Forty-Three
JENNA
“Daddy!” Molly launches herself off the seat, abandoning the small bowl of ice cream the cook gave her to help distract from the aftermath, and runs toward Fang.
He scoops her up mid-stride and deposits her on his hip…critical gaze fixed on me as he crosses the room. What the fuck did I do now?
The sheriff arrived while he was gone. Rocked up looking as though he was pissed to be interrupted mid-meal, and instructed his two deputies to take witness reports from the people still here.
Some of the patrons already left—the uninjured ones.
Some stuck around to help. In a town this size, the news will be through the grapevine come morning.
I really don’t know how the newspapers stay in business.
“Did you find them?” I ache to get to my feet so I don’t feel so small before Fang, but he stands close enough to me that there’s no room to get out of the booth anymore.
“One.” He glances at Marty. “Has he talked to you yet?”
“No.”
Molly eyes the unfinished ice cream on the table. I hand her the bowl. Fang receives it instead, cupping it in his palm so she can spoon the contents with one hand whilst holding onto him with the other.
“Saving the best for last, I suppose.” He mutters the statement while searching the crowd, presumably for Loki.
I don’t know where he went.
“My father called.” As inappropriate as it feels to talk about this now, it also feels important toward regaining Fang’s trust. Why that matters, I’m not sure anymore. Not when he’s the one who’s continuing to test mine.
“What did he say?”
“He confirmed this was the Devil’s Breed’s doing. Acid sent him a taunt before they struck: a picture of me.” I swallow, a little put-off by the cool look in his eye. “They knew who I was,” I reveal. “The whole time. They always knew.”
His residual anger softens, giving way to surprise. “What are you saying, Freckles?”
“That I think they took me on purpose.” I glance to Molly, reluctant to get into the weeds of it with her in earshot. “He knew.” My throat closes. “My father knew that they knew. All along.”
Nothing needs to be said. Understanding hangs in the air between us, a heavy truth that can’t be lightened with well-meaning sentiment.
My father knew the Devil’s Breed would recognize me, and he put me right under their fucking noses, assuring me I’d be safe.
He knew, and he didn’t care. Didn’t care enough about me to let his stupid grievances go.
Makes me wonder if there even is a debt to be paid, or if it was all bullshit, spun up to get me into a situation I would otherwise have backed away from.
Fang fidgets, seemingly unsure what to say or do. He glances to Molly, who’s busy scraping out the bowl. “You won’t sleep tonight if you have too much sugar.”
“Oh well.”
The candor is hilarious, but I don’t dare laugh. In two words, she’s summed up the general vibe of the night. Oh well. Knew the Devil’s Breed would be angry about stolen stock. Oh well. Figured they’d retaliate sometime. Oh well. Guess this starts a proper war, now. Oh well.
Why the hell is everyone so blasé about this? I haven’t seen or heard any indication that they gear up to ride out and retaliate. No sign of rallying everyone together. They’re just treating this like an isolated incident.
“What happens next?” I ask.
“We’ll discuss that when we’re all back at the club.” Fang holds my eye and adds, “You’ll be told what you need to know.”
The hairs on the back of my neck bristle. “You still don’t trust me,” I say. “Even after everything I’ve told you, everything I’ve done, you still treat me like one of them.”
“Because you are,” he says softly. “Maybe you never had a choice, but your allegiance was made the minute you were born.”
Rage coils tighter with each bullshit word he speaks, tension building inside me until I’m forced to move in my seat to expel some of the pressure.
“They knew I was here, Fang, and they did it anyway. What does that tell you about my place with them, huh? They knew Flinch’s daughter sat at the table, and they attacked anyway. ”
“War doesn’t ask what’s right or what’s fair, Freckles. Losing you was a hit they were willing to take.”
I feel like I’m going to be sick. There’s honestly nothing I can do to separate myself from my heritage. Absolutely nothing. I’m spoiled by the half of my DNA that chose to join a fucking one percent club in another state, defined by something I can’t change.
“I can’t believe after this,” I say, gesturing to the mess, “you’d still let your prejudice get in the way of the truth.”
“How did they know this was where we were, Freckles?” Fang takes the empty bowl from Molly and sets it on the table. “That’s the part of the so-called truth I can’t work out. How did they know this is exactly where we sat?”
“You think I had something to do with this?”
“I can’t rule it out.” The asshole doubles down on his ignorance. “You have to admit it was awfully coincidental.”
“So, I what? Just fucking sent our location to him via telepathy?” I brace myself with one arm on the table and a hand to the back of the booth seat to straighten my spine. “You saw Darko give me a new phone right before it happened. Tell me how your theory makes sense, Fang.” Fuck him.
He stiffens. “Been eating here for years, Freckles, and never once had to deal with my food being delivered by truck.” Instead of admitting he’s wrong, the bastard deflects back to me. Smart-mouthed mother fu—
“They didn’t have your food, Daddy.”
Bless Molly’s cotton socks. Her naive comment knocks the wind out of Fang’s interrogation.
“That’s not what I meant, honey.”
“But it’s what you said.” She licks the spoon. “Momma always says only speak the words you mean.”
“Does she now?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Mm-hmm.”
Marty appears over Fang’s shoulder, thumbs hooked into his utility belt. “A word?”
“Sure.” The prick sets Molly down beside me, not saying a damn thing, but glaring at me hard enough there’s no missing the message. “If you so much as harm a hair on her head…” Yeah, yeah. Settle down.
Fang steps aside with the sheriff, hands to his hips as they talk.
I use the last clean napkin to wipe Molly’s mouth, rage still buzzing like a live wire along my nerves.
The girl yawns partway through, eyes heavy with the burden of a long day.
It’s barely after eight, but I guess whatever energy the kid had left got zapped the minute that truck crashed in.
The Kid. My pulse spikes. Has anyone checked?
“Hey,” I call across to Nibbles. “Has anyone checked on the others?”
His brow furrows, and he returns focus to Marty who hasn’t stopped yapping.
Fuck me. I get out of the booth and stride over to the men.
Do I have to do everything myself? “Has anyone checked on the others?” I repeat.
“Darla, Kathy, Anna. What if this was a distraction?” What if they didn’t want to harm us at all?
I mean, if they wanted to inflict real damage, all they had to do was drive another yard or two. But they didn’t. Why?
Marty stops talking during my tirade, glancing down at me as though frustrated I’ve dared to use my voice.
“Don’t know, Jenna,” Fang snaps. “Been kinda busy dealing with this mess.”
The men resume their conversation, talking about Smoke, the trafficking ring, and for some goddamn reason, Wings of Faith.
“Can you check, please?”
Fang sighs heavily. “In a minute.”
“Now.”
His stare grows murderous. “In. A minute.”
Fuck this. I’m tired of being ignored. Tired of being dismissed as a silly little woman with petty little woman concerns. Treated as lesser because of who my father is. “Give me your phone, then.”
Marty’s head rears back a little. Yeah, I know—the audacity, right?
“Why?” Fang asks slowly.
“So I can call someone myself,” I answer with equal sarcasm.
“Excuse me.” He lifts an apologetic palm to Marty and then uses the same hand to grip me by the bicep—hard—and drag me aside. “What are you doing?” The words are hissed from the corner of his mouth.
“Trying to find out if this is the only place they targeted.”
“Why do you think this wouldn’t be their only target?” Piercing teal eyes dig into mine.
“Why do you think that it is?” I shake my head in disbelief. “If they’re mad about losing us, wouldn’t it make sense to go after all of us?”
“That’s the problem,” he whisper-growls, leaning closer to my face.
“We don’t know if they targeted us here because the Kings took you all or if they targeted us here because of you.
Just you.” He exhales heavily out his nose as though disgusted.
“It wasn’t my goddamn picture being sent to my father now, was it? ”
Marty shifts his gaze our way, likely from Fang’s body language alone. There’s no way he could have heard those venomous words.
“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter, arms folding over myself.
He sighs, straightening his back. “Highway’s bringing Jezabel here. They won’t be far away. Molly can go home with them.”
“And me?”
“I’m not finished with you.” He strides away and promptly resumes the chit-chat with local law enforcement.
Asshole. I could use the burner phone, but I don’t know anyone’s number there.
I need Fang’s contacts. Molly sits at the booth still, licking the bowl and messing up her face all over again.
I scan the restaurant for Loki and find him around the far side of the counter, waiting his turn to talk to the deputy.
He doesn’t look my way, and I give up waiting to signal him, striding over to where he’s leaned against the wall, arms folded.
“Can you do me a favor?”
His gaze flicks over the deputies before returning to mine. “Depends.”
“Can you call someone, or message someone at the clubhouse to check the others are okay?”
His face softens. “Already on it. They didn’t strike there.”
A weight I hadn’t registered until now lifts from my chest. Thank you. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” He smiles softly. “You better go sort that out, though.” Loki indicates to Molly with a lift of his chin, Fang’s daughter on her merry way to the kitchen to presumably ask for more ice cream. Shit.
I dash between people to get to her, catching her arm just as she reaches to push the swing door. “You can’t go in there.”
A frown tugs her brow. “Why not?”
“It’s a workspace. Just for people who work here.”
The look on her face says she doesn’t quite understand my garbled excuse, but she allows it anyway. “Fine.” The bowl’s pushed toward me. “I don’t know what to do with this.”
I gently nudge it back toward her. “Let’s take it to the counter, okay?”
She nods, holding it to her chest again.
Taking Molly by the hand, I navigate her past people talking and the ones receiving medical care, all the while careful to body-block her from seeing the woman on the floor who has two paramedics working to help her.
It’s not clear what’s wrong, but it’s bad enough that they have supplies spread everywhere and leads already on her.
A small tarp is suspended between the hands of two patrons as a makeshift wall, but it doesn’t cover all of the scene.
There’s no one around when we reach the counter, so I instruct Molly to leave the bowl to the side for them to deal with later.
She carefully puts it up with both hands and then looks a little lost. I feel the same waiting for her escort back to the clubhouse.
My mind keeps returning to what my father said.
If he goddamn knew they’d recognize me, why did he put me in danger like that?
But Fang’s question rings louder: how did they know we were here? Were we tracked? Or do they have an informant? It seems awfully serendipitous that they knew exactly what night we’d leave the compound if we were tailed. A mole makes way more sense.
And if the rest of the girls are fine, then was he right? Are they only after me? Am I the danger?
My gaze roams the faces in the room, the people still here, still aware of what I’m doing.
Given the brevity of the situation, everyone looks as though their mind is elsewhere, that they’re not quite themselves.
Anyone could be an informant. But it doesn’t make sense to be one of the townsfolk.
They wouldn’t be close enough to see the comings and goings of the clubhouse to know I left.
Unless it’s someone on the inside? I study both deputies.
Is the spy on the sheriff’s payroll? My gaze shifts to Loki. Or are they closer than that?
I turn to find Fang staring at me with the same distrust hardening his brow.
Maybe the Devil’s Breed did more damage with this ram than we gave them credit for? Maybe the point wasn’t to harm us at all, but to create exactly this: an environment where nobody is a friend and no one can be trusted.
The truck was nothing more than a Trojan horse, delivering all they needed to have us destroy each other from the inside out.
Suspicion.