Forty-One
JENNA
Arms wrapped around Molly, I do my best to shield her from the sheer panic that envelops us. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “We’re okay.” As much for her as I do for myself.
Loki does his best to calm the stampede that pushes and shoves to escape to the street, helping an older gentleman who was knocked to the ground in the initial rush.
The cook has the flames extinguished, but there are people with superficial injuries from the shattered glass, as well as some still navigating their way over the debris on the ground to get to a safer area.
I feel like a sitting duck. So exposed.
So responsible.
Quit it, Jenna. The men are part of a goddamn one-percenter club. This carnage is likely as much their doing as it is mine. Nobody else here knows who I am. Nobody else knows what I did.
Nobody but Fang.
Who currently stands frozen in the middle of the mess, hands flexing at his sides.
My fingers rhythmically stroke over Molly’s dark hair while I watch her father, waiting for him to make a move.
Fang’s shoulders gently rise and fall, his head turning slightly as he surveys the damage.
Blood runs down the back of his neck. He gives a flex of his back, and the leering skull stitched across his shoulders stretches.
Head rolled back to stare up at the ceiling, he sighs, and then strides toward the ruined window, vaulting his way out to the street to follow after Darko.
What do they hope to find? The truck would be long gone by now. Unless club members hang around to witness the panic they caused. I’ve heard of people doing that; pyromaniacs staying behind to watch the fire burn; murderers lingering near the scene to see the police go in and the body come out.
Doesn’t matter how purely we live our lives, there’s a little bit of sick fascination in all of us. And people like the Devil’s Breed are least afraid to let it show.
“Either of you hurt?” Loki asks as he approaches the booth.
I tip my face up to him and shake my head. “Will they find the person who did it?”
“Fang and Darko?”
I nod again.
“Don’t know.” He tugs his phone from his hip pocket and checks the screen before thumbing a quick reply…and not telling me a thing. Goddamn it. So sue me for wanting to know if we’re still at risk. I shift my hand to rub methodical lines up and down Molly’s back. She seems shaken, but not upset.
I wonder how many incidents like this she’s already seen, being Fang’s daughter.
“What happens now?”
Loki glances to the room before answering. “You two wait there until we get someone to take you home.”
I want to help. Would rather assist in the triage than sit on my ass as a spectator. But I understand; somebody needs to take care of Molly, and I really don’t mind that it’s me.
Knowing she feels safe enough to find comfort in me? After the week I’ve had, it’s priceless.
“Are we still in danger?” I ask low enough she hopefully doesn’t hear.
“We’re always in danger,” Loki states.
I guess they are. Using my fingertips, I gently brush Molly’s hair away from her face. “Are you okay sitting here until they get back?”
She nods. “Where did Daddy go?”
“I’m not sure.” What do you tell a child? “I think he went to help some of the people who got hurt.”
“But they’re all over there,” she says, pointing at the small assembly of people being given first aid by the staff. “And he’s not.”
Astute little girl. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
“But how do you know?” Her pitch rises.
I lightly grip her chin to turn her small head to face mine and look her square in the eye. “Because even though I’ve only known your daddy for a short time, I already know he’s a very brave, very smart man. He’ll know how to stay safe.”
She nods and leans into my side again, and I note Loki closely watches our interaction.
He gives me a slight nod, then ducks over to talk to a shaking young woman and her friend.
I lift my hand to push the things on the table away from us and hesitate.
The hell? Blood dots the side of my hand. But I didn’t get hurt. Which means.
Shit, shit, shit.
I lean back a little and scour Molly while she frowns up at me, confused. “Does anything hurt, honey?”
“Not really.”
What does she mean by ‘not really’? “What do you mean by that?”
Molly lifts her right arm. “It stings a little, but it’s okay.” Glass catches the light, small enough not to notice at first glance, but enough that she bleeds from several small sites.
How? Fang curled himself around her far side.
Wouldn’t he have shielded her? I scour the table and find the likely explanation: glass shards scattered amongst the shakers and napkins.
Blood dotting the completed puzzle page.
Molly had her arm resting on the table as she colored.
She must have gotten some of the initial glass spray.
“Here.” I take her small arm and study how best to get the pieces out. “Are you okay if I try to make this better?”
The girl nods. Bless her trust in me. I shake out a clean napkin and set it on the table before grabbing another to stem the bleeding afterward.
Using my fingers to get the shards out risks pushing the pieces in further, so I snag a steak knife from the table caddy and hold the blade to control the very tip of the serrated edge.
Still, Molly doesn’t flinch. I shove that nugget down for analysis later.
Right as I’m poised to flick the first piece of shrapnel free, the goddamn replacement cellphone jitters on the tabletop. My father’s number lights up the screen. Goddamn it. I remove the first piece of glass from Molly’s arm and wipe it on the napkin.
The phone rings again. Fuck. I tap to answer, then jam it between my shoulder and my ear as I continue working on my brave patient.
“Why the hell wouldn’t you answer me until now?”
“It was literally the second time you tried,” I sass, flicking another piece onto the napkin. “Calm down.”
“I’ve been trying all afternoon.”
My blood chills. “Why?”
“Call it a father’s love,” he says without an ounce of that so-called care in his tone. “I wanted to give you a heads up, but it seems you’ve gotten pretty darn comfortable where you are.”
“Because I didn’t answer your calls?” I scoff, focusing on the task at hand. “The phone broke, Dad.”
“That’s your excuse?”
“It’s the truth. What do you want anyway? Ready to reconsider the invite?”
“Checking in to make sure you’re unhurt.”
Knife hovering over Molly’s arm, I freeze, gaze scouring the room. “Why would you say that?”
“Having a smashing time there with your crowned fuckers?” I can hear the leering twist of his mouth as he says it.
That asshole. “How do you know where I am?”
The phone chimes in my ear. I pull it away to see he’s sent a photo.
My hand trembles when I open it in full screen and find a screenshot of a chat thread.
A picture of the diner with me at the table is at the top, dark and grainy but clear.
The text underneath reads, “Do we go ahead anyway?” My eyes flick over the details of the screenshot: the time, the lack of a name assigned to whoever messaged, the person’s position when they snapped the shot.
One detail stands out—the message thread belongs to an iPhone. My father has a Samsung.
“Where did you get that?” I ask after returning the call to my ear. “That’s not from your phone.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, Dad,” I bite, drawing Molly’s attention. “Who sent it to you? Who okayed the hit?”
What did they hope to get out of threatening my father with that information?
He’s quiet for a short while before muttering, “Acid.”
Smoke’s VP. The slimy little fuck risked our lives to taunt my father. There’s no shortage of animosity between the men after Acid took the role my father vacated, but shit—to drive a goddamn truck at a table with a kid to prove a point?
Sick. Yet one detail itches at my brain more than Molly’s safety.
“I thought they didn’t know who I was,” I say, confronting my father with the detail that makes the least sense. “If they don’t know I exist, or that I’m your daughter, why would Acid send you that? And how would the driver know to check first?”
He stays quiet, save for the crackle of a cigarette as it burns.
“How long have they known who I am?” My heart rate increases, and I jolt when Molly sets her hand on my arm in comfort. Did they know when I was taken? Did he know they planned to take me?
Did I really fucking kill Mary-Beth for no goddamn reason at all?
“How long, Dad?” I repeat the question, louder, nausea building.
He sighs. “You need to come home so we can sort this out.”
“There’s nothing to sort out.” I disconnect the call, blood roaring in my ears. The fucking audacity of the man. To lie, to use, and to bargain with me. What does he get out of it all?
I shove the spiraling suspicions to the back of my mind and work on removing the last piece of glass from Molly’s arm. I feel her eyes on me, curious.
“Your daddy doesn’t sound very nice.”
I snort. “He’s not.”
“He makes you angry.”
I spare a glance at her face before finishing up. “He does, but I shouldn’t let him. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She fingers the sites as I clean the knife’s tip and bundle the napkin.
Loki steps over the debris to get to us. “Who was that?” He glances pointedly at the discarded phone.
“Who do you think?”
His blond brows pinch together. “Why?”
“We can talk about it later.” I drop my gaze to the top of Molly’s head and then lift my eyebrows.
He shifts his attention from her to the dotted napkins on the table. “Are you okay, sweetie?” Loki crouches before Molly, and I can’t decide whether he asks her directly because she’s the one who’s hurt or if he asks because he doesn’t trust that I didn’t do it maliciously.
“Jenna helped.” Molly holds out her arm, pulling it from my grasp and letting the napkin fall away. “She took the glass out.”
“Did she now?” His eyes briefly shift up to me.
“Can we go find Daddy?”
Loki sets his hand on her knee. “He’ll be back in a moment.”
“Everyone says that, but he’s not.”
“He’ll be fine,” Loki says a little less softly.
“I want to see him.”
“He’s busy right n—“
“I want to see Daddy,” she demands.
“I promise you’ll be the first person he checks on when he comes back.” Loki’s patience wears thin, his eyes darting to the aftermath of the crash.
Molly opens her mouth to complain again.
“Uh.” He makes the clipped sound in the back of his throat, holding a single finger up to her. “What’s the sixth rule of the Kings of Anarchy code, Molly?”
He seriously expects her to know this?
“Um.” Her fingers drum her bottom lip.
“Never…” Loki prompts.
“Never…” she echoes.
“Never back…”
“Never back…”
Pretty sure this kid has no idea. “Why don’t you just tell us?”
Loki glares at me before softly telling her, “Never back down from a fight. Your daddy will be fine.” The man rises to his full height. “And why is that? Because he’s a…”
“King!” Molly hollers, gaining a few curious looks.
If only they knew the half of it.