Wild Card: Black Aces, Book Three Read online

  Wild Card

  Black Aces, Book Three

  Caroline Lee

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019, Caroline Lee

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  First edition: 2019

  This work is made available in e-book format by Amazon Kindle at www.amazon.com

  Printing/manufacturing information for this book may be found on the last page

  Cover: EDHGraphics

  Sunset Valley

  (Black Aces prequel)

  Lucas’s Lady

  Verrick’s Vixen

  Abigail’s Adventure

  Black Aces

  Ante Up

  Three of a Kind

  Wild Card

  Everland Ever After:

  A fairy-tale town set in the wilds of the old west!

  Little Red (free on all retailers)

  Ella

  Beauty

  The Stepmother

  Rapunzelle

  Briar Rose

  Rose Red

  The Mermaid

  The Prince’s Pea

  The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet:

  Love for all seasons in nineteenth-century Wyoming.

  A Cheyenne Christmas

  A Cheyenne Celebration

  A Cheyenne Thanksgiving

  A Cheyenne Christmas Homecoming

  The Mothers of Sweet Cheyenne

  Where They Belong

  Sign up for Caroline’s Newsletter to receive exclusive content and freebies, as well as first dibs on her books! Or if newsletters aren’t your thing, follow her on Bookbub for a quick, concise new release alert every time she publishes a book!

  For my father, who sits and watches episode after episode of James Garner’s Maverick with me…

  as long as I scratch his back.

  I hope I’ve done Ol’ Bret proud with this series!

  1

  He could kill them all silently, but where was the challenge in that?

  And if it was one thing he craved, one thing his demons craved, it was a challenge.

  From where he crouched in the shadows of the porch, Jack Hoyle—known to the people of Black Aces, Montana as Jonathan Douglas—watched the night watchmen who patrolled King’s home. Whoever was in charge had them on a tight leash; they rotated around the property at a precise schedule.

  Which would make it all the easier to eliminate them.

  It was hard to identify them all from this distance, but any moment now, the fourth and youngest—the kid barely looked old enough to shave—would be coming around the side of the house.

  There he is.

  His lips twitched in satisfaction, and he shifted a bit, making sure his cloak wasn’t impeding his reach for either weapon.

  When he’d first entered the house, hours before, Jack had kept the big black cloak on to help mask his movements. When he’d determined the damn deed wasn’t anywhere available, he’d watched and noted the pattern of the guards, then slipped out to crouch on the porch.

  From this spot, Jack was less than a stone’s throw from where they’d hung a large lantern on a pole, and was sitting in the very spot they were supposed to be protecting, but he might as well have been invisible.

  Not twenty feet away, the kid paused in the light of the lantern and lit what might’ve been a cheroot. Old enough to smoke, at least, but then again, Jack knew age didn’t mean much around here. Hell, he’d stolen his first cigar from Father’s desk when he’d been only eight, and Daniel was—

  No. No, he didn’t need to think about that now.

  Instead, he watched the lad puff on the cheroot, then amble around toward the rear of the house. That meant Jack now had four minutes until the next of King’s henchmen crossed that same path. It was the perfect time to dart across the dark yard and duck into the stables, or slip around the rear and melt into the darkness of the surrounding night.

  He’d come out here tonight looking for evidence to damn Augustus King. The deed to the Bicycle Mine, the silver mine Jim Hoyle had built with his own sweat, and which had eventually claimed Jim’s oldest son, Daniel. The same deed which was the key to King’s power. Jack needed it, needed to find it, to prove King had killed his father.

  And barring proof, Jack would settle for his blade in King’s neck.

  So he’d snuck out here along a dry creek bed and waited in the barn until darkness fell, and had then darted across the open yard and thrown himself at the porch overhang. It had been simple to roll up onto the roof, and when he’d found the windows locked, he’d simply backed up three paces and thrown himself at the chimney, hoisting himself up and wriggling through the opening. He’d ended up dirty and smiling, as memories of some of the shenanigans he’d gotten into with Daniel came to mind.

  But King hadn’t been home, and Jack’s hands curled into fists as he held himself back.

  Not yet, he whispered silently to his demon.

  Fact: He needed to return to his carefree life of luxury and ease, but it would be impossible to enjoy himself if he was guilt-ridden about his mother’s state. He could endow her with enough money to easily pay King’s “rent,” but there was no guarantee the bastard wouldn’t continue to find ways to steal from the poor woman.

  Fact: The only way to ensure his mother would be safe when he returned to Aegiria, would be to remove King’s source of power, the deed to the mine, which should’ve been Daniel’s. Or—God forbid—Jack’s.

  Fact: The only way to remove the deed from King’s possession was to kill him. Or maybe not. Jack didn’t care if it was necessary or not; either way, he was determined to feel his blade sink into King’s flesh and steal back the lives King had stolen from so many.

  Conclusion: In order to get close enough to kill King with impunity, Jack needed to eliminate the henchmen. King was down to only three men, plus the methodical Burton, and as far as Jack could tell from his careful observations, there were four men patrolling around the house tonight.

  Excellent.

  It would be easy to pick them off, one by one, slicing their throats the way he’d killed those two goons King had sent to rob Gomez’s store in December. They’d likely never know he was there, and wouldn’t stand a chance, one-on-one, against him.

  But again, where was the challenge in that?

  Counting under his breath, he was perversely pleased to see the mounted guard trot by right on time. It was hard to tell from this distance, but it appeared to be the leader of the guards—Burton—atop the horse. Jack knew he’d be easier to kill if the other man wasn’t up in the saddle. Under the annoying-but-necessary bandana, his slow grin caught him by surprise.

  Easy? If only Thordis could hear him now.

  You’re getting soft, my American friend. Only four men and a horse?

  Thordis was one of the younger princes hanging arou
nd the Aegirian royal palace, where Jack had—until recently—made his home, and the two of them had spent their days training their bodies and minds to do a series of more and more incredible tasks.

  Like wriggling through chimneys in order to enter an enemy’s home…or tackling riders off stallions.

  He took a deep breath and told himself to quit stalling. Meet the threat head-on, as Hito had taught them.

  His fingers curled around the butt of his revolver, and he pushed himself upright.

  Ready.

  When he stepped out of the shadows, Burton was already across the yard. Jack made it halfway to the porch, before he bothered to clear his throat, and the way the man whipped around in the saddle was a little gratifying.

  Jack settled into an easy stance, his weight balanced on the balls of his good black boots, grateful not to have to wear those heavy monstrosities the cowhands around here favored.

  Under the cover of his cloak, he flicked at the scabbard of his short sword, making certain it sat loose and ready.

  The other man hadn’t drawn his gun yet—a mistake—but slowly urged his animal in a turn. As his face appeared in the lantern light, Jack saw it was, in fact, Burton.

  “The Black Ace finally has the guts to bring the fight to us? Must be our lucky night,” he drawled.

  Oh yes, the Black Ace.

  When Jack had returned to his birthplace of Black Aces, he’d been surprised by—well, by many things. But the mysterious vigilante, who supposedly dressed all in black, including a black bandana to hide his identity, and who swooped down from the hills in the night to protect the innocents of town…?

  Well, it was a preposterous legend, but one Jack Hoyle could absolutely make use of.

  Tonight, he wore all black, from the hat he’d had Tavie scrounge for him, to his cloak and boots, and his face remained hidden by the bandana.

  Childish, almost, but it was necessary for the appearance of the whole thing.

  And if there was one thing Jack understood, it was appearances.

  And acrobatics.

  And dancing.

  And swordplay.

  And how to kill.

  His lips twitched. Apparently, he knew quite a lot of things.

  So his bow, when he gave it—though he kept both eyes on the mounted man—was elaborate and mocking. “At your service, Mister…?” he prompted, feigning ignorance towards the man’s identity.

  “You don’t need to know my name,” Burton growled, picking his way toward Jack. “You’re trespassing, and once I kill you, we’ll yank that stupid mask off and find out who you are, once and for all.”

  One of Jack’s brows rose. “Goodness. All by yourself?”

  The man stopped his horse, his hand hovering over the butt of his gun. “What?”

  “I said, you’re planning on killing me all by yourself? When you have three men nearby?”

  The light from the lantern was enough to see Burton frown as he considered Jack’s words.

  Just my luck. An intellectual.

  When the man’s piercing whistle cut through the night, Jack forced his heartbeat to slow. He’d been expecting this, after all. He’d asked for it.

  To his surprise, while they waited for the others to arrive, Burton swung down from his horse. He’d given up a perfectly good advantage for what—

  Oh.

  As Jack watched, Burton pulled his rifle from the boot and laid it across the saddle, training the sights on Jack, while simultaneously using the bulk of the animal to block his vitals.

  An intellectual, indeed.

  The first of his backup arrived running, one hand on his gun, and the other on his hat to keep it in place. “Where’s the fire, Burton?” he panted breathlessly, before skidding to a stop as he saw Jack standing, seemingly at ease, in the middle of the yard.

  His mouth snapped closed with an audible click.

  The last two had the same reaction as they arrived from different directions, and Jack heard the kid whisper a curse under his breath. The lit cheroot waggled between the lad’s lips, and Jack wondered if it was possible to smell fear.

  Or maybe it was just piss.

  He decided to take pity on the kid.

  “Gentlemen,” he began smoothly, “I believe you know who I am. And you can guess why I’m here.”

  “That’s the Black Ace!” the youngest hissed, nudging his partner. “He killed Ziggy and Earstwhile and O’Grady like they was nuthin, remember? Barely time to get off a shot!”

  “Pimples!” Burton snapped from behind his horse. “If you’re so concerned, how come you haven’t drawn your gun?”

  As the kid and the third man fumbled for their holsters, Jack chuckled dryly. “And you think having your weapons drawn will help? After all, Mr. O’Grady’s gun proved useless, now didn’t it?”

  “And he was damn good with it,” one of the other men volunteered.

  Jack made sure they could hear his grin when he drawled, “Not good enough.”

  The men were nervous now, shifting their weight, and at least one was muttering something.

  Time to take control of the situation.

  With his attention on the leader, in case he made his move sooner than expected, Jack spoke to the others. “I’ll offer you a chance, gentlemen. If you holster your weapons and leave, I’ll allow you the chance to reach your horses in the stable and run far away. The morning train to Helena is on time, or you could even go south.” His gaze flicked to the men, particularly the kid. “You don’t have to die tonight.”

  Burton growled, but made no move. The five of them stood in a silent tableau for several long moments, until finally, the kid exhaled loudly and shoved his gun back in its holster.

  “Pimples!”

  “Sorry, Mr. Burton, but I didn’t sign on to this job just to die.” The kid lifted his hands to show Jack they were empty, and when one of the other men spat at his feet, he shrugged apologetically. “Ma needs me. I’m done here.”

  “Good idea, son,” Jack drawled. “Mothers are important.”

  His own mother was the most important reason he was standing here tonight. His mother, and a particularly feisty Pinkerton detective, who smiled like an angel and kissed like a demon.

  As the kid shuffled around the perimeter of their group, heading toward the stables, Burton’s rifle wavered, as if he wanted to shoot the lad in the back. Figuring it was up to him to keep control of the situation, Jack took a half-step forward, and as he’d guessed would happen, the rifle swung back in his direction, once more.

  “Stupid kid don’t know the meaning of a job,” one of the men spat.

  “Stupid kid leaving means we get more from Mr. King when we kill this bastard,” the other man—a particularly fat one at that—corrected.

  “And where is Mr. King?” Jack asked languidly, as if he had no real desire to know.

  Burton snarled. “He ain’t here. He went into town to meet with the new hired gun.”

  Shit. Not only was the man not home to hand over the damn deed, likely with a whole lot of persuasion from Jack, but he was off fetching another gunslinger.

  However, Jack knew he couldn’t lose control of the situation. “Excellent,” he drawled.

  “Not for you!”

  There are ways to know when a man is about to shoot, even without being able to see his eyes in the darkness. The way the man shifted his weight, the way he sucked in his breath and held it, all told Jack Burton was about to fire, and he was already diving toward the other threats before the round exited the barrel.

  The shot drilled into the ground just behind where he’d been standing only a moment before, and as Burton shifted his aim, Jack’s face split into a grin.

  This is what he lived for. This feeling of uncertainty, as if he were balanced on the edge of a blade and could fall in either direction, this is why Jack pushed himself further and further. This thrill, this joy, this rush!

  He had just enough time to suck in a breath, before the demon took control.


  The familiar red haze crept from the edges of his vision, and he gave himself completely over to the mania.

  His motions became…not his own. As always, the demon possessed him, controlling his body in a high neither opium nor spirits had ever been able to replicate.

  From afar, from outside the red haze, a part of him watched and howled with delight as he landed on the first man, the one closest to the horse’s head. That man had been quick enough to pull his gun, but he was right-handed, which gave Jack the advantage, and his sword was already in his left hand by the time he fell upon King’s man, slashing first at the gun, then the man’s face, a move calculated to force him to fall back.

  Though it had all worked just the way Jack had planned, it had taken too long, and the third man had had enough time to draw his weapon. Apparently not caring his colleague was in his sights as well, the fat man fired a shot, which scraped across Jack’s ribs.

  But Jack felt nothing, thanks to the mania now controlling him.

  A cross-draw was never the most convenient option, but there were times when a ranged weapon did better work. Before he’d hit the ground, Jack had pulled his revolver from his left hip, and as his shoulder slammed into the packed dirt, he fired. The shot tore through his own cloak—damn it!—then into the chest of the much larger man.

  Jack didn’t bother to watch him fall, knowing Burton was the last, and worst, threat.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, Jack had tucked his knees to his chin and used his momentum to roll beneath the horse. Before Burton could pull his rifle from across the top of the saddle and adjust his aim, Jack had already rolled past him, firing upward.