Blackheart: The Wild Ones (Jokers MC Book 1) Read online

  Sally sold the house she grew up in as soon as she finished nursing school. Her Paw Paw lived to be ninety-two and just a few years before he died he told her he would continue living in the house indefinitely. By “living” he meant “haunting.” Sally loved her Paw Paw, but the prospect of living with the old man’s ghost forever wasn’t appealing to her in the least. The rotting old mansion had been bought by the state of Louisiana and they planned to make it into a museum of sorts, showcasing Cajun history. Sally wasn’t surprised, and she was even a bit amused, that years later they were running into one roadblock after the other with the house and the land. They’d contacted her and asked if she wanted to buy it back before they made plans to demolish it. She had almost taken it, but she’d chosen to live her life as simply as possible and restoring that old mansion wouldn’t be simple at all. She’d passed, and waited to hear they’d torn it down. That would make her sad, since the house had been in her family for almost a century and she had so many happy memories there...but sometimes things simply had to come to an end. When she hadn’t heard anything about it for a while she contacted the realty company and found out that someone had actually bought it. They couldn’t give her a name of a person, just that it was bought by a realty agency who intended restoring it and using it as rental property. Sally wished them luck, but even though she didn’t buy completely into the voodoo and dark arts culture that her Paw Paw had, she still didn’t doubt for a minute that if the old man could possibly haunt the place, he would with a vengeance.

  After she sold the house to the state, she had bought herself a small cottage just outside the Quarter. It was in a quiet neighborhood and surrounded by plants and trees so it was almost invisible from the street. Sally loved the solitude and when she wasn’t at work, or at Ace’s bar, she was in her little home, reveling in it, and usually alone. She’d already showered, changed, and eaten a bite before the sounds of Evan’s Harley practically broke the sound barrier in the quiet little neighborhood. She waited until she heard him shut it off before going over and unlocking the front door. It may have been over twenty years since Christoff tried to kill her, but the security measures she’d learned since that night had stuck with her. Seconds after she unlocked it, it was pulled open and the entire frame was filled with man, and suddenly the sight and smell of him turned her into nothing but pure woman and hot lust replaced the blood in her veins. She let him step inside, and close and lock the door behind him...before jumping him like the wild Cajun woman she still was behind closed doors.

  Evan’s big arms caught her and when she wrapped her legs around him, he moved his arms down and held her there, turning them in half a circle so that it was her back against the wall, and then attacking her lips with his own mouth. Evan had been Sally’s first kiss when she was only thirteen years old. She thought that one was perfect, but little did she know it would grow into something she craved, something that set every part of her body, and maybe even her soul, on fire. Their tongues moved like snakes mating in the tall grass of the bayou. Their lips massaged each other, and his teeth nipped at the corners of her mouth, getting harder and more urgent the longer the kiss went on. He kissed her until every breath was gone from her lungs and she hung limply in his arms, and then he carried her into the small living room, dropped her down onto the bright orange couch, and said:

  “Me déshabiller.” Sometimes he resorted to French when he was excited. Those words meant “Undress me,” and Sally didn’t have to hear him say it twice. She stood up and pushed the leather kutte off his huge shoulders, and then she took a moment to run her hands down his colorful, muscular arms. He had tattoos from the top of each shoulder all the way down to his wrists. Many of them reflected the culture they’d both been born into, and others held the names of relatives he’d lost. There were pictures of wildlife intermingled with cartoonish court jesters, and the end result of it all was, at best, completely irresistible.

  Sally’s hands went to his belt and as soon as she had it unbuckled, she unhooked and unzipped his jeans. She took her time then, pushing them down to his ankles. She let her lips and tongue graze his thighs, and her fingers softly tickle the skin. Evan groaned, a deep, sexy growl that he reserved for when he was turned on, and it sent shivers all the way down Sally’s spine knowing it was just for her. Her panties were already soaked and had been since the moment she’d seen him standing in her doorway. Evan was her drug, and at times like this, she would flat out refuse any antidote if it were offered.

  Once she had his boots and pants off him, Sally pulled down his shorts. She left them around his ankles in her haste to get her hand around his big, swollen, hard cock. Sally hadn’t been with that many men in her life, but she’d been with enough to know that Evan was special. She’d found out that most men with big, sexy bodies weren’t as well-endowed as their less muscular brethren. But Evan was as well-endowed as any man she’d ever seen...and even more so...and most importantly of all he knew how to use it. Since the first time they were together, a time when they were both too young, but oh so in love, Evan never failed to leave her satisfied to the point of practically being in a sexual coma by the time he was done. Sally took his erection between her hands now and gave it a couple of strokes before guiding it to her mouth, opening her lips, and letting the tip of it slide in between them. Evan groaned again and then wrapped his giant hands up in her long, light brown hair. As Sally began to stroke him with her lips and tongue, taking his big, hard cock in and out of her mouth, Evan used his hold on her hair to guide her. He wasn’t shy about telling a woman what he wanted and the sound of his deep voice giving her direction only made Sally hotter.

  “Suck it harder, ma petit, take it to the back of your throat.” Sally did exactly what he said, and she loved every minute of it. Part of the thrill of being with Evan was taking a huge, wild Cajun, and turning him into virtual putty in her hands. She licked and sucked and let her tongue trace the veins along the bottom of his hard cock until she was suddenly pulled back up to her feet. He whispered something in her ear that she didn’t understand, but the tone, and the feel of his hot breath there, made her body convulse. His hands were suddenly underneath the long t-shirt she was wearing and then just like that, the t-shirt was gone and she was standing in front of him in nothing but a thin strip of lace that made up the thong she’d picked out after she showered, just because she knew he’d like it. He smiled and then licked his lips as his sexy eyes trailed over her body. Taking both of her hands and moving them behind her back he said, “Keep them there.” Sally did as she was told and was glad she did when she felt his full lips against her neck. Evan was sometimes in a hurry when they fucked, but that night he was making it obvious that he wasn’t.

  He kissed across her neck, covering every part of it before starting over; only his second time across, he sucked pieces of her sensitive flesh in between his teeth and nipped at it, causing her body to break out in goosebumps that covered every part of her. He continued kissing her down to her shoulders and across them, at last landing on one of her steel-hard nipples. His mouth began to do sexy things to those nipples, and every so often he’d stop and suck in as much of the fleshy mound as his mouth could hold. Sally’s knees were getting weak, and she wanted to drop down onto the couch, or take him to her bedroom...but when Evan slipped his huge hand down into the front of her panties, she forgot everything else. Evan took his time there too, continuing to torture her breasts and nipples as he did. He held open her lips with two fingers and let his thumb press into her hard clit and roll it around in circles. He teased and tantalized until the moisture was running down the insides of Sally’s thighs...and then he slipped two thick fingers up inside of her all at once, pressing in hard so that they went in as far as she could take them. Sally cried out but Evan was undeterred. He kept telling her in French that she was beautiful as he held her upright with one hand and fucked her wildly with the other. The sounds of her wet pussy as he moved several fingers in and out of her, and the smell of
their lust in the room, and just the feel of his hard body pressed into hers were almost too much for her to take. When she couldn’t possibly hold back a second longer, Sally defied orders and brought her hands around to reach up and circle his shoulders. She spread her legs a little wider, tipped her head back, and dug her fingernails into his light brown skin while he pounded his hand into her pussy, and invaded her soaked tunnel with his fingers. Evan didn’t stop until Sally was almost knocked off her feet by the orgasm that slammed into her, and the period of quivering and breathlessly whispering his name had passed.

  Sally was still trying to catch her breath when he lifted her up off her feet, cradled her into his arms, and carried her the few steps down the hallway to her bedroom. Like the caveman he was sometimes, Evan lifted his foot as if to kick in the door that blocked him from her bed. Thankfully he waited a beat, giving Sally time to turn the doorknob and push the door in. She was carried over and tossed down onto the bed, and seconds later he was ripping the tiny thong off her body and tossing it aside. He didn’t say a word, only let out a sound like someone who had just tasted a yummy cake as he dove headfirst into her pussy. Sally lay back and spread her legs wide open, loving the feel of his facial hair on the insides of her thighs, and of course the feel of his lips and tongue, sliding down her pussy and sucking on her engorged clit. She got crazy loud, pulled his hair and dug her fingernails into his back, but all of that only encouraged him to bury his face deeper and go at it harder. She was screaming, “Fuck! Fuck, Evan! Oh fuck!” right before the second he hit that spot and she exploded, all over his gorgeous face. Then after several of the sexiest licks ever, his giant body was suddenly on top of hers and his lips sucking the breath out of her lungs again as he roughly shoved himself inside of her like he couldn’t wait a second longer. He fucked her then, not like her young friend, or even her young lover Evan, but like the incredibly hot, passionate, sexy, Cajun MC King he was, and there was nothing better, or maybe even nothing else at all in Sally’s world, when Blackheart was inside of her.

  3

  Two Days Later

  Blackheart sat at the desk in his office and impassively watched the two detectives come through the door. Detectives Petit and Stone were as ever-present in the Jokers clubhouse as some of the local hang-arounds were. Sometimes Blackheart wondered why they bothered because nothing ever came of their time there in the end...except that the male detective, Petit, had made a few contacts with some of the girls that Blackheart knew he cultivated outside of the club...and often.

  He waited until they had crossed the fairly large room before standing up and offering them a smile. “Detectives, how nice to see you.” Carla Stone, the detective who was originally from Los Angeles, eyeballed the eight-foot alligator hanging behind Blackheart’s desk every time she came into the room, like she was afraid it was going to climb down off the wall and eat her. She seemed too fussy to Blackheart to be a cop in Jefferson Parish, but in a lot of ways that worked for him, so he wasn’t complaining. “Please, have a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?”

  “We’re not here on a social call,” Petit said, playing the tough dick role that he thought people actually bought. Blackheart had known the cop since he was in diapers, and although he was smart, and tech savvy, Blackheart didn’t believe Petit had balls big enough to go up against the MC he’d built, all while dealing with the tourists and all of the other crimes happening in and around New Orleans. But again...it worked for him.

  “Well then,” he said, taking his seat. “Let’s have it. I’ve got a few things I still have to get to this afternoon.”

  Stone rolled her eyes and said, “Like gun running and drug dealing?”

  Blackheart grinned at her and said, “To name a few.” Petit raised his hand slightly before Stone said anything else. They both sat down and Petit said:

  “Christoff is dead.”

  Blackheart was surprised they’d found him so soon if at all, but he was sure his face didn’t show it as he said, “That’s good news.” He’d have to deal with the hows and whys of it later.

  “Did you have anything to do with it?” Blackheart wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. He wondered if they knew how stupid that question was...like maybe he would simply say, “Of course. I slit his throat and left him to finish bleeding out in the swamp.”

  “I wish.”

  Stone narrowed her eyes at him and said, “I’m tired of these games we play with you, Blackheart. If you had anything to do with Christoff’s death, we’re going to find out and you’re going to be arrested.”

  Blackheart leaned back in his chair, propped his long legs up on his desk, folded his arms and said, “Can I ask you a question, Detective?”

  “You can ask,” she said, haughtily.

  “Have you seen the photos of what Christoff did to his victims?”

  “Alleged victims. He was never charged with anything.”

  Blackheart nodded. “Right. A man kills and dismembers women for over thirty years and yet the fabulous sheriff’s department here in Jefferson Parish, the St. Mary’s Parish one, and the FBI can’t find and arrest him. Sad, don’t you think?”

  “The point here is not what Christoff did or didn’t do,” she said. “You are not the police, and taking the law in your own hands or just trying to get vengeance for your girlfriend is a crime.” Sally. That was exactly who he killed Christoff for. His heart broke for the other women, but if the man hadn’t touched Sally, he might still be breathing so the police could finally pursue that case they’d had against him for years. Christoff knew exactly who he was messing with when he went after Sally, even though Blackheart was still young then, and the club was new. But he’d been too stupid or arrogant to know what the consequences of that would be and Blackheart wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. As a matter of fact he’d slept like a baby just knowing the piece of shit was rotting in hell. He looked at Petit now, the cop who knew him as well as any of his own men did, and he said:

  “So where exactly did you find our friend, Christoff?”

  “Huh-uh,” the woman said, obviously twisting Petit’s balls in the sling she held them in, “we’re asking the questions.”

  “Well, so far, I’ve answered your questions,” Blackheart told her. “Do you have any others?”

  “Not at this...” Petit began.

  Again, she interrupted her partner and Blackheart began to wonder exactly what it was she had on the twenty-year veteran of the sheriff’s department that he would let his rookie partner walk all over him that way. “Where were you on the 29th at 7 p.m?” Stone asked.

  Blackheart put a finger to his lips and narrowed his eyes like he was thinking. He made them sit in silence for several minutes before saying, “I’d have to check my calendar to be sure, but I believe I was in Baton Rouge until about midnight.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Conducting business,” he said.

  “What kind of business?”

  “Selling my crawfish, what else?” Blackheart did have a legitimate business, the one he’d inherited from his father. He employed about twenty people and at the end of the crawfish season, he usually made enough money that he could live comfortably on until the next one started, that was if he needed it. The club made more money than he’d make in his life on the boat, but the club, to him at least, was not about money. The club was what had saved his life, and it was the only thing that kept him anchored most days, not that he’d explain any of that to a rookie woman cop with an obvious dislike of men, and maybe southerners in general.

  The woman stood up and shoved the chair she’d been sitting in against Blackheart’s desk. She was having a little temper tantrum and Petit at least had the decency to look embarrassed by it when she said, “Fuck this! You go ahead and enjoy your stupid little games for now, but I promise you we’ll be the ones to have the last laugh here.” Blackheart smiled to himself. He’d been doing what he did since the woman in front of him was trying to win a race against the res
t of her daddy’s sperm. He wondered if she really believed the bullshit she was spouting. One look at Petit told him that the older, more experienced detective did not. He stood up too and when Blackheart got to his feet and offered his hand, Petit took it. If looks could kill, the detective would have dropped dead from the one Stone shot him. She stormed toward the door and pulled it open, but before she went through it Blackheart said:

  “You know, you might want to talk to Pops.” Both detectives stopped in their tracks. Pops was an old man that lived on the corner of Canal and Bourbon Streets in New Orleans. No one knew how old he actually was, but Blackheart’s Paw told him Pops was an old man when he was a kid...and Blackheart believed him. He wasn’t a firm believer in anything voodoo, but Pops knew everything that went on in New Orleans and the surrounding parishes...too much for Blackheart to shrug him off. Too much for the Jokers to not have him on their payroll as well, which the female detective obviously knew somehow, proving it as she turned to Blackheart and said:

  “Right, we’ll waste our time talking to a crazy old man who slurs his speech worse than you do and lives off your dime.” Blackheart was slightly insulted by her dig at his speech; it was a point of contention with many Cajuns, especially when the insult was thrown out there by some city person from the East or West Coast. But he didn’t allow his expression to change. He simply kept his fake smile in place until the door was slammed shut behind them.

  As soon as it did, the smile disappeared and he mumbled, “Slur my speech.” He dropped down into his chair and fished through his desk for a bottle of aspirin. “Fuck her.” He popped four of the pills into his mouth and washed them down with the lukewarm remnants of his morning cup of coffee before picking up the phone and pressing in a number that would ring out front. When it was picked up by his second in command, a crazy, hard-living, hard-loving Cajun they called “Le Singe,” he said: