Jack Read online

  Jack

  By Stella Marie Alden

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Copyright (C) 2018 Stella Marie Alden

  Cover by Book Cover Luv

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  [email protected]

  Virtual Hugs from me, Stella. I love you guys!

  Huge thanks to:

  My husband, my editor, my best friend, and lover

  Bekah and Kerry, my first-line readers

  Those special fans who support me by leaving reviews

  Every one of you who buys my books

  Chapter 1

  Jack Taylor

  Thunder rumbles, the wind picks up, and raindrops plunk on the clear roof. Around the perimeter of the patio, purple and yellow mums bow to the downpour as ivy dances on the surrounding walls. Maybe it’s the storm but I’ve got a bad feeling about tonight so amble back inside.

  Three of the regular patrons argue at the pool table as the cook comes upstairs to chat with the bartender. Outside, the barback catches a smoke by the front door. The kid either doesn’t own a jacket or isn’t smart enough to come in out of the rain. The owner, a red-headed woman in her early thirties sits at an empty table, staring into her computer tablet.

  “What can I get you?” Bryan, on duty tonight, steps to where I sit on a stool.

  “Just seltzer.”

  The bartender nods and slides the glass over. Waiting for the shit I know is about to go down, I stroll to a table where I can sit with my back to the bricks. From here, I can keep an eye on the patio as well as the glass wall facing the Bushwick sidewalk.

  Downstairs, the ladies under my charge should be finished chit-chatting soon and I’ll get my boss’s wife back home to her kids. More than once I’ve warned her about these meetings but she insists the women need a safe place to talk.

  I say, she should buy them all good therapists in the city and be done with it.

  Whatever. When my boss quits the NFL, it won’t be my problem. My gut tightens at the thought of his family leaving but put the emotions aside when two guys come in the front door. They shake their umbrellas, place them in the stand, and sit near the pool table at the far end of the bar. The shifty-eyed guy in blue jeans keeps his head low while the other orders a couple of beers but not the local artisan on tap. Neither has beards, tats, nor piercings, and couldn’t look more out of place if they tried.

  When the bigger of the two reaches into his pocket, the hairs on my arm tingle, and I reach inside my leather jacket just in case I need my weapon. I use my empty glass as an excuse to ease up to the bar and get a closer look. Thankfully, a wad of cash appears, not something with bullets or a sharp edge, so I chill. Whatever shadiness is going down, it’s probably not a risk to the ladies downstairs.

  Still wary, I shoot a glance toward the owner but I needn’t have worried. She also caught the exchange, wanders across the room, and ducks under the bar. We both wait to see what packet is passed for the cash but there’s only a handshake.

  When the strangers leave, Emily leans over the bar. “What do you think that was all about?”

  “I don’t know but if they make this a regular stop, call me and I’ll make sure they find a new place to do their business.”

  “Thanks.” The owner places a fresh seltzer on the polished wood surface, then takes a long drag from her vapor cigarette. Smoke curls around her head, smelling of flowery shit I can’t imagine drifting through my lungs.

  Intelligent, elf-shaped eyes hone in on me. “What’re you going to do when the Quinns move to North Carolina?”

  It’s the same question that’s been heavy on my mind for the last few weeks. I’ve been with the quarterback so long, he’s more like a brother than my boss. Hell, I’m godfather to his kids.

  “I really don’t know. Need a new bartender?” I grin and shoot her a saucy wink.

  The pretty redhead barks out a throaty laugh. “For sure, you’d be good for business. Single women would be lining up for miles. Seriously, why not work for Patten Securities? Grayson would hire you in a heartbeat.”

  I’m about to answer how I’m pursuing that avenue when something or someone flashes outside, moving way too fast.

  Fuck. Adrenaline spikes, I stand, and the front door flies open. A Middle Eastern man dashes across the room with one hand inside the front pocket of his hoodie, the outline of a gun evident. The guy seems to pay me no notice as I follow him across the room but at the top of the stairs, he turns, pulls out his weapon, and points it at my stomach.

  “This is none of your concern.” As he backs down the stairs, I calculate the odds of kicking it out of his hand without it going off.

  Not good enough, I spring out of his view, dash to the patio, and bolt down an alternate set of stairs. In the larger of the two lower rooms, I crawl to the doorway and assess the situation. Four of Mel’s group sit on stools, three are on a couch, and two stand. All have their backs to me with their eyes glued to the angry man at the foot of the stairs.

  “You would shoot me, Mehmet?” A girl of about twenty stares wide-eyed into a face that could be her twin.

  In the mirror behind the bar, between the many-colored bottles, I catch him spitting in her face. “When I kill you, our family’s honor will be restored. Selfish bitch.”

  Fuck. The crazy asshole’s finger twitches and I vault over the bar like a fucking gymnast. As my legs swing across the wood, stemmed glassware and bottles crash to the floor. A brown hand waves a weapon wildly in my direction but my feet connect with his chest just as he fires.

  He falls back with a loud clunk, his head hits the stairs, and I grab his gun. After I slip on the safety, I check for a pulse at his neck. Unfortunately, he’ll live.

  “Calling nine-one-one.” With his cell phone glued to his ear, the downstairs bartender throws me a roll of duct tape.

  Above, Emily rushes down the stairs. “Oh shit. Is everyone okay? I heard a shot.” Her eyes go wide at the gun in my hand and the unconscious man at my feet.

  I point at the bullet hole lodged in her bricks. “This guy will probably have a nasty headache but otherwise, everyone is okay.”

  Kneeling, I wrap the young man’s hands in the gray, sticky tape. I do his ankles as well so I can have a well-deserved beer without worrying he’ll run off.

  The girl who almost ate his bullet squats beside him, tears dripping down her cheeks, checking the bump on the back of his head. “Will he be alright?”

  “Alright enough to try to kill you again.” Given the circumstances, my tone may contain a certain lack of empathy.

  Mel shoots me a glance which says I should shut my mouth and she’s probably right. However, I figure I earned the right to be a bit obnoxious. I have to force my fists to unclench and the heady dose of adrenaline will probably keep me up all night. That was too fucking close. From now on, I’ll vet every goddamn woman before they’re allowed in the front door of Talon. Hell, before they’re even allowe
d into Mel’s group.

  More tears roll down the young girl’s face. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t’ve come here tonight.”

  Mel takes her into a hug, murmurs something into her ear, and pulls her into the larger room. Then, as we wait for the police, I drag dear Mehmet off the stairs and onto the floor in front of the bar to take stock of the situation. The women range from eighteen to almost eighty but there’s a new one tonight who catches my eye. She’s got blond hair, blue eyes and built like, well let’s just say she’s stunning. My cock, being no dummy, takes notice and crams painfully against my jeans.

  Trying to slow down the rapid beat of my heart, I take the beer offered by Rich and follow the woman. Emily already lit the faux fire which burns under an aged wood mantel. The glowing red walls, along with the smell of being underground, makes it easy to imagine having a forbidden drink during prohibition.

  “None of this is your fault. The blame rests with your brother.” The blond bombshell who caught my eye sits on a black leather couch with her arm around the girl who almost got shot.

  “But Dr. Smythe, if I had married…”

  “No buts, Rasha. In this country, you don’t marry the man who raped you, no matter what your parents wish.”

  You’d think, after a few years of watching out for Mel’s lost sheep, I’d get used to this kind of talk but it still kicks me in the balls. Now, I wish like hell I’d landed hard enough on the kid with the gun to do some serious damage.

  Good thing the cops are on the way or I’d go into the other room and rough him up a bit. I’d let dear Mehmet know what it’s like.

  “Jack? You with us?” Mel pulls me out of my thoughts and back into the room where all the women stare my way.

  “Sorry. What were you saying?” My face heats a bit when Mel gives me a knowing smile. I swear CJ’s wife can see right through people.

  “I was introducing you to Doctor Smythe. She’s taking over the group when we move.”

  The gorgeous woman stands, raises these thick, pale lashes and reveals fucking amazing eyes, almost violet. With a confident grin, she holds out her hand. “Thank you for saving us.”

  Unable to keep from staring, I manage to shut my open jaw and meet her soft palm. “So, you’re the new shrink?”

  “Guilty as charged.” When she tries to politely pull out of my grip, I hold on tighter and her eyes flick up.

  I like the spark she shoots me and how her eyebrows raise. I especially like how her thumb presses into mine before I let go, a clear sign she didn’t mind me lingering.

  She tips her head, lips in a quirky grin. “That was quite a flying leap. Did you work in a circus before protecting the Quinns?”

  I’m more than happy to engage in a little banter. It’s a lot easier than the weighty talk I usually hear at these meetings. “Yeah. Clown by calling, bodyguard by profession.”

  The women all titter and I wink as I turn to the gunman’s sister. “You’re Rasha, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any other murderous siblings coming after you tonight?” I make a joke of it but I’m half-serious. I really need to know.

  The brown woman shakes her head sadly. “No. He’s my only brother. My parents will be furious.”

  “As well they should, sweetheart. He tried to kill you.” I imagine the hurt they’ll feel as their son is pulled off to jail and have a bit of sympathy for them.

  Her dark lids lower and tears seep out. “Not at him. At me.”

  What? That is so many kinds of fucked up. I don’t know how to respond and look to the professional in the room to help me out.

  The doctor reaches into a back pocket then hands over a crumpled card. “How about we talk about it in the morning? Can you stop by before class?”

  “My first is at nine. Is that too early?”

  “It’s fine. Meet me at eight in my office. The address is on the card.”

  We all know the police arrive by their heavy shoes clumping down the stairs. When they reach the bottom, I hold up my hands to their raised weapons and glance down to the kid on the floor. “He’s subdued. I’m Jack Taylor, private security. I work for CJ Quinn. My registered gun is in my holster under my arm.”

  The officer, a guy of about forty whistles under his breath. “You really work for him?”

  “Yeah, his wife, Melanie, runs this group for abused women. She’s in the other room. I think it’d be good if you put away your weapons. The ladies are spooked enough.”

  By the time I finish giving the police the lowdown, it’s almost closing. Mel, Dr. Smythe and me go upstairs and settle down at one of the outside tables. The air is sultry but at least it’s stopped raining.

  “Hungry?” Emily sets down a double order of sweet potato fries.

  I grab one of the crispy fritters and take a bite, eyeing the doctor who’s eyeing me. Then, Mel nudges Emily and they both leave us alone in the darkened area.

  I have no idea how to talk to a shrink. She’s beautiful as hell but I really don’t need someone trying to analyze my fucked-up head.

  No doubt, she senses my discomfort and starts up a conversation. “It’s surprisingly warm tonight.”

  “Uh-huh.” I stink at small talk. Always have, always will but for her, I give it a try. “Emily has heaters out here until October.” I point to the metal aliens with the planter-like base and lampshade top.

  “That must be nice.” She nods politely, nibbling on a fry.

  “Yeah.” Damn. It’s my turn to talk so I clear my throat as I think of a suitable topic. “So, you’re a shrink?”

  “Psychologist.” She gives me this pretty smile, catches my eye, and relaxes a bit into her chair.

  Are you kidding me? The ball is in my court? Again? “I, ah, work for Mel.”

  “I know. You’re her bodyguard, right?”

  “Well, actually I work for her husband, CJ.”

  “Why does CJ need protection?”

  Oh shit. She doesn’t know New York’s most famous quarterback? I look to the bar, about ready to beg Mel to get me out of this awkward conversation. Sure, the doctor is pretty but we got nothing in common.

  The shrink coughs, her face red, and she flicks up those incredible amethyst eyes. “I’m sorry. I usually can hold up my side of a conversation. The scene downstairs shook me up a bit.”

  She sips on her drink and swallows hard. “You’re probably used to this kind of thing.”

  I hold onto her gaze and refuse to let go. “I don’t think anyone ever gets used to it.”

  Not many women can handle my intensity and I give her credit for doing so. We stare at each other for the longest time until she reaches her hand across the table and covers mine.

  It doesn’t mean shit, I remind myself but still, her softness feels right. She glances down where we touch, then back into my eyes. “Thank you.”

  My heart races a bit, probably leftover adrenaline from my flying acrobatics earlier. “For what?”

  “Saving my life, the life of Rasha, probably all of our lives. Was it close?”

  The local brew slides down my throat as I finish the bottle and place it on the table. “Do you really want the truth?”

  She nods but before I can answer, my phone rings and my callerID displays an area code I don’t recognize. “Hello?”

  “Hello, s-son.”

  Shit.

  “Where are you?” Mom is supposed to be tucked safely away in Arizona.

  “That’sh no way to greet your mother.” She’s slurring, probably half in the bag.

  “Where are you?” I stand and move away from the table.

  “Could you put a little money in my account?”

  Hell and damnation. Is it too much to ask she stay in the nice apartment I pay for? “What hotel? What city?”

  She starts to cry. “It’sh not my fault. James s-said he would pay but skipped out and left me with the bill.”

  God knows what else James left her with. Hopefully nothing a
few antibiotics can’t cure. “I’ll pay. Just tell me where you are.”

  “Rodeway Inn. I think I’m in Columbus. That’sh in Ohio, right?”

  “Yeah, mom. Go back in and hand the phone to the manager. I’ll give him my credit card number. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Wait. Just one more thing. In the morning, you take the Uber I send for you, you get to the airport, take the flight I book and go home. If you don’t, I’m not paying for the apartment. Why should I? You’re never there.”

  “I am. It just gets boring… only old people sitting around doing nothing.”

  “We are not having this conversation again. You agreed to stay put.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” I pay her bill, hang up, then look to the doctor eyeing me with curiosity. Probably, from my side of the conversation, I sound like a monster but she has no idea what my mother is like.

  Sitting back down, I shrug. “Apologies.”

  “Families.” She nods as if she gets it. “You can’t pick them.”

  Over the years, I’ve tried many ways to explain my mother’s neurotic behaviors. I give the doctor the one that works best. “She’s a result of the sixties.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Not enough to kill her but enough to make my life a living hell.

  When I give her hand a squeeze, she responds with a breathtaking smile and my cock takes notice.

  Down boy. This woman is way out of our league. She probably went to Harvard or some other Ivy League school. No doubt, she graduated with high honors with a lot of initials after her name. I got my GED and a degree online while I was in the Marines. I barely passed and not because I couldn’t do the work. It was damn hard to keep up between deployments. Some of my professors were hard-asses about handing the work in on time.

  Still, there’s no harm in sitting here with a beautiful woman, her warm hand on mine, her eyes promising something more if I’d only ask, which I won’t.

  I’m a fucking mess. I got issues from my childhood, my boss and his family are leaving the limelight, and I’m about to be out a job. Sure, I could go too, but how much protection does an ex-quarterback need in a small town just outside of Charlotte? I need to cut the cord and it’s killing me. This is not a good time to jump into a relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to this pretty lady.