Thirty-One
JENNA
Every time I get settled and believe I’ve found somewhere relatively private to try to call Dad again, another unfamiliar face walks past. The Minnesota branch of the Kings of Anarchy is by far not the busiest place I’ve been, but it never fails to amaze me just how many individual members, prospects, and hangarounds pass through the halls—people I see one day but not the next, and vice versa.
I head past the secondary bedrooms outside, side-eye an ominous-looking wooden shed that has a thick padlock on the door, and then venture further into the property. The signal drops a bar, but stays enough that I should be able to make the call.
I spent the night ruminating over what I’d say. Lost hours of sleep rehearsing the imaginary conversation in my mind, and woke up this morning no better off than I was when I started.
Just more frustrated.
Tall pines flank the gently worn track; a desire path to somewhere deeper in the copse of aromatic trees.
I follow along, scouting for a fallen log or rock—something suitable to use as a makeshift seat.
My feet skid to a stop atop the bed of brown pine needles, skin prickling when a wonky cabin comes into view.
It doesn’t look used. At least, not lived in. But I get the distinct sense it’s somewhere I’m not supposed to be. Is this where they go every time they get together? Is this their church? Curiosity has me step closer, skirting the left side of the tiny building.
The window is blacked out, crudely covered with what appears to be spray-paint.
Definitely somewhere I’m not supposed to be. And most likely somewhere I won’t be disturbed. For the next five minutes or so, anyway.
I continue to the back of the cabin and hunker down on the rear stoop, partially sheltered by the crooked, shale roof overhead.
The phone’s warm from my pocket, and I spend a few minutes simply exploring what’s on the device and how much rope they gave me.
The factory apps are all there—the things they can’t remove.
But the browser is locked, as is the App Store, limiting my ability to access social media or other networking tools.
I punch Dad’s digits into the keypad and then stare at the number, bold with the bright contrast of black on white.
How do I start this call? If I lie and say I’ve found a way to use insider access to the Kings in our favor, would he believe me?
Would they, when they invariably listen to the call afterward?
The last thing I need is the Kings of Anarchy mistakenly thinking I double-crossed them.
And even if he did believe it and it kept me on Dad’s good side, how then do I twist it to getting him to come here?
Go with the truth.
My stomach knots. I’m not afraid of the man; that’s not what has me hesitant to call. I’m afraid of understanding him better. Of telling him I’ve found a way to end the Devil’s Breed skin trade and have him reveal his true colors when he backtracks on the promise.
I’m scared I’ll find out Mom was right—my father is nothing but a monster. Afraid of how that’ll make me feel.
Because if I can let the one person left in my life hurt me this much before I decide to fight back, what chance do I stand going it alone? Just how bad am I willing to let things get before I admit the truth: I do this to myself.
As terrible as my father can be, I’m the one who chose to help.
I’m the one who chose to stand by and watch as he tied my mother to him with a debt she could never repay in her lifetime.
And I’m the one who let that loyalty put me in a position where it was kill or be killed.
I had so many opportunities to walk away, and I didn’t.
My face crumples, confusion rife as I tap the button to dial his number. Why? It’s that question, that part of my self-discovery that finally has me make the call.
“You back inside?” His voice is hushed, as though he doesn’t want to be overheard.
I catch the chatter of people in the background. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve been working on something else.”
He remains quiet, letting me speak.
“The Kings want your help.”
A taut second passes before his laughter crackles the line. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“The fucking Kings of Anarchy want my help.”
“To end what’s going on. Yeah.”
His mirth vanishes. “And how do they think I can help them do that?”
“They want your input on how things work. Smoke’s thoughts and habits. They need your unique insight, Dad.” The moniker feels slimy as it slides off my tongue.
“Crowned fuckers incapable of doing it themselves?”
I snarl at the cocky tone in his voice. “They want to be sure they do it right so that nobody else needs get hurt.”
“Jesus, Jenna.” He scoffs a repulsed laugh. “They got you drinking their Kool-Aid, don’t they?”
“Why? Because I think they could do it?”
“Because you believe that they’d want to.” He grumbles. “They don’t give a fuck about the women in the trade. They want to take Smoke down a notch or two, so he stops making them look so bad.”
Sure. And that’s why they have four of us still on site. Why Jinx’s partner Kyra works so hard to help find suitable placement for The Kid—Anna.
Why they didn’t kill me when they could have. Twice.
“You’re sounding an awful lot like a rival MC member for a guy who no longer wears their patch.”
“Because what I learned while wearing that patch,” he grits, “affords me a clearer point of view than what you’re given.”
“And what if you’re wrong? What if they do want to end this bullshit? What if they do care? Huh? Are you really going to ignore the line you’re thrown because the picture on their back is different to yours?”
“You don’t understand a fucking thing about how it works,” he hollers. “You want to know why clubs don’t let women into leadership roles? This bullshit. You’re too gullible. Led by your heart and your emotions, not your head.”
Because he’s totally not being emotional right now or anything.
“Women make stupid decisions that risk everyone around them. Leave the politics to the big boys, honey, and play your part. Stay quiet, stay submissive, and use your God-given ears for what they’re intended. Listen.”
“Chaos invited you to meet with him.” I utter the sentence in a lifeless tone, my brain already shutting down to protect me.
“Tell him he can fucking take the invite and shove it up his ass.” He ends the call.
The phone hangs lifeless in my hand as I stare out into the forest.
He is a monster. And worst of all? I think that deep down I always knew it.
“Jenna?” Kathy pops around the corner of the building. “I heard your voice and followed it. Are you okay?” She studies my face.
My lack of emotion. Of anything.
“Good as can be expected.” I shove the phone in my pocket before she sees it. Not that it’ll make anything any better—now she’ll think I’ve gone mad, yelling to myself. Maybe that would be easier to explain. “What are you doing?”
“Getting fresh air.”
Circus moves into view a few yards behind her, milling about a tree.
“The walks have been good for helping me organize my thoughts.” She crosses over to where I sit, rotting leaves stuck to the soles of her simple shoes.
Her plain attire never drew my attention before, but now that I’ve noticed, it’s all I can see.
She doesn’t have a single piece of branded clothing—not that that’s an issue—but rather her clothes all look homemade.
A simple sky-blue maxi-skirt, pale gray blouse, and knitted cardigan with embroidered forget-me-nots at the hem.
Her shoes are ballet flats, but the stitching looks rough and oddly spaced. The soles void of tread.
“Has anyone contacted your family?” I ask as she settles on the step beside me.
Her face pulls taut, eyes grazing my face before she seems to mask the affront with a smile. “I’m sure somebody has.”
“But not you?”
“No. Not me.”
Circus moves closer.
I eye the man and then settle back on Kathy. “Have you covered enough miles to know what’s next, then?”
She shrugs. “I have a few dreams, but they’re only that until I can work out how to achieve them.”
“Like…” The distraction from my own issues is welcome.
“I love to craft things, and I think it’d be nice to have an income from that. But I’ve been advised to find stability first.” She glances to Circus. “So, maybe I need to learn a new skill. Something people will want. Like how to bake. Or make a fancy coffee with the pictures on top.”
“What do you want to do?”
Kathy stares at the ground before us for a while before she answers. “I want to teach.”
“Sounds pretty stable to me.”
“It would mean years of training with no way to support myself before that.”
“There’s plenty you could do with minimal skills or experience.”
“But not a lot available in small towns like this one, right?”
I cock my head a little. “You wouldn’t go somewhere bigger? Where there are more options?”
Her gaze drifts left again. “I feel safer here. Somewhere busier would be more terrifying. I’d feel as though people could hide amongst the masses and get to me before I saw them.”
I get the distinct feeling the ‘people’ she mentions aren’t the Devil’s Breed or the men who held us, but I figure it’s best not to push too hard on that.
“Well, I think you’d make a great teacher.
” I might not have known her long, but it’s not hard to pick a person’s temperament from a few short interactions.
She’s kind and patient, observant and thoughtful.
Observant. I look at Kathy again, but this time, I really study her. Does she know? Did she see or hear something that night?
“I found out earlier that The Kid told Molly—Fang’s daughter—her name.”
Kathy’s mouth pops open, lips soft as she stares at me in wonder. “That’s fantastic.”
“It’s Anna,” I share. Too chicken to admit what you’ve done, but too guilty to hide the evidence. Give them the clues and let them figure it out for themselves. “She had a big sister, but she passed away.”
“Oh, bless.” Kathy bunches her fists in her skirt atop her legs. “The poor child.”
“I know. Makes sense why she won’t talk, huh?”
“Completely.” She glances to Circus again.
“Do you want him there?” I glare at the man-mountain myself.
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You keep looking at him.”
She blushes. Actually fucking blushes. “To check he hasn’t left me.”
“He makes you feel safe, huh?”
“He does.” The pink in her cheeks darkens.
“Kathy?”
The woman raises her gaze to mine. “Yes?”
“Have you ever had a boyfriend? Been with a man?”
Her expression darkens, body stiffening. “That’s a very personal question, Jenna.”
“I apologize.” I hold my palms up in surrender, as much for her as for the inked dude creeping in on me. “I was just curious.”
“I have not,” she admits quietly, as though so he won’t hear. “It was never allowed.”
Another breadcrumb to her past. “Well, a little bit of advice from one less regulated woman to another: guard your heart. They don’t all tell you the truth. Most of the time they tell you what they think you want to hear purely to get what they want.”
Her hurt gaze flashes to Circus, and I almost regret the warning. Yet, at the same time, she seems so trusting. Easily fooled and gullible. I’d hate to see her taken advantage of, knowing I could have done something to prevent it.
Maybe it’s not your place to prevent it.
Or maybe it is, and a patriarchal world merely taught me that the correct response is to look the other way. To walk away and avoid conflict.
To behave like a lady.
To let them do whatever they fuck they want to us because they can and no-one will dare to stop them.
The Devil’s Breed are testament to that.
My father is testament to that.
“Can I ask you one last question?” I pose.
Kathy nods.
“How did they pick you up? What did they do to get you in that place?”
Kathy sighs, extending her hand for mine.
I take it and swallow back the knot of emotion threatening to spill forth.
“They didn’t do anything,” she reveals. “My grandfather did.”
“Pardon?” I frown. If I’m to do anything to help dismantle this trafficking ring, the least I can do is gather notes on how the Devil’s Breed currently operates. “What do you mean?”
“They didn’t snatch me,” she says, staring me dead in the eye. “They bought me.”
My stomach sours, Circus’s protective gaze burning a hole in my periphery.
“My grandfather sold me when I passed marriage age.”
I squint a little. Did she say what I think she did?
“Once you turn twenty-five, Jenna, you’re no good to anyone. You’re too old to bear enough children, too embedded in the ways of your parents and difficult for a husband to train. I had no other destiny, so I did what I could, and I provided my family with the money they needed.”
“Kathy,” I state slowly. “Are you hearing what you’re telling me?”
“I am.” She laughs. “But I don’t think you believe the words I say, do you?”
I widen my eyes.
“I told you my family is different,” she says, humor sliding from her mouth. “I truly meant it.”
No shit.