Joker by Andi Rhodes
Chapter Seven
It makes me wonder if I’m any safer with him than I am on my own.
Riley
Ishift for the hundredth time on the rough carpet covering what I can only assume is a concrete slab. It’s late and I’m exhausted, so my eyes flutter closed. I think I might actually fall asleep when an ache spreads throughout the side I’m lying on.
With a frustrated sigh, I shove onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, giving up on trying to get comfortable altogether.
“Plenty of room in the bed, Black Bird.”
“Stop calling me that,” I grit, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. I plan to leave it at that, but my insides twist with anger, and my face gets hot. I feel the way I do after taking the first hit in a fight. Fucking furious.
“You’re pathetic if you think I’d ever share a bed with a disgusting pig like you.”
A noise comes from the bed that sounds like a scoff. “Wow, Black Bird. You really know how to break a guy’s heart.” He says it with sarcasm dripping from each word, but it kind of feels forced. There’s something else buried underneath, and for a moment I think maybe I did hurt him.
Then he speaks again.
“Maybe if you weren’t a spoiled little California girl, you’d know what it was like to sleep on a fucking floor.”
“What?” I ask with a dry laugh, snapping my head in his direction. He’s laying on his side, the blanket pulled up to his waist, leaving his tattooed chest exposed. “You think I’m fucking spoiled?”
“I don’t know who the hell you are, but I know you’re damn sure not the victim you pretend to be. It wouldn’t surprise me if you gave yourself those bruises.”
I let my head fall back and shake my head at the ceiling. “You’re so delusional, it’s not even worth arguing with you. Just stay away from me.”
“Stay away from my club, and I can promise you I will.”
I roll my eyes but don’t otherwise respond. If it weren’t for my purse securely sitting at my side and the familiar insidiousness of the motel room, I’d be too frustrated to even remember why I thought I needed this asshole’s club in the first place. But I do remember. Every time someone walks past the window outside, I remember exactly the fear that comes with being on my own. Still, with what Joker pulled earlier, it makes me wonder if I’m any safer with him than I am on my own.
When I heard the glass shatter in the bathroom, I had my purse and my bag over my shoulder, and I was headed for the door. I didn’t need this. Staying with this perv another minute wasn’t worth the car I’d left back at the Soulless Kings’ property. I even considered that the ride up here with Joker might’ve thrown the stalker off, and they might not be able to find me. It could have been a blessing in disguise.
But at the time, I’d been stupid and weak. I heard his groans and his curses coming from the bathroom, and I crept to the bathroom door to listen closer. He sounded distressed, and my dumbass took that as remorse. That maybe he’d apologize, and I should stick this out a while longer. That it was the safest way to go.
When he came out of the bathroom, blood caking his knuckles, he didn’t say a word to me. He didn’t even glance my way. He shut off the light and got in bed. By then, I’d already lost the nerve to leave. I thought he’d been sleeping until now.
Another ten minutes pass before I close my eyes again. I try not to think about the numbers on the clock or the brute in the room, or even about the man I’m running from. It helps. My mind quiets, and I almost drift away.
But then I hear it.
The outside lock clanks with a key, and the knob rattles.
My eyes pop open, and I scramble to sit, shoving my hand in my purse. I hear a grunt outside, but my mind can’t react to what it means. It doesn’t remember the biker in the room or register when he flips on the light. It only knows one thing. I have to shoot whoever comes through that door.
I stand and point the gun toward the door. It shakes in my hands and feels heavier than the last time I held it. My palms begin to sweat, and my knuckles turn white when I tighten my grip.
He found me. The son of a bitch found me.
It’s time to fucking end this.
My heart pounds so hard against my tightened chest, and the pain that ignites makes me think I might be having a heart attack.
The knob rattles more and someone kicks the door. With the shifting of feet outside, it sounds like there’s more than one person.
“Oh fuck,” a masculine voice drifts under the doorframe. “This is the wrong room.”
“Huh?” Another man says.
“Dude look.” There’s a pause and then a bark of laughter.
“Oh shit,” the other man says with drunken amusement.
Footsteps shuffle outside and laughter carries down the sidewalk. The door doesn’t rattle again, and my clenched jaw goes slack. The weight of the gun starts to pull from my hand, and when I blink I see Joker by my side, easing the gun away.
I can’t tell what he’s thinking by his expression. It isn’t blank, but it looks too much like both curiosity and suspicion to know what it is.
I blink again and wipe away the wetness coating my lashes and cheeks. I didn’t realize I’d been crying.
I breathe in several shaky breaths but don’t say anything. I don’t know if I just fucked up or if he’ll assume it’s my husband I believed was at the door. It’s Joker, so there’s no telling what delusions he’ll come up with.
He turns the gun over and studies it a moment before popping a switch and looking up at me carefully. “You plan on shooting someone with the safety on?”
When his words register, a block of ice slides down my spine, and my skin crawls.
The safety. How the fuck could I forget about the safety?
“I would’ve switched it off,” I say, my voice wobbly from my teeth chattering. I realize then that I’m still shaking. I wrap my arms around myself and force my back to straighten.
“Are you okay?” he asks, switching the safety back on and tucking the gun into his jeans.
“Yeah.” My voice is stronger now, and I swallow the moisture that’s finally collected in my mouth.
“No, you’re not,” he observes looking me up and down.
I force an eye roll and take a step toward the bathroom without responding. I don’t want to speak right now. What I really want to do is cry, but I can’t. Not in front of him or anyone else. I’m a fucking boxer, not a fairy. I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I shouldn’t be this scared.
How the fuck did I get like this?
Joker grips my arm and pulls me back into him. I turn and glare at his large hand around my bicep, and then move my gaze to his face. He looks different than the other times I’ve seen him. Serious and trying to figure me out still, but not in a suspicious way. More like concerned.
He lets go of my arm. “What the fuck is going on, Black Bird?”
My boxing name sounds so wrong on his lips, and it grates my ears. I wish he’d stop saying it. I almost consider telling him who I am just to get him to stop saying it.
“I got scared, and I overreacted. What more do you need to understand?”
His eyes narrow on me. “How did you get a gun?”
“It was my husband’s.” I blurt the lie barely needing to think about it.
“And why do you have it?”
Now it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “In case the bruises fade and I need to shoot myself to get your club’s sympathy. Why the fuck do you think I have it?”
He flinches at my words, probably realizing what an asshole he is for suggesting I was a fake earlier. My brow furrows when it occurs to me he was right then, and I don’t have a legitimate reason to be insulted by it. But I am.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and the words come out gravelly, like it’s hard for him to push them through his teeth. “Clearly, I was wrong about you not being a victim of something. But you’re hiding something, Black Bird. I know it, so you might as well tell me what it is.”
“Why would I tell you anything?”
He looks over my face and then at the front door. When he turns back to me, his expression is hard. “Because right now, a threat to you is a threat to my family. And I take those threats seriously.”
I can only hold his eyes for another few seconds before I have to look away. Guilt sifts in and sits heavily on my chest. He’s right, and I know he means it to say he’ll protect me for the sake of protecting his family, but I brought this threat to his family. Big or not, dangerous or not, I don’t know if I’m putting these people in any real danger. I don’t even know what I’m up against. All I know is this stalker is willing to hurt people. I don’t know how far he’s willing to take it.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you or what you think I’m hiding,” I say, nearly coughing up the words with the way they stick in my throat.
I shift my feet and hold out my hand. “I’m gonna need my gun back.”
“No.”
“No?” I echo, finding his eyes again. My heart picks up with panic, but I don’t let it show on my face.
“Not until you learn to use the damn thing,” he says with that familiar, haughty superiority. His smirk falls some, and something flashes across his face. “I’ll teach you when we get back, and when you leave the property I’ll give it to you.”
“Nice trust.”
“I’m not hiding the fact that I don’t trust you.” His lips tug like he wants to smirk again, but he doesn’t. “Besides, you don’t need it when you’re around me. I’m a hell of a lot better shot, and that’s without a gun.”
“What does that even—”
He lifts up his pant leg, and I realize why he isn’t dressed down for bed. At his ankle is a strap holding three small knives.
“You throw those?” I ask, an eyebrow raised.
Now he lets the smirk spread without hesitation. “You’d be surprised at all the tricks I know, Black Bird.”
He winks, and I roll my eyes and turn toward the bathroom before he can see the very small, very insignificant smile that tips my lips with humor. He’s fucking disgusting, but I’m beginning to get used to it.
I take my time in the bathroom and splash water on my face. I stare at myself in the cracked mirror and frown. The bags under my eyes are only seeming to get worse.
I flick the light off as I leave the bathroom and pause in the doorway. Joker isn’t in the bed like I expect. I didn’t hear the door open, but I dart my eyes there anyway. Movement comes from below my line of sight, and I take a few steps toward the bed and move my gaze to the floor.
Joker is laying on the floor on the side of the bed opposite me, his head resting on the pillow I used earlier and his back facing me.
I tilt my head and watch him for a moment, trying to figure out what the hell this is.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Joker shifts, but doesn’t turn to face me.
“Go to sleep, Black Bird. Before I change my mind.”
I pause another ten seconds or so, and then shut off the light and crawl under the covers. His scent lingers on the pillow, and I try to ignore it as I close my eyes.
This time, I’m able to drift to sleep.
