Joker by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Fifteen

^{Sometimes recklessness leads to bravery, and I could use a hell of a lot of that.}

Riley

Idown the shot of tequila and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Tequila does things to me. It makes me reckless and stupid, two things I can’t afford right now.

But sometimes recklessness leads to bravery, and I could use a hell of a lot of that.

Commotion sounds behind me as some bikers shuffle into the clubhouse. I salute Widow and Riley and hop off the bar. They’ve barely said a word to me after I told them the truth. They’ve been staring at me with quiet judgement, watching as I pounded back liquor for the last hour.

“Where are you going?” Widow asks.

“Back to the cabin. Might as well hear the verdict from the one who hates me most.”

“No one hates you, Riley,” Charlie says in a sour tone, like she just bit into a lemon. “We’re just… disappointed.”

Disappointed.

I let out a dry laugh and stumble, catching myself on the sofa. The men filtering in each find it necessary to curl their lips in snarls and glare. No one makes any attempt to help me right myself or show any concern whatsoever, and I get the feeling I’m going to be treated like a leper until I’m booted off the property. Or dead.

I quickly hurry outside, my steps wobbly, and don’t spot Joker with the others. I hurry to his cabin, the world spinning, and when I make it there I slam the door behind me like I’m taking refuge.

I rub my hand over my face and lean against the door.

And then I wait.

And wait.

The sun goes down, and I move to the window, peering out like I’m a dog waiting for their owner.

I get tired of that and go to the couch. I’ve sobered some, and I consider rifling through the cabinet for booze, but I’ve already got the post-tequila headache. I shut my eyes to try and ease it and don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I’m startled awake.

My eyes pop open and my body tenses. I shoot up on the couch, and Joker eases his hand off me. He’s holding a bottle of water and hands it to me.

“Here,” he says. “I could smell the booze from outside.”

I let out a relieved sigh and grab the water. After twisting off the cap, I chug it until it’s empty and my thirst is quenched. It does nothing for the headache, but I do feel slightly better.

“Thanks,” I say, my breath heavy. I place the empty bottle on the couch and look up at the behemoth of a man before me. He’s at least a foot taller than me, but sitting down with him towering above me makes him appear to be a giant.

He says nothing in response. Just looks at me. His eyes meet mine, but it doesn’t feel like he’s looking at me. More like into me. Into the depths of my soul.

“So?” I ask, preparing to stand. I keep my voice strong and my spine straight. I cried in front of him. I’m not used to tears, and I’m certainly not used to anyone seeing them. I’ve had enough of it for one day. If they want me to leave, or even if they want to hurt me, I won’t be showing any more weakness.

“So what?” he asks.

“So what was the verdict?”

He runs his hand through his beard and sits on the couch, slouching like it’s been the longest day of his life.

“Despite my protests… they’re going to let you stay.”

“What?” I ask, confused. Everyone I locked eyes with looked like they wanted to burn me at the stake. Fender included. “Are you being serious?”

“It wouldn’t be a very funny joke, now would it? I don’t want to talk about the club's decision. You’re staying and I’m in charge of keeping an eye on you. If you do anything, try to leave, piss me off, anything, then I’ll—”

“I won’t.”

He pauses, his mouth open. He closes it and narrows his eyes, not believing me for a second.

I lift up my hands in surrender. “Seriously, I won’t. I’ll do what you say.”

He still eyes me skeptically and I drop my hands to my lap and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m fucking grateful, okay? This is not a problem the police have been able to fix. Not one I know how to fix. If your club helps me with this… well, let’s just say I’ll owe them.”

Real hope filters into my body and massages every tense muscle I’ve ignored since all this began.

The stalker is one man. The club is a fucking army.

And they’re going to help me.

A breath skates over my lips that’s more like a laugh and I smoothe back my hair. I normally keep it in a braid, but with as much pulling as I’ve been doing, it was a mess. Now my hair falls in waves over my back and shoulders.

“You owe me too, Black Bird. Don’t forget that.” He says it snarkily and with a sexual undertone. I don’t know if it’s a joke or if he’s serious, but my mind breezes past it.

“Thank you.” I let my hand fall to my lap. “Thank you so much.” Tears I promised I wouldn’t shed gather in my eyes, and I blink them away. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” I shake my head and lean back, letting myself sink into the couch. “I want my fucking life back.”

“Your boxing life.” His tone is flat and matter-of-fact, but I nod anyway.

He brings his arm to rest on the back of the couch. His fingertips brush against my hair, and I can’t tell if it’s intentional or not. “From what I’ve read, you’re pretty good. Only two defeats since last season.”

I’m not able to bring myself to care right now, so all I do is shrug.

“I’m not gonna lie, that’s pretty fucking hot.”

I belt out a laugh. “Oh yeah?” I ask with a huff. “Tell that to the other men.”

His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. “What men?”

“Every other one on the planet. No one wants a girl who can kick his ass. It’s emasculating. Plus,” I gesture to my muscular forearms. “I’m not exactly dainty.”

Joker shakes his head and smiles. “You don’t seriously think you could kick my ass.”

I shrug and smirk. “You’d be surprised.”

“You’re full of surprises. But you’ve got your head up your ass if you think you could ever stand a chance against me.”

I rake my gaze over him, sizing him up. It’s mostly a taunt. I’m already well aware of his muscular figure. And the fact that he’s three times my size.

“One good hit and you’d have me down. But I’m fast and level-headed. You’re full of rage and completely out of control. You’d wear yourself out swinging through the air.”

His eyes harden, and I can see the anger bubbling to the surface.

“See? Already, you’re fuming.” I wave my hand over him. “That can be powerful, but only if you know how to channel it. You don’t.”

“Do you want to see for your fucking self?”

I sigh and scoot closer toward him. I rest my hand on his chest and it has the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling.

“No, Joker, I don’t. I don’t mean it to be insulting. Actually, I kind of admire it. If I had that kind of anger in the ring, I wouldn’t have lost those two fights.”

He visibly calms. His hand uncurls and he lays it flat against his leg while the other remains on the back of the couch.

“But it begs the question… where does the anger come from?”

Joker scoffs. I don’t expect him to actually answer that, and I’m not so sure I need him to. I’m beginning to understand Joker more with every interaction, especially after what I heard today. I wonder if he understands himself.

“You’re not changing the subject, Black Bird. Why don’t you get back to the part where you fucked me and my family over.”

I take my hand off his chest. “You changed the subject. Remember? ‘I don’t want to talk about the club’s decision.’”

“If you’re so undesirable, why the hell would anyone want to stalk you in the first place?”

Now who’s changing the subject?

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I wasn’t even positive it was a romantic thing until I read that note today. I thought it was a crazy fan.”

“How can you be so sure it’s not?”

I blink and look out at the fireplace while I consider it. “I don’t know.” I turn back to Joker. “The way he talked about ‘everything we’d been through’, it almost seems like I’ve met him before.”

His eyes go wide. “Well, that’s some pretty pertinent information. Care to share more?”

I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know anything. I can’t think of anyone who would do this. I can’t even think of anyone who’s shown interest in me.”

“Would you fucking stop that?”

I narrow my eyes. “Stop what?”

“Stop talking like you’re some used up Bangin’ Betty. You’re a fucking knockout, Riley. I mean, Jesus,” he gestures toward me and dips his eyes to my breasts. “Look at you.”

My cheeks redden, and I have the sudden urge to cover up, even though I’m fully clothed. Right now with the way Joker is looking at me, I feel naked.

And hot. Really, really hot. Heat seems to settle in my core until it’s singed.

I clear my throat. “You called me Riley.”

Joker rolls his eyes and leans into me, pinning me to the arm of the couch. He hovers inches above me, and it’s all I can do to breathe. His own breath hits my lips and I inhale spearmint.

“There you go again, changing the subject.” He inches even closer. “Do I need to show you how sexy you are?” He slides a hand up my thigh and tucks it underneath the hem of my shorts.

I shudder.

“Then will you shut the fuck up about being unappealing?”

“I thought you hated me,” I whisper because it’s all I can manage. My body begs for him to close the distance, fucking kiss me already. I’m so tempted to lift my hips, giving my clit the friction it craves.

But my mind refuses.

“I don’t have to like you to fuck you. In fact,” he says, brushing his lips against mine and grinning. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “I don’t like any of the women I fuck.”

I need to stop this. My body is fucking undulating beneath him, and if I let it go on, I’m going to cave. I’m going to let him take me. Fuck me.

I bite my lip and turn my head when he goes to brush his lips against mine again, and I prepare to say the only thing I know will get him to pull back. I let my lip free and take a breath.

“Must be the mommy issues.”