Seven
JENNA
What. A fucking. Asshole.
The guy who offered to make us something to eat, Loki, was so damn genuine. So damn nice. He made me laugh when he burned his fingers twice, putting the grilled cheese in the pan. Relaxed my nerves and almost had me forget where I am.
In the goddamn Kings of Anarchy clubhouse.
Shit. And then my mind wandered as I sliced perfect triangles out of the hot food.
To the guy with movie star good looks and a mischievous twinkle in his eye who opened the door on our prison cell.
I was so determined to get away, high on the adrenaline that had shot into my veins when we realized someone other than our keepers was there, that he caught me completely off-guard.
I shouldn’t think of him as the perfect mix of rugged and handsome. Shouldn’t wonder how silky soft his jet-black hair really is, or if it just looks that way. Shouldn’t be turned on by the snakebite piercings hugging his full lower lip.
Shouldn’t be imagining how he looks with a kid on his hip.
And I definitely shouldn’t have taken him a bite to eat like he’s my goddamn husband and I’m some kept housewife.
Jesus, Jenna. I’m here for a purpose even if that purpose does make me feel ill. Not myself.
Playing a role, just like the men I’ve despised most of my life.
“Damn it.” I run a hand through my hair, pushing the shorter strands off my face.
There’s a rumor that the president asked for the sheriff to be called to the house. Seems fucking weird if they’re one-percenters. But then again, they could be desperate to keep eyes off their business, and getting rid of our complication does that for them.
My gaze drifts over the walls of the expansive foyer.
The farmhouse is seriously impressive; whoever built it must have had a small fortune back in the day.
A central staircase leads up to an open walkway, linking the rooms on all three sides, with decoratively carved balustrades polished a deep mahogany.
Intricate plasterwork decorates the ceiling; floral scrolls sweep toward the center where an impressive chandelier hangs two feet below.
The beauty of the house is in such contrast to the rough exterior.
With its occupants.
“Hey,” Darla calls softly from my left, exiting the parlor where the girls huddle together. “Wondered where you’d gone.”
“I needed some fresh air.”
As though calling me on my bullshit, the handsome asshole from the porch steps inside, breezing past my shoulder close enough that the draught he creates lifts the ends of my hair.
I inhale a little longer than necessary. Weak-ass.
Darla’s gaze tracks him halfway up the stairs before she pins me with a no-nonsense glare, dragging out her one-word response. “Right.”
“Yeah,” I deflect. “Didn’t really work out all that great when I found him out there.” I jerk my chin toward the room behind her. “How are the others?”
“Nandi’s sleeping for now. The Kid’s happy, huddled with Kathy, and Kyra, the girlfriend they brought in to talk to us, took Mila upstairs to sort out a shower—try and freshen her up some.”
“And you?”
She shrugs, glancing to the open door leading to the dark yard. “Still waiting for the madness of all of this to sink in, I guess. My brain doesn’t want to believe it was that easy. That all we needed to do was wait, and some weird version of a white knight would show up to save us.”
“I know.” I fold my arms, gripping my elbows. “It does seem ridiculously easy.”
She sighs, gaze roaming the few pictures hung on the paneled walls. “They seem genuine, though.”
“That’s always the problem, isn’t it?”
A small smile tugs one side of her mouth. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. At this point my nervous system would feel vindicated if some assholes with guns came blasting through the door. All this calm care makes me feel weirded out.”
I jerk my head, indicating she should follow and then head back to the porch.
The grilled cheese sits untouched.
“Get some air with me.” I take a seat in one of the timber chairs and lift the plate of food. “I get a feeling tomorrow’s going to be one hell of a long day.”
“You mean today?” She adjusts a cushion on the chair beside mine and then shakes her head at the piece I offer her. “I’m good. You have it.”
I set it back on the table, thoughts rampant as I stare at the endless fields surrounding the house.
We passed no more than a handful of small properties after turning down this road; the signage indicates it ends when it meets the river.
I’ve never been anywhere in Minnesota until now; my knowledge of the state is limited to a stale basement and an outlaw motorcycle club headquarters. Quite the intrepid traveler, aren’t I?
“Do you find it strange that we’re, like, not freaking out or anything?” Darla asks. “Shouldn’t we all be begging to go home? Panicked about our families?”
“Maybe it’s shock.”
“Or maybe we’ve all got serious mental health issues.”
I smile. Doesn’t everyone? “You got anyone to go home to?”
She stares out into the surrounding farmland a beat before answering. “No one that matters.”
I stare at the grilled cheese, hungering for a bite. “What will you do after this?”
Darla shrugs, glancing down the driveway to where men are posted at the gate, hidden in the night. “I’ve been thinking about that since we got here, and I figure if I ever wanted to start over and reinvent myself—redirect my course in life—then now’s the best time. You know?”
“Makes sense.” Wish I could do the same. Disappear off grid to some pretty cabin on the water and spend my days lost in fantasy worlds.
But unlike Darla, I’ve got family and a place to live waiting for me. I’m just not allowed back yet.
“Do you know much about Kathy?” I ask.
“Nope.” Darla pulls her feet onto the edge of the chair, hugging her knees. “She got picked up before me. Was already there when they pushed me in the van.”
“How’d they get you? Promise you work?”
She shakes her head. “Said they knew someone who needed a housemate. Promised cheap accommodation while I looked for work.”
“Oh.”
“Took me to this rambler in the suburbs to show me the lodgings. I walked in the door and never walked out again until they put the bag over my head and threw me in the van.” She turns her head toward me. “What about you?”
“Said they could get me work with a guy they knew. Dropped me off for a trial, promised to pay me the next time I went back for a shift, then did the same again. It went on for a month before I threatened to take them to the authorities. That’s how I ended up in the van, too.”
“Assholes.”
“Right?” I glance at her, finding Darla staring into the night again. “How bad was it? In the house, I mean.”
“Probably exactly what you’d imagine.” Her eyes tighten, words stiff as she avoids the memories.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault.”
I look away from the wasted food, frustrated after the first proper meal I’ve had in days. I didn’t lie to Darla. More told a half-truth and let her fill in the blanks however she wished. Still feels just as shit.
“What do you think you’ll do?” she asks. “After this?”
“I’m not sure.” The end to my ordeal hasn’t arrived yet. I’ve got a while to go before I can entertain those kinds of hopeful thoughts. “Hadn’t thought about it at all.” Aside from knowing where I want to live one day.
Maybe Alaska would suit the vibe?
“I’m worried about what’ll happen to The Kid if the authorities can’t find her family,” Darla muses. “Hurts my heart to think of her in a home.”
“Better than being where we were. At least she’d have an exit date when she ages out.”
“Do you think they’ll get her to talk? Find out where she came from?”
I shrug. “If I were her age, I wouldn’t trust anyone enough to talk.”
“True.”
“Hi, ladies.” The older woman who arrived in the past hour pokes her head out the door. “Everything okay?” Floss, I think, was her name. Obviously a nickname.
“Yeah. I’m okay,” I say.
“Me too.” Darla smiles. “Thank you for asking.”
She looks at each of us in turn as though assessing whether we’re a flight risk.
“Do you know how much longer we need to be here?” I ask. “Like, are we free to go when we want?”
She softens into something warm and welcoming. Something like I’d imagine a kind and cozy grandma to be.
I never met mine.
“Chaos would like you to talk to the sheriff in the morning. Tell him what you can about where you’ve been, who you’ve seen, what they did to get you there. I know it’s scary, but they’ll keep you out of harm’s way.”
“Who’s Chaos?” Darla asks.
“Our President,” Floss answers, stepping onto the porch properly. “The man with the bi-colored hair and eyes.”
“Oh.” Yeah. He was kind of hard to miss. “Who was the guy who brought me back here?” I ask, softening toward what I really want to know. “The guy with the wavy, dark blond hair.”
“Jinx. The Vice President.”
“And the young guy I rode with?” Darla says.
“Darko.” Floss frowns, seemingly trying to work out if we have an ulterior motive for our line of questioning.
Maybe Darla doesn’t, but, “And the guy who let us out? The one with the pierced lip?”
She smirks. “Fang.”
Figures. Should have picked he’d have a road name like that.
“We’re really grateful for what they did,” Darla offers, as though her words are a peace treaty proffered on a silver platter.
“I’m sure you are,” Floss agrees, suspicion lining her tone. “They’re good men, despite their appearance. You’re safe now.”
I give her a thankful smile, hoping it’ll make her finish the conversation there and leave. The gesture works a charm, Floss retreating indoors with one last glance over her shoulder at us.
There’s no such thing as safe. No point wishing for it.
There’s only a naive ignorance that crime can’t touch you in your cozy, suburban life.
When in reality, it’s already all around you.