Jax's Dilemma:Insurgents Motorcycle Club (Insurgents MC Romance Book 2) (8 page)

“Just great!” Cherri yelled out to no one. Her other roommate, Ginger, also had a double at Dream House. Cherri, on her only day off in eight days, was left to plunge the sink and clean up the mess.

After the plunger did nothing, Cherri, exasperated, called Emma. “Em, we’ve got a backed-up kitchen sink and nothing I’m doing is helping. I don’t want the water to go into the living room and ruin the carpet. What am I supposed to do? Do I call a plumber or do you take care of it? Not sure.”

“I’ll call the Insurgents; they take care of all that with the properties they own. Sit tight, and someone will be over to fix the problem.”

“Thanks.” Cherri, pissed that her day off was ruined, climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

The Insurgents provided housing for the dancers. They owned several townhomes for the women—three to each unit—and paid for all expenses except groceries, cell phones, and personal incidentals. The houses were comfortable and convenient, close to the club and downtown area, but they lacked the coziness of a home. Each unit had a small living room, a kitchen with an island, a half-bath on the main floor, and three bedrooms upstairs with two bathrooms. Off the kitchen there was a small laundry room, and the back yard had a postage stamp-sized patch of grass and a small deck for a Smoky Joe grill and a bistro table with two chairs.

The color scheme in the townhome was neutral. The couches were various shades of brown and the walls were white with nothing on them—very blah. Most of the women didn’t care about decorating the unit; they used it to sleep in since most of them only planned on staying short-term. The majority of the dancers dreamed about meeting a rich man at the strip bar or hooking up with one of the bikers and being his old lady. Cherri dreamed about being on her own in a respectable job. She hated stripping and it made her feel dirty, but without much education, it was the one job that paid well and gave her a chance at a better life.

Cherri went into her bedroom—her home, her refuge. Unlike her other roommates’ bedrooms, which were just beige and brown, Cherri painted the walls of her room a pale yellow to reflect the light. Having a corner room gave Cherri the light and brightness she loved. A pretty quilted comforter with over-sized pillows covered a double bed. Two white nightstands held wicker-shaded lamps while an overstuffed chair, covered in a floral and striped pattern, nestled in the corner of the room. Two white chests of drawers and a hand-painted trunk held most of her belongings. Next to the bathroom, a small closet overflowed with her clothes and shoes. Cherri’s most recent purchase, a small TV, sat on the corner of a compact writing desk against the wall, facing one of the windows.

On the walls, she hung antique prints of flowers and a few reproduction prints from American artists; her two favorite ones were
Nighthawks
by Edward Hopper and Norman Rockwell’s 1942
Freedom
From Want
. Cherri often looked at the two replicas whenever her life seemed overwhelming or the despair threatened to suffocate her.

She could identify with
Nighthawks
because it dripped with loneliness and estrangement, two things she experienced frequently. Her Norman Rockwell reproduction was her fantasy—a smiling family gathered around the table for Thanksgiving. She knew it was corny—her roommates just shook their heads and whispered about how strange she was for having it—but it was her image of what a happy family was. An image she kept in her heart and what drove her toward her goal of changing her current life to a better one.

As she picked up her hamper of dirty clothes and made her way to the washing machine, she regretted her day off was blown and she couldn’t go to the library as she had planned. She loved going to the library because it was quiet and safe. Always having enjoyed reading, she spent many hours browsing through the book aisles. When she was a child, going to the library was one of her favorite things to do. When she was in high school, it was her hiding place from
him
.
Cherri, don’t go there. Don’t let the images of the past invade your mind. Don’t let them.
She squeezed her eyes shut as if to block off the shadows which always lurked in the dark corners of her mind.

When she heard the doorbell, she jumped, her heart pounding. For a split-second, she didn’t know where she was, imagining she was back in her room at home, terrified that he’d open the door and come in. The bell rang again, snapping Cherri back to reality. Shaking her head, she rushed down the stairs to open the door.

She saw the surprise reflected in Jax’s eyes when he saw her at the door.
What the hell is he doing here? I didn’t expect him to be at the door.
It had been two weeks since Jax and Gunner beat each other up over her—not one of her proudest moments.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“Emma said there was a backed-up sink that needed fixin’?”

“You’re the plumber?”

Chuckling, he said, “Yeah, I do most of the plumbing for the businesses. I got a knack for it—go figure.” He threw her a wide smile that lit up his face. She felt a twinge of warmth from it.

“Okay, then, come on in.” Cherri stepped aside. The narrow foyer made it awkward for him to pass with his tool box, so he brushed past her, his hard chest skimming her breasts. She held her breath as his touch made her nipples harden, spreading a throb of sweet desire between her legs. His pine and earthy scent wafted around her. She loved his scent—it was a combination of the beginning of spring and the freedom of riding. She heard his sharp intake of breath when he touched her. He looked at her, lust glittering in his eyes. They stood there, the moment suspended like a small piece of eternity. He leaned in to her as she tilted her face upward, but then his phone rang and the moment flitted away from them before they could hold onto it.

“Yo, talk to me,” Jax said in his phone as he moved away from Cherri and went to the kitchen.

Cherri flushed and smoothed her hair down. She despised the way her body reacted to him. She had fucked her share of men, but she always felt detached, like she was above herself looking down at a girl who was doing nasty things. She never had a boyfriend, didn’t even go to her junior prom—her stepfather had made sure of that. She had cried over it, pleaded with her mom to convince him to let her go. But, being the constant money-obsessed bitch, she played dumb and deferred all decisions to her husband.

The money her stepfather brought home made her mother ecstatic; she loved the trips, the jewelry, and the fancy cars. Born on the other side of the tracks, she got pregnant, married at sixteen years old, and became a widow at the age of twenty-six after Cherri’s dad slammed his pickup into the side of the mountain after a hard night of drinking. For two years, she and her mom were dirt-poor until her mother, an attractive, petite blonde, caught the eye of a successful businessman. They married when Cherri was thirteen years old, and her new stepfather gave them all the material possessions they never had.

Cherri’s mother was beside herself with her new status in life. She told Cherri on numerous occasions she was never going to be poor again and she’d do anything to keep the life she had. Her mother lived up to her promise: she never stood up for Cherri, and she deferred all discipline and decisions to her husband. She even gave her daughter to her husband in exchange for a pampered, luxurious life. Cherri’s stepfather started taking an un-fatherly interest in her when she turned fourteen.

“What shit do you women put down the garbage disposal?” Jax snatched Cherri out of her memories as he came out of the kitchen, his shirt off, muscles rippling.

She took a step backward as her eyes slid up and down Jax’s fine physique. She had never seen a man who had such a well-defined body. His abs and pecs were perfectly sculpted, and his hard, bulging biceps made her drool. She wanted to wrap her hands around them and lick them. She was a sucker for ripped arms, and standing before her was a man who oozed sex from every pore of his body.

Clearing his throat, Jax smiled and said, “Well?”

Red streaks glowed on her pale skin when she realized Jax knew she was checking him out and loving what she saw. “Uh… I don’t know, the usual, I guess. I don’t use it that much. I don’t cook very often.”

“I gotta talk to the other two. This is, like, the third time I’ve been out here in six months. They keep pouring grease down it.”

“Oh?” Cherri couldn’t take her eyes off Jax’s body—it was magnificent. Skull tattoos, Gothic designs, daggers, and Insurgents’ sayings wove around his chest and arms, creating an eclectic tapestry. His snug jeans showed off his firm ass and a dick that she imagined would feel real good inside her.
Damn, this guy is sexy.

“Like what you see, sugar?” Jax, voice husky, approached her.

Wide-eyed, Cherri shook her head, backed up, and fell down on the sofa. Jax bent down, put his face close to hers, and said, “No need to be scared, sweetness. It makes me fuckin’ horny to see you lookin’ at me like you wanna fuck me.” He licked his finger then gently traced her full lips with it.

She knew he felt her shiver under his touch. Turning her head away, she mumbled, “I wasn’t checking you out, not really. It’s just that it looks like you work out a lot.” Who the hell was she kidding? She was almost salivating, her breasts ached to be touched, spasms built in her core, and her panties were damp. What was the matter with her? She didn’t want a boyfriend in her life; she had no time for that type of problem.

“I do work out, sugar. A lot. Glad you like it. Why don’t you explore with those pretty hands of yours?”

Snapping out of her desire-filled fog, Cherri pushed Jax back a little then stood up. “Can’t. Today’s my only day off this week, so I have a ton of shit to do.”

She moved out of his reach, sprinted up the stairs, and ran to her room, the sound of Jax’s chuckles echoing in her ears. She closed the door, breathing deeply. Why did he have such an effect on her? It wasn’t like she’d never seen a good-looking man before. When she used to strip in gentlemen’s clubs in Denver, she’d seen several nice-looking guys from all walks of life. She’d do lap dances for them, take their phone numbers, and move on. She never got involved with any of the customers outside of the club; she kept her private life separate. But this deal with Jax blew her mind and pissed her off. She had to keep her body in check. She had to keep reminding herself he was a controlling bastard and heartbreaker… but his touch was so gentle, and his eyes sparkled whenever his smile lit up his face.
Damn, girl—stop it!

Noticing clothes strewn over her chair and several pairs of unboxed shoes on the floor, Cherri busied herself by straightening out her room. Turning up the music, her body moved to the songs of Green Day. When she finished, she bent down to pick up the last pair of shoes, her butt hitting something behind her. Spinning around, she fell into Jax’s arms.

“What the hell? Don’t you know you’re supposed to knock?” She brushed the hair off her face.

Jax, hunger in his eyes, tightened his grip on her. “I did knock, but you didn’t hear over the music. Sink’s good to go. And… nice ass.”

Tugging away, she said, “You’re finished already? Whoa, you’re fast.”

“Well…”

Blushing, Cherri shifted in place, occupying herself with a pair of shoes in her hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jax look her over before she went to her closet and put the shoes in a box on the floor.

“Do I need to pay you, or something?” she asked.

Throwing his head back, he laughed. “You’re too precious, sweetness. You don’t owe anything. We take care of our properties
and
our tenants, if you know what I mean.” He winked at her.

Ignoring the double entendre, Cherri leaned against the door. “Well, then, thank you.”

Smiling at her, Jax looked around her room. “You’ve done a nice job putting this all together. I like your prints.” Pointing at the
Nighthawks
, he commented, “This one’s interesting.”

Nodding, Cherri said, “That’s one of my favorite paintings. I guess it’s because I can understand the feelings of isolation, separation, and loneliness. I feel like that, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. Sometimes, I feel that way, too. I still miss my dad.”

“Did he die?”

“Yeah.”

“When?”

“It’s been about seven years. It’s weird, ’cause some days, it’s like a long time ago, and other days, it’s too fresh. Fuck, I don’t know… It sucks.”

“It does. I lost my dad when I was ten years old. For me, it seems like a long time ago. I’m scared to death I’ll totally forget what he looked like or sounded like.” Her voice grew tinny.

“Was your dad sick?”

“No, just drunk. He ran off the road.”

“Fuck, that must’ve been tough.”

“Yeah. Was your dad sick?”

“Nah. He got himself killed by hitting on a biker’s old lady at Sturgis. He was shit-faced; he never had a chance against the fucker’s gun.”

“That’s awful. Were you close?”

“As close as we could’ve been, considering the Hell my mom put us in. She ran off with a rival club’s president when I was thirteen years old—just killed my old man. He took to drinkin’ to get rid of the pain and humiliation. When he wasn’t drunk, we had some good times.” Jax smiled. “Yeah, he was okay, you know. He got dealt a shitty hand, that’s all. The Insurgents were my main family. Hawk was there for me all the time. I’ll never forget that. What kills me is seeing my fuckin’ mom at bike rallies. I can’t stand her. She treated my dad like pure shit.

“Does your mom talk to you when she sees you?”

Jax gritted, “Fuck no. She’s a bitch. She’s also Reaper’s old lady.”

“Who’s Reaper?”

“The asshole president of the Deadly Demons MC. Insurgents and Deadly Demons are rivals—we’ve hated each other since the clubs started. That’s what killed my dad the most—she fucked his arch enemy and threw it in his face. The bitterness ate away at him until there was nothing left of his old self. It was hard enough she slutted around, but hooking up with Reaper? It’s something I’ll never forgive her for.” Jax stared at the floor then combed his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m telling you all this shit.”