Twenty-Seven
JENNA
I hate everything he represents, and yet each time I seek safety and understanding, there he is. I hate that I feel this way for him.
“If you want to take the power away from your father,” Fang says. “Then hand him over and let us use him to stop the Devil’s Breed from hurting more women.” He tenses. “Hurting children. You don’t have to be directly involved.”
His grip around my wrists is a brand, warm and impossible to ignore.
Why are his eyes so engaging? So captivating? Stop it.
“I need to be involved.”
“Why?” Fang releases his hold, easing back.
“Because that’s how I solve my problem.” I peer up at him and find nothing but raw confusion and a hint of frustration.
“Mom was sick for a long time. She was uninsured and didn’t qualify for most of the medical aid options.
When she couldn’t pay the out-of-pocket expenses, she got help from the only person she knew could afford to: my dad.
We didn’t know until later that he’d borrowed the sum from the Devil’s Breed. ”
Fang swallows, straightening on the stool, his inked hands resting atop his thighs. He looks away and draws a deep breath. “And now they want their money back.”
“Yeah.” I wind my hands in the blanket he gave me to retain the warmth from his touch. “But it gets worse.”
“How?” He chokes the question.
“Mom borrowed fourteen grand to clear her debt with the hospital. When she died, she still owed Dad eleven. But since he’d left the club by then, they’d been hiking up the interest on what he owed them. I didn’t find out until last year when I overheard him on a phone call with Smoke.”
“What does he owe them now?”
“A bit more than seventeen.”
“The fuck?”
Exactly what I said. “He can’t pay them, Fang.
They’ll keep increasing what he owes out of spite, no matter what he gives toward it, and then one day they’ll get bored with the game and put a bullet in him.
” My chest twists. “I can’t let that happen.
He might be a shit father, but he’s the only one I have. ”
“You don’t owe him fuck all, Jenna.” Fang’s eyes blaze with barely-checked rage. “This is his problem, not yours.”
“But I can help him with it, just like he helped Mom.”
“By fucking selling yourself in the trade?”
I blanch at his leered statement. I never thought that’s how it might seem to somebody on the outside: that I sold myself to clear the debt. “Fuck no.”
“Then how?” Fang lifts both hands to lace them behind his neck, clearly agitated.
I fist the blanket tighter. “By narcing on their operation so that they get torn apart by the cops. If the Devil’s Breed don’t exist anymore, neither does his debt.”
“So you traded one target for a fucking bigger one?” He laughs, bitter and disbelieving.
“They have multiple chapters, Jenna. Whatever void you create, they’ll fill with their own kind.
It’d be less than a month, and some patched fucker would be back at your door asking about the debt they found in Smoke’s ledger. Asking why the cops know your name.”
I stare at the ground. Every word from his mouth is the truth, and deep down I always knew that.
I simply denied the raw facts to myself over and over, blissfully ignoring the alternate—that Smoke would take down my father and then shift the responsibility to me for no other reason than he could once he found out that I existed.
And how.
No matter which way I look at the situation, I was fucked. Of all the roads I could pick to go down, this one seemed to hurt the least.
“You know what’s the most messed up?” I say.
Fang shrugs, arms now folded over his chest.
“The year after Mom died, they introduced the bill to clear people’s medical debt. All she had to do was hang on another few months, and it would have all gone anyway.” The familiar ache of regret needles into my breastbone at the admission.
“You can only deal with the now, not the what if.”
“I know.” I lift my gaze hesitantly to his before asking. “What will you do with him after you’ve got everything you need?”
“I can’t answer that.” A muscle feathers in his jaw.
“Because you don’t know? Or because you don’t want to?”
“Both.” Fang eyes the used napkin in my hands and then the half-used one on the table. “Are you ready to go back to the house?”
Does he honestly want the truth? Because, “No.” I like it here away from the pressure to hold it all together when I’m around everyone else. I like that he listens and he doesn’t just absorb my words—he processes them. Gives me options. Answers. Another perspective.
He helps whether he means to or not.
“What do you want to do then?”
I look him straight in the eye. “Stay here a while longer.”
“You’re cold, Jenna.”
He stopped calling me Freckles. Guess he’s serious, then. “I know.”
“It’s warmer in the house.” His gaze drops to my lips.
“I know,” I repeat. More gravel in my tone.
Fang takes a deep breath, snapping his gaze away, and then abruptly rises to his feet.
“Take however long you need, then. I’ve got other shit I need to be doing.
” He takes a few steps away before stalling to add, “You need to call your dad. The sooner we get him here, the sooner we can figure out how we’re gonna put an end to this mess. All of it.”
And there he is—the loyal soldier to his cause.
“I know.” But unlike him, I’m not ready to go back to my role yet. I want more time to disassociate. To pretend this is all a nightmare and not my reality. To plan. Prepare myself for the inevitable. “I’ll call him later.”
“Later might be too late.” Fang stares out the doors toward the yard as a motorbike idles by. “Don’t leave it too long.”
“I won’t.”
He wets his lips and then gives a simple nod before striding from the barn.
I release a sigh and lean back, staring at the ceiling beams. He pushed me. Followed me out of that damn house and harassed me with the truth until I broke. And somehow, even though I could wager he did it on purpose to get what he wanted from me, I still feel as though he did me a favor.
I can’t shake the relief that gently swirls inside of me after offloading onto him. Can’t deny the way he looked at me, either.
Or what it meant.
Because I felt it too—confused.
At face value, the man is nothing more than a bully: he harasses me, says horrible things, and throws tantrums when he doesn’t get his way.
And yet, I don’t get the same sense of danger from him that I do with some of the other members of the Kings of Anarchy.
From the minute I arrived at the property, I felt as if I’d already overstayed my welcome—even with Fang.
But at the same time, he makes me feel as though I’m supposed to be here.
As though—as difficult as my current life situation is—we were put on a crash course with one another because we need each other to be able to sort this out. I need him to help me get the Devil’s Breed out of my life, and he needs me to help get them out of his territory.
Perhaps Fate does follow us both.
There may be more to this I can’t see yet.
Or perhaps I’m that fucking desperate for a break that I’d believe my own bullshit.
Goddamnit. I tip my head to take in the surroundings.
The Kings’ barn is something to be admired.
It’s clear they don’t use it for regular farming duties; tables line the left side where I sit, a temporary stage set up at the rear.
Photos, flags, and other assorted paraphernalia adorn the walls between the exposed beams, with lights strung along the overhead frame.
Cabinets and foldaway tables lean up against the right-side wall.
This barn is a place to come together. To celebrate. As family.
I don’t feel right being in here.
Leaving the folded blanket on Fang’s stool, I take the used paper towels and dump them in a steel drum that doubles as a trashcan.
I do have an obligation to call my father, and yeah, I should do it sooner rather than later.
I know, as do the other women still in the clubhouse, how things can change quickly in a day.
And I know how long those days feel when you’re helpless and alone.
But I’m emotionally wrung out and in no mood for his shit. Will he answer? What do I even tell him? I never could influence the man before now—what could I possibly say to get him into the house of his enemy?
I need time to think this over.
Fang’s nowhere to be seen when I exit the barn, although I do find someone intriguing. Or should I say two someones. Kathy walks beside Circus, a gentle smile on her face as she talks. No prizes in guessing why he got his name. Probably a lot kinder than Freak Show.
I fix a direct path to the clubhouse and walk with my head down, aware they’ve probably already seen me.
It feels as though I interrupt their moment together, crash in on something personal.
I don’t know why their interaction feels so forbidden, other than this is the calmest I’ve seen Kathy since we were offloaded into the house together.
She looks my way before gently returning focus to where she walks, bundled in a giant coat that must belong to him. She doesn’t do it to ignore me; I don’t get that impression from her at all. It feels more like she recognizes the need to be left alone.
For no more questions.
No more judgment.
I glance back at the pair when I reach the porch, Circus closer to her now, although not touching.
Maybe she gentles him somewhat? A vastly opposite situation to what I have with Fang—whenever we cross paths, it’s like the meeting of two atmospheric charges, lightning and thunder and all.
Stop thinking about him and find the damn phone, Jenna.
Chaos never said who’d give it to me, but if I had nuts, I’d bet my left one it’s Loki.
My feet ache from the cold, muddy on the soles and between my toes.
I’d wager my eyes look like hell after that epic meltdown, too.
How you manage to keep showing your face is anyone’s guess.
Helps when I’m all out of fucks to give.
I dart toward the stairs and take them two at a time, stalling at the door when I find Darko shrugging off his jacket.
“Do you still ride when the roads are like this?” It’s lined with slush and slick with ice.
He glances my way before adding his jacket to the overstuffed hooks. “Got to trust yourself, is all.”
“Do you maybe know where I can find Loki?”
His glance is more subtle this time. “Why?”
“Just want to ask him a question.”
“You can ask me.”
The growing tension shrinks the space between us, the gap feeling a hell of a lot smaller now. “Chaos wants me to call my father. I need to get the phone again.”
“If Chaos truly wants that, you’ll get the phone once he’s had a chance to tell us himself.”
Of course. Explains the delay. Why believe what I say when I lied to get it the first time? “Sorry.”
He shucks his boots with a sigh. “It’s fine.”
Darko heads past me toward the rear of the house, ending a conversation I get the feeling he never wanted to start.
I glance in the parlor and find The Kid watching something on the iPad with Molly, Darla further through at the dining table, a book in hand.
I head back to the porch and expel a frustrated sigh.
Interacting seems so hard when I’ve got so much I can’t say; the effort it takes not to fuck it up is more than I can handle right now.
The chair to my left sits empty, beckoning, coaxing me to take a load off.
It’s no warmer out here than in the barn, but it’s quiet.
Solitary.
The wood is cool through the fabric of the pants Jezabel offered me, a chill snaking up my spine.
Birds dart across the vacant field, collecting their morning feed.
Huddling my legs to my chest, I rest my chin atop my knees and chew the inside of my lip to distract my brain from the tears aching to fall.
I’ve cried enough for one day. Tears have never done me a favor, never solved my problems. Why indulge?
You’re free to leave whenever you want.
Sure. Except when I have nowhere to go, no purpose in life outside what I do now.
Leaving feels like stepping out into space, well aware all that awaits me is an endless, uncontrolled drift toward nothing.
I’m not ready to be that independent and alone yet.
Little old me against any number of pissed-off motorcycle clubs.
I’ve got a mess that demands I clean it up, and so there it is—my decision.
Stay where I’m not wanted at least until I see this through.
At least until all my fuck-ups are accounted for.
I bury my face into my knees and close my eyes, figuring that even if I’m hated, at least it means I’m noticed.
And when I’m noticed, I exist. I matter to someone, be it negatively or otherwise.