Joker by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Eleven

^{I’m not much of a princess.}

Riley

The front door slams, and I turn my gaze to the guest bedroom door as if at any moment Joker will barge into the room. Maybe yell at me some more, maybe try to kiss me again, at this point, it’s unpredictable.

The hardwood floor creaks and I hear him rummaging in the front room, but it doesn’t seem like he’s coming in here.

I turn my gaze back to the window I’ve been staring out of for hours and sigh.

Why did I let him kiss me?

It’s the question that’s been whirling in my brain like a tsunami wrecking everything I think I know about myself and how I feel about guys like him. And over and over I come to the same conclusion. He’s right, I’m a tease. I fucking kissed him back. I fucking liked it. I wanted it. I started to want even more than a kiss, and that thought alone scared the shit out of me.

Girls like me don’t get with guys like him. Girls like me… they don’t get with anyone.

My throat tightens, and I grip the edge of the bed I’m sitting on. The thought stings, more so than it ever has. I’ve never been looked at as pretty or desirable. I’ve always been one of the guys, toning muscles most girls don’t have and spending all my time in the gym.

He doesn’t know that, though. He sees something different. Something attractive, something sexy. Something I’m not.

I sigh again and roll my neck.

It isn’t that I’m a virgin or anything. I hit puberty just like everybody else, but it’s been too fucking long since I—

My mind recoils when the word fuck enters it. But that’s exactly what it would be to him. Fucking.

The guest room door opens, and I jump because I didn’t hear him coming. I swing my head in his direction and force my face to smooth into a mask of indifference. Maybe he won’t know I didn’t sleep last night.

Joker walks in and leaves the door open behind him. He leans against the wall with his foot propped against it and crosses his arms over his chest. His biceps flex and tighten the sleeve of his black T-shirt, and I have to strain to keep from staring at them. My heart begins to gallop.

“Back so soon?” I ask, my voice coming out sarcastic and cold. Like I’m turning into the same cynical bastard he is. Must be contagious.

“Look,” he says, taking a steadying breath like his head will explode if he doesn’t. He’s so fucking angry all the time, and that’s contagious too. “I just want to say—”

“No, you look.” I rise from the bed and cross my arms over my chest to mimic his pose. Before he walked in here, I was hating myself for what happened and agreeing with him on it, but it’s like as soon as I see him I snap back into fight mode. He’s my opponent, and this is our arena. “I don’t know what the hell it is you think I owe you, but—”

“Would you shut the hell up so I can apologize?”

My sneer falls, and my eyes narrow in suspicion. His stance hasn’t changed from defensive, angry. “What?”

He lets out a breath and looks up at the ceiling for a moment as if asking the big guy himself for strength. When his eyes meet mine again, his arms uncross, and he stands there tense. “I am sorry for pushing you last night. You don’t owe me shit, and I would never take from you what you aren’t willing to give.” Every word is gritted out like he’s being forced to say it at gunpoint.

I tilt my head to the side in confusion, and for a moment, I just stare.

“I could’ve sworn you fuckin’ wanted it, though,” he mutters like he can’t help himself. What the actual fuck did this guy go through to make him this cynical? This big of an asshole?

The image of his mother pops into my mind, and the addictive anger that seems to ignite between the two of us fizzles from me. My lips move into a slight frown, and it starts to click into place. The lack of trust. The suspicion. The hatefulness. It isn’t me he hates. It’s women in general. It’s her.

Joker has mommy issues.

“Well, I didn’t,” I lie, but leave it at that.

He gives a curt nod and starts for the door. I bite my cheek as I watch him, and as much as I know I should let him go, something stops me.

“Joker?”

He pauses in the doorway and looks back at me.

I swallow a lump that forms in my throat when our eyes meet and inhale a deep breath through my nose. “Are you the type of man who keeps his promises?”

His eyebrow raises and his mouth opens and closes like he doesn’t know how to respond. “Yes,” he finally manages. “Always. Why?”

“Because you still haven’t shown me the proper way to handle a gun.”

* * *

I stare down the barrel of my pistol with my right eye and focus on the line of beer bottles twenty yards in front of me. My finger hovers over the trigger, and just as I’m about to squeeze, Joker’s voice startles me.

“Open both eyes.”

“Are you going to let me shoot or what?”

He’s spent the last twenty minutes with the gun, showing me the proper way to hold it and blasting beer bottles with ease. It’s only been a few minutes since a fresh line was set up.

“Depends. Are you gonna do what I tell you? Because you’re not walking around Soulless Kings’ property with a gun if you’re going to shoot half blind. Open your fucking eyes.”

I bring my finger from the trigger and take a steadying breath. With both eyes open, I look down the barrel of the gun once more. I focus all my concentration on a bottle in the middle and lay my finger over the trigger. I squeeze and a jolt of adrenaline rushes through me with the kick of the gun and the blast. It’s powerful. Dangerous. Exciting.

And short lived.

I lower the gun and frown at the row of bottles, unscathed.

“Let me see,” Joker says, holding out his hand. My pride hurts, but I give him the gun and step to the side while he takes his stance.

“First of all,” he glances at me with the gun lowered. “If you’re not taking a second shot, get your finger off the trigger and lower the gun. Secondly, you’re not holding your hand steady. You’re acting like you’re shooting at a moving target. It’s a beer bottle, Black Bird, it isn’t going anywhere.”

“Please stop calling me that,” I grit. I lift my hand and swipe the sweat off my forehead. It’s humid as hell and I don’t think I could ever get used to it. But it’s pretty. Fucking beautiful, actually. The place Joker brought me to is at the edge of the property with trees surrounding us and a little pond up ahead. This, I could get used to.

“Why does it bother you?”

I turn toward him, the gun still lowered in his grasp, and roll my eyes. His eyes are narrowed in suspicion as he studies me. He has every right to be suspicious, but it’s exhausting worrying about it. He’s suspicious of everything I do.

“Because it isn’t my name.”

He stares at me another few moments before turning his attention to the bottles. He raises the gun, and I note how steady his hand is as he fires a second later. Glass bursts up ahead and frustration flares. He hasn’t missed a shot yet, and it pisses me off that he’s so much better at this.

He refills the magazine, then holds the gun out for me. I grab it and inhale a breath before raising it and firing without taking the time to concentrate on the target. I fire until the magazine is empty and the click of the gun sounds.

Lowering it, I smirk at the lone bottle in pieces on the ground. I turn to Joker to see his brows lifted and him rubbing the back of his neck. He sighs and drops his hand. “Well, that’s one way to do it I guess. Fucking reckless, though.”

I shrug and pop the magazine to load more bullets. “Gets the job done.”

“Unless you miss.”

He reluctantly drops bullets into my palm when I hold out my hand, and I reload while ignoring what he said.

His phone chimes, and he pulls it from his pocket to read the text. I try not to be nosy but can’t help peeking at him to see his reaction. I wonder if it’s his mother again. Judging by his impassive expression, my guess is it isn’t.

I’m so curious about her. About his past. About him. My mind plays scenarios that could cause a man to be this level of bitter, but I shut down the line of thinking. It’s too depressing.

“I’ve gotta make a phone call. Just keep practicing, all right? And don’t waste anymore bullets on your bullshit. We have all day.”

He walks away, phone in hand, without giving me a chance to respond. I watch him walk out of earshot before going back to the target.

It takes me several more tries before I hit my first bottle, but when I do, a wide grin spreads over my face. Power. That’s what this is, and it feels so. Fucking. Good. I shoot again, missing, but then hit the next target.

I go through boxes of bullets, and by the time the last bullet fires from the chamber, I’ve hit six branches in a row. I ran out of bottles a while ago.

Clapping sounds behind me, and I look over my shoulder to see Joker propped against a tree. I don’t know how long he’s been watching or even how long we’ve been out here, but the sun no longer shines down directly above us.

“Not bad,” he says, pushing off the tree and coming toward me. There’s a water bottle in his hand. I don’t remember him bringing it out here. Did he leave?

He hands me the water and takes the gun, and all at once my dry throat registers. I twist off the lid and gulp water until there’s nothing left.

“Jesus, Black Bird. I’m not gonna lie, that was… interesting.”

I search for sarcasm or mockery in his tone but don’t find any. Instead, it almost sounds like he’s impressed.

That doesn’t seem possible.

“How so?”

Joker tucks the gun into his waistband and shakes his head. “You didn’t even notice when I went to the house. You’re a violent little thing.”

I open my mouth to make a snarky remark, but he still doesn’t have that mocking edge to his tone. This is the nicest he’s been, and I shouldn’t care, but I do. I don’t want to fuck with it.

“I like it,” he says, running his eyes down my body. My face and chest heat, and my core begins to tighten.

I glance at Joker’s pants and notice a bulge. His eyes are dark and hungry.

Pride swells from having a man have this reaction toward me, and about my ‘violent side’ no less. Most guys want someone dainty, someone they can ‘save’. I’ve never been that girl.

Shame swallows up the pride a few moments later.

No.

This guy has been nothing but a dick to you.

Do not give in.

I shrug and clear my throat to keep my voice from being heady. “I’m not much of a princess.”

“Yeah well,” he shrugs, and this time he comes off as mocking. “I’m not much of a knight.”

I snort and cover my mouth. My lips are pulled into an amused grin and it widens when he narrows his eyes at me.

“The fuck is so funny?”

I let my hand fall and try to school my expression. “Nothing.”

He adjusts himself, something I’m becoming used to, and keeps his glare trained on me the whole time. He roams his gaze over me again, his face relaxing, and then he meets my eyes.

“Whatever, Black Bird. We need to head back. I’ve got shit to do and I can’t afford to have you waste any more of my day.”

My grin falls and Joker turns and begins walking away. I try not to notice the way his ass looks in his jeans, but I can’t quite help it.

He’s hot. I’ve noticed before, but right now it feels like I’m seeing him for the first time.

There’s a hell of a lot more to this man than meets the eye.