Chapter 15 #2
"Tough Rider and Roughneck Armorworks are looking for riders to sponsor. They might be a good place to start." Jax winks.
"How do you know that?" I question.
"I know everything." He grins.
I glance at the rounded logs in the ceiling.
"Don't worry, you'll get your money's worth for the work you put in. Besides, I heard he owes you quite a bit from last night."
I rise and put my hand on my hip, attempting one final time to get out of this. "This isn't okay, Jax. There are a dozen other people who could be his agent. You already said you know… Well, you know that we have a past. Please, I don't want to work with him."
Jax replies, "Which is why you deserve to make money off of him."
"I don't want to make money off of him," I claim.
Jax shrugs. "Sorry, I do, and you're going to help me. Now, is there anything else we need to talk about?" He gives me a this-conversation-is-over look.
My insides quiver. I cave, realizing there's nothing else I can say. I push the chair in and leave the house without another word. The cold air hits me in the face, slapping me several times until I get to the car.
Wyatt's in the driver's seat.
I open the passenger door since it's the closest. "Get out of the car, I'm driving."
He barks, "No, I am. So get in, or I'll leave you here with him." He turns on the engine.
Infuriated, I slide into the seat and slam the door. "This is my car. You don't have the right to make decisions on whether I'm driving or not."
He reaches over me to grab my seat belt, and his familiar scent flares around me.
I push at him. "What are you doing?"
He turns his face and slides his hands over my waist with the seat belt.
I stiffen, holding my breath.
The click of the buckle is loud in the otherwise quiet car.
His breath hits mine, his lips an inch from my mouth. "Did you convince him that this isn't happening, sugar?"
My pulse skyrockets. Tingles race down my back.
I spout, "What do you think?"
Disappointment fills Wyatt's face. He leans back and shakes his head. "I don't know what the old man's thinking."
"What happened the last time you saw him?" I demand.
Wyatt shifts into drive and accelerates down the driveway. "A lot of stuff that shouldn't have."
"Like what?"
"I told you before, Willow, I'm not going to talk about it." He squeezes the steering wheel as he passes the gate.
"I have a right to know," I claim.
He grunts. "Yeah? What gives you that right?"
"The fact that I'm your agent now."
He glances at me. "I haven't agreed to let you be my agent."
I sarcastically laugh. "One, I don't want to be your agent. Two, we have no choice unless you die or a bull paralyzes you. So unless one of those two things happens, I'm pretty sure I have to represent you, even though I'd rather crawl into a grave and let them pour dirt on me."
His lips curve. "Really? You'd rather be down there just clawing through the dirt, trying to get out?"
"Yep."
He leans his head closer, asking, "What would you scream?"
Butterflies flood my stomach. "What?"
"If you were in a grave trying to get out? Would you scream the basic 'help!' or something else?" he asks.
I open my mouth to answer, then shut it.
Don't fall for his charm again.
"I don't know. Stop asking me strange questions."
"You're the one who brought it up," he points out.
"No, I didn't."
"You did. You said you would rather crawl into a grave and let them pour dirt on you than represent me," he argues.
"Ugh, shut up," I say, crossing my arms and looking out the window.
"Suit yourself, sugar." He chuckles and turns up the music. We drive down several back roads.
After a few minutes, he turns the music down. "You really want to know what happened between Jax and me?"
I uncross my arms and turn toward him, softening my tone. "Yeah."
"Fine. I'm sure you're going to find out anyway. However, I'm fairly certain you can guess what happened. You want to take a stab?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No."
He turns his gaze back toward the road, taking several deep breaths, then admits, "I gambled my World Championship belt away."
My head jerks backward, and I gape at him.
He continues, "Jax was so proud of it. He never could earn it himself, and I think the next best thing for him was when I won it."
"Wyatt Houston! Why would you do that?" I scold.
Shamefaced, he quietly says, "Because I owed people money. Why else would I do it?"
I stare at him, shocked into silence.
He adds, "I was in debt pretty bad, Willow. I needed the money. The guys I borrowed from weren't the type you don't pay back."
I swallow hard, my heart racing faster. Gambling has always been part of the Texan lifestyle that I know.
My family owns a race horse business. My brothers got the itch to place bets when they were barely ten.
Wyatt was right in it with them, but he never seemed to listen to my father's warnings about being a "smart gambler.
" Not that I know if such a thing really exists.
The way I see it, you either win or lose. Smarts don't really come into play.
Wyatt takes a deep breath and adds, "Jax loved that belt. He warned me not to gamble with the men I borrowed from, but I didn't listen. It was just like his warnings not to get into bar fights or drink too much."
I take all of it in, imagining all the scenarios Wyatt's describing.
He continues, "He was on his last straw with me. When they came after me, the only thing I had of value was that belt, so I went and pawned it."
I gasp. "You pawned it? They probably gave you pennies on the dollar. That was pure gold."
I can almost see the guilt and shame pouring from him when he mutters, "You don't even want to know what they gave me."
I study him closer. My pulse beats so hard, it makes me dizzy. I can't help but ask, "What did you get for it?"
Wyatt clenches his jaw, and it twitches. He finally meets my eye. "A thousand dollars."
My eyes widen in shock.
"Yep. I thought you were going to feel that way," he says, then focuses once more on the road, slowing down to take a curve.
"That belt has to be worth at least $20,000 on a bad day," I remind him, stunned he'd sell his World Championship belt.
Wyatt's nostrils flare. He tightens his fist around the wheel and then glances at me. Self-loathing coats his words as he declares, "Now you know the big secret about why Jax McCoy hates me. And the truth about how far I've fallen."