Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOHNNY “HAWK” MANN
I remember the first time Jo expressed interest in opening her own salon, it was in one of her very first letters, and she went into great detail about it, describing everything from how many chairs she would have in the waiting area, to the hardware on the sinks. She wanted a modern aesthetic. Clean lines, and all black furniture. Gold accents were a must too, and they’d be in the form of mirrors and chandeliers. She said the reception area had to be perfect too, and she wanted a little bit of a dramatic flair since it would be the first thing people saw when they walked into the salon. A black epoxy desk that spanned the length of the area and sat in front one of those trendy flower walls. Centered on that wall would be the logo to Jo’s Beauty Bar.
At the time she didn’t have a logo designed, and I took it upon myself to sketch a few things out. When I sent my next letter, I included my drawings. One of the logo I designed, and another of the salon as I saw it in my head after I read her letter.
I was no artist, so they were subpar at best, and that’s being generous.
So you can imagine my surprise when I saw my drawing of the salon on the corkboard next to her reception desk, with a pink Post It attached to it that read goals.
I didn’t call her out on why she had kept it, though, and that’s mainly because I could see she was struggling. The salon was nothing like she had envisioned. For starters all the furniture was mismatched and showed evidence of wear and tear. There were no fancy light fixtures, just standard halogen lamps in a drop ceiling, and the only thing I could find her logo on was the small sign that was taped to the front door.
But it was all hers, and that was something to be proud of. Her dream wasn’t just words on a piece of paper, it was alive, and it had room to grow.
I fixed her sink, and I found myself making mental notes of all the other things I could do to help, like sand down the furniture and paint it black. The walls could use some paint too, and I could swap all the knobs on the cabinets above the sinks for gold hardware. Little things here and there that would make it look more like it did in her dreams.
Jo wouldn’t be receptive to me offering a hand, and I didn’t know where I was going to find the time to do any of that—for fuck’s sake, I was already over extended. But I didn’t really give a damn. As she locked up the salon and pulled down the rolling gate, I vowed to do whatever I could to help Jo’s Beauty Bar become the salon of her dreams.
I told myself I’d be doing it for Andrew, that if he were here himself, he’d do the same. But I had a nagging feeling that wasn’t true. He had to have known her salon was in shambles, and he didn’t lift a finger to help. Sure, Jo could be a brat, she’s stubborn as all hell and too proud for her own good, but not with her brother. I’m missing a piece of the puzzle. Something must’ve happened between them—a disconnect somewhere along the lines.
But even as I mulled all that over, I knew deep down my need to help Jo with the salon had nothing to do with my loyalty to her brother and everything to do with me trying to find my place in her life, knowing she has every intention of cutting me loose as soon as we lay Andrew to rest.
“I’ll be quick,” Jo says, fitting her key into her lock. “I’m just gonna grab a few things, and then we can go.”
“Take your time,” I tell her as she opens the door to her apartment, and steps inside, leaving the door open for me to follow. “I called Leftie. He and one of the prospects are going to grab my bike from Andrew’s. I still gotta make a stop in Poplar Creek, but at least that’s one thing knocked off the list.”
I shut the door and turn around, my eyes flitting around her apartment, taking in all the little touches that make it hers as she drops her keys on the small island that separates the kitchen from the living area. She rounds the island and opens the fridge, retrieving two bottles of water. Then she comes back to me and offers one to me.
Taking it from her, I mutter my thanks, and unscrew the cap. I take a long pull from the bottle, my eyes sweeping around the space once again. “Your place is nice, Jo.”
“I’d give you a tour, but there isn’t much else to see.” She points to the hallway just right of her living room. “My bedroom is right there, and I have a small half bath connected to it. The layout is a little weird. I don’t like the fact people have to go walk through my bedroom to get to the bathroom, but it is what it is. It’s not like I entertain all that much.”
I cover the water bottle and set it back on the counter before tossing her a wink.
“Good thing I don’t have to take a leak then.”
She cracks the briefest of smiles, then juts her thumb over her shoulder and heads for her bedroom to pack a bag. While she does that, I take it upon myself to get a better look at the framed photos she keeps underneath her television. Most of them are of her and Andrew. There’s one of them two of them with their parents, and another of them with their Aunt Barbara. It had to be taken before the stroke because the photo was taken on her front porch. Aunt Barbara, and Jo are smiling, but Andrew isn’t. It’s an odd photo to display considering how miserable he looks, but that mean mug was a permanent fixture on his face after we returned to the states. I can’t recall a time when he ever fucking smiled.
Jo returns a couple of minutes later carrying two tote bags.
“I didn’t know you were moving in with me.” I quip, taking the bags from her. Her cheeks flame slightly, but she tries to cover her embarrassment with a dramatic roll of her eyes.
“I needed clothes for the funeral. I couldn’t decide on a pair of shoes, so I took three, but one is for work. And that other bag has all my skin care stuff.”
“I was joking, Jo, but what the hell do you put on your skin that you need a whole separate bag for it?”
“Just the essentials. Oils, moisturizers—oh, and my facial cleanser,” she says as I follow her out of the apartment. She locks up, and we start down the stairs, heading out of the building and to the parking lot where her car waits for us.
“You know I got soap in my bathroom, right? There’s two bars under the sink too.”
“Yes, I’m aware, but I can’t wash my face with a bar of Irish Spring. It’s hell on my skin.”
I don’t know what magic soap she has, but Irish Spring has never failed me. Soap is fucking soap.
“You should’ve said something. I would’ve made sure I had whatever toiletries you needed.”
I drop her bags in the trunk, and slide behind the steering wheel. I don’t remember the last time I drove this much. I definitely don’t miss it, that’s for damn sure.
Peeling out of the spot, I glance over at her. “Have you ever been on a motorcycle before?”
Her eyes find mine and her teeth sink into her lower lip as she shakes her head. My gaze lingers on her mouth, wishing like hell I was the one sinking my teeth into those plump, soft lips. I’m impressed with myself. It’s been hours since I pictured them wrapped tightly around my cock.
“What’d I tell you about biting that lip?”
She quickly releases it, her tongue sneaking out to swipe across it, and that only makes matters worse because I find myself imagining that pink tongue taking long, languid licks of my shaft, flicking across my balls.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
I tear my eyes away from her, and focus on the road, realizing I missed the ramp for highway. I pull a quick U-turn, and silently will my cock to settle down.
“I wouldn’t mind going for a ride.”
Her voice is barely a whisper and for a second, I think I imagined that too. Before I glance at her, I make sure I don’t miss the ramp again, then my gaze flits to her.
“Yeah?”
She shrugs, looking out the passenger window. “I’d like to see what the fuss is all about.” She drags her gaze back to me. “Not tonight, of course. It’s been a long day, and we still have things to do. But…well, one day.” She pauses, looking away again. “Before the funeral. You know…if there’s time.”
There’s no mistaking the blush that stains her cheeks, and before I can think better of it, I remove my hand from the steering wheel and stretch my arm across the console. My hand closes around her thigh and I give it a squeeze. She changed into a pair of leggings when we were back at her apartment, and I wish she’d had chosen a pair of shorts, or better yet a dress.
“Just say when.”
Her eyes flit away from mine, landing on where my hand firmly squeezes her thigh. I wait for her to slap it away, to tell me to keep my hands to myself, but she doesn’t, and for the entire ride to Booker & Mann, I keep it there.
She’s sleeping when I pull onto the property, and rather than wake her, I let her be. I don’t plan on being too long. While I’m responsible for all the contracts and most of the training, we keep a small staff on hand to make sure all the dogs basic needs are met when they’re not training. They change out the kennels, make sure they’re clean and they feed them. Every day, whether they’re training or not, the dogs are taken outside and are given time to run around and stretch their legs. It’s important they get that free time because they spend most their days working. These dogs put just as many hours in as their trainers, and when they’re placed in their permanent positions, that free time is hard to come by.
When I walk into the building, I’m immediately greeted by our overnight staff. They brief me on what’s been going on while I’m gone and show me everything that needs my immediate attention. I’m about to head into my office when the front door swings open and Jo steps inside.
“Hey. You’re awake.”
“Yeah,” she says, tugging her sleeves over her hands. She does that a lot, and I wonder if it’s a habit or if her hands run cold. “So this is Booker & Mann,” she marvels, her eyes drifting all around, taking it all in. The linger on the sign that hangs over the reception area, the one that matches the one I keep in my room at the clubhouse.
“Where are the dogs?”
I set the paperwork I was going to bring to my office on top of the counter and offer her my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
She hesitates for only a moment before sliding her hand into mine, intertwining our fingers and I get the answer to my sleeve question—the girl’s hands are ice fucking cold. As I lead her toward the kennels, I cover our joined hands with my free one, encompassing as much heat as I can.
“Are your hands always this cold?”
“I have the circulation of a ninety-year-old woman. Be happy you don’t share a bed with me, I’d torture you with my arctic feet.”
That’s a small price I wouldn’t mind paying to feel her next to me. Last night I gave her my bed and took one of the spares at the clubhouse, but I struggled to keep myself in check, knowing crawling into bed with her would be a bad move on my part.
I hum. “That’s what socks are for.”
We turn the corner and the muffled sounds of the dogs barking get louder and louder as we draw closer to the kennels.
“I can’t sleep with socks on,” Jo shares, raising her voice to speak over the dogs. We reach the door to the kennels, and I pull my access badge out from my leather kutte, swiping through the security reader. The door unlocks and I hold it open for her. She goes to walk in front of me but pauses, and turns her head, her eyes locking with mine. “Tell me you don’t sleep with socks.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Why? Is that a deal breaker for you?”
She glances over her shoulder at me. “Total deal breaker,” she replies and even though she keeps a straight face, her tone holds a hint of tease. It’s not a side of her that she’s granted me much access to, but I wouldn’t mind seeing more of it. That’s why I follow her into the kennels and crowd her space. My chest presses against her back, and I gently move her hair over her shoulder, granting me access to her ear.
My breath whisps over her earlobe, and I fight the urge to pull it between my teeth, knowing very well I don’t have the will to keep it there. My mouth would descend onto her neck, sucking and kissing a path down to where her sweatshirt hangs loosely off her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, darlin,’ I don’t make a habit of wearing anything when I sleep.”
She shudders against me but doesn’t say a word. I pull myself together and back away from her, my gaze zeroing in on the kennel closest to us. I step around Jo, and open the gate, greeting the dogs I’ve spent hours conditioning. I soak up the attention, and drop to my knees, letting them bombard me.
“Are they all that friendly?” Jo asks from the gate.
Alternating petting each dog, I turn to her. “No. They’re usually very laid back, and I don’t make a habit of getting too attached.”
“I imagine that would be hard,” she says, leaning against the gate. “Getting close and then having them leave to be with their forever owners.”
I nod. “There have been a few incidents where I’ve gotten lucky. Like, Ghost’s woman, Birdie. She’s blind, and when he came to me in search of guide dog, I was able to hook him up with one I grew an attachment too. Now, I get to see Lucy any time I want. Same goes for the dog I gave Maverick and Holly’s son.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Ghost or Birdie.”
“Ghost was there last night. Tall guy, beard. Doesn’t say much, just quietly assesses everything.” I draw my attention back to the dogs as they take turns jumping on me. “You’ll probably meet Birdie and the rest of the women when we get back to the clubhouse. When we have other clubs visit, they usually hang around to make sure everyone is taken care of.”
“I’m afraid to ask how they take care of a rowdy bunch of men.”
My gaze cuts back at her. “If you’re asking me if they get on their knees to service our cocks the answer is no. Those three women are spoken for, and they’re just as much a part of the club as any man with a reaper on his back. That’s not saying there aren’t women that sometimes hang around, ready and willing to offer their mouths, but that’s a rare occurrence since Holly and Maverick got back together, and those women only get in the door if someone brings them in. Most of the time it’s Torque, and he is a greedy motherfucker.”
“What about you?”
I narrow my eyes. “What about me?”
“Are you a greedy motherfucker?”
“Not much into sharing, Jo, especially not pussy once I consider it mine.”
Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of red, and she quickly diverts her eyes back to the dogs. But I’m not willing to end the conversation there. I want to keep that stain on her cheeks.
“What about you? You don’t strike me as the type of girl who enjoys a threesome, but I bet you’re greedy as fuck in bed.”
Her eyes snap back to me, all wild and full of something I can’t quite place, and her lips part in shock. I spent many a night imagining what Josephine Booker would look like when she’s turned on, and I’m thinking I’m finally getting a glimpse.
“That’s highly inappropriate and none of your business.”
I laugh, we’re talking full on belly laugh.
“Yeah, you are definitely a greedy little thing.”
She smacks her lips shut and crosses her arms against her chest, her pretty eyes narrowing into tiny slits as she glares at me.
“There’s nothing wrong with a woman knowing what she wants in the bedroom and going after it.”
Fuck no there isn’t. There ain’t anything sexier than an unapologetic woman chasing her own pleasure.
A grin spreads across my face. “Are you trying to get me hard?”
“You’re incorrigible,” she hisses, those cheeks of hers getting even redder which only makes my grin spread even wider.
“I don’t even know what that means, but keep talking dirty to me, baby. I like it.”
She rolls her eyes, carefully stepping inside the kennel.
“Stop talking with your dick, Johnny, and tell me more about the dogs.” She bends down and pets one. “They’re cuter than you, anyway.”
“Yeah? That mean you’re having second thoughts about Chestnut?”
She peers back at me. “I already told you, I’m not allowed pets. Plus, you’ve seen my apartment. It’s the size of a shoebox. It wouldn’t be fair to him, even if I could keep him.” She looks back at the dog that’s currently licking her hand.
Lucky bastard.
“Can I ask you something?” she whispers.
“Sure.”
“You said you visited Andrew and saw he was suffering, but you didn’t get into specifics with how Chestnut became his. I can’t imagine he asked you for a service dog. He was too proud.”
“He didn’t, but at the time, I didn’t know how else to help.”
“Was he receptive to him?”
Repositioning myself, I fall back on my ass, and lean against the cage of the kennel, silently recalling the day I brought Chestnut to meet Andrew. When he first opened the door, and saw the dog, I don’t think he knew my intentions. It wasn’t odd for a man who made a living working with dogs, to have one at his side. He offered me a beer and tried to hide the fact he was on a bender. I started drilling him about the nightmares and asked him if he’d been to the V.A. and he shut me down. That’s when I explained the reason behind my visit and told him Chestnut was his. He told me to take my dog and shove it up my ass, that he didn’t need no fucking service dog. But I wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when he threatened to harm Chestnut. I knew the man wouldn’t harm a hair on that dog’s fucking head.
I meat Jo’s gaze.
“Not at first. He was in denial about his condition.”
“So what changed?”
I shrug. “I’m honestly not sure. I left Chestnut with him, and a couple of hours later I got a text from him. It was a photo of Chestnut sitting beside him on the couch. I didn’t hear anything else from him for another two days, then he sent me another picture of Chestnut running around what looked like a park and told me to come get my dog. Four weeks after I dropped Chestnut with him, I received another text. This time there was no photo attached. Just two words.”
Tears well in Jo’s eyes, but she blinks them away.
“Let me guess, fuck you ?”
I shake my head. “Thank you.”
A tear slips from the corner of her eye, and she lowers her head, her shoulders shaking as a sob racks through her. I quickly crawl across the kennel floor to pull her into my arms, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
“He wasn’t well, Jo, and he refused to get the proper help he required to get better. We could beat ourselves up over it, but at the end of the day, it won’t bring him back.”
I don’t want to say it, because it feels wrong to even think it but Andrew is at peace now. His demons can’t wreck anymore havoc on him.
“I think it went deeper than that,” she murmurs, as she disengages from my embraces. “I think Andrew was in trouble. The last we spoke, he asked me to take a loan out on the salon. He wouldn’t tell me what he needed the money for and hung up on me when I told him I couldn’t.”
My brows pinch at that revelation. I think if Andrew was in financial trouble, he would’ve come to me before burdening his sister. As unrecognizable as he had become, one thing never changed—and that was his love and admiration for his Jo. He considered her a pain in the ass for sure, and he had a weird way of showing his love toward her, always brushing her off when she tried to do right by him, but anyone who knew Andrew, knew Jo was the center of his world.
But drugs will make you lose sight of that.
“Jo, your brother wasn’t in trouble. He was hooked on prescription drugs,” I reveal. “He’d refill his prescription on the first of every month and by the third, he was cashing his disability check, handing every red cent to his dealer. Don’t you dare beat yourself up over that. If you would’ve given him that money, the outcome would’ve been the same.”
She closes her eyes at that and bows her head. “You don’t know that. He didn’t overdose, Johnny. He shot himself.”
I lift her chin with my thumb, forcing her eyes to lock with mine.
“If it wasn’t a bullet, it would’ve been the drugs. He didn’t want to live anymore, baby. He didn’t know how to.” Another tear slides down her cheek, and I move my hand from under her chin to catch it with my thumb. “And that’s no ones fault, least of all yours.”
“It feels like it is.”
I drop my hand away from her face and wrap my arms around her, pulling her against my chest. She comes willingly, burying her face in the cotton of my tee, as her fists clutch the ends of my kutte.
“I promise you it isn’t,” I murmur, my lips brushing across the top of her head.
Damn you, Andrew.
Damn you for saving me over there.
And damn you for dying here.
“If anything, it’s my fault,” I rasp.