Seventeen
JENNA
I can’t stop looking at her, not now that I know.
The kid wanders into the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse as though it’s home already. Comforting.
Safe.
I take a step away from the nondescript taxi-van to follow her inside when a gentle hand catches me by the upper arm.
“Can I have a quick word?” The sheriff’s peace officer, Maisie, lets her hand fall away. “If you don’t mind?”
“Sure.” I glance to the empty doorway and then follow her lead.
She gestures to the left of the porch steps, moving us out of earshot of the others.
“When we met last night, you were vague about your intentions moving forward. In the short term, we can offer crisis counseling, and once the charges are laid, you’ll get financial assistance.
Is this something you would like our victim support officer to pursue on your behalf?
” She pauses, tilting her head to study me.
I don’t mind her. Natural, deep blonde hair that sits just past her shoulders. Genuine, kind eyes. And the type of calm presence that makes you want to relax your shoulders and take a seat.
She’s good at her job.
“I don’t know yet.” The truth.
I don’t need help to start over. I don’t need protection. That I know of. But I need a possible exit strategy if things turn bad. Worse than it already did.
“Okay.” Maisie folds her arms, yet it’s not aggressive. More pensive. “What makes you feel unsure about receiving assistance?”
I glance past her at the field, then turn briefly to note Chaos and Loki conversing with Deputy Keller. Anywhere, but at the gentle crease to Maisie’s brow that begs me to unload.
To confess.
“I haven’t decided where I want to go yet.”
“Are there family who’d like to see you?”
“Not really.”
She rolls her lips. “If we get the ball rolling now, at least then if you change your mind and decide you’d like the help to set yourself up somewhere you’ll have financial aid as a starting block.”
“I’m not short of money.”
She seems surprised by the revelation. “Oh.” Her gaze flicks over the men. “Would you like me to recommend some places you could get your own accommodation, then, close to the sheriff’s office and town amenities?”
And there it is. The preconception that because the Kings of Anarchy are a one percent club, I don’t feel safe here.
I’m safer than I am at some tired motel where nobody knows who’s in the room next door and the owner can’t be reached after 5 P.M.
“I’m okay with staying here. Thanks. It’s nice having other people around.”
Her frown deepens. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” I tuck my hands under my arms and shrink into the safety of Fang’s sweater. “Is there anything else?”
“No.” She offers a practiced smile. Unsaid questions linger behind her firm lips. “You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”
“Sure.” I don’t hesitate, turning on my heel to head for the house before she can think of anything else to say.
The men quieten as I pass by, my gaze lifting to connect with Chaos’s. His stoic expression gives nothing away, yet I find the shadow of doubt in his apathetic stare. I dash up the porch steps and bypass the downstairs living areas to head straight for Fang’s room.
I might be resilient, but I’m not infallible. I have moments of overwhelm, when the world gets too much, and this is one of them.
Little over a week ago, I waited tables in a bar. Now, here I am, gripping the handrail of a biker clubhouse for dear life in the hopes it keeps me grounded to reality.
I set foot on the landing and stride to Fang’s door, shoving it open, desperate to take a full, calming breath.
“No, please,” he sasses. “Come right in.”
My feet won’t move. I’m caught between the dire need to shut myself away and reset, and the knowledge that this is his space, and he has a right to ask me to leave. “Sorry.”
He hesitates, halfway through tugging on a thick, plaid riding shirt. The kind woven with Kevlar threads. Maybe they’re useful for more than just road safety. Something that hadn’t crossed my mind until now.
“What happened?” he asks with a frown.
I stiffen.
He doesn’t care. Fang isn’t interested in how a goddamn medical check went. He wants dirt. To evaluate how much trouble I’ll be. Wants to know what to expect.
“Nothing.” I eye his open wardrobe. The shelf with the packaging and the stashed phone. Damn it.
His gaze follows mine. “Is it really that much of a surprise to you?”
“A surprise?” My pulse hammers in my neck.
“The mess it is,” he says, gesturing to the crammed shelves and rail after shrugging the shirt on. “Dolly vacuums and clears the trash, but everything else is up to us.”
“Dolly,” I mimic like some half-wit parrot.
“Our cleaner.” His brow dives as he slowly lifts his cut.
I hate that he looks even more devastating when he’s serious. The guy is a jerk. They’re always the ones who get the looks, though.
“I’m gonna ask again,” Fang says slowly as he turns toward me, sliding his arms through the leather. “What happened?”
Nothing I want to talk about. “You look as though you’re on the way out,” I say. “I’ll get out of your way.” My feet blessedly remember how to move.
“Uh-uh.” The asshole reaches me in four long strides, shooting his arm over my shoulder to slam the door shut and thwart my escape. The sudden puff of air as it seals closed gusts my nose. “You came up here looking like you’re seconds away from detonation, Freckles. What gives?”
Breath quickening, I will the building tension in my hands and arms to ease as I slowly turn to face him.
“Nothing.” He’s entirely too close. The word comes out short and brash.
“I just need some alone time after being poked, probed, and fucking questioned for the past two hours. Is that too much to ask for?”
“No,” he states, “It’s not.” Fang regards me with eyes that drag over my mouth before lifting to meet mine again. “But I don’t think that’s the whole problem here, is it?”
What does he want from me? I stare into those fucking hypnotic pools of his, my brow pinched.
“My problems are my own, Fang.” He leans back a touch at my defensive tone.
“You don’t know me. You know nothing about where I’ve come from or what I’ve faced, so why the hell do you need to know what makes me how I am now? ”
He sighs. “You’re right: I know fuck all about you. But is it so hard to believe that I want to know more?”
Yes. Yes, it is. I want to believe him. I want so badly for there to be somebody who sees me as more than a means to an end. But…
“Yeah.” I lift a hand between us and tap my finger to his chest. Right over the patch that states who he is. What he does. “It is hard to believe. You’re asking a girl who was taken by bikers to trust a biker. Can you see the issue with that?”
“I can.” His gaze hardens. “But you’re choosing to judge me by my cover, Freckles. Not making a single effort to understand the man beneath. Not even giving me a chance.”
“So what?” I sass. “You’re the victim here now?”
“No.” He snaps the word through gritted teeth. “But the way I see it, you’re the one making life harder on yourself by deciding everyone’s the enemy before they’ve had the opportunity to prove to you otherwise.”
“Maybe everyone has been the enemy up to this point,” I half-whisper. “Ever thought of that?”
He sighs, and the warm gust against my throat tells me just how close he’s gotten during our little back-and-forth.
The door makes indents in my back, nothing but the sound of our breaths between us when Fang slowly lifts his right arm to lean his weight against the hard surface.
There’s a question in his hooded eyes, an uncertainty that I find echoed in the flutter across my breastbone.
Something unnamable dances the current between us, and I can’t reason why, after a single fucking day, he occupies so much of my time.
What makes him different to the rest? Why, since the moment he drew that door wide, have I felt an inexplicable pull toward him? As though he holds the key. Occupies the space I need to figure out what the fuck I do from here.
“What are you doing?” His words are a mere whisper against my heated skin.
“Nothing,” I murmur back, noting the graze of his thigh against my hip. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
The world hesitates for a breath, suspense thick in the air between us, unsure where we intend to take this.
I lick my lips, their texture far too dry for my liking.
Fang exhales, gaze dipping to watch as I rub the moistened flesh together.
And then, as though reading my goddamn thoughts, as though we share the same fucked up intrusive desires, he leans down and sets his mouth to mine. Tasting. Curious. Hesitant.
The fuck is he thinking?
Both palms flat against his chest, I shove him—hard. “What the hell?”
The man lifts both palms to face me and takes a cocky step backward, gaze hard. Jaw set even harder.
“Why would you do that?” Despite what I say, my fingers brush my lips as though searching for evidence. Confirming it was madness to give in.
“You gave me all the fucking signals you wanted me to.” Fang shrugs, nonchalant but hurt, as though I bruised his pride by not wilting into his arms and succumbing to his charm.
Allowing him to play the hero.
Not that I can argue what he damn well says. I did wonder how he’d taste. Was captivated by the heat of his skin so close to mine. But I can’t trust my own thoughts. My head is a fucking minefield of unanswered questions, naive beliefs, and desire born from the ache to be wanted. Loved. Valued.
I’m in no goddamn place to fuck around with a stranger. No matter how good-looking he is. Even if the guy is my twisted white knight and the momentary high would be an amazing escape from reality.
“You should have known better,” I grumble, aimlessly brushing off my clothes. Brushing the tingles his brief kiss elicited from my skin.