Twenty-Five
JENNA
“Come with me.” Fang towers over where I’d resumed last night’s game with Darla, face grim as he stares down at the table.
“Why?” Skepticism stretches the word.
Darla glares at me, eyes hard.
“What?” I mouth at her.
Fang grinds his jaw, fixated on the motionless draughts pieces.
“Just go,” Darla mutters. “We can pick this up after.”
Traitor. I rise to my feet and lift my eyebrows at the asshole as though to say, “Well, come on then.”
He leads me through the foyer to the room opposite. I’m struck by two things as I walk in the door: one, that this appears to be Chaos’s office. Damn it. And two, the gorgeous shelves on two walls which give off major Beauty and the Beast vibes.
“You want me to stay?” Fang asks his president.
The intense guy doesn’t bother looking up from the laptop on the desk before him. “Nope.”
I catch Fang’s eye and wilt a little at the frustration and hint of disappointment that I find. He strides from the room, door closing behind him with an ominously dense thud. Why do I feel so abandoned?
“You’ve been here less than forty-eight hours,” Chaos states, not wasting a single second.
“And already you’ve given me more problems than anyone else has in the past week.
” He looks up, piercing me with his blue and brown eyes.
“That’s not the kind of drama I usually tolerate around here.
I think it’s about time we even the scales. ”
Swear to God, if I’d known I was in for an interrogation, I might have asked to use the bathroom first.
“What do you propose?” Because this isn’t about me or what I think.
It never is with motorcycle clubs.
“Sit.” He gestures to the half-moon-shaped leather chair before his desk.
I gingerly settle on the front edge and then square my shoulders. Fuck him. I’m tired of being intimidated into submission. I study the ornate scrollwork on the front of the grand mantle to give off the illusion that I don’t care what he has to say.
I care greatly about what he says next.
“What exactly do you want to get out of being here, Jenna?” Chaos asks, completely throwing me off kilter.
“Pardon?”
“You heard what I said.”
“I did. I just don’t know why you chose to say that.”
“Because I’m curious.” He closes the laptop and rests his forearms on top of it. “I want to know why you’re still here. What are you looking for?”
What the fuck does he know? Fang told me to keep my shit to myself, but I’m fast gaining the impression he did not do the same. “Direction,” I answer simply. Truthfully.
“That phone you asked for had a map app for that.”
Fucker. Loki really can’t be trusted—noted. “What do you want to get out of this?” I flip the script on him. If Vanessa’s words hold any truth, he’ll be honest about why I’m a problem.
Chaos leans back, slow and measured. “Something that helps me achieve my goal.”
“Of?”
His discerning eyes flick to my throat and then back to my face as though he can see my rapid pulse fluttering in my neck. “The details are irrelevant.”
“Of course.”
A thud sounds at the window behind me. I jolt, unable to catch the reaction before he sees it. “You grew up knowing bikers, Jenna.” Chaos rises from his seat, rounding the desk. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the more common rules.”
“Women know nothing.” I recite the words my father would yell at my mother to shut her down in her stronger moments as Chaos walks past me. “Club business is men’s business.”
“Again,” he calmly instructs. “Tell me why you’re still here.”
“I don’t know where I want to go yet.” Another truth.
I swivel in the seat to see what the hell he’s up to and lift an eyebrow as he cracks one of the windows open to let in a rather confident-looking cat. The gray tabby pauses on the sill to stare at me before jumping to the floor and promptly crossing to the fire.
“Why don’t you go home?” Chaos follows the furry leader, then stokes the fire to resurrect short flames.
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“I want you to tell me.” He scratches between the animal’s ears and then returns to his desk.
I swallow twice, eyeing him as he retakes his seat across from me. “I’m not finished yet. I can’t go home until I am. And even then, I don’t know if I want to.” It’s not much of a home anymore.
“We could do this all day,” he drawls, lounging in the seat.
“This vague back and forth. But I don’t have the time to spare.
So how about we cut to the chase, and you tell me everything you think I’d like to know about your father and what he has you doing.
” The guy is handsome. Ridiculously good-looking, and even more so with his unusual eyes and distinctive hair color.
But all I get from him is imminent danger.
A carefully contained threat that could destroy me before his coffee has time to go cold.
“I’m not here to spy for him, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“The obvious thought had crossed my mind,” he states, fidgeting with a pen. “But if I were concerned about it, you’d already be gone.”
Dead or down the road—only he knows what he meant for sure.
“My father wants the Devil’s Breed ruined. He has no interest in your club. It’s a personal vendetta, plain and simple.” Weak, Jenna.
Chaos pins me beneath his calculating stare. “Who is he? Who’s your father, Jenna?”
I turn my head toward the cat and hesitate while I watch it gently lick its fur. I should never have said anything to Fang. I’ve never been one to let things slip before. But I’m tired. I’m physically and mentally worn out, and I want a goddamn holiday from all the pressure, the responsibility.
My capacity to give a shit dwindles day by day.
“Flinch,” I say quietly. “He was an officer under Tuck.”
“I know.” Same goddamn road name as our chaplain.
I chance a look his way. “Did you ever meet him?”
“Crossed paths, but we never spoke one-on-one, no. I was a lot younger and greener then.” Chaos moves the laptop aside and then retrieves his phone, elbows on the desk as he thumbs the screen. “What’s his reason for wanting Smoke destroyed?”
Huh. I never said my father wanted to ruin Smoke specifically, just the Devil’s Breed in general. How did he pick up on that? Unless it’s just a slip of the tongue.
“When my mom left the Devil’s Breed, she struggled.
Small towns being what they are, everyone knew who she’d been associated with and why she left.
” I hang my head, embarrassed for my mom that I have to share the next bit.
“She was another member’s old lady when she got pregnant, and although nobody knew about me, they knew she’d been exiled for that infidelity and lack of honor.
” I take a deep breath and sigh it out my nose before continuing.
“We officially lived under the poverty line for the longest time before she managed to move us somewhere new and get steady employment. The stigma of the Devil’s Breed MC on her name is the reason she couldn’t afford shit when she got sick.
If it wasn’t for their influence, she may have been able to afford insurance or not put off being checked for so long.
” I pause long enough to swallow the obstruction from my throat. “She might still be alive.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I snap my gaze to his, surprised by the genuine and swift condolences.
Most MC members I’ve met are so accustomed to the bad luck and shit circumstances that accompany the life, that compassion doesn’t even cross their mind; it’s just how it is, to suffer.
Hearing genuine remorse for my pain is refreshing.
Disarming.
“Thank you.” I still haven’t told Chaos the worst of it, yet he seems satisfied enough with the pieces I have given him.
So I zip it.
“How long ago was he dismissed?” Chaos asks.
“Four years, give or take a few months.”
He presses his fingertips together, glancing to his phone as the screen illuminates. “How much does he know about what Smoke does now?”
“He knows enough details of their legal fronts that he knew where to place me so I’d be in the thick of it.”
“Does he know the routes they take the women?”
“Some.”
“Know who’s involved?”
“Mostly.”
“When they travel and how they do it?”
“He suggested the framework they still use today.”
Chaos’s gaze hardens. “Does he agree with the trade?”
“He used to.” The confession sits heavy in my chest. Some days I think he still does, deep down. “I’m not sure.”
The Kings of Anarchy president leans back, fingers interlaced before him while he studies me. Intently. Lengthy.
I default to the cat again who now lies stretched out on the small rug before the fire, a content look of belonging on its face. How I wish to do that. To find somewhere I’m that goddamn relaxed enough I can lie around without guilt or remorse.
Without feeling as though my actions are weighed, judged, and found wanting.
“I’m going to give you the phone back,” Chaos finally says, startling me. “I’m sure you’ve worked out it’s tapped; we’ll know who you call and when, your browsing history, what apps you use. But I want you to call your old man again.”
“He doesn’t want me to get in contact until I’m back in the operation,” I confess, duty churning my gut.
“And how does he know you aren’t?”
His candor catches me off guard. “When the call comes from the same number, I’m certain he’ll figure it out.” I stare him down, daring Chaos to challenge me. I’m sure he’s not that simple that he would have missed the obvious.
“We’ll change the SIM card—give it a new number.”
Of course. Seems I’m the simple one. “And what would you like me to say?” I barely hold the sarcasm from my tone.
“Ask him to come here, at my invitation.”
I snort most unladylike at his suggestion. “He’s ex-Devil’s Breed. You think he’s going to walk in here like you’re old chums?”
“If he wants Smoke ruined, he will.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why do you need him to get what you want?”
“Because as Sun Tzu said, ‘To know your enemy, you must become your enemy’,” Chaos recites. “I need someone who can help me stop thinking like a King and view this shit as a Devil.”