Jackson: Chapter 10

Jackson remained utterly still as he studied River. The woman was serious. She really thought her brother was alive.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Why she hadn’t been upset at Ryker’s funeral. Why she kept returning to this club even when she knew it was dangerous and she wasn’t welcome.

She was trying to find him and bring him home.

River’s eyes never left his, as if she was daring him to tell her she was wrong.

“Why do you think he’s alive?” he asked quietly.

She frowned. “You’re not going to give me a look of pity while telling me you know this is hard but there’s no way he’s alive?”

“Not until I hear the entire story.” He wanted every little detail she had, even though he knew it was almost impossible for the man to be alive. Not after being declared dead by a coroner.

She took a deep breath. “I saw him. At two thirty that night.”

It was Jackson’s turn to frown. “That’s not possible. He died at—”

“One fifteen. I know.” She took a small step closer. The sounds of the birds and the wind faded. Her voice was all he heard. “I was in bed, unable to sleep, when I heard a noise from his room. I wanted to talk to him, so I got up. When I opened the door, I saw him climbing out the window. It was dark, and I didn’t see his face. But it was him.”

Jackson’s stomach clenched, dread stabbing at his chest. “Shit, River. It could have been one of them. One of Mickey’s guys.”

She was already shaking her head. “No. It was him. Pretty much all I saw was his back, but I know my brother. And I’m sure he tried to get out quickly because he heard me coming. Besides, if he was a bad guy, why would he run? And what would Mickey or his guys even want from his room?”

Was she trying to convince him or herself?

She swallowed. “It was him, Jackson.”

He blew out a long breath, running his gaze along the street above her head. He’d give anything for her to be right. For the man he considered a brother to be alive.

But he knew the chances of that being the case were slim to none.

“This isn’t about grief, Jackson. At the time, I didn’t know he’d been declared dead, so I had no reason to doubt what I saw.”

“Did you go straight back to bed after?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I tried calling him, but it went to voicemail. I eventually went to sleep, telling myself I’d ask him about it in the morning.”

He gave a slow nod.

“Do you believe me?”

His muscles bunched because he knew what she wanted to hear. What she was desperate to hear. He could lie. But at the same time, he couldn’t. Not to River. Not about this. “I don’t know.”

A partial lie. Because he was certain Ryker was dead. But now, there was a trickle of doubt surrounding the circumstances of his death. Maybe there was more to that night than had been reported.

To River’s credit, she didn’t look disappointed by his answer. Maybe she’d been expecting a resounding “no”.

“Who else have you told?” he asked.

“Just Michele.”

Not a surprise. If he’d been expecting anyone to know, it was her.

She wet her lips before she started walking again. “I think what I found in that basement is connected to all of this.”

He walked beside her, only needing one step for every two of hers. “What did you find?”

A beat of silence. “A cage-fighting ring. Which makes sense. Ryker was coming home with bruises and black eyes.”

Ryker was a good fighter. They both were. Even as kids, they’d spent way too much time in Larry’s ring.

“That doesn’t explain why his car went off a bridge.”

“I know.” Her features hardened. “But I plan to find out.”

Hell no.

This time, he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “You are not investigating this. You’ve told me. I’ll tell Dec and Cole. We’ll take care of it.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d say that. I can figure this out.”

Goddamn, this woman. “No. If you’re right, there’s dangerous shit going down in that place. I want you as far away from it as possible.”

Hell, if it were up to him, he’d have her shipped to another damn state.

Her arms crossed over her chest. “I’m not staying out of it, Jackson.”

He took a step forward, hands gripping her hips. When he spoke, his words were low and clear. “Leave it to us, River.”

When her eyes darkened, he sucked in a breath, knowing she didn’t respond well to intimidation. She responded to calm rationale.

His grip on her softened, along with his voice. “Please, Rae. Trust me to get to the bottom of this.”

Some of the anger faded from her features. When her hands went to his chest, desire rippled inside him. “I’ll trust you. But if I can help, I will. I have to.”

Her words were firm. And he knew that, for the moment at least, there was no talking her down. It would have to be enough. For now.

Her fingers grazed against his chest. And when their gazes clashed, his breath almost stalled. Because in her eyes, he saw everything. The teenage girl he’d fallen in love with but had denied himself. The strong, courageous woman who loved hard and fought for those she cared about even harder.

Before he could stop himself, he dipped his head, capturing her mouth.

River’s hands immediately went to his shoulders, her fingers digging into his skin.

When her tongue slipped between his lips, he growled deep in his chest. Taking. Tasting. Giving.

For a moment, time stood still, the past and present merging. He was both the teenager who needed her but couldn’t have her and the man who was just realizing he’d never stop loving her.

They kissed and touched, grazing each other’s skin like they needed to feel every inch of the other person, neither of them caring that they stood by the side of a street.

When they finally came up for air, he lowered his head, touching his forehead to hers.

He couldn’t lose her. He’d do whatever it took to protect her, while also finding out exactly what happened to her brother.

“She really believes he’s alive?”

Jackson’s fingers tightened on the wheel at Cole’s question. “Yes.”

But it couldn’t be true. The second he’d left her place, Jackson had gone down to speak to the coroner in person. The man had reiterated what he already knew. Ryker had been identified through his dental records.

“But I’m starting to believe maybe his death wasn’t an accident, and we’re going to find out.”

“Damn straight,” Declan said from the back seat.

He pulled up out front of the club. It was only four in the afternoon, but he was counting on the owner being there. The hard part would be getting inside.

The three of them climbed out of the car, heading toward the door. He’d barely raised his hand to knock when it was pulled open. It was one of the assholes who’d stood behind Mickey last night.

“We’re closed.”

He went to pull the door shut, but Jackson stopped it with his foot. “We’re here to see Mickey.”

The guy’s lips thinned. “He’s not expecting any visitors, so fuck off.”

He tried pushing again, but Jackson put a hand on the door, too, holding it firm and easily keeping the thing open.

The guy’s chest expanded. “You fucking deaf, buddy?”

Jackson kept his features completely neutral. “We’re here to speak to Mickey. And we’re not leaving until we do.”

The man’s free hand fisted at his side. Jackson’s muscles tightened, preparing for the guy to swing. He could feel his team tensing around him, ready for whatever came next.

The ringing of a phone cut through the tense silence. The guy’s fingers un-fisted to answer it.

“Yeah, boss?” His jaw ticked. Then there was a quick nod. “Got it.”

When he looked back to them, his jaw was still rigid. “He’ll see you.”

Declan smiled. “See? All’s good.”

Jackson almost laughed. Trust Declan to smile in a situation like this.

There was a small grunt from the guy before he led them inside. The place looked huge when it was empty. There were a couple of people milling around. Mostly security-looking guys.

The muscle who’d answered the door led them up a spiral staircase. At the top, they walked to a door and knocked.

“Come in.”

Jackson was the first to step inside. A large office. There was a big desk on one side of the room, and on the other, a huge window showing the entire club downstairs.

He cast his gaze back to Mickey.

The guy smiled. “You guys were with River last night.”

Jackson’s muscles bunched. He didn’t even like River’s name falling from the guy’s mouth. “We were. We were also friends with Ryker.”

If he expected a reaction, he didn’t get one. Mickey’s features remained completely clear as he walked around his desk.

The guy who had led them to the office remained inside the room, two other guys stepping in behind him, closing the door.

Jackson only needed a glance their way to know they were armed. Guns in holsters beneath jackets.

“You must be upset about your friend,” Mickey said.

Jackson’s jaw clenched. He opened his mouth, but Cole spoke before he could.

“What was Ryker doing here every Friday night?”

Mickey smiled, but it came out as more of a sneer. “I would’ve thought you’d have that figured out by now. What with River finding the cage last night.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed.

Mickey’s gaze shot back to him. “What? You thought I didn’t know? The second that bitch left my club, I checked the camera feed.”

Jackson shot forward a step, both his fists clenched. “You watch your fucking mouth.”

The guy frowned before laughing. “Ah. I should have known by the way you jumped to her rescue last night. You two are together, no?”

“Leave her out of this. How’d you get Ryker into the cage?”

“Get him?” He looked at his men, all of them chuckling like Jackson had just told a joke. “The man came here in a rage. Wanted to knock my teeth out or some shit.” He shook his head. “His anger…it went deeper than just River. I could see that.”

Mickey walked over to his window, glancing out.

“River had told me that her brother was a soldier. I knew he could box, and I needed a fighter, so I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Fight in my ring. Make some money. And release some of that pent-up fury.”

Guilt once again stabbed at Jackson. Guilt that the only way Ryker had felt he could deal with his rage was with his fists. That Jackson hadn’t been around to help exorcise all that anger.

“So he came every Friday night and got in the ring?” Declan asked.

“He did. Won me a shitload of money, too.” He shook his head. “But that ended when he went and got himself killed. Stupid asshole. He was a sure bet. And now that he’s dead, I’m a fighter down. That’s one less fight each week.”

This time it was Cole who took a threatening step forward, but Jackson held his arm out, stopping him.

“How does it work?” he asked.

Mickey studied him. “The cage fighting? The guys start at the bottom and work their way up. One fight a week. He was halfway through the other fighters. And he was annihilating every opponent.” The guy shook his head. “Fucking impossible to replace.”

“I’ll take his place.” Jackson felt the eyes of his guys on him, but they remained silent. He needed an in. A way to get into that basement and find out exactly what Ryker had gotten caught up in. Because if there was any truth to this guy or his club having a hand in Ryker’s death, Jackson would be getting to the bottom of it—and murdering the fuckers.

Something flashed through Mickey’s eyes. Something questioning but also…excited.

Jackson could have laughed. Mickey was a betting man. A money man. A businessman. And he liked the idea of fresh meat in his club. He liked the idea of another sure bet.

“You want to fight in the cage?” Mickey asked.

“I’m just as good a fighter as Ryker.”

Mickey studied him. Weighing his options. He would know he shouldn’t let Jackson or his friends anywhere near the club. Not if he’d had a hand in Ryker’s death. But if he was as greedy as Jackson thought he was…

He took a small step forward, not missing the way the guys by the door reached for their guns. “I can be just as profitable as Ryker. I was a Delta. I do what I need to survive. You put me in that ring, and I’ll slaughter any unlucky bastard you put in front of me.”

For a moment, there was silence. He wanted to say yes; Jackson could see it on his face.

“Done. You fight from where Ryker left off, though. That means your first opponent is Thunder. He’s a mean fucker. And the fight doesn’t stop until someone’s beaten into submission or unconscious. Still want to play?”

“Yes.” Hell yes.

“Boss.” Mickey didn’t look at whichever guy said his name. “Elijah won’t like that.”

Elijah…River had mentioned him. She’d overheard one of the guys in the basement say something about a pissing contest between Elijah and Mickey.

Mickey scowled at the guy. “Fuck Elijah.” He turned back to Jackson. “People are charged for admittance and that money is divvied up between the night’s winners. The higher your ranking, the bigger your cut. I take a cut, too.”

Jackson didn’t care about money. He cared about answers. “Great. I’ve got some conditions of my own.”

Mickey almost looked amused. “Do you? Go on then.”

“My guys are allowed in the audience.” He took a small step closer. “And you keep your word about leaving River the hell alone. You don’t touch her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t so much as lay a fucking eyeball on her.”

The guy threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t want that bitch.”

Jackson’s hand itched to reach for his own gun. He only just stopped himself. “I’ll see you Friday night.”