Chapter 20 – Janelle
Chapter Twenty
Janelle
Iscrewed up somehow and I don’t exactly know how.
Zeb and Ruger leave like they promised once they get hyped up on two pots of coffee.
I don’t know what to make of Zayna. She has a calm, placid face and she’s pretty, but it unnerves me to meet women who don’t smile very much.
She doesn’t look sad, but she doesn’t smile at all.
It’s not like she doesn’t seem happy, just calm and totally in control over her emotions in a way that seems to complement Ruger.
Zayna is seriously one of the most beautiful women that I’ve ever seen.
She wears her natural hair in two long braids cornrowed down flat against the side of her head with a zig-zag part in the middle and thick braids indicating healthy natural hair that end at the middle of her back.
It’s hard not to feel a pang of envy that she can get her hair to grow that long.
I’ve never been able to get my hair past my shoulders.
I get so comfortable in Zayna’s kitchen that I forget she isn’t an old friend or even a new close friend like Rana back in Boston.
“Are you planning on staying with Zeb long?” Zayna asks, getting straight to the point.
Her expression is calm, even friendly, but I still feel strangely wary about the question.
Do I have a plan when it comes to Zeb? The last time I had a plan it was the night I planned to go home to Rakeem and cook him dinner.
Life was so devastatingly simple and routine back then. But maybe… a little boring.
Life with Zeb is anything but boring, but what would staying with this man look like? So far, it’s been constant murder.
“I don’t think I’m cut out to be in a motorcycle club.”
I’m scared to use the word gang out loud as if that could summon some type of even worse juju than what I’ve already experienced during this ride out west. I would love for us to spend thirty days or more without committing a felony. If I stay with Zeb, I don’t know how that could be possible.
“It’s not all non-stop madness,” Zayna says. “The Blackwood men like their peace. Zebulon is very similar to his cousin from everything I’ve seen.”
I believe her that Zeb likes his peace. I don’t know what that means for the future. We co-exist peacefully after murdering everyone in our path? That’s not exactly the wedding and house with a white picket fence that most women dream about.
“We haven’t had much peace on the ride down here.”
She smirks. “Is that why Zeb seems so protective over you?”
I don’t have any understanding of Zeb’s protectiveness over me. When we were in the shower together, I thought he was experiencing some lust for me. He got down on his knees and did things to me that Rakeem certainly never did. I can’t share details like that with somebody I just met.
“Zeb and I bonded back in Boston.”
“Romantically bonded?”
“I just got out of a relationship. He knows that…”
It’s not exactly an answer, and I doubt that I’ll actually get away with making that excuse.
Zayna’s eyes flicker with curiosity, maybe.
I don’t know anything about her and while I feel the sense of familiarity and comfort that I tend to feel with all black women, I know realistically that I’m not in a good place to blindly trust every single person that I meet.
“He might know that,” she says. “But it might not change his feelings.”
I hate that I don’t even know what feelings she’s referring to.
He’s too hard to read. One minute, he’s wrapping his fingers around a gun and telling me to end someone’s life without so much as flinching.
The next, he’s on his knees with me in the shower.
My breath catches, and Zayna can tell that she got to me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sure you have been riding a long time and don’t have time for my questions. How much do you know about Zeb’s biker club?”
I know that they can fight and clean up messes, I know they most likely operate on the wrong side of the law.
Clearly they have a network of fellow bikers that extends across the country far past the city boundaries of Boston.
Calling all those passively absorbed details to mind only causes that uncomfortable cold knot to settle in the deepest base of my stomach.
Shifting my body won’t remove the tension.
“I don’t know much, I guess,” I mutter. If these people are truly dangerous, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m collecting details or information to save for later and snitch to the police.
Zayna shrugs. “That’s okay. You probably think the less you know the better off you’re going to be when you get out of here.”
Our eyes meet. I can’t tell if this is a play of some kind or if I really care.
“I don’t need to get into trouble with men who solve most of their problems with bullets.”
“Then you’re not entirely ignorant about what Zeb does?”
No, not entirely. But maybe I should be if I have any plans of surviving until my next birthday.
“Not entirely,” I tell Zayna, my heart pounding nervously. “But I’m not scared. I want to know… everything.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Yeah. Tell me everything. I can handle it.”