Jax Page 2

  "Am I mad about the drugs? Of course I'm mad about the goddmmm drugs." She cringed, not wanting to drop the big GD when she'd just told the Big Guy she was sorry.

  He shook his head and turned away. "Surprise, surprise."

  "Yeah, I'm ten kinds of mad, and you acting like it's some surprising revelation makes me angrier."

  "You only care about Bianca and Nolan."

  "That's my job in life," she spit back.

  "This is why we never had kids. I knew you'd go nuts."

  She pleated her skirt between her fingers. This wasn't the time and place to strangle her ex-husband. "Give me strength."

  "What are you mumbling?" he asked.

  Seven smoothed her skirt of nonexistent wrinkles. "Have you seen me do blow?"

  He couldn't say yes because she'd never snorted coke. Drugs weren't her thing. Piercings and hair dye, those could give Seven a high. But not dope.

  "Okay, Mother Teresa." Johnny threw his arm out, waving her away.

  She stomped over in high heels that threatened to break her ankles. "You don't get to bring up my kids and not answer. They saw their mother foam at the mouth, twitch on the floor, vomit—"

  "They were too damn young to remember, and you know it."

  "Neither one of us will ever know what it's like to watch a mom OD with a pops too stoned to notice. That's trauma, you asshole. No matter how young they were."

  His eyes searched the parking lot. "You're wrong, Seven."

  She knew the guilt was there. It was for all of them, and everyone had been aware of the risks long before one of their own had OD'd. Bianca and Nolan's dad would be in jail for a long time, and somehow, Seven had ended up with the babies. She'd always raise them as though they were her own. But even before they'd come in to her life, the drug game was all kinds of screwed up when it came to Mayhem.

  "Are you a cokehead again?" she asked quietly. "Because I can help."

  Johnny's face hardened. "Lay off the pious routine because we're at a church."

  She shifted her frustration to the man from earlier. The one in the parking lot who she faulted for everything. Seven didn't know who he was or what he did, but he was a problem. "Back at the reception. Any time I see that man, it's like I'm not supposed to know."

  Johnny chuckled as if that was the understatement of the night. "No kidding."

  "Why can't I know who he is?" she pressed.

  "No one does." He crossed his arms. "You're not supposed to know club business. It's that simple."

  "I'm not no one." Her voice quieted to a whisper. "Who is he?"

  Johnny wouldn't raise his eyes to meet hers, all but confirming what she'd heard a few years ago. There was a mole in Mayhem. What charter did he belong to? Why did he come to their founding charter so often? "Whenever he shows up, things get bad."

  Johnny cackled. "Bullshit. They get better."

  They had two very different definitions of getting better. "Money does not equate better."

  "Equate," he mocked. "I don't know what you're smoking, Seven, but it sure as fuck does."

  "You're going to end up just like my father." Disappointment made the night that much colder. "I'm going to go get the kids."

  "Just because you're some Mayhem Princess doesn't mean you have a say or a vote," Johnny muttered.

  It was her turn to cackle and smirk. "You're not the president, Johnny. The vote's done. Drug days are coming to an end whether you like it or not. It's not the eighties and nineties anymore. Synthetics are made by teenagers in chemistry class. Your profits are cut short, and cartels aren't as powerful as they were. And you know what? I'm good with that, and I don't care what that no-name, bad-news-bearing—"

  "Moneymaker who can change the hearts and minds—"

  "Yeah. Him. I don't care what he brings to the table or says," Seven said, finishing what she'd started. "It was a vote. You can't overrule it."

  His smile was entirely too slick. "Not yet."

  "If you want to be alive to take the gavel…" Seven pushed the tongue stud out of her mouth and toyed with it, wondering how much she should say. "If you're going behind Hawke's back like that, especially open in a parking lot, you won't hold that gavel. You won't stay alive. And I say that as a friend."

  Johnny pulled on the skullcap that he had let her wear, letting the straps dangle. "Calm your tits and get your kids, woman. I'll do what's best for the club, and you do what's best for you."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Pillows lined the edge of the bed, and every morning, Seven was fooling herself if she thought there was any way that she would get to hear the news amid the tickles and the giggles. It had become their morning tradition. The kids would come in, and they would start their day with smiles and laughter. Those few moments were perfectly summarized by the Life is Good bumper stickers that she collected every time she passed a store.

  "Eek!" Seven squealed as Bianca tickled her neck, trying to get to her armpit. "Ow!" She giggled and caught her breath from the tummy dive Nolan had taken. "You two are killing me."

  The rumble of the garage door opening stopped Seven as she flipped Nolan over and tickled Bianca. Only one person would dare come over unannounced and use the garage to gain entry except Victoria, and she had left for her honeymoon last night.

  "Johnny," Seven yelled. "Why are you awake this early?"

  Or maybe he hadn't gone to sleep yet. Seven would kick his ass if he had ridden to her house intoxicated.

  Nolan clapped his hands and yelled for Johnny also, scurrying off the bed as Bianca followed in her more reserved way. So much for getting any news this morning. Seven grabbed the remote to turn off the TV and heard both kids traipsing down the hall—then they stopped abruptly. A quick worry ran through her. Muffled voices and the sound of the kids running back made Seven sit up. "Johnny?"

  "No." The familiar voice matched equally familiar boot steps. "It's Johnny and—"

  "Hawke?" Seven swallowed the ball of panic in her throat, wondering why Mayhem's club president was in her house. Had she gone too far with Johnny last night when she had warned him not to go behind Hawke's back? But then Hawke wouldn't be the one to have that discussion.

  Bianca and Nolan scurried onto her bed as Johnny and Hawke stood at the mouth of her bedroom, neither with their best attempts at smiles.

  Hawke kept his eyes on the ground. "You decent, Seven?"

  She eyed the dynamic between the two men. "'Course I am."

  "Hi." Her little boy waved to Hawke from a stack of pillows.

  He waved back. "Hey, little man."

  Nolan liked having men in the house, but Bianca could tell that something wasn't quite right.

  "You kids want to go watch TV with me?" Johnny backed toward the hallway.

  Her stomach jumped because Johnny was separating her from the kids, but Nolan cheered, leaping from the bed to grab onto Johnny's leg and begging her ex to walk down the hall with the boy riding on his foot. Johnny didn't play well and pried him off, though Nolan still laughed.

  Bianca didn't move, and Seven worried the girl had instincts far beyond her years.

  "Go on, honey," Seven urged. "Johnny can get you cereal if you want."

  Johnny walked back in and held out a hand to help her off the bed, but Bianca did it herself. She fell into line without help. Whether she wanted to or not, Bianca understood that her little feet were supposed to start moving so the grown-ups could talk.

  When Bianca was out of the room, Seven looked up at Hawke. "Is everything okay?"

  "What do you think?"

  Obviously not. It was a quarter past six in the morning, and neither one of those men had likely seen this time of day on purpose for quite some time.

  Hawke's light-brown hair bordered on blond, and his beard had been salt-and-pepper-colored for as long as Seven could remember. Hawke was tan and weathered, gruff and to the point. He furrowed his brow, which upped Seven's anxiety, and all she wanted to do was get up and fold laundry—or anything. But that was
her OCD tendencies trying to control her behavior. She needed to focus on why Hawke was there and not on her urges to crease, fold, and straighten the chaos out of her life. "You could have called."

  He worked his jaw side to side. "Didn't want to."

  Which could mean a hundred things. Most likely, it meant he didn't want a record of this conversation.

  "Look, I was busting Johnny's balls yesterday." Seven threw her legs over the edge of the bed, smoothing her pajama bottoms. "You know I mean what I say. But I didn't intend any disrespect. Not to you, not to the club." Because Hawke had many years ahead of him as the club president, most likely. No one could predict the future. Nobody could predict accidents, fights, drama, or politics. But he had a solid grip on the founding charter, overseeing the role of all charters.

  But his face twisted enough that she knew that wasn't the point of his visit. "I'm not here to get in the middle of your bullshit spats with your old man."

  Now didn't seem like the appropriate time to remind Hawke that they weren't together. The not-his-old-lady talk could wait for another day, preferably when she wasn't in her pajamas. "What can I help you with?"

  He ran his hand down his beard, stroking it. "The club's getting out of the game."

  "I know." She also knew that Johnny was talking to people about how to avoid that. So would it really happen? She wasn't sure.

  "Changing distribution isn't a black-and-white decision."

  Maybe Hawke knew what Johnny was up to. "Okay."

  "Our business partners and friends can't be left hanging. We have to keep our alliances happy."

  Friends… Seven hated having a nice word applied to the corrupt DEA and ATF agents as well as the underhanded cops that networked from the waterways and borders across the highways. She had no idea how such a spiderweb of complicity was woven. Mayhem didn't have the organization to oversee payment structures or the connections to work the international agents on border countries.

  Friends… But if Hawke didn't figure out how to get everyone happy—meaning whoever took over the distribution and therefore Mayhem's network—then the war wouldn't just come from the cartel and the gangs, but also law enforcement who expected paydays and would worry that they'd been cut off.

  "You're not telling me anything I'm not aware of." Respectfully, she bit her lip instead of asking him to get to the part about why was he there. "But I don't know anything that might help you." Her skin went cold at the possibility of the visit. "I'm not going to go see my dad."

  Her dad would tell her anything Hawke wanted to know. Cullen Blackburn couldn't say no to her, and he'd never had his mind away from the MC entirely, even behind bars.

  "No. Not why I'm here."

  Relief came quickly. Anything else would be a cakewalk. "Okay, then?"

  Hawke paced at the bottom of her bed, and Seven ran her finger along the slim barbell piercing at the bottom of her eyebrow instead of jumping out of bed and folding the blankets over and over until he explained what the MC wanted from her. No need to tip her hand this conversation made her nervous.

  He leaned back on her dresser. "Lots of talk how Suarez's folks are less than thrilled with the club vote."

  That wasn't news. Mayhem's dissenting votes were pissed and wanted to know how the club would continue to line their fat pockets. Greedy jerks.

  Maybe the Suarez cartel handled paying off the cops, ATF, and DEA agents that helped Mayhem with distribution, or… Maybe she should stop thinking about it. She'd made it twenty-four years of living the Mayhem life without knowing the who and how. If there was a guiding guardian angel who oversaw all cartel-related activities, Seven didn't want to know because she wanted to make it to her twenty-fifth birthday.

  Hawke tilted his head. "Seven?"

  "I don't know what you're getting at." She smoothed the edges of the sheets, pushing out and up, as his gaze bore down.

  "We need another friend. Someone to force a conversation with leaders. Not foot soldiers."

  Her fingers splayed on the bedspread. "I can't help you. I know a lot of people. Suarez cartel members? Friends? They're not in my contact list."

  "Someone neutral."

  "Unless you want Sidney, second-key at The Perky Cup, I'm still useless." Which she hated being. "I'm sorry."

  "Victoria knows someone I need to know." The intense focus seemed as though he were trying to telepathically pass along his secret, silent plan.

  "Oh." Seven reached for her cell phone. "You know she left for her honeymoon. Like, hours ago. But chances are, I know anyone she does." Swiping her screen open, she looked up. "Who am I looking for?"

  "Her husband works for a private contracting firm. I believe they have the ability to step in and help negotiate."

  "Titan Group?" Seven bit her lip, not wanting to speak out of turn.

  Hawke took a step closer. "And judging from their wedding reception last night, you know a few of these guys too."

  Her cheeks went hot as she remembered slapping Jax, in public, and storming off. "I have a couple contacts."

  "Make a meeting. Feel out the situation."

  If her eyes weren't attached to her skull, they might've popped out. "You want me to ask Titan to help you negotiate drug distribution? With a cartel?" Seven blinked, dumbfounded. "I don't know that that is what they do." She closed her hanging jaw. "I think they do legal work. Save people and stuff."

  "Actually, I've asked around. I think they do work that needs being done. Simple."

  Seven shook her head, not wanting Ryder and any of Titan to know Mayhem's dirty little secrets more than they did. She had spent time with several of the guys years ago and then became friends with a few of them off and on through Victoria and Ryder.

  Though her biggest concern wasn't Ryder. It was Jax. The guy was a decent guy except when he was a first-rate prick. When that was the case, he was nothing but a cocky bastard with a bad attitude. All his charm had evaporated in a hot, arrogant Italian second.

  Her teeth grated even as her pulse fluttered. The nerve of him, asking what else might be pierced.

  Seven drew in a deep breath, hating the way heat crawled up her neck when she recalled how Jax took the tall, dark, and handsome cliché to another level by brooding like a military badass who needed a fucking hug. Someone needed to tell Jax to take his persona down a notch or two. "I'm not that friendly with Titan."

  Hawke cast a doubtful glance. Another freaking witness, as Jared would have called it.

  "I'd wait for Victoria. She'd be stoked to help."

  "Don't wanna wait, Seven."

  "If she green-lights this with her thumbs-up, the likelihood of their help will go through the roof."

  "Do you really think I'd be up at the ass crack of dawn, coming into your house unannounced, if this wasn't time sensitive as shit?"

  Well… "No."

  "Get ahold of someone you trust at Titan. Set up a meeting. Make it happen." Hawke didn't wait for her to respond as he walked out but paused at the doorjamb. "If not for you, do it for those kids playing with your old man."

  Seven held on to her eye roll with every ounce of respect she could muster. "I'm not his old lady."

  Hawke shrugged. "Hard to let an institution die. Johnny might even have been a good pops if he could keep his nose out of the powder bag."

  She toyed with her tongue stud. Johnny wasn't snorting coke anymore. She was almost positive. "Only if his old lady gave birth to chrome and leather."

  A real laugh and smile cracked Hawke's sun-worn face, and he rubbed his chest, letting grease-stained fingers trace the president patch on his leather cut. "I'll be waiting for your call, sweetheart. Don't let the club down."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jax slapped his hand on the unfamiliar nightstand, knocking over a bottle of water but not finding his buzzing cell phone where he expected it. He rolled over, rubbing his eyes, and looked around the unfamiliar room.

  Iowa, of all places, in an unfamiliar bed, and a wedding was to blame. Weddings
were the worst social occasions that he could be forced to attend. Boss Man had given him two options: Show up or plan your funeral. Both needed a suit. Neither would be fun. This one had the benefit of getting laid. But that hadn't happened. "Your own damn fault."

  Not much of a difference from a funeral then… Grumbling, Jax buried his head back in the pillow. His phone buzzed again with the text message notification. "Really?"

  If they had a job this early after someone from Titan had gotten hitched, they needed hazard pay. Surely, he wasn't the only one who wanted to sleep in. Jax glared at the empty pillow next to him, where a headful of pink hair should've been asleep, and rolled back to grab his phone on the other side of the lamp.

  SEVEN: Are you still in town?

  He closed one eye and read it again, as if that would make the text make any more sense. Was he still in town? Where the hell did she think he went? Jax pinched the bridge of his nose and tossed the phone onto the bed, ignoring her. If she wanted to know, she should have just stayed and found out.

  With the pillow to block the sunlight peeking around the drawn shade, Jax burrowed back into bed, pulling the cover over his head.

  What was worse? Weddings or churches? The dresses or the—

  No, he wasn't going to do this today. Punching the pillow to fluff it, his mind drifted to Seven on the back of the bike. Too bad she hadn't spent the night. If her tongue and her eyebrow were pierced, what else was—

  Jax sat up, the pillow falling into his lap. He wasn't going to fantasize about the girl. She was a friend… or something. Either way, they could fuck or they could not. But he wasn't going to let his imagination roam.

  Were her nipples pierced?

  "Damn it." He rolled his shoulders back, trying to let the thought go, and knowing sleep was a lost cause. Jax reached back over and snagged the phone, swiping the screen open again and staring at her message. "This is all your fault."

  JAX: It's before 8 AM. What the hell do you think?

  SEVEN: Early flight? I have no idea. Also, chill, Mr. Grumpy Pants.

  JAX: I was sleeping. Until you texted.