Twenty-Nine
JENNA
“Have you read any of these?” My attention trails over the gold-flecked leather bindings on a set of classics.
“A few.” Chaos doesn’t look up from his work, tapping the keyboard of his laptop in furious, short bursts. “Fuck.”
“Would you like me to come back?” He still intimidates me, but I was touched he’d offer us the use of his books to break the boredom.
Darla grabbed one for her and another for Kathy. I kept out of the way until she’d finished browsing and then popped in to peruse for myself. I know I need to make more of an effort to interact with her—with both of them—but my feelings are still a little raw.
My breakdown in front of Fang was embarrassing to say the least, but I think he knew as well as I did that I needed it if I hoped to continue down this delusional path.
No one’s infallible. Least of all a woman who never got involved with the darker side of biker life until now.
I know what my father is—was. I also know what kind of things he did in the name of the club.
Mom was never shy about telling me the grittier details.
I think it was her way of warning me away from him, by revealing the true grotesque nature of the man beneath the patch.
But he was never that way with me.
Not until I learned about his debt.
Chaos ignores my question, typing furiously before settling into a quiet rhythm while he scrolls a page.
I take it as permission to stay and move along the shelves, distinctly aware Circus stands outside the door, waiting for me to re-emerge.
Nibbles was gone when I got out of the shower.
As was Molly. I don’t know where they went; if he took her home or if he took her to have fun.
But I soon noticed he’d passed off his surveillance duty to another member the moment inked eyes landed on me.
No matter what I’ve done today, no matter how menial the task, I’ve never been alone.
Makes me wonder how Kathy feels to have him gone. Hopefully she’s not upset about his switch in focus.
I slide a thicker hardback down, intrigued by the title. Moments To Define Us. It’s fiction. Not necessarily a romance—but seemingly with romantic elements—about a man who regrets his life choices and endeavors to set things right in his pursuit of the woman he lost.
I slip it back on the shelf, more in the mood for something grittier. Disturbing. Something that’ll make my life seem lighter in comparison.
“You ever heard of a group called the Wings of Faith?”
I snap my head around, startled by Chaos’s sudden question. “No. Why?”
“Curious, is all.” He continues to read the screen.
So I continue to browse the books, struggling to focus when a singular question circulates my brain on repeat. “Do you know when I’ll get the phone back?”
This finally has Chaos look away from the computer. “You don’t have it yet?”
“Nope.”
He sighs and rises swiftly from the desk. His cologne wafts over me as he passes by to then yell through the doorway, “Darko!” before swinging it half shut in his wake.
I pull another book down as he returns to his desk.
“You should have the fucking thing by now.” He mutters something else inaudible as he settles in his chair again.
I get the impression he’s less frustrated by the breakdown in communication and more by what’s on his screen. “Who are they?”
“Hmm?”
“The Wings of Faith.”
“A bunch of fucking con-artists and puppeteers.”
Says a lot—not. The book in my hand has a navy blue cloth cover, worn at the corners. The inside pages promise a story about a man left questioning his own sanity when the ghosts of war follow him back into his everyday life. Perfect. I tuck it under my arm.
Darko steps into the room. “You called, m’Lady?”
Chaos levels him with a ‘don’t test me’ glare. “Jenna needs the phone back.”
“Sure.” Darko glares at me as though I purposefully got him in the shit with his boss. “Didn’t want to just take her word for it.”
“Thought Fang would have said something.”
“Nope.” Darko shifts his attention to me. “I’ll have it ready for you shortly.”
“Thanks.”
He ducks out of the room, and I make to follow, book clutched to my side.
“Wait.”
I hesitate, unsure if Chaos expects me to move back into the room or remain at the door.
He answers my unspoken question. “Sit.”
I do as instructed, resuming yesterday’s position in the half-moon chair.
“Her name is Anna.”
“Whose name is Anna?” I frown.
“The Kid.”
My stomach tightens in a defensive ball. “How do you know that?” I whisper.
“Molly told Fang.” He studies me intently, gauging my reaction.
Of course. “Why do you think The Kid won’t tell us that?”
“Lots of reasons why she wouldn’t want to trust adults.” Chaos leans back in his chair, arms wide and hands knitted behind his head. “She said something else, too.”
I cock an eyebrow.
“Said her sister’s dead and her family home burned down.”
I draw on the genuine surprise at the second part of what he said, hoping it disguises that I already knew the first. “Damn.”
“Figured there might be a chance you know a thing or two about them.”
“Excuse me?” My pulse hammers so hard I swear all he has to do is look at my wrists to see the flesh jump. “What makes you think that?”
“Did some digging.” He leans forward to close the lid of his laptop gently. “Not many news stories that match the details. In fact,” he says, dragging out the torment like a lizard chewing on a moth. “There are only two. And one of them happened not far from your hometown.”
Guess he’s done more than a little digging if he knows my hometown.
“With all due respect,” I say slowly, fighting to keep the tremor out of my words.
“A lot can happen in the next town over without me necessarily hearing about it. I’m sure you can relate.
” My arm grows clammy where it rests against the book.
“Doesn’t ring any bells then?” He narrows his stupidly intriguing mismatched eyes. “House fire? Two girls? Anna and an older sister?”
My throat works overtime to swallow despite my dry mouth. “Nope. Sorry.”
Painful seconds pass without further conversation. Chaos stares at me, right hand toying with a pen on his desktop. He jolts forward, tugging his laptop open abruptly. “You can go now.”
I rise on frustratingly unsteady legs and pace myself toward the door.
Don’t want to seem as though you’re running, Jenna.
I narrowly escaped death. Watched the consequences train barrel down the tracks toward me and felt the rise of my hair as it whooshed past. Fuck.
They’re getting closer. Little steps on a game board that place the Kings of Anarchy nearer to figuring out what I already have.
That The Kid—Anna—is Mary-Beth’s sister.
That they have the daughter of a Blood Eagle under their roof.
And that her presence alone could cause a war, and I knew that and chose to say nothing. Not to warn them. To keep it a secret for no other reason than maintaining distance between what I did to her sister and the inevitable fallout of that choice.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Circus shadows me into the parlor where I set the book down on a side table, too scatter-brained to read anymore.
Nobody else is in the front room except a couple of guys with prospect patches on their backs, and an older woman cleaning around the mantle.
Must be Dolly. Darla’s further through, in the dining room, seated at the table with The Kid and Fang’s daughter.
Fang’s daughter. Damn it. He’s obviously back if Molly is here.
“Hey.”
Darla lifts her head when I enter and then pulls out the chair to her right. “Take a seat. We’re coloring.”
I slide onto the timber and survey the array of simple images printed on loose pages, pencils strewn across the table. Am I even allowed near sharp things if I’m such a threat?
“We have princesses, animals, mandalas, and flowers,” Darla details. “Take your pick.”
The Kid—Anna—adds details to a picture of a horse in a flowery field. Molly colors the skirts of a princess with long, sweeping strokes. I glance at Darla’s mandala, colored like a rainbow starting with violet on the outermost edge and changing color as she works in.
“I think I’ll do flowers,” I say—although nobody probably gives a shit what I choose—and pick an image with a vase of lilies.
“Where have you been?” Darla asks without looking up from her project. “I thought you’d come back to our game after you talked with Chaos this morning. I’ve barely seen you since then.”
Right. Shit. “Sorry. I took a moment after what he said, and then things kind of snowballed since then.” The earth failed to swallow me as I’d hoped.
She pauses. “What did he have to say?”
I roll an orange pencil beneath my fingers. How the hell can so much happen in a day? No matter what I say, it’ll inevitably lead us toward the truth. I can’t avoid Darla forever.
I respect her too much to keep up the bullshit.
“He asked for a favor,” I confess. “Chaos wants me to invite my dad here.”
She sets her pencil down, sparing a glance at the girls on the opposite side of the table before turning slightly toward me. “Why would he ask that?” She lowers her tone to make it harder for the girls to overhear.
I fill the center of a flower. “Because he belongs to a motorcycle club, too.”
She’s silent, staring at me in my periphery.
“Used to, anyway.” My hand shakes as I pick up the yellow for the highlights.
Darla leans close, lowering her voice further when she asks, “What club?”
Don’t make me say it. “One that can help the Kings of Anarchy stop what happened to us from happening again.”
She continues to watch me, her scrutiny burning before she resettles in her seat with a gentle sigh. “Are you going to do it?”
“I don’t have a choice if I want to make meaningful change.” It’s too late for me, but maybe I can save someone else from having to make a decision that’ll haunt them the rest of their life.
We color in silence for a while until Molly lifts her page and shows us her princess. The background is incomplete, and the colors don’t make sense, but she’s proud of it, and that’s all that matters. “Beautiful,” I say. “What are you going to color next?”
The Kid passes her a picture of a rabbit. “Do this one.”
Darla and I freeze. I don’t dare look to my left, should it spook The Kid from speaking again.
“Thanks.” Molly takes the picture, unaware of the shock that’s transpired across the table from her.
Darla kicks my foot under the table. I kick her back as though to say, “I know!”
“Do you like rabbits, Molly?” I ask Fang’s daughter the question, yet observe how Anna returns to her coloring as though nothing is amiss.
“Yep. Mom won’t let me have one, though.”
“Maybe the time’s not right,” Darla offers.
“What about you?” I say, cringing internally at how fucking awkward this is when we’re not supposed to know The Kid’s name. “Do you like horses?”
It takes Anna a moment to register that I speak to her. The Kid lifts her head and nods. Fuck it.
Darla sighs.
“Do you have a favorite color?” I press, determined to get her to loosen that tongue again. “Chestnut? Black? I like dapple gray horses.”
The Kid shakes her head, focus on her picture.
Nope. The boat definitely sailed on that double miracle.
I return to my picture, yet my head is anywhere but in the pale blue hues of the petals as I color.
What if he says no? What happens to me then?
My dad is just as likely to tell me to go fuck myself as he is to walk onto Kings of Anarchy ground willingly.
He may not wear the patch anymore, but Breed blood still runs through his veins.
I’d almost wager he’d consider rejoining the club should the presidency change and reparations be paid.
A bitter huff slips past my lips. I lift my left arm to brace my head against my hand, blocking Darla’s curious eye.
The fucking club would, too, if Smoke was removed from the presidency; pay my father reparations for his ill-treatment over my mother’s debt.
He’s done too much for them, been integral in so much of what shaped the Devil’s Breed into who they are today, that they’d be turning their back on who they are if they chose to leave the damages unpaid.
Some of the fuckers might even hail him a hero for stepping in to help Mom, even though he was never there during the worst of it.
I was. I was the one who went without when she didn’t get paid.
I was the one who felt the bone-achingly deep guilt at eating the bigger portion when my mom was across the table from me, collarbones proud beneath the fabric of her T-shirt as she ate her smaller bowl of food.
I was the one who watched her fade away, guilt eating at me for not being able to do more to help the woman who raised me. Loved me. Cared for me.
He never once wanted to know what happened to me after she left. Never once asked if I was a boy or a girl. What my name was. Not until Mom reached out to him in a moment of desperation when her treatment was stalled due to unpaid bills.
Then the asshole was interested.
When it was too fucking late.
And I ate his fucking bullshit excuses up like they were the missed meals that my body so desperately needed.
The pencil tip snaps and skitters across the table top. “Whoops.” I flex my spine, disrupting the warm buzz of anger creeping across my skin, and look about for a sharpener.
“Here.” Darla takes the blunt pencil from me and rises from the table.
She makes her way into the adjacent kitchen, procures a knife, and promptly whittles away the end.
The Kid still adds painstakingly finite details to her image, while Molly haphazardly fills the body of an apparently lime green rabbit.
I’m starting to understand why she isn’t allowed one.
The Kid—Anna—halts her work abruptly and snaps her head toward the doorway behind me.
I swivel in the seat to find Darko staring at me, phone in hand. Thank fuck I explained what I need to do before he dropped me in it. “Here.” He offers the device, gaze flicking to Darla before settling back on me. “Take it to Chaos when you’re done. He wants to know how you get on.”
“Of course he does.” I accept the poisoned gift and set it beside the half-done picture.
Darko folds his arms, shoulders curled in. “You need to make the call now.”
The phone feels like the only goddamn thing in the room, ominous and impossible to ignore. “Sure.”
He turns on his heel and leaves as Darla makes her way back to the table. The woman’s gaze drifts over the device before she sets the sharpened pencil down for me. “Rip the Band-Aid off, Jenna. It’ll hurt less in the long run.”
“I know.”