Holiday Havoc (Reckless Bastards MC 7)

“Fuck. Since when is Stitch so fucking tight-lipped?” The kid was the king of the goddamn overshare.

Max let out a heavy sigh and dropped down into his seat beside Savior. “Dodds came to see me at GET INK’D. He came to ask if the Reckless Bastards were doing business with cartels. He had a specific cartel in mind but he didn’t say which one.”

“Cartels?” Savior asked.

Max nodded. “He seemed unusually worried and he only came in for info which I didn’t have.”

“This can’t be a fucking coincidence.” If it was we had to be the unluckiest club on the fucking planet. “We need to find out which cartel it was and we need to find out more about this Marisol chick. Fuck! Where the fuck is Jag?”

Max shrugged. “He left the shop when his shift was over but he’s not answering his phone.”

I knew he was in a funk and I of all people understood what he was going through, but goddammit now was not the time. “Find him. Now.”

Chapter Ten - Jag

I sat inside my house with all the blinds drawn shut so that not an ounce of sunlight could sneak inside, wallowing like a fucking baby. I should just shake it off. Hell, losing Vivi—which was clearly what the fuck was going on—wasn’t even the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I’d lost both of my parents before I made it to adulthood, not to mention all the brothers I’d lost in the service.

This should be small fucking potatoes in comparison. I was alive and well. Should’ve been grateful for the air I breath.

But I wasn’t. No, I was wallowing in pity because Vivi wasn’t here. I hadn’t heard from her, either.

It really pissed me off that once again, the government had taken someone from me. It was bullshit but it was also becoming clear to me that I needed to find a way to get over it. To get used to living without her.

I lived without her for years, and I could do it now.

And the perfect recipe for forgetting was an expensive bottle of Maker’s Mark Vivi had sent last month. I was four shots in when the bell rang and with an angry grunt, I got up to open the door.

“Delivery for Jeremiah Washington.” The kid couldn’t have be more than eighteen with that lanky frame and the last traces of adolescent acne.

“Yeah, that’s me.” I signed for the package, accepted it and kicked the door shut in the kid’s face. The box was relatively small and I opened warily since I hadn’t ordered anything, and there was only one person other than my mom who called me Jeremiah.

That reminder spurred me on, hope swelled inside as I pulled out my knife and sliced through the tape until the flaps swung open, yanking a hard laugh from me.

Inside the box was a small bag of pretzels, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, a black tie and a pair of black Speedos. That was it. No note or instructions. Typical Vivi. I smiled and tossed it on an end table and dropped back down on the sofa, turning back to watching crazy YouTube videos on the TV, trying not to think about her. It made me feel better to see people more fucked up than me right now.

The fucking doorbell rang again.

“What?” I yanked the door open and it was the same fucking kid.

“Sorry sir, this one was separate.” He handed me a smaller box this time, about the size of a jewelry box.

“Thanks, kid. Got anything else?” He face turned pink and he shook his head before turning around and racing down the steps. “Good.” When I tore the small box open I barked out another laugh at the cheesy gold painted CIA badge. Vivi was nuts but as long as she wasn’t here, this was just a tease and I tossed it with the rest of the costume. I wondered if she’d call soon. I needed to hear her voice.

The doorbell chimed again a few minutes later and I about lost my shit the way the Russian drivers on my screen were. “What the fuck?” I yanked the door open and froze.

“Not exactly the greeting I was hoping for. Maybe we should try this again?”

“Damn.” Vivi stood on my doorstep, blue hair now pink, which made her gray eyes look like melted silver. But my eyes were drawn to the skin tight orange jumpsuit that hugged her long legs and sensual curves exactly the way I wanted to.

“What’s with the jumpsuit?”

Her eyes lit with mischief as she licked her lips and slipped past me. “I’m a bad girl, don’t you know? Been serving my time with government suits, keeping me away from my hot chocolate.”

I laughed again and shut the door. Locked it too. Twice. “Hot chocolate?”

She nodded, and I wrapped her in my arms. All the anger floating away as I held her. I breathed in her scent. “Damn, girl, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, lover boy.” She stepped back a little and released a few of the snap buttons on her jumpsuit, revealing a bra that cupped her tits like a pair of hands. The bra had black and white prison stripes. “You’re hot as fuck and pure fucking chocolate, Jeremiah Washington.”