“We done?” he asked.
“I hope you’re not, but I’m guessin’ we are,” Shy answered.
Joker grabbed the bottle, didn’t bother pouring, but threw back a long slug.
He slammed it down on the bar, and without looking at either of them, prowled to the back hall.
He went to his room, turned on the light, and put that conversation out of his head.
He might have thought about it. He might have considered butterflies.
But he didn’t.
Because she didn’t remember him.
He thought she did, out on I-25 when he first got close, recognized her, and she peered up at him with those big brown eyes. He thought there was something there.
Then there wasn’t.
It happened again after he was done with her tire. He was sure she recognized him.
Then she didn’t.
In fact, when he first approached her, she looked like she didn’t know whether to scream or run away.
It was low to pretend he didn’t remember her name that day. He saw her hurt. Fuck, he felt it. And he wouldn’t do that kinda shit again.
But that was as far as he’d go.
Her life was fucked and that sucked. Her kid was cute. Unlike her, he didn’t mind bikers, and he looked like her, which was good since her asshole ex was an asshole and that shit was written all over him. Joker was not going to stop the Club from taking her back. Seemed she needed good people in her life, and it was about time she had them. She’d never been good with that, a sworn member of the bitch girls without having the number one quality needed for that crew, being a bitch.
But she’d get her shit sorted. If she was looking to get laid, she’d find that too. With her bigger tits and sweet round ass, all that fucking hair, those eyes, she was the one who just had to crook her finger.
And when she was ready to find a man who wanted butterflies in his bed and wanted to keep them there, she’d find that too. Not a problem.
It just wasn’t going to be him.
If she’d given him a smile and said his name, anytime it hit her while he was changing her tire that she remembered him, maybe.
But that was also doubtful.
He couldn’t deny it sucked, she didn’t recognize him. He couldn’t deny that took a bite out of him. But he wasn’t surprised.
Carson Steele was gone. The only place that name existed was on his license. He was Joker. He knew since he’d last seen her that he’d grown taller. He knew he’d put on more muscle. He didn’t shave and hadn’t cut his hair in years so that wasn’t the same either. And he’d seen a lot, done a lot, fucked a lot, fought a lot since then. He was not the kid she knew.
But bottom line, Joker only did empty *, and he didn’t foresee a day that was going to change. There was no denying what Tack had with Cherry, Hop with Lanie, Shy with Tabby was good. That was as clear as it could get. They got what they needed in their beds and their lives, and they didn’t fuck around in letting their women know they appreciated it.
But Joker was not Tack, Hop, or Shy. No matter he turned his back on the name given him, he was Jefferson Steele’s son.
And he always would be.
He took Shy and Rush’s point that he didn’t give back to his brothers, and they were right. That shit had to change. This was solid. It was good. It was real. It was his. He’d gone for it. He’d earned it. Finally, he had a family, one he wanted.
And maybe it was time to let back in other good things in his life.
But he was giving Carissa Teodoro the only thing he could give her.
And that was the only thing she’d get from Joker.
He moved into the room, shrugging off his cut. He was tossing it to the end of the bed when he saw someone had put Carissa’s pie on the nightstand. Shoved the change, army knives, condom wrappers, and empty beer bottles out of the way and laid it there, fully intact, plastic wrap still on.
Like he couldn’t stop himself, he walked right to it, tore back the wrap and dug his fingers in at the side. A huge piece covering his curved fingers broke off in his hand.
He lifted it and shoved as much as he could get in his mouth.
And went still.
Every punch he’d landed. Every kick. Every time a man went down at his feet. Every time he’d sunk his cock into tight wet. The moment Kane Allen told him he was a Chaos recruit. The day they handed him his patch.
None of it tasted as good on his tongue as that pie.
Fuck.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and ate the rest from his hand, licking his fingers.
Then he dug in and ate more.
When he was full and a third of the pie was gone, he smoothed the wrap back over it, went to the bathroom, took a shower and washed sweat and blood from his skin, the residue of used condom and empty * from his cock.
When he was done, he wandered back to the room, turned out the light, fell into bed, and slept with his stomach full of Carissa Teodoro’s chocolate pecan goodness.
And when he woke up, he had the rest for breakfast.
Chapter Five
I Had This
Carissa
I SAT AT my kitchen bar looking with tired, puffy eyes at the items I’d laid on it.
My eyes were puffy because Tyra and Lanie had come over with dinner last night to join Elvira and me and they’d stayed awhile. They’d been sweet and supportive in a genuine way that I regrettably had little experience with, which was also why I didn’t quite trust it.
Still, I’d given it to them. Everything.
Althea dying.
Aaron asking me out in high school, and since he was rich, cute, and a good football player, my acceptance, catapulting me into the popular kids, a place where I’d never really felt comfortable, but I’d stayed.
Mom dying.
The gossip that said Aaron had had sex with my supposed best friend Marley when we were juniors, doing this because I wouldn’t put out. But he’d stuck with me for some reason, even though I didn’t put out until the day before he took off to Massachusetts to go to college.