Chapter 17 – Janelle
Chapter Seventeen
Janelle
Oklahoma
Zeb says that he has specific instructions about how guests are to arrive at our final destination.
I am not happy about his suggestion that he needs to blindfold me, but then he offers to tie me up too and I have no choice but to submit to the humiliation.
Why the hell would I snitch on these bikers when at this point, I’ve been part of almost as many crimes as Zebulon.
It doesn’t matter how many charges you catch if your total sentence amounts to the rest of your damn life…
I dig my nails into him purposefully until we get to a rough textured road that eventually smooths out into something that feels like cobblestone.
I don’t understand why anyone in their right mind would live in this part of the country, and the longer I spend in this state, even if I’m just on the back of a motorcycle, the longer I want to leave and go back to Boston.
There can’t be any amount of barbecue in the world that makes this heat worth it. Zeb brings the bike to an awkward stop, nearly throwing me off the back because I can’t see a damn thing with this stupid blindfold on. He holds my hand before I go flying, which doesn’t make me feel better at all.
Zeb’s fingers close around mine and that uncertain shiver shoots up my arm, sending an urge to pull away straight through me. Not like that would work with Zeb’s firm grip around my arm. He helps me off the bike and takes the helmet off.
“Sorry about this.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“Trust me, you don’t want to get on Ruger Blackwood’s bad side.”
Luckily, Zebulon can’t see me roll my eyes. At this point, I’m just as much of a bad guy as anyone else. I wonder if they feel like they’re about to throw up when reminiscing about their various murders and crimes, or if it's just me.
Zeb kisses the top of my forehead as he loosens the blindfold.
The throbbing at the back of my head wasn’t my imagination as it turns out.
I hear loud, thudding footsteps behind me as Zeb loosens the knot and then a voice that sends a shiver down my spine crawls up the back of my neck.
It’s not a soft voice, but it’s not loud either.
Just commanding and strangely flat and horrifying. Like a movie psychopath.
“Zebulon Blackwood. You are just about a day late.”
“We got held up.”
“I heard.”
“Sorry.”
“Who’s your friend?”
The blindfold falls away from my eyes. I’m glad that the first thing I see as my eyes start prickling and tearing up from the blinding light is Zebulon and not some bleeding corpse or anything similarly horrifying.
Sweat nearly drips into my eyes without the blindfold in the way and I don’t look away from Zeb as he wipes my face off with the fabric.
He didn’t tell me how he wanted me to handle this Ruger fellow.
“Her name is Janelle. She’s a good girl I met out in Boston.”
“The way Zayna’s a good girl or is she a hooker of some kind?”
“Talk that way again and I’ll kick your ass, Ruger.”
“Doubt you could do that,” Ruger says calmly. “But I didn’t mean no disrespect.”
“She’s not a fucking hooker,” Zebulon says, returning Ruger’s calm with far more obvious bitterness edging his tone.
“I never said she was.”
“But what you’re saying is she looks like she could be one.”
“There are high class hookers out in Boston, I imagine.”
“I need a beer and she needs some rest and ibuprofen from your goddamn blindfold instructions.”
I never told him I had a headache. I wonder if I’m just tearing up looking stupid and that’s why he can tell, or if there’s some other reason.
I glare at Zeb, lowkey blaming him for all my problems here.
I also make the mistake of glancing over my shoulder and seeing what the hell this Ruger character looks like for the first time.
My heart nearly falls out of my ass. He’s the type of horrifying specimen of white man I would snap a picture of with my phone in public just to prove to myself I really saw him.
He’s taller than Zebulon, which doesn’t even feel realistic.
While he’s not as attractive, I see similarities between the two of them.
Eye color. Skin tone. Ruger has a more hardened face, whereas Zebulon has fuller lips and a jawline that makes him look more like a young Brad Pitt.
His nose is a little less pronounced than Ruger’s too, but I’m guessing they’re blood relatives, either brothers, cousins or something like that. I hope to God Ruger isn’t his father somehow.
Ruger addresses me directly once he catches my gaze and a mixture of fear and politeness forces me to turn around and address him directly.
“My name is Ruger Blackwood. The crooked biker you hooked up with over here is my first cousin. My wife Zayna is inside and… I think the two of you will get along. Welcome.”
His voice still sounds flat, like he’s reading from a script.
Even if I don’t outwardly feel scared, gooseflesh still breaks out over my arms and the back of my neck.
Without having any evidence, I have a strange intuitive sense that this man has killed before and liked it.
He’s not right in the head. I fight the urge to hide behind Zebulon. I’m a killer too.
“I’m Janelle.”
Ruger smiles, but his eyes stay the same. Flat. Empty.
“Janelle. Nice to meet you.”
I feel Zeb’s arm curling around my waist and then resting possessively on my hips.
My body tenses with frustration. He hasn’t laid hands on me since that incident in the shower.
It’s not like I’m disappointed about some crazy ass biker not dragging me off to bed after a murder spree but after all the places he put his tongue, I thought he would do something else.
Instead, he acts like we’re coworkers. Until now.
Is he jealous in Ruger’s presence? Somehow insecure? Maybe Ruger really is just that dangerous. Zeb pulls me closer to him.
“Where’s Eden?” Zeb asks him calmly, although his grip on me is more aggressive than calm.
“Inside. You can loosen up, Zeb. I’m fully prepared to accommodate you and get you two settled in until Deacon finishes up with work.”
I look around, soaking up as much visual information as I can despite myself.
Being blindfolded for this long makes me desperate to ground myself.
We’re somewhere with a surprising amount of vegetation for being in this part of Oklahoma.
I think we must be near a river somewhere, but I don’t know enough geography to say where that might put us, just that there’s the strong scent of fresh water, the faint sound of water flowing, and enough vegetation that we can’t be out in the desert.
It’s still hot here, which I don’t love.
“We have air conditioning inside,” Ruger says. “Zayna hates when I stand out in the sun and I don’t want another lecture.”
He addresses his next comment directly to Zeb. “She can’t be there when we discuss club business. I hope you know that.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
I don’t know what’s going to happen to me here, and a part of me is terrified to step into the house.
I don’t see how I have a choice. I’ve already gone far enough with Zeb, that this would be the absolute worst time to start pitching a tantrum and try to escape.
I just get a bad feeling from Ruger and a dark urge to run.
He scares me. I hope his wife Zayna is a lot nicer. You would have to be a saint to be married to a man like him, I think. Either that or just as much of a sinner.