

  She stepped back, but her perfume surrounded him. He punched in the code way too fast, and the lock didn’t release. Joker inwardly cursed himself for letting her get to him. He tried the combination again, and the door sprung open. He extracted the neat stacks of banded money and turned.

  “Remember”—he held up the money—“this comes with a guarantee that you and your crew stay the fuck outta New York.”

  “That’s the deal we made with your president.”

  The mention of Digger set off all kinds of alarms in Joker’s head. Was the whole damsel-in-distress act her part in a long con set up by her and Digger? He wouldn’t lower himself to ask, so that would be one question left unanswered.

  Her steely glare never wavered as he held the money out to her, and she shoved it into her oversized purse. Probably another designer bag she got for fucking some store manager. His heart did that crazy skipping thing again, and heat surrounded his neck, then shot down his spine. His brain wanted to ignore the sensation, wanted to make believe that she didn’t matter … wanted to let her walk away—

  She turned, and he grabbed her arm, spinning her around. He studied her, shaking his head. “I wanna hate you.” He pulled her closer, making her see the anger coursing through his body.

  “I wanted to hate you too.” Her free hand pressed against his t-shirt, and his heart pounded harder. Her use of the word “wanted” implied she hadn’t succeeded.

  He pushed her back to the closet wall and closed the space between them until t
he warmth of her breath hit his neck.

  “What kinda fucked up world do you live in?” His jaw clenched around the words.

  “Same kind as you.”

  Finally, the truth. Two fucked-up people beyond saving, beyond having anything good, beyond redemption.

  He growled against the soft skin of her neck, then he worked his way up to her lips and attacked her mouth in a cruel, unforgiving way. She opened her mouth for him, and their tongues teased and battled for dominance—a game of cat and mouse, a game mimicking their reality.

  She broke away, her gaze darting over her shoulder, and the spell was broken. The muscle-head would become suspicious, and her sleeping with the enemy was not part of this plan. She’d already taken care of that.

  She pushed at his chest, and he stepped away from her, but still close enough.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, so low and harsh he’d almost missed it. She chewed on her lower lip, and for a split second, he saw—regret, but it quickly passed, and the defiant hellcat returned, ready for action.

  She ducked around him and nearly collided with the muscle standing in the closet doorway, his eyes hard and searching. Joker met his glare as Daisy adjusted the purse on her shoulder. She nodded, and he stepped aside, letting her pass. They left the bedroom, and a few seconds later, Joker heard the latch of the door release. He leaned against the closet wall for a few minutes. Her last two words broke him. The way her gaze softened along with her voice. Like she hated what she was doing—or conning him again. Fuck. She’d wound him up and kept him so off-balance he couldn’t think straight.

  He left the closet and threw the double lock and the latch on the entry door. The fact that she'd sucked him in so easily shook him. He wandered into the bedroom and eyed the bottle of Jack, but that wouldn’t give him any answers. That would fuck his mind into thinking she might’ve cared, and in the end, a raging hangover and the truth would surface.

  For the hundredth time in the last hour, he dissected every part of their conversations. She’d said she worked for a shipping company. She conveniently left out the part about importing and exporting drugs and guns. Wow, she played him good. He allowed very few people to get close to him, but somehow in just a couple of days, she’d worked her way into his life and his—soul.