The Don's Baby: A Bad Boy Romance (39 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

“Come on out here, Emma. I knew you liked me pulling and sucking on your big ole hooters. Bring those fuckers out again. I want to fuck you on the roof of my car. I’ll spread you wide and tear you apart.” Mark was talking out loud, as if he thought Emma was waiting for him somewhere. Rafe thought the man was stupid if he couldn’t smell a set up like this. He’d blame it on the power of a beautiful women because this man wouldn’t have gotten this far in this type of environment if he didn’t take a minute to think about why a certain person would do a certain thing. This man was reckless and would probably end up dead if he didn’t get himself together.

This couldn’t be happening. Rafe was trying to calm himself down, and this ass-wipe had him at explosion level. “Actually, it was me who wanted to have a few words with you.” Rafe tried again to calm himself down and address the matter at hand. He knew this guy from negotiations, and he was as slimy as Rafe always thought he was. The persona he used mostly was quiet and menacing, but this guy was actually a full-fledge whack job.

“What the fuck are you doing back here, and what did you do to my Emma?” Mark’s words were slurred a bit, but he could tell the man wasn’t that far gone in his facilities.

“I didn’t do anything to her. She was just a bit distraught and wanted me to talk to you for a minute.” He talked softly and slowly, like he would a small child. Rafe could smell the fear on him and knew that this wasn’t going to go well if the man was afraid of him. A healthy dose of respect? Sure, that would work—but bullies and fear wasn’t a good combination.

“She wanted you to do what?” It was almost comical watching the wheels creak in Mark’s head, as he tried to figure out what was going on. “How does she even know you?”

“That’s not what we’re talking about right now, Mark. This conversation is about the joining between you and Emma and how she needs a bit of time to get some things in order.”

“It’s already official.” The man spat and was growing more and more agitated before his eyes. Shit, Rafe wasn’t the man people called when they wanted to diffuse a situation. He was the one doing the agitating. Working someone up in the calmest of tones was an art for him. He was good at it and he was so pissed at this guy he could rip off his head and piss down his neck, but he was trying to the best thing for Emma and do right by her with his actions.

“I get what you’re saying, because I’ve seen how you’ve gotten people to do what you want and sign the deal.” Rafe was making rookie mistakes and now knew why people warned about getting involved with women. His trademarked level head was damn near absent. He thought about what this man had done to his Emma and all he could thing about was tearing him apart piece-by-piece.

“She’s mine, Rafael. I don’t know how you know her or how you were able to see anything on her. I’ve kept close tabs on her since it was official she was mine. I don’t care what you do or say; she’s going to stay mine.” The man was going to draw a crowd with the noise he was making, and Rafe was well aware they were still on Shaffer’s property.

Rafe was thinking of how to handle this situation when Mark pulled out a gun. How had he let this little fuck wad get the jump on him like this? He was trying to be nice and this is what he got for it? He could have just popped him for what he’d done to Emma while he was yelling out obscenities in the parking lot.

“Those sweet tits, juicy pussy, and even that tight ass is mine Rafe. I know how a lot of your talks end and that’s not going to be how this ends today.” Mark didn’t seem drunk at all now. He just seemed pissed. Pissed with a gun was also not a good combination.

“I came back here to talk to you, Mark. That’s all. I don’t even have my gun on me.” Rafe was trying to be rational, but it was rare he was in this situation. If the guy thought he was just going to sit here with his hands up and ask for mercy, he was sorely mistaken.

“Bullshit. You always have your gun with you. Right in the strap on your boot.” Mark pointed with the gun, and Rafe saw the telltale signs of a wavering of his stance…maybe his last drink had just kicked in. He moved in a little, but he acted like he wasn’t worried about the gun. It was doubtful that Mark was that good of a shot; but, at this close range, he didn’t have to be very good or very lucky.

“I said I don’t have a gun today. Are you calling me a liar?” Rafe eased closer and put enough menace in his voice as to turn the tides of this situation.

“What?” Mark put down his gun for a second, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. Rafe took the opportunity to grab the hand with the gun in it and punch the guy in the mouth. It felt so good that even the cut of the guys tooth on his knuckle was a pleasure. He hit him a few more times for good measure.

“Fuck, man. I think you broke my tooth.” The whining asshole practically screeched. He was about to kill Rafe and was upset about a few broken teeth? This guy really was a piece of work.

“Good. Keep your punk ass away from Emma.” Rafe meant what he’d said. He could see when the other man’s focus went from worrying about himself and his pearly smile to the person they were tussling over. In fact, the comment seemed to bring out the fight in Mark. Even when he was touching his mouth, the smaller man had a firm grip on the gun—and he wasn’t letting go. He was much smarter than Rafe thought he was.

They tugged, pulled, and twisted, as they both fought for the ownership of the gun until it went off and they were both still for a second. Rafe tried to concentrate to see if he felt any pain, but then he watched the light go out in Mark’s eyes, and he slumped to the ground. The power of winning and getting a chance to live another day was challenged by his second thought. What the hell did this mean for the future of Emma and his own future with the Tribesmen?

The gun was still gripped in Mark’s hand as he lie on the ground bleeding, and he looked up to see an older woman on the second floor watching him with a phone in her hand. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do until he heard the faint sound of sirens in the distance. They could be on their way anywhere, but looking at the woman in the window made him sure that they were coming here to check out this situation.

The sirens got closer and closer until there was no decision to be made. He had to turn and run before he was taken in. No one was going to believe that he was trying to protect himself from the little weasel who was dead on the ground. His name was Lucky for a reason, and he wasn’t going to sit here and try to explain himself, as that would get him who knows how much time in the penal system. He had enough things on his crime sheet to make them pull him in, regardless of whether he was innocent or not.

He slipped away and saw the police cars descend upon the parking lot in his rearview mirror. This was getting fucked up beyond all repair, and he wasn’t sure who he could turn to for help. The wind in his face helped a little, but he’d had one adrenaline rush on top of the other and his head was spinning. His feelings for Emma and his growing hatred for Mark mixed inside until he was almost sick with it.

He took out his phone and sent a text to Emma that he’d be over to pick her up in a few hours. Then, he turned his bike around to talk to the only person he felt could and would help him out—Fat J.

Rafe wasn’t a praying man, but he threw a couple of wishes up that the man would be home and available to help him out. When he turned down the dark road that lead to Fat J.’s house, he realized how much he and Fat J. had in common. They both lived off the beaten path, and they both didn’t have many people who knew where they lived. He’d been directed out to Fat’s house a few times, and the man let him know he didn’t want the information to become common knowledge. As far as Rafe knew, he was the only club member who knew how to find him, which was probably why he always got the chore of talking to him.

Wishes, prayers, or just damned lucky… at that point Rafe didn’t give two shits. He was just happy that the man was at home and there weren’t any other people there. He rode near the man's home and turned off his bike ,so he could place a call to let Fat know he was here and needed to see him. He’d always called before he showed up, but today it had just slipped his mind.

“Come on in,” Fat J. said, as soon as he picked up the phone and Rafe was thrown off just a little.

“How did you see me?”

“You think I don’t have security cameras all along my property. I knew you were coming for about ten minutes.” Fat J. didn’t even sound smug. It was just the way it was.

“So, you probably could have picked me off long before now, and here I am giving you a little warning that I’m on my way.” There wasn’t much humor about this whole situation, but knowing his friend was more like himself than he thought, it made sense that the man had security cameras on his dark-ass road. He had them on his road, as well.

“I knew you were coming, and you are always welcome in my home.”

“Thanks, Fat. I’ll be right in.” Rafe parked his bike on the side of the house that wasn’t visible from the road. Yes, he knew that they’d know if company was arriving, but Rafe would rather be safe than sorry. There were a lot of steps that lead to his friend’s front door, and he wondered if Fat had to walk these every day why he wasn’t smaller.

He reached the top of the mountain his friend called front steps and turned the handle on the door.

“Why didn’t you use the elevator?” Fat J. had a smirk on his face, and Rafe thought he was seeing things. Was this man laughing at him? This was one crazy night. Everything was so far-fetched; it was like he was in a bad dream.

“I didn’t see one.” Rafe answered, looking at the man and wondering if maybe he’d been drinking something. That might be the reason there was a slight change in his behavior.

“Really? I thought I showed you the elevator last time you were here.” The man welcomed him into his home with a dramatic wave of his arm. It was a good thing he was in shape, because those steps could kill a man or woman who wasn’t in top form physically.

When Rafe thought about it, he did remember an elevator and that showed him how befuddled his brain was. Killing a man from his rival motorcycle club had done his mind in. It wasn’t that he could say this was the first person who’d met their maker by his hand, but he was focused on the fact that even though the Reapers were their biggest rivals, there had been no blood shed between them in the last ten years. Until now. Until him. He didn’t care much for the Reapers, but he didn’t want there to be blood shed to the Tribesmen because of something he did. He needed to talk to Aaron and let him know what was going on. Then, at least he could have his guard up if it was warranted.

“I don’t have to ask ‘what’s up’ now do I?” Fat J. returned to sit behind a plate of food that it looked like he’d was almost finished. There was a curious light in his eyes, but Rafe would bet that the man knew what had happened already, even though it hadn’t been more than 30 minutes since the dirty deed was done.

“You seem to know everything that’s going on almost before it happens, so you probably don’t have to ask.”

He watched Fat J. take a few more bites off the plate that didn’t have a lot of evidence of what was on it before he’d started eating. Then, the man wiped off his fingers in that compulsive way he usually did, and Rafe thought to himself that lately he’d been watching this way too often. It was almost like déjà vu from just last night when he talked to him at his favorite dive and he asked him about the complications that could come up with him being with one the of Reapers’ club girls. It didn’t seem that serious at the time, but it was serious as hell now.

“You’ve had a long night, and I do know what happened. I don’t always know all the pieces of the puzzle but somehow they work themselves back to me. I take it you were the one involved with the murder this evening?” The man got right to the point. Although Fat J. was sometimes abrupt and many people didn’t like him for it, it was one of the things Rafe liked best. He knew where he stood and he liked his truths straight up—with no bullshit.

“Hey, Fat. That wasn’t murder; it was self-defense. I was trying to have a conversation about Emma and he pulled a gun on me.”

“Why did he feel threatened?” Fat watched him like Rafe normally watched others, and he knew just what he was looking for. Inconsistencies in their stories, incongruent facts, agitation levels, where they were looking…all of that put together and he could tell who was telling the truth and who was lying.

“When I talked to Emma in the bathroom at Shaffer’s, I saw that she was roughed up pretty bad.” Rafe had no problem telling him what happened. It was the truth and no matter how he spun it, he did not draw any weapons during the altercation. He’d just tried to protect himself from a man who worked more with numbers than guns. It wasn’t his problem or his worry if Mark didn’t know how to work his tools, then he shouldn’t have brought them out.