GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) (2 page)

And then, the most amazing thing happened. As Raymond pulled out his bottle, Courtney and Henry’s eyes began to glow, but Jessica’s eyes turned away from the bottle, toward Carl. And a split-second later, her body turned as well and moved in the same direction.

Jessica squeezed her small form next to Carl’s much larger one and perched up on the rock beside him. “I don’t drink,” she said in a shy voice. “Especially not with people like
them
.”

“I’ve never been drunk,” Carl admitted. “Had a few of my dad’s beers once though, and they done made me sick as all getup.”

Jessica giggled at Carl’s sentiment (not at his diction or accent) and leaned into him again, resting her head on his arm. Carl was a little overwhelmed again, but needless to say, he was overwhelmed in a good way.

As Courtney, Henry, and Raymond threw back shot after shot of whiskey, Carl felt Jessica’s hand slip onto his knee, then saw her big brown eyes turn up and look intently at him. Carl had never seen that look before, but he knew what it meant.

Carl lowered his face to Jessica’s, and in one glorious motion, their mouths came together. Jessica pressed her sweet lips into Carl’s, and the sensation sent shivers down his spine… but of course, those shivers stopped a moment later when Courtney interrupted.

“What the hell’s going on here?” she shouted. “What are you two doing?” Courtney hated her date, no doubt, but it still angered her to see someone else enjoying him—especially since, from the looks of what was happening on the blanket, it seemed like Raymond and Henry were both more interested in each other than they were in her.

“Wait until I tell my father what you did,” she screamed at Carl. “You’re making out with another girl when you’re supposed to be
my
date!” She paused for only a moment. “And
you
,” Courtney went on, turning to Jessica, “wait until I tell everyone at school what a slut
you
are. Hooking up with some big, smelly oaf you just met.”

With that, Courtney stomped her tiny foot on the ground, pivoted, and rushed back towards the disinterested boys on the blanket.

“Let me go talk to her,” Jessica said, looking up at Carl with those big brown eyes again. “I’ll calm her down and talk some sense into her.”

Jessica walked over and sat next to Courtney, and Carl watched as the two exchanged words in what had to be a very heated discussion.

But then, the most
terrifying
thing happened. As Raymond and Henry kept sharing the bottle and Jessica and Courtney kept conversing, Carl heard a loud rustling from the marsh area beside them and saw branches and foliage swaying and rather violently moving. A split-second later, he saw a pair of eyes peering back at him—and they weren’t anywhere near as friendly as Jessica’s, or even Courtney’s.

“Run!” Carl shouted, jumping to his feet. “We gotta get outta here now!”

The four other teens turned their heads and looked at Carl curiously.

“Gator!” Carl screamed at the top of his lungs, just as the lowly beast emerged from the marsh, headed straight toward the picnic waiting for it on the blanket.

September 15, 2015–San Francisco, California

“Detective Knowles?” one of the police clerks asked from beside my desk. He knew damn well who I was already, which meant that his question was merely his way of trying to
politely
interrupt me.

“What’s up, Barnes?” I asked, thumbing through the mound of papers on my desk and not even looking up at the fellow. “I’m really busy, so this better be important.”

“Coop wants to see you,” Barnes replied.

“Well, that
is
important,” I said. “And you shouldn’t have wasted your time with the ‘Detective Knowles’ shit—you should have just come over here and came right out and told me Coop wanted to see me.”

I stood up, grabbed my coffee, and headed toward Coop’s office. Officer Richard Barnes was just a rookie cop, and a clerk cop at that, but still, when Police Chief Mark Cooper says he wants to see someone, that means business, and I shouldn’t have had to remind Barnes of that fact.

“Sir,” I asked, knocking on the doorframe of the chief’s open door. “Barnes said you wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, Knowles, come on in and have a seat,” Coop replied, gesturing toward the chairs on the other side of his desk. I sat down in one of them and looked at him inquisitively.

“We got a dead junkie outside of a bar downtown,” Coop explained.

“So?” I asked. This was San Francisco, and the sad reality was that dead junkies turned up around these parts all the time, especially considering the recent spike in our nation’s heroin epidemic.

“The body was discovered about a half hour ago,” Coop explained. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight in the morning, and I’d only clocked in about forty-five minutes ago, which must have been only moments before the dead junkie was discovered.

Now, mind you, I hadn’t been on shift for a full hour yet, but my mind was already in detective mode—and I was set back by something the chief said. The dead junkie’s body was discovered
outside
of a bar about a
half hour
ago, and that fact, and that fact alone, was rather suspicious. Usually dead bodies
outside
of anywhere don’t go unnoticed that long after sunrise, which suggested that maybe the junkie hadn’t died there but had been placed there.

“Drop and roll gone wrong?” I asked, referring to a loathsome practice that many criminals and lowlifes followed. When their associates overdosed, got shot, or otherwise became incapacitated or injured, sometimes criminals and lowlifes just drove them to the nearest hospital—or in some cases, public street corner—and rolled them out of the car, dropping the dying, or dead, body there for someone else to find.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Coop answered, shaking his head. He stood up, went over to the small coffee pot he had in the corner of his office, and poured himself another cup. “This junkie isn’t just dead,” Coop added after taking a sip. “He appears to have been murdered…
brutally
murdered.”

When junkies turned up dead, it was usually because of their stupid choices regarding their stupid habits. They usually died because of an overdose, a bad batch, or from mixing dope in deadly combinations with other drugs. But every once in a while, their deaths weren’t that cut and dry. Every once in a while, the junkies wound up dead because someone killed them—and those someones usually killed them for a variety of drug-related reasons, and it was usually done in the heat of the moment. Those deaths were always sloppy, mind you—but they were not
brutal
.

“What do you mean?” I asked the chief, fishing for more details.

“You’re gonna have to go out and see for yourself,” Coop answered. “I’m putting you on this.”

“But, sir—” I started, prepared to give my boss several excuses as to why I didn’t want or need another assignment at this time.

“But
nothing
, Knowles,” he interjected. “Goldman and Conway are both still out on leave, and Smith and Peterson are on another case. So I need
you
on this.”

It’d had taken me years to get to this point in my career…and going out to investigate a murdered junkie was something I thought I was past already. Don’t get me wrong, police work is police work, and I’m not saying the assignment was below me. It just wasn’t the type of thing I handled anymore. I was usually put on more demanding jobs that were better suited to my expertise and skill level. Going to a scene to gather evidence to try and figure out which dealer or addict delivered the deadly blow to someone with a deadly habit was more akin to something that Barnes’ rookie peers would do, not a seven-year veteran of the force like me.

“Alright, sir,” I said, reaching across the chief’s desk and taking the stack of papers he held out for me. “I should be able to get to the bottom of this before lunch—and when I do, you’re buying.”

“I don’t know,” Coop said, as I exited his office. “This one might not be as cut and dry as you think. You better take your wallet with you—because you’re probably gonna be eating lunch in your car while you’re trying to figure out who-dunnit.”

I took Coop’s advice and headed back to my desk to collect my bag, badge, gun, and other essentials—including my wallet. I grabbed my jacket, too—just to look proper. You see, I’m not a beat cop, so I don’t have to wear a uniform to work. I just have to dress nicely—suits, button-down shirts, etc. And on this particular day, sure enough, I had dressed nicely—but if I’d have known I was going out into the field, I’d have opted to wear a pantsuit instead of the suit I was wearing.

May 9, 2003 – New Orleans, Louisiana

“Gator!” Carl shouted again, and this time, his “friends” caught wind of what he was getting at—or rather, what was getting at them.

An ugly, gruesome reptile was just a few yards away, and it was scurrying its scaly body towards them. Raymond grabbed his bottle of whiskey, jumped up, and darted away, and Henry was quick to follow. Carl, who was already some distance away, stood there bouncing back on his feet, staying far enough to be safe but close enough to help if needed.

Courtney and Jessica sprung into the air at the same time. But no sooner had Courtney stood to her tiny feet than the skirt of her dress caught on one of her heels (probably the one she’d stomped earlier), and Courtney fell back to the ground.

Jessica had already made a bit of leeway away from the gator, but when she saw Courtney flat on her ass, she turned around, went back, and held out her hand to help. Courtney reached up and pulled at Jessica’s hand, with full force and no mercy—and just as Courtney was given the momentum to rise, Jessica was given the momentum to fall.

Jessica fell, face forward, onto the ground, with her headed pointed in the direction of the approaching gator. The “thud” from her body hitting the ground hadn’t even finished sounding yet when Courtney started sprinting. She ran away and didn’t look back, even though there was no way she didn’t know what she’d done.

It was then that Carl Struthers did what we’d all like to
say
we’d do in a situation like this. He rushed toward where Jessica’s body lay like a fish flopping, and he threw himself between her and the gator.

The gator was feet, not yards, away now. He distracted the beast just long enough for Jessica to hop up. Unlike Courtney, she reached out to help Carl and pull him up to his feet, despite their vast difference in stature.

Carl was flat on his back, which wasn’t the easiest position to get up from. He tried to scuttle back as much as he could, but the beast was on its belly, giving it the advantage.

“It’s too late,” Carl cried out. “Save yourself!”

The gator opened its mouth and proceeded toward him.

He’d told her to leave, but she hadn’t—and thank God for that.

“Your boots, Carl,” Jessica shouted. “Your steel-toed boots!”

In a flash, just as the gator took Carl’s right foot into its mouth, Carl turned it, so that his boot was straight up and down, and he purposefully pushed his leg further back into the thing’s ghastly mouth, just enough to prevent it from closing. He then raised his left leg and kicked the reptile on its snout, using all of his might.

The beast hissed in a way that, to Carl, sounded familiar, then it abruptly turned away and retreated to the marsh.

Naturally, Carl’s leg had been mauled a bit from the gator’s lower jaw, but it was nothing compared to what
could
have happened. And both Carl and Jessica were aware of that fact—so Jessica helped Carl up off of the ground, and together, they hobbled away from the dryland clearing near the dock as fast as they could.

When they got to where the group had parked their cars, only Carl’s dad’s beat-up blue pick-up truck remained. Henry and Raymond and driven off without waiting, and presumably, one of them had taken Courtney with them. Teenagers really can be cruel, can’t they? Cruel, selfish, and thoughtless…

Well, not all of them.

While Courtney may have been appalled by the truck, Jessica couldn’t have been happier when she saw it. As soon as they were in the cab, Jessica threw herself into Carl’s arms.

“Told you those things come in handy,” she said.

“Sure did,” Carl replied, squeezing her against him.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered in his ear, gently running her lower lip along it.

Carl shivered at the warmth of her breath and felt every form of excitement.

“I had no choice,” he whispered back. “I’m a man—not a monster.”

Like magnets, ducks to water, or other forces of nature, Carl and Jessica were drawn together at that point, and their lips met in the most passionate union. They kissed each other like people were meant to kiss in a world where kisses had real meaning.

Jessica wrapped her arms around Carl’s neck and moved her body closer to his, until she was nearly sitting on his lap. Kiss after sweet kiss followed, and there was nothing Carl could to do hide his excitement. Jessica was so very close to his most sensitive, most personal regions—and when she reached down and pressed her hand against that spot, Carl felt as if he would burst.

He’d never been this close to a female before—nor to death. The possibilities ahead were just as exciting and as stimulating as the soft, supple beauty in front of him.

Since he’d just been touched in his most sensitive, most personal spot, Carl figured it would be okay to touch back, and he began slowly running his hands over Jessica’s body—from her shoulders, down to the small of her back, and to the firm, roundness beneath.

When Jessica felt Carl’s hands graze her bottom, she repositioned herself again, so that she was now fully on his lap, facing and straddling him. Carl moved his hands to her thighs and began groping them, and as he did, Jessica hiked up her skirt.

The sweet kisses turned passionate again, and Jessica started rocking her body back and forth on top of Carl. Again she was leading their dance—and Carl liked it.

“I’ve never done this before,” Carl admitted, bringing his hands closer to the center of Jessica’s legs. His own legs were still pounding from the attack, and the right one was leaking blood at the calf—but none of that mattered at this moment.

“I’ve done
some
things,” Jessica admitted in turn. “But I’ve never done what I’m about to do with you.”

Jessica reached down and unbuckled Carl’s pants, then undid his button and zipper, and Carl crept down in the seat to accommodate her hand as she slid it inside his boxers. She took hold of his swollen member and gasped a little as she pulled it out to expose and eventually release it.

The steel-toed boots that saved Carl’s life were a size thirteen—and sure enough, they were a valid indication of his manhood.

“I want you inside me,” Jessica whimpered.

“Are you sure?” Carl asked, gentle giant that he was.

“I’ve never been surer of anything,” she said, as she pulled her panties to the side and pushed herself on top of Carl.

Inexplicable. Inexplicable. The moment that he entered her was inexplicable. It was an entirely new, entirely foreign feeling for them both, and it got the better of them both in no time. Every ounce of excitement leading up to this moment—the kindness, the fear, the sweetness, the passion—all came to a head, which rather quickly erupted.

Within seconds of feeling Carl’s largeness inside of her, Jessica started writhing. She moaned and tossed her head back while her body pulsed against him. It all was too much for Carl to bear, and even though he’d just staved off a gator, he couldn’t stave off his own primal impulses, and he, too, started writhing,

Carl pulled himself out of Jessica’s delicious body just before he exploded and released several spurts of his nectar all over himself, soiling the suit jacket he was still wearing.

Both spent, the couple held each other for a moment, trying to catch their breath and regain their composure. For all the awkward, uncomfortable silence Carl had heard and felt earlier, he now experienced a different kind of quiet—a calm, beautiful thing that was soothing and reassuring.

But even a calm, beautiful silence is silence—and as such, it, too, must be broken. And this time, instead of Courtney’s shrill voice breaking it, it was Carl’s deep one.

“You’re amazing, Jessica,” Carl said.

“So are you,” Jessica replied. Then she giggled, pulled her head back from Carl, and added, “Actually, my friends call me J.T.; it’s short for my full name, Jessica Taylor. And after what
we
just did, I’d say we’re more than friends, so you can call me J.T., too, if you want.”

“Alrighty then,” Carl said with a big, beaming smile. “J.T. it is. Sorry I ain’t got no nickname of my own to tell ya. All anybody ever called me was Carl.”

“Well, do you
want
a nickname?” J.T. asked, still giggling, tossing her head back in glee.

“Sure, why not?” Carl answered. “What’d ya have in mind?”

“What about Gator?” J.T. proposed, looking Carl dead in the eyes and raising
both
eyebrows.

Carl chuckled and raised
one
of his. “Now why on earth would I wanna be nicknamed after a big ole thing that done tried to kill me?”

“Because, Gator,” J.T. said and smiled, “what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”