Twenty-Six
FANG
The door to Chaos’s office opens, and Jenna walks through, head down, deep in thought.
Arms folded across my chest, I stay slouched on the short bench beneath the coat rack, watching her shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh.
She’s pretty in an understated way, and for some goddamn reason it drives me wild.
“What did he say?”
Her head jerks up, right hand moving to her chest. “Fuck, Nibbles. You’ve been sitting there the whole time waiting to scare the shit out of me?”
“Would it make you feel better if I said yes?” Truth is, I’ve been sitting here the whole goddamn time waiting to see if Chaos let her go or viewed her as enough of a threat to lock her up until he gets what he wants.
Guess at least one of us knows how to use our charm.
Her gaze roams the length of me. “Chaos wants me to call my father.”
“No surprise there.”
“You told him what I said,” she accuses, eyes hardening. “Why?”
“Club duty.” I shrug.
Her jaw tenses, lips drawing to a thin line when she stares to the side for a beat. “You’re an asshole.”
“Thought we’d already established that.”
“You all are.” Jenna turns for the stairs and then stalls.
“What?”
Back turned to me, she hangs her head and sighs. “I just want somewhere where I don’t feel as though every corner of the room watches me. It’s goddamn stifling being in this house.”
“Then why don’t you leave?”
“Trust me,” she sasses. “I’ve thought about it. But it doesn’t help anyone but me.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She snaps her head around, eyes critical. “Fuck you.”
“Sometimes wish you would.”
“What the hell happened to you?” she asks, turning to face me and taking an uninvited step my way. “You’ve been defensive from the outset, but you’re a proper bastard now that you didn’t get what you wanted from me. Unaccustomed to women saying no?”
“My mother and father would dispute that fact.”
“That you’re a misogynist?”
“That I’m a bastard.”
“Ugh.” Jenna thrusts both fists at her sides and then heads for the front door.
“Where are you going?” I toss the question her way, sure to sound bored as I do despite being desperate to know.
“Outside,” she shouts. “Away from you.”
I rise to my feet and follow her onto the porch. “Afraid I can’t let you do that.”
“Why the hell not?” She doesn’t turn to face me, let alone slow down, jogging down the steps to the yard that slowly turns to a muddy slurry.
“Because you can’t be trusted.”
“Neither can you, remember!” The woman finally spins, losing her footing a little on the dirt and stones. “Who’s following you around, though, huh?”
“Fate.”
“Fuck me, Nibbles.” She rolls her eyes and then resumes her march across the muck, clearly unsure where she’s going. “Why don’t you let fate follow me too, then? Why’s that fine for you but not good enough for me?”
She spirals, and it’s beautiful. Because what comes after the spiral is a breakdown.
A complete collapse of her walls, checks, and balances, that’ll allow me an honest look at who she is—what she’s doing here.
Jenna’s almost there; she just… needs… a little…
nudge. “You killed an opposing club member, Freckles. You killed a rival associate to protect yourself, and that makes you a threat to every one of us here. That’s why fate isn’t good enough for you. ”
Jenna freezes, slowly lifting her arms to hug herself.
Silence reigns between us.
“How do I know you ain’t about to find yourself a gun in the middle of the night and put me down, too? Try to get at Chaos? What’s stopping you from hurting my daughter?”
She shrugs, choosing to remain facing away.
“You’re a danger to every one of us here, including yourself.”
“Got anything else you want to add?” Her words are small. Fragile.
I take a step closer. “Why do it?” I edge around Jenna, moving to stand in front of the woman.
She stares at the ground between our feet, chewing the inside of her cheek.
“Why let your old man put you in harm’s way? What was in it for you?”
I count the small puffs of warm air that escape her slight nose, note the way they speed up a little.
She’s still wearing my sweater, but her feet are bare, and she’s rocking a borrowed pair of yoga pants that’s too thin for this weather.
She has to be cold. It’s barely after breakfast and near zero out here.
“What was in it for you, Freckles?” I repeat, a little softer this time.
She breaks.
Tiny sniffles, the slight tilt of her head backward to stall the fall of her tears. Jenna swallows, over and over, her soft, inked throat working overtime to stall her breakdown. She’s too proud to put it all out there. Too proud to admit her failures.
“Did you get it?” I mutter. “What you wanted from us? From them?”
Jenna brings both hands to her face, the oversized sleeves of my sweater covering her palms as she hides her tears. “Stop it.”
“Makes me think you didn’t if you’re still here. Still trying to fuck everyone over.”
“I said stop it, Fang.” Her shoulders shake with hiccuped breaths.
A nice guy would stop. A thoughtful guy would give her space. I’m neither when provoked.
I’m a patched King looking for a reason why a Breed mutt would want to take them down. Loyalties are black and white in this moment, but her intentions aren’t.
“It was big enough to kill Mary-Beth over.” I lean down a little, get real close to that hidden face of hers. “Big enough that you wanted to.”
“Stop it!” She tears her hands away, eyes maddened as she screams the demand.
“What. Was in it. For you?” I don’t move, words loud in the open yard.
Her frantic breaths pepper my face.
“Fuck!” Jenna spins away, hands clenched at her sides as she screams into the void.
“Fuck everyone! All of this!” Her anger eventually gives way, shoulders shaking as lamented moans escape her throat.
All the frustration, the grief, the injustice, and the weight of somebody else’s vendetta burdened on her soul erupt, pouring out into the cool morning air.
The broken husk of a woman falls to her knees and cries, interrupting the rhythmic sobs every so often to scream at the sky.
And I watch it all, like the perverted fucker I am. I watch it all, and I absorb her pain, curious how that would feel to let it all out finally. To break that tension rod inside of me. To drop the pretenses, if only for a little while.
“Fuck you,” she sobs, the strength gone from her words as she struggles to stay upright. “Fuck you all for doing this to me. Putting me in this position. It’s not fair.”
“No, it ain’t,” I agree, sliding my arms under hers. “But it’s how it is, and nothing’s gonna change that now.”
She reluctantly allows me to take her weight and haul her to her feet. The tears continue, dry more than anything else, but the pain is still raw and vulnerable as it escapes her throat in scratchy chords. “Let go of me.”
“No.”
“I don’t want you to touch me.”
“You don’t get a choice.”
Tight fists pummel my chest. “Why not?” she wails. “You don’t care. Nobody does. What I want doesn’t matter. All you fuckers care about is what you can get from me.”
Haven’t I had that thought plenty in my life? “What you want matters, Freckles. But I don’t think you even know what that is, do you?” She’s been guided by her father for years. Does she even know who she is anymore? Who she wants to be?
Jenna pauses her assault, only for a second, wide eyes looking up at me as she hiccups for air.
And then it begins anew. Only this time, I’m not the enemy.
I’m purely the outlet.
I fight her thrashing fists, pushing her hands aside so I can scoop her off her feet.
My gaze drifts to the clubhouse. The last thing she needs right now is the criticism and judgment of the others while she reassembles herself—while I get the answers I need.
So, instead, I take the wilted woman toward the barn where I know we should be able to find privacy, at least for a little while.
Jenna shakes in my arms, hands hiding her face while she continues to hiccup the last of her sadness from her lungs.
Her body is stiff in my hold, elbow digging hard into my ribs, almost as though she tries desperately to keep her body from resting against mine.
I jostle her, tilt her toward me, and force the woman to find human connection—even if it is from someone who still tries to work out what she means—to me—to the club.
I get the feeling she doesn’t let herself do this often.
“Here.” I set the woman on her feet beside a log stool at one of the wooden tables. “Stay there. I’ll get you a blanket.” There are linens in the back for when we have out-of-town groups stay over.
“I’m fine.” Jenna hiccups in through her nose. It makes a strange little whistle.
Paper, too. “No, you’re not.”
I stride through to the storage cupboard, retrieve a quilt, then cross to the kitchen area to snag a few paper napkins. Jenna’s taken the seat when I return to the heart of the barn, legs drawn up before her, feet perched on the edge of the stump.
“Here.” I pass the blanket over and then set the napkins on the table.
“Thanks.” The woman can’t meet my eye.
The inevitable shame of a person too proud to admit they struggle.
I drag another stool closer and sit opposite her, elbows rested on my knees.
Bringing the captive women here was always going to be complicated.
But bringing Jenna here brought things to a whole new level.
She’s single-handedly managed to tangle the interests of three opposing clubs, setting fires wherever she went.
Killing the dead girl was a mistake. But her need to protect herself wasn’t.
“When did you realize?” I ask.
She lifts her reddened eyes to mine, clutching the bundled blanket in her lap like a teddy. “What?”
“Who Mary-Beth was.”
Jenna swallows, gaze averted as she whispers, “When they took our hoods off.”
“Thought you said you didn’t know who she was, though.”
Jenna sighs. “I never said that. I’d seen her around, but we weren’t friends. Never spoke before.” Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “I thought she didn’t know me.”
“But Mary-Beth recognized you.”