Joker hated the heat. He also hated the blazing sun, the sand, and the humidity that surrounded South Beach. A thousand miles away and forty degrees hotter than his home in upstate New York, Joker felt like he was walking through water with clothes on. Not that he was a fan of New York winters, especially when the snow made it impossible to ride his Harley, but the smell of coconut suntan lotion and the constant heat drained his energy.
He slid onto a wicker stool at the poolside tiki bar, and the bartender immediately appeared. His gaze swept over Joker’s black t-shirt, full sleeve tattoos, and silver skull rings—not even close to the skimpy designer bathing suits and expensive gold jewelry on both the men and women lounging at the pool.
“What can I get you?” The smiling, tanned bartender looked way too happy.
“Jack Daniels.”
“We make a specialty drink with Jack Daniels, grappa, and bitters. Would you like to give it a try?”
“Just Jack Daniels neat.”
The bartender nodded, and Joker felt sorry for the guy. The management probably made them push these drinks, but who fucked with Jack Daniels?
The faster I get outta this hellhole, the better.
Okay, that was an exaggeration. The Royal Palms was one of those five-star hotels right on the beach with a luxurious spa, celebrity chef restaurants, and enough bars to make an alcoholic cry out for mercy.
Supposedly, Joker’s connection, a guy named Charlie, and his Miami crew were conducting their business in cabana number five, and making this one last deal for his club guaranteed Joker’s freedom for himself and his son. He’d called Derek when he hit Miami to let him know he’d arrived. The kid worried way too much for a thirteen-year-old, but having a father who ran with outlaw bikers would make anybody jumpy. Yeah, Joker remembered how much those worries hardened a kid.
The bartender returned and placed the glass on top of a fancy coaster that advertised the hotel, as a steel band played in the background. Nope, this definitely was not New York.
Joker sipped the whiskey and gazed over at cabana five, located along the south side of the pool, but saw no one who fit Charlie’s description. Just three loud, obnoxious, sloppy guys who were getting drunker by the minute. If this was the way they did business, no wonder the South American cartel wanted them out.
Joker stuck a Marlboro between his lips and dipped his head to the Zippo lighter when the bartender appeared and swallowed hard, as his eyes darted from side to side.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but there’s no smoking here.”
Joker slowly looked around the bar, then back at the bartender. “We’re outside.”
“Yes, but smoking isn’t permitted throughout the entire hotel area.” His lips twitched into a nervous smile. “Inside and out.”
Joker huffed out a laugh and stuck the cigarette into the pack. The bartender didn’t make the rules, he was just trying to make a buck, but right now, a lungful of smoke would’ve calmed Joker’s nerves and set him straight. He rubbed the scruff at his jaw, then pulled on the silver hoop in his ear. He hated waiting. One of the only reasons Joker liked being VP of the Raiders was that everyone waited for him.
Not a minute later, he and just about every other guy with a dick zeroed in on a knockout brunette, strutting her bangin’ body into the pool area. She stopped long enough for Joker to admire her mile-long tanned legs and white Brazilian thong bikini, showcasing a perfect ass and firm abs. He’d seen plenty of beautiful women in Miami, but one with that kind of confidence stood out and demanded his attention, especially when she stopped at cabana five.
Maybe those drunken assholes ordered some entertainment. What a shame to waste on a few idiots who were too trashed to even appreciate her. If nothing else, he could enjoy the show while he waited. Or maybe the sexy brunette was ordered to entertain the illustrious Charlie who would soon follow. That thought perked him up. Get this fucked-up job done and start his new life as a straight citizen.
He lowered his sunglasses to get a clearer picture. Too far away to hear the conversation, he relied on body language. The girl was obviously smart because she surveyed the situation, then stepped back. Like him, she quickly assessed that these guys were just a bunch of inebriated fools. And assholes like them usually had no boundaries, especially when a shitload of liquor and ninety-degree heat were involved. Her wary expression gave her away, and when she tried to back off, Asshole Number One grabbed her by the wrist while Asshole Number Two grabbed her other arm. She shifted and attempted to break free, but the stilettos weren’t giving her much help.
Joker surveyed the pool area to see if anybody else was watching, but because of the way the cabana was situated, most of the pool faced the opposite direction. He stood up and gulped down the rest of the whiskey, then slapped some bills on the counter and pushed away from the bar. He purposely went the long way around the pool just to get a better look. The bikinied brunette broke away from one of the assholes, but the other one had a firm grip on her left wrist.
Joker rounded the cabana, but no one noticed as he stepped up onto the platform between two lounge chairs. He might’ve been an outlaw biker and an underground cage fighter, but bullies who preyed on women and children turned his stomach. He’d seen enough of it growing up, and he refused to let it slide now that he could do something about it.
He eyeballed the scene: three guys with beer guts hanging over their neon-colored swim trunks, drunk, stupid, and looking for trouble.
“Don’t fight me, baby. We both know why you’re here.” Asshole Number One leered.
“I think there’s been a mistake.” Her firm voice showed no fear.
“C’mon, don’t be a bitch,” the jerk wheedled and tried to pull her closer, but she resisted with more strength than Joker would’ve expected from her willowy body.
“The lady said you’re mistaken.” Joker stepped closer, and all heads turned toward him.
“What the hell do you care what this whore says?” Asshole Number Two waved his beer at him, sloshing its contents onto the teak decking.
“Let go of her,” Joker warned in a deadly rumble. He would’ve liked to pull the gun hidden under his t-shirt just to scare the shit out of them, but that might’ve been overkill.
They exchanged looks, and he could hear their minds working. Sure, there were three of them, but Joker’s years of fighting showed in the long, lean muscles under his colorful tats. Add that to the jagged scar decorating his jawbone, and he was one scary looking fucker.
“Who the hell are you, her pimp?” Asshole Number One pulled her tighter.
Joker lunged, fisted the guy’s wrist, and twisted until he released the girl. Then he continued twisting until the stupid fucker was on his knees.
“Geez, what the hell?” the guy whined, massaging his wrist.
“Do you know these guys?” Joker asked the brunette.
“No.” She moved to his side, and her dark brown eyes examined him with a mix of curiosity and wariness.
“Do you wanna stay here with them?”
“No.” She shook her head, and her hair grazed her cleavage.
Joker moved her behind him, but like all assholes, they just didn’t know when to quit. The one closest to him threw a punch. Huge mistake. Joker was already frustrated, pissed off, and in no mood for bullshit. He blocked the hit and slammed his fist into the guy’s jaw, which made it all worthwhile, then followed it up with a gut punch and an uppercut. When the guy stumbled backward and landed on the lounge chair with a thud, Joker eased up and stepped off. The other two backed away, their eyes wide, big mouths shut, and hands held up in surrender.
In the past, Joker had taken pleasure in crushing another man’s face with his fist, enjoying the sweet pain that washed away the real hurt. Now he wanted to put all that behind him.
When he turned away from them, the girl was gone. His gaze swept the pool area, but she’d disappeared.
Great. Bruised, cut knuckles that needed ice, and not even a thank you from his mystery woman. When the fuck would he learn? Women came in two types: the clingy ones, who sucked the life out of you, and the aloof ice princesses, who sucked the money out of you. He’d been burned by both. Abandoned by his mother as a baby, then raised by a father who gave new meaning to the word man-whore, neither was a great basis for lasting, committed relationships.
Those drunken fools were definitely not his connection, which meant his intel was wrong. Digger, the Raiders’ prick of a president, didn’t make mistakes, so what the hell was going on? He trudged to the hotel with two things on his mind: an air-conditioned room and a cold shower. Joker wanted to fuck the search for his connection, and Miami in general, but he couldn’t. He had to see this through for the only thing that mattered in his messed-up life.
His son.
Joker hated the heat. He also hated the blazing sun, the sand, and the humidity that surrounded South Beach. A thousand miles away and forty degrees hotter than his home in upstate New York, Joker felt like he was walking through water with clothes on. Not that he was a fan of New York winters, especially when the snow made it impossible to ride his Harley, but the smell of coconut suntan lotion and the constant heat drained his energy.
He slid onto a wicker stool at the poolside tiki bar, and the bartender immediately appeared. His gaze swept over Joker’s black t-shirt, full sleeve tattoos, and silver skull rings—not even close to the skimpy designer bathing suits and expensive gold jewelry on both the men and women lounging at the pool.
“What can I get you?” The smiling, tanned bartender looked way too happy.
“Jack Daniels.”
“We make a specialty drink with Jack Daniels, grappa, and bitters. Would you like to give it a try?”
“Just Jack Daniels neat.”
The bartender nodded, and Joker felt sorry for the guy. The management probably made them push these drinks, but who fucked with Jack Daniels?
The faster I get outta this hellhole, the better.
Okay, that was an exaggeration. The Royal Palms was one of those five-star hotels right on the beach with a luxurious spa, celebrity chef restaurants, and enough bars to make an alcoholic cry out for mercy.
Supposedly, Joker’s connection, a guy named Charlie, and his Miami crew were conducting their business in cabana number five, and making this one last deal for his club guaranteed Joker’s freedom for himself and his son. He’d called Derek when he hit Miami to let him know he’d arrived. The kid worried way too much for a thirteen-year-old, but having a father who ran with outlaw bikers would make anybody jumpy. Yeah, Joker remembered how much those worries hardened a kid.
The bartender returned and placed the glass on top of a fancy coaster that advertised the hotel, as a steel band played in the background. Nope, this definitely was not New York.
Joker sipped the whiskey and gazed over at cabana five, located along the south side of the pool, but saw no one who fit Charlie’s description. Just three loud, obnoxious, sloppy guys who were getting drunker by the minute. If this was the way they did business, no wonder the South American cartel wanted them out.
Joker stuck a Marlboro between his lips and dipped his head to the Zippo lighter when the bartender appeared and swallowed hard, as his eyes darted from side to side.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but there’s no smoking here.”
Joker slowly looked around the bar, then back at the bartender. “We’re outside.”
“Yes, but smoking isn’t permitted throughout the entire hotel area.” His lips twitched into a nervous smile. “Inside and out.”
Joker huffed out a laugh and stuck the cigarette into the pack. The bartender didn’t make the rules, he was just trying to make a buck, but right now, a lungful of smoke would’ve calmed Joker’s nerves and set him straight. He rubbed the scruff at his jaw, then pulled on the silver hoop in his ear. He hated waiting. One of the only reasons Joker liked being VP of the Raiders was that everyone waited for him.
Not a minute later, he and just about every other guy with a dick zeroed in on a knockout brunette, strutting her bangin’ body into the pool area. She stopped long enough for Joker to admire her mile-long tanned legs and white Brazilian thong bikini, showcasing a perfect ass and firm abs. He’d seen plenty of beautiful women in Miami, but one with that kind of confidence stood out and demanded his attention, especially when she stopped at cabana five.
Maybe those drunken assholes ordered some entertainment. What a shame to waste on a few idiots who were too trashed to even appreciate her. If nothing else, he could enjoy the show while he waited. Or maybe the sexy brunette was ordered to entertain the illustrious Charlie who would soon follow. That thought perked him up. Get this fucked-up job done and start his new life as a straight citizen.
He lowered his sunglasses to get a clearer picture. Too far away to hear the conversation, he relied on body language. The girl was obviously smart because she surveyed the situation, then stepped back. Like him, she quickly assessed that these guys were just a bunch of inebriated fools. And assholes like them usually had no boundaries, especially when a shitload of liquor and ninety-degree heat were involved. Her wary expression gave her away, and when she tried to back off, Asshole Number One grabbed her by the wrist while Asshole Number Two grabbed her other arm. She shifted and attempted to break free, but the stilettos weren’t giving her much help.
Joker surveyed the pool area to see if anybody else was watching, but because of the way the cabana was situated, most of the pool faced the opposite direction. He stood up and gulped down the rest of the whiskey, then slapped some bills on the counter and pushed away from the bar. He purposely went the long way around the pool just to get a better look. The bikinied brunette broke away from one of the assholes, but the other one had a firm grip on her left wrist.
Joker rounded the cabana, but no one noticed as he stepped up onto the platform between two lounge chairs. He might’ve been an outlaw biker and an underground cage fighter, but bullies who preyed on women and children turned his stomach. He’d seen enough of it growing up, and he refused to let it slide now that he could do something about it.
He eyeballed the scene: three guys with beer guts hanging over their neon-colored swim trunks, drunk, stupid, and looking for trouble.
“Don’t fight me, baby. We both know why you’re here.” Asshole Number One leered.
“I think there’s been a mistake.” Her firm voice showed no fear.
“C’mon, don’t be a bitch,” the jerk wheedled and tried to pull her closer, but she resisted with more strength than Joker would’ve expected from her willowy body.
“The lady said you’re mistaken.” Joker stepped closer, and all heads turned toward him.
“What the hell do you care what this whore says?” Asshole Number Two waved his beer at him, sloshing its contents onto the teak decking.
“Let go of her,” Joker warned in a deadly rumble. He would’ve liked to pull the gun hidden under his t-shirt just to scare the shit out of them, but that might’ve been overkill.
They exchanged looks, and he could hear their minds working. Sure, there were three of them, but Joker’s years of fighting showed in the long, lean muscles under his colorful tats. Add that to the jagged scar decorating his jawbone, and he was one scary looking fucker.
“Who the hell are you, her pimp?” Asshole Number One pulled her tighter.
Joker lunged, fisted the guy’s wrist, and twisted until he released the girl. Then he continued twisting until the stupid fucker was on his knees.
“Geez, what the hell?” the guy whined, massaging his wrist.
“Do you know these guys?” Joker asked the brunette.
“No.” She moved to his side, and her dark brown eyes examined him with a mix of curiosity and wariness.
“Do you wanna stay here with them?”
“No.” She shook her head, and her hair grazed her cleavage.
Joker moved her behind him, but like all assholes, they just didn’t know when to quit. The one closest to him threw a punch. Huge mistake. Joker was already frustrated, pissed off, and in no mood for bullshit. He blocked the hit and slammed his fist into the guy’s jaw, which made it all worthwhile, then followed it up with a gut punch and an uppercut. When the guy stumbled backward and landed on the lounge chair with a thud, Joker eased up and stepped off. The other two backed away, their eyes wide, big mouths shut, and hands held up in surrender.
In the past, Joker had taken pleasure in crushing another man’s face with his fist, enjoying the sweet pain that washed away the real hurt. Now he wanted to put all that behind him.
When he turned away from them, the girl was gone. His gaze swept the pool area, but she’d disappeared.
Great. Bruised, cut knuckles that needed ice, and not even a thank you from his mystery woman. When the fuck would he learn? Women came in two types: the clingy ones, who sucked the life out of you, and the aloof ice princesses, who sucked the money out of you. He’d been burned by both. Abandoned by his mother as a baby, then raised by a father who gave new meaning to the word man-whore, neither was a great basis for lasting, committed relationships.
Those drunken fools were definitely not his connection, which meant his intel was wrong. Digger, the Raiders’ prick of a president, didn’t make mistakes, so what the hell was going on? He trudged to the hotel with two things on his mind: an air-conditioned room and a cold shower. Joker wanted to fuck the search for his connection, and Miami in general, but he couldn’t. He had to see this through for the only thing that mattered in his messed-up life.
His son.
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