Twenty-One
JENNA
He made me promise not to tell anyone else what I’d told him. Not yet.
I want to believe that Fang will make the same promise. But as I study the way he casually chats with Loki on the far side of the room, the straight-up confidence of the man tells me I’d be naive to place that trust in him, especially after the things he said in his room.
So why did I tell Fang my biggest secret?
Your second biggest secret. Was I just tired of burdening it all alone?
Because that’s the only plausible reason I can find for why I’d tell a member of a rival MC that I was born a Devil’s Breed brat, even if I wasn’t raised one.
Unless his kiss worked to disarm and confuse you, just like he wanted.
I should have pushed him away earlier. Kicked him square in the nuts. But the moment his lips touched mine, I was a goner.
So I indulged. I let him lead, and I savored what it felt like to have his mouth work against mine. Even if only for a second.
And here I now sit, still justifying with myself why it’s wrong to want more.
Kathy enters the room, casting a wary gaze the men’s way before slipping across to where I sit. “The van’s here,” she says quietly. “To pick up Nandi and Mila.”
My chest squeezes. It’s time to move on. “I’ll be right out.”
She nods, retreating as quickly as she arrived.
I look to my left. “Would you like to come say goodbye?”
The Kid lifts her attention from the block game on Darko’s iPad and nods.
I wait for her to set the device aside and then offer my hand, rising to stand at the same time as she does.
She still hasn’t spoken—as far as I’m aware—and she’s yet to show much emotion outside of understandable caution around new faces and new places.
Most importantly, she doesn’t look at me as though she knows.
There’s no hesitation in her gaze, no trepidation to her touch.
I feel even more of a monster for the deceit.
Sure enough, a white van sits on the driveway when we step onto the porch, waiting for Nandi and Mila’s departure.
As do Fang and Loki.
I avoid the men’s stares, fixing my gaze on the boards beneath my feet while The Kid leads the way to our departing sisters.
Tears are shed. Kind words are spoken. Hugs are exchanged.
None of which involve Nandi.
Fang’s advice to engage with others more sits at the forefront of my mind while I venture to where Nandi stands stiffly to the side, invisible walls erected around her to shelter her from the human emotion of it all.
“How’s the head?” If having a conversation makes me appear more trustworthy, then so be it.
I can do that.
Nandi doesn’t look my way, answering in a bored monotone. “Fine.”
“Are you excited to see your sister?”
“Ecstatic.” Solid sarcasm.
“You know, it’s not weak to admit you’re not okay.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m just trying to be nice.”
Nandi snorts a bitter laugh. “Sure.”
I’ve had about as much as I can take. I tried to be kind to her.
Repeatedly. Now I’m all out of olive branches.
“What is your problem?” I hug myself against the chill in the air, my freshly showered skin sensitive to the change in temperature despite the warmth of Fang’s sweater.
“We just want to help you, Nandi, but you act as though you can’t stand us all.
Like it’s our fault you got caught up in all of this.
” The realization smacks me in the face.
“As though you’re mad at us that you left. ”
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up, Jenna,” she shouts, finally facing me.
An awkward hush falls over the yard.
“You want to know what my problem is? It’s you, thinking you fucking know it all. Walking around here like you’re better than us. Like you need special treatment.”
“I’m not—“
“I’m not finished,” she snaps, stiff finger directed toward my face. “You know what happened to Mary-Beth. You were right fucking next to her that night. And you aren’t talking, which makes me think you’re more involved than you admit.”
My heart pounds, palms clammy. I notice Fang in my periphery, watching as Nandi skates dangerously close to the truth.
“So why the fuck would I want to talk to you?” she asks, not expecting an answer. “Of all the fucking women here, you’d be the last one I said a goddamn thing to about how I really feel. I’d even talk to The Kid before I said a word to you.”
“That’s enough,” Darla says, stepping in.
“I’m fucking done anyway.” Nandi fends off her touch and spins for the van.
I cast my eye over the shocked and concerned stares of the other women, and shrink when my gaze hits the men. I feel exposed. Hunted. They smell blood in the water, and I’m the only one with an open wound in this moment.
Chaos turns his back to me, leaning close to Fang to murmur something in his ear. My keeper fixes his gaze on me and nods to his president.
This is it. This is where they turn.
My emergency exit strategy just became priority one.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, breaking for the house. I need to leave. To get the fuck out of here. I need to vanish off the face of the earth for a while, and I need… nothing from the clubhouse. I have no possessions. No items to gather.
Not even a phone.
My feet make a noticeable crunch in the gravel when I come to an abrupt halt.
Right in the fucking middle of everyone. Shit.
“Got a minute, Freckles?” Fang closes in from my left.
The door on the van slides shut with a loud scrape of metal, Mila and Nandi tucked away, ready to escape this hell.
“You and me need to talk some more.” He crowds my shoulder, using his body to intimidate and control.
The women return indoors, one by one.
I have no friends.
“I never wanted to do it,” I confess, chin quivering.
I need out. I want to run. But I’m stuck, staring my mortality in the hooded face as it silently mocks me from the shadows. Mercy is not a word often used in the one percent world. There are rules. Strict codes of conduct. Hard lines that aren’t crossed in order to protect the club.
I represent a loose end. A thread that, if pulled, would unravel all manner of mess over their pristine floors.
I need to be cut off. Removed.
I’m in way over my head. Fuck you, Dad.
“How about we take a walk?” Fang’s voice is soft, soothing.
A fateful lie.
I open my mouth to protest, yet get cut short when Jezabel steps out of the house onto the porch. “Molly’s having a bath and going to bed, Fang.”
He nods, a slight tightness to the corner of his eyes that almost resembles regret. “Tell her I’ll come say goodnight when I’m done here.”
Jezabel’s gaze drifts over me. “She might be asleep by then.”
“I’ll risk it.”
The woman nods and returns indoors to tend to his child. “Is she related to you?”
He snorts. “Why would you think that?”
“Because she takes care of your daughter.”
“She’s property, Jenna. She does what the club needs her to.”
Property. Yet another slap in the face to wake me up to the reality—they’re all the same. The Kings of Anarchy may not traffick women, as far as I know, but they still treat females the same: as something to be used, not respected.
“Walk, Freckles.” Fang starts down the driveway, boldly expecting me to follow.
I eye the grain field beyond the house, measure the distance to the road, and count the obstacles in my mind.
You’ll never make it. Even if I did get to the road, where would I go then?
I have two tired feet. They have two wheels.
Damn it. I start after the man, noticing how he slows his pace so I can catch up.
“What happened to Mary-Beth, Jenna?” he asks, staring straight ahead. “You didn’t tell me that earlier.”
I glance up at the man as he moves. At his stubbled jaw, the strong cords of his neck painted with ink. At the soft fall of his black hair. The piercings that highlight the gentle curve of his bottom lip.
I want to kiss him again, if only to escape this nauseating dread. I’m ruined.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It won’t change anything.”
“But it will.” He tugs a Zippo lighter out of his pocket and fidgets with the lid as he talks, flicking it open and then closed repeatedly. “You told me she’s a daughter of the Blood Eagles. Who?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because Chaos would like to reach out to her father.”
“You told him what I said?” I stop walking, head spinning. “Why?” How many times in one day can I fear imminent death? Apparently a lot.
“Because that’s what we do: share things that affect the club.” He pauses. “It’s not your concern.”
“I think it is.”
Fang pauses once he realizes I no longer follow, turning to face me. “How did she die, Jenna?”
“Her lungs stopped working.”
His gaze hardens, evident even by moonlight.
“I’ve told you enough damning information about me for one day, Nibbles. Leave me alone.” I may as well ask a bear to ignore my food.
Fang draws a deep breath.
I look away to stop the fucking butterflies in my gut from reacting to his stupidly gorgeous outline. Am I allowed to leave? The man has no damn right to wear leather so well. Nor any right to fill out jeans the way he does.
“I killed a man while his back was turned,” Fang admits. “Shot him while he ran away from me.”
My first instinct is to ask what’s so wrong with that if he was defending himself. Instead, I shut the fuck up and listen.
“It was only my third or fourth kill,” he says, folding his arms. “I was still young. Not legal age to drink, yet, but old enough that my father—also a King of Anarchy—believed it’d be an embarrassment to him if I weren’t involved with the club.”
“What happened to make you do it?”
“Smaller club tried to dupe us out of a deal. Took the goods and fired a shot off at my old man and his Road Captain before they paid for the stuff.” He shrugs. “The other club started it, but it was plain mayhem by the end of it.”
I understand why he tells me this; he wants me to understand I’m not the only one who regrets how they killed someone. Only, this is different. I didn’t defend a loved one. I don’t do it at my club’s request. And I sure as hell wasn’t in my right mind when I did.
“Killing someone isn’t as frowned upon around here as it is out in the civilian world,” Fang says, confirming my suspicions. “You can tell me what happened, Jenna.”
“I can’t.”
“Fuck,” he exclaims, spinning to pace away before turning back toward me. “Why do you keep being so damn stubborn?”
“I’m not being stubborn!”
“Then why won’t you just fucking say why you murdered her?”
Chests heaving, we stare one another down. Fuck him. So much for the fresh start. Why would I tell him now? What does it benefit me?
“Christ, Jenna.” He advances, gripping one of my shoulders and spinning me for the clubhouse. “If you won’t tell me, then Chaos will find other ways of getting the details. And trust me, you don’t want to go there.”
I’m well-versed in the style of coercion he references, especially if it involves that so-called meat locker he mentioned.
“I never said I didn’t want to tell you.” I shrug free of his hold yet maintain our pace back to warmth. Back to safety in numbers. “I just can’t.”
“Why?” He doesn’t look at me as he grits the question through clenched teeth. Just keeps on walking beside me, doing that fucking sexy swagger thing men do without realizing it. Ugh.
“Because I can’t remember. I know I did it. I know why. I just can’t remember how I got from the start,” I say, placing my hands to the left of me, “to the end.” Then shifting them to the right.
He stalls, swiveling to face me. “Like, you blacked out, or some shit?”
“Or some shit,” I murmur. “I don’t know. I just panicked, and when she kept winding me up, something snapped.” An involuntary shudder ripples down my back. “It freaks me out to think about it. I don’t like not being in control of myself.”
He says nothing, simply studying me as he toys with those goddamn twin piercings.
“I promise I’ll tell you when I remember.” Hopefully never. I start toward the house.
“Jenna.”
I have to turn back just to be sure I wasn’t imagining him saying my name.
“Chaos doesn’t trust you. And more than a few of the guys here feel the same.” He shifts his gaze to me. “I want to be able to help you move on, but I can’t do that if you don’t trust me.”
“Then give me a reason to.”
He stays silent as I leave.
Thought so.