Bad Boy Daddy (11 page)

I was always painfully aware of his absence. My baby’s father was missing. He missed the first birthday, and the second, and the third. Every year I counted on my fingers the number of Lobos left alive, but it was always too many.

Every day that passed was only half the life it was supposed to be. Half the happiness.

I had Sam, but the other half, Jackson, wasn’t there.

And as the years stretched on, I eventually stopped counting the days till Jackson came back. I settled into my life, cherished the beautiful gift Jackson had given me, and put all my efforts into raising my son, giving him the best childhood possible, and making myself the best person I could.

I went back to school and learned all about wine. I learned how the grapes were grown, how the wine was made, and how the world’s best restaurants selected the wines to accompany the food they served. I started my own business as a wine buyer, discovering the best local vintages from the farms in the valley and bringing them to the finest restaurants in San Francisco and along the coast, where they could be discovered and enjoyed by the whole world.

On the night of the tenth anniversary of my meeting Jackson, I decided I’d waited long enough. I had no idea how may Lobos were still alive. So much time had passed that I no longer feared them coming to look for me. They must have known someone was hunting them down and killing them one by one, but they didn’t know who it was or why he was doing what he was doing.

They’d forgotten Wolf, and the night Jackson had started his blood feud, and so would I.

On that tenth anniversary, I got Lacey to babysit Sam, and I went back to the Motel on the highway near Reno. I borrowed Grant’s bike for the ride, and I rode out in the white dress I’d been wearing the night Jackson found me. I still had it.

On the way to the motel, it started raining and I couldn’t believe it. It never rained in those parts. The rain soaked me to the skin, and by the time I got to the motel my makeup was running down my face, just the way it had that night ten years before.

I walked into the bar and my eyes went immediately to the spot where Jackson had been sitting the first time I entered. The spot was vacant now, and it pained my heart to see it. Even though I hadn’t expected Jackson to be there, even though all logic told me there was no way on earth he’d be there, I somehow had held out a hope that he might be sitting there, waiting for me, like he had last time.

But of course he wasn’t.

One thing was the same though, the bartender.

“Bartender,” I said, “a beer.”

The bartender’s eyes widened when he saw me. “Miss, are you all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look—”

“What?” I said, my eye steady.

He shrugged, and got me a beer. When he came back with it he said, “Miss, this is going to sound very strange, but something about you makes me feel like I’m looking at a ghost.”

I smiled at him. “I get that feeling all the time,” I said. “Every time I look in the mirror.”

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”

I looked him in the eye. “In another lifetime.”

He left me to serve another customer, shaking his head as he left. I finished my beer and when I was done, I asked him if he rented the rooms. He said he did and I asked if room three was available. It was and I took it.

I held my breath as I entered the room. It was as if I was walking back into a night from my own past, ten years earlier. Everything that had happened between me and Jackson was as fresh in my mind as if it had just happened the day before. We’d had such a short time together that I could account for literally for every second of it.

Our first meeting in the bar in Reno, when I’d been a bitch.

Our second meeting at the bar at the motel. The sex we’d had in the very motel room I was now in, probably the very bed I was lying on.

The bike ride in the desert.

The painful conversation in the diner.

And then the sex in the desert safe house. Oh my God, that sex. I could remember every single sensation, every emotion, every taste, every spasm of ecstasy.

I lay back on the bed and put my hand inside my dress and touched myself.

The night in the safe house had burned me to the very core of my being. Even ten years later, the thought of it made my pussy wet. I let my finger slide over my clit as I thought about the orgasm Jackson had had inside me. He’d insisted on going skin to skin. No condom. He wanted his semen inside me. He knew it would lead to a son. And he was right.

My finger slid back and forth over my clit.

I thought about Jackson’s cock in my mouth. He’d slid it right to the very back of my throat. When he came, the throbbing terrified me. I thought he was going to explode. He’d poured so much semen into my throat I was afraid I’d choke, but I didn’t. I loved it. I’ll admit it. The sticky, metallic, hot mess he poured into my mouth was a gift. I swallowed every drop of it, and what I wouldn’t give to have the chance to do it again.

My finger slid inside my pussy and I began slipping it back and forth.

Then, to really make sure he owned me completely, to make sure that even if he disappeared from the face of the earth, which he did, I’d never forget him, he took me in the most shocking way of all. His plan had worked. It worked too well. I’d never be able to get past him. I still couldn’t imagine another man touching me.

I let my thumb touch my anus.

He’d put himself in there. It had shocked me, terrified me, and it had overcome me so utterly that I’d never be able to be anyone’s woman but his.

I pictured his face in my mind. I pictured the firm muscles of his chest, his powerful arms, his rock hard torso, his monstrous penis.

As my finger slid back and forth, in and out of my pussy, my thump pressed against the tight muscle of my anus.

I cried out his name as I came.

“Jackson.”

“Jackson.”

“Jackson.”

Chapter 22

Jackson

T
WELVE YEARS IS A LONG TIME TO BE A GHOST.

And it made it’s mark on me. I am not the man I was twelve years ago. I’m not the man who left Faith.

A million times I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t. Not until it was safe. One wrong move, one fuck up, and I would be putting her life in danger—and the boy’s. That was a risk I couldn’t take.

That meant taking out all twelve Lobos, one at a time.

Twelve years.

I’d never intended it to take so long, but once I started, there was no way to back out. If they got even a hint of what was going on, if they suspected for a second that the killings had anything to do with Faith, they’d track her down and kill her.

I knew how it had to be. I couldn’t come back, I couldn’t contact her, I couldn’t even contact the Brotherhood, until I’d fulfilled my part of the bargain.

And so, I spent twelve years killing twelve men.

I didn’t leave a single thing to chance. I didn’t go within a million miles of home until every last one of them was dead. Some of them were easy to get, some of them were difficult. But I got them all.

It cost me.

It cost me dearly.

It cost me the better part of my son’s childhood.

But it was finally time to return.

I was on a greyhound bus from Galveston to Los Angeles. I couldn’t believe I was actually on my way back after all this time. How would she react? Would she even want to see me?

I was numb, a shadow of the man I’d been. Killing takes its toll, it gets under your skin. There comes a point when you’re not even sure there’s anything left of the man you were. I’d been shot, stabbed, scarred, tortured. I was hardly recognizable. But I was finally done. All twelve Lobos were dead.

It was time for me to return to my woman and my son.

Galveston to LA is a long ride covering the length of the Mexican border. I was following the trail of the old pony express, which might be interesting to a historian, but to me, nothing was interesting except getting home to Faith.

I’m not the man you remember. I’m not the man who rode out from the safe house. That man was killed a thousand times over. Every time I killed another Lobo, another part of me died.

I wondered if Faith would recognize me. I was twenty-six when she knew me. Now at thirty-eight I was a hardened veteran, battered and bruised. Faith would be thirty-two. She’d been twenty when I knew her. Everything that happened between us was a lifetime ago. Maybe I was fooling myself, thinking I could go back after so long.

The Jackal, a Mexican drug runner with a scar across his face four inches long, was my last target. He was the last Lobo I had to kill, the final member of Wolf’s inner circle who’d ever known anything about Faith. Now he was dead, and there was no one left to threaten the people I loved.

I’d spent twelve years trying to forget the feeling I got from Faith, trying to get the pain of her memory out of my mind, but I could never do it.

Being without Faith, knowing she was out there and that I couldn’t go back to her, it was a constant torture. I tried to dampen that pain in any way I could. Violence, alcohol, adrenaline, I tried everything.

The only thing I didn’t try was sex.

I was tempted. Sure I was. Many times. I even made a habit of going to strip clubs and watching the girls dance. But I never fucked them. I didn’t fuck a single woman. Not in all that time. I didn’t even let them touch me. From the moment I laid a finger on Faith, I hadn’t been with another woman.

What kept me going was the memory of Faith. I thought about her constantly. I fantasized about her. Sometimes I’d flirt with other women, but only because they reminded me of Faith. I used them to trigger my own memories, to bring to life the images I held in my mind of Faith. But I never crossed the line. Not once. I remained loyal. And that was the only thing that gave me the courage to go back and find her now.

Maybe she’d hate me, maybe she’d spit in my face when she saw me, but at least I knew I’d been true to her. I’d done what needed to be done, I’d kept my promise, and now I was back to take what was mine.

Some men live for glory. Others live for gold.

Me? I lived for the memory of Faith Shepherd. The images I’d formed in my mind of her during those few days we spent together were my obsession. They were my drug, my passion, and god knows, they would be the death of me.

I found a seat near the back of the bus. I had it to myself, but across the aisle was a woman in a provocative black dress. If I had to guess, I’d say she was a hooker. She was alone, sitting quietly, her nose buried in a book. My habit was to find something that reminded me of Faith, some hint of the woman I’d lost, in every woman I came across.

This woman had Faith’s lips.

She noticed me. She looked when I threw my pack on the luggage rack, checked me out. Even after all I’d been through, the injuries and scars, the years of neglect, women were still drawn to me. If anything, they flocked to me even more now than when I was younger. They could tell I was a real man, a man who meant it. They knew I’d fuck like I meant it too. And they could sense my loneliness.

“Is this bus going all the way to California?” she said.

I nodded. I wasn’t interested in talking but she kept going anyway.

“Is that where you’re headed?”

I looked up and smiled.

“You ain’t ever seen a man as homesick as me,” I said.

She smiled back and then looked away as if she was busy. She wasn’t busy. She had the same long bus ride ahead of her I had. She was bored, and I knew already she was going to look to me for some entertainment. The bus pulled out of the station and hit the highway.

I looked across at her, at the lips that were like Faith’s. It was a strange habit, seeing Faith in the features of other women, but when you’ve been separated from your love as long as I had, you resort to anything. I’d have preferred if she was a little older, closer to Faith’s age. Age brings confidence, and confidence is everything.

I knew I should look away but my eye kept wandering back to her lips.

My heart yearned for company. It was so long since I’d known intimacy that I sought it everywhere, in all the small interactions of life.

I didn’t say a word to this woman. It would only bring trouble.

She looked at me and caught me staring at her lips. It wasn’t her I was thinking about, it was Faith, but she took it as a signal.

“This is a good book,” she said.

I nodded.

“I wish I read more, but I only seem to have time on buses.”

Ashamed as I am to admit it, I was horny. I can’t deny it. My dick was rigid as a piece of wood. But I belonged to Faith, I’d promised her that, and there was no way I’d break that promise.

“Listen,” I said, “I’m returning from a very long trip.”

“I get it. You’re tired.”

“I’m bone tired.”

“I was just wondering,” she said, “if you have anything to drink. Something to help the time pass.”

I shook my head and, disappointed, she looked back to her book.

I thought she’d leave me alone then, but she spoke up again.

“What were you doing on your trip?”

I looked at her. I had nothing against her, but I knew she wasn’t going to leave me alone. She was one of those girls who thought she knew exactly what men wanted. She thought she could flirt with me a little and I’d show her what a guy like me was like. She might be right some of the time, but she was wrong about me.

I decided to get rid of her.

“I was doing very bad things,” I said. “Things I’ll never be able to take back.”

“What sort of bad things?”

I didn’t want to play games with her. She was hot, but I wanted her to leave me alone. I’d be seeing Faith soon. This girl could find her own man.

“Hurting people,” I said.

I pictured Faith. It had been so long. I wondered how many tears I’d caused her to shed, how much pain I’d forced her to feel. I wondered if she’d found another man yet. I prayed she hadn’t. I’d been in touch with the Brotherhood but very infrequently. I didn’t want them to get involved in what I was doing. Grant had kept me appraised of the barest details of Faith’s life but I knew very little.