Chapter 2 - JC
JC
Friday night at the clubhouse is louder than usual. The air inside is thick with beer, sweat, and the heavy scent of fried food drifting from the kitchen. I lean against the wall near the back exit, arms folded, one eye on the main room and the other on my phone.
Jinn is late, and that has everyone on edge. This party was supposed to be for him, another excuse to celebrate a new deal he swore would make us rich. He said he would fill me in, told me to trust him, but he’s nowhere to be found.
Carrie is here. I spotted her the second she walked in, shoulders a little tense, still scanning the room like she’s waiting for someone to call her out.
She doesn’t belong in this world, not really, but she keeps showing up anyway.
I can’t figure out what Jinn is doing with her.
She’s not his usual type. He likes girls who push back, who live for chaos.
Carrie isn’t like that. She’s all heart, the kind who remembers your birthday and brings you coffee when she knows you had a bad night.
Not that she’s not beautiful. She is. She’s stunning, in a way that sneaks up on you if you let yourself look too long.
She has the kind of curves you want to reach for, and I’ve caught myself thinking about her more than once, especially when I know I shouldn’t.
Jinn never appreciated that about her. Maybe that’s why he keeps her around, just to have something soft to come back to.
She asked about him the moment she came in. I had nothing to give her. He said he would be here early, had some big plan, new people coming into town, another one of his “this will change everything” moments. I told him to slow down, but Jinn never listens to anyone, not even me.
Blade and Wrecker are at the bar, drinking like the world is about to end.
Blade keeps tapping the countertop, his knee bouncing restlessly.
Wrecker barely talks, just watches everyone like he’s waiting for someone to make a mistake.
The twins don’t trust the new deal Jinn is pushing, and neither do I.
Eight thirty comes and goes, and still no sign of our president. My phone stays stubbornly quiet, every minute that passes turning the knot in my stomach a little tighter.
Whale passes by, dropping his voice low so only I can hear. “Heard from him?”
I shake my head. “Not a word. He’s not picking up.”
“Maybe he’s busy with Marcy,” Whale mutters, looking toward the hallway that leads upstairs.
I don’t want to think about that rumor. It’s been going around for a while, and I hate it. Carrie doesn’t deserve that, and it makes me sick every time I see her looking hopefully at the door.
Blade slides over, his gaze flicking from me to the front entrance. “Nothing yet?”
“Nothing,” I say.
He glances at Carrie, who’s sitting alone in a corner booth, holding a Coke and tracing the rim with her finger. “She know where he is?”
“She’s waiting on him just like the rest of us.”
Blade gives a short laugh, shaking his head. “If he stands her up, he’s a bigger idiot than I thought.”
The clubhouse sits at the edge of town, a squat brick building half-hidden behind a row of battered bikes and faded flags.
Out front, the porch sags under the weight of two old couches and a pair of sleeping dogs.
Inside, the walls are covered with framed photos, club patches, and hand-scrawled warnings about starting trouble.
The place is never quiet. There’s always laughter, raised voices, the thump of boots on the floor, and the pulse of music from battered speakers in every corner.
I walk through the main room, weaving past tables crowded with bikers and old friends.
The pool table is busy, the bar is lined with empty glasses, and the kitchen door swings open and shut as someone hauls out another tray of wings.
This place is home, for better or worse.
I’ve been part of this club most of my life, ever since I got out of the army and Jinn offered me a spot.
I needed something to believe in, somewhere I belonged. The Reapers gave me that.
But tonight, I can’t settle. I keep checking my phone, looking for a text that doesn’t come. I see Carrie again, sitting alone now, scanning the crowd every time the door creaks open. I wish I could do something for her, but all I have is the same uneasy waiting as everyone else.
I head to the bar, order a Coke just to keep my hands busy. Blade and Wrecker are talking in low voices nearby. I know they’re worried about the same thing I am—Jinn running deals with people we don’t know, pulling us all into something bigger and riskier than anything we’ve done before.
The door opens and the room quiets for a split second, but it’s only some prospects dragging in a keg. I take a breath, remind myself that Jinn always shows up late when he’s working an angle. He likes making an entrance, keeping everyone just a little off-balance.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is about to go wrong. Maybe it already has.
I look over at Carrie again. Her hair falls in her eyes as she stares at her phone, and I feel a pang I don’t want to examine too closely. She deserves better than this. Better than waiting for a man who treats her like an afterthought. Better than a club full of ghosts and grudges.
But she’s here, just like I am.
Waiting.
It’s nearly nine when Jinn finally walks through the door. He acts like he owns the place, like we haven’t all been waiting for him. His leather cut is thrown over one shoulder, and his hair is messy, that wild glint in his eyes telling me right away that he’s up to something.
Carrie sees him too. She sits up a little straighter, hope flickering across her face. Jinn barely glances her way. He makes a beeline for me instead, the crowd parting around him.
“Need to talk, JC,” he says under his breath, already steering me toward the back hallway.
I follow, my jaw tight. The noise of the party fades as we duck into the office. He shuts the door and tosses his cut onto the desk.
“What is this about?” I ask.
He grins, teeth too white, the kind of smile that always means trouble. “Opportunity, man. Big money, clean handoff, new guys in from Louisiana. We run a few crates across state lines, get paid, everyone wins.”
My stomach sinks. “You don’t even know these guys, Jinn. You said yourself you only met them once. I don’t like it.”
He waves me off. “You worry too much. We need this. Club is stretched thin, bills are piling up. This is how we fix that.”
I shake my head, frustration boiling up. “We don’t run guns for strangers. That’s how people get burned.”
He steps in closer, his voice dropping. “I’m not asking for your permission, JC. I’m telling you it’s already happening.”
I stare at him, disbelief warring with anger. “You drag us into this without a vote? Without even talking to Blade or Wrecker?”
He just grins. “Let me worry about the details.”
There’s nothing left to say. He’s made up his mind, and nothing I say will change it. I look at him and realize that the guy I grew up with is gone, replaced by someone hungry for power and reckless enough to gamble everything.
I push past him, back into the noise of the party. The club feels different now, like the floor might drop out from under us any second.
Blade and Wrecker catch my eye from across the room. Blade is tense, drumming his fingers against his glass. Wrecker is watching everything, the way he always does when he smells trouble.
I go to the kitchen, needing a moment to think, grabbing a beer just for something to do with my hands.
I set the beer down untouched. My thoughts keep circling back to Jinn, the deal, the risk, and Carrie—always Carrie, waiting and hoping, still believing he’ll treat her right.
Marcy appears at the back door, her voice soft and hurried.
Marcy is nothing like Carrie. Where Carrie is gentle and easy to be around, Marcy always moves like she owns the space.
She has this sharp, restless energy, the kind that fills up a room even when she’s silent.
Tonight her hair is wild, dyed a little too bright, and her eyeliner’s smudged, but she still manages to look put together, in that careless way some girls pull off.
She’s always hungry for attention, and if she doesn’t get it, she finds a way to make herself impossible to ignore.
“JC, have you seen Carrie or Jinn?”
I shake my head. “Carrie’s probably outside. Jinn just stormed out back.” I don’t bother to hide my irritation. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she just doesn’t care. She slips away, her phone clutched tight in her hand, already scrolling for someone else.
The last thing I want is more drama. But I glance down the hall and see Carrie’s silhouette through the window by the front porch.
She’s sitting alone, elbows on her knees, staring out into the dark.
For a second, I just watch her, thinking how out of place she looks here.
She’s too soft for this world, too hopeful, but she keeps showing up, no matter how many times the universe tries to knock her down.
I step outside, the door closing quietly behind me. The night is cool, heavy with the scent of cut grass and distant exhaust. Carrie doesn’t turn right away. She’s lost in her thoughts.
“You okay?” I ask, settling beside her on the top step.
She shrugs, keeping her gaze on the gravel driveway. “Long day.”
I nod. We sit there for a moment in silence, the sounds of the party muffled behind us.
“He said he’d be here,” she says after a while, her voice small.
“I know.”
She glances at me, and for a heartbeat I see the hurt she’s trying to hide. I want to tell her she deserves better, that Jinn isn’t worth this kind of waiting. But I don’t say it. I never do.
“He’s running a new job,” I say instead, voice low. “Something risky. I tried to talk him down.”
Carrie nods. “He’ll do what he wants.”
“That’s always been his problem.”
She gives a little smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “At least you tried.”
I want to reach out, to take her hand, but I stop myself. Some lines you don’t cross.
“You know Marcy was looking for you,” I say, remembering the hallway just a few minutes ago.
Carrie doesn’t even look up. “I’m right here. She didn’t come by.”
That’s strange. I frown, glancing back toward the house. Marcy asked me herself if I’d seen Carrie, and she seemed in a hurry. Now she’s vanished, and Carrie hasn’t seen her at all. Maybe I’m reading into things, but it doesn’t sit right.
Carrie stands, brushing her palms on her jeans. “Where did you say Jinn was?”
I push off the railing. “He went out back. Wanted to take a call or something, didn’t say much.”
She nods, her jaw set. “Thanks, JC.”
I watch as Carrie heads back inside, determination in her stride now. She pushes through the crowded main room, her eyes scanning faces, already searching for Jinn.
Blade is near the bar, leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed and his gaze sweeping over the party.
He’s the type who draws attention without even trying—tattoos on display, grin always half a dare.
For a split second, I see him notice Carrie coming his way.
There’s something about the way his posture shifts, like he’s debating whether to say something, maybe even reach out.
But she just moves past him, barely slowing down. Her focus is on the hallway that leads toward the back exit, the place I told her Jinn went.
Blade watches her go, his expression unreadable, and then glances at me. I shrug, as if to say, “Don’t ask me, man,” and he turns back to his drink.