Chapter 9 Jackal
JACKAL
“Fucking love the sky this morning,” I say as we step out of the back door to grab our bikes, three days since Garrett fitted the cameras. “Look at all those colors, like it’s showing off. The frost on the grass makes it look like it’s been dusted in sugar.”
“And it’s too damn early for you to be this poetic.” Garrett locks the door while I tighten my gloves. “You got the addresses?”
“Yeah. Already programmed into my phone, in route order.” Bikers who haven’t been living up to club commitments are about to get a rude awakening this morning.
Garrett unlocks the garage door, and then I hear the rumble of it as he lifts it open. “Then let’s go do this.”
I glance over my shoulder at him and catch him looking at my ass. “It shouldn’t be so hot that you get excited when you’re about to threaten people.”
He chuckles at that as he raises the garage door.
“It shouldn’t be so hot how good you look in those leathers, but here we are.
I’m thinking we should tell these brothers they’re on a new form of probation.
Like, this is their warning shot, and if they don’t fix their contribution in the next thirty days, they’re out. ”
“I think that’s a good idea. We want fast turnaround of behavior.”
As we’re about to mount the bikes, we hear the sharp, stuttering whine of an engine turning over that won’t quite catch. It speeds up and then dies, like it’s doing its best to wake up but can’t quite make it.
It happens again, a coughing, uneven sputter.
I can feel Garrett looking over to Isla’s drive, even though he assured me this morning that he was done worrying, seeing she hasn’t come to get the cameras connected to an app on her phone so she can actually use them. Which obviously means he’s worried about her every ten minutes since.
“We have a choice to make,” I say, looking over to Garrett’s face. His hazel eyes are focused in one direction. And it’s going to be a difficult one. Because I’ll follow Garrett’s lead in how he answers, but I know what I want to do.
“And that is?”
“We do the right thing, give her the space she wants, and just drive over to Grizz’s house.”
He glances to me. “Or?”
I’m relieved he asked. Because it’s killing me to watch Isla struggle on a level I didn’t expect, and deeply suspect is something more than friendly concern.
I find myself wanting to be in her orbit more than is healthy.
Even as I try to convince myself it will pass, I feel like I’m stepping into a place I assured Garrett I wouldn’t go.
“We both admit that we can’t just let her sit there and…ah, shit…she’s crying.” She’s climbed out of the car and is rubbing underneath both her eyes, as if wiping tears away.
I think about the way she looked at me after I helped her with the fence post. Like she wanted to trust me, was grateful for the help, and yet can’t help that her brain has been rewired over the years of being disposable to men who promised brotherhood to each other and gave her crumbs.
“Fuck it,” Garrett says, climbing off his bike, and I smile to myself as I watch his mighty fine ass while he stomps down the driveway.
“Stay calm,” I shout after him, and chuckle when he simply flips me the bird over his shoulder.
I dismount and hurry to catch up. “You’re vibrating.”
“Shut up with your poetic nonsense. I’m pissed is what I am. She shouldn’t be driving around in a car that’s unreliable. Shouldn’t be living in this house with that fucked-up uncle of hers being a menace. And how the hell is she going to—”
“We’ll jump the car. And how’s that ‘not worrying about Isla’ thing working out for you?”
The question is meant as a joke, but I find myself wanting an honest answer as I see Isla raise the hood of her car.
Garrett glances at me from the corner of his eye. “You don’t stop moving that mouth of yours, I’ll give you something to fill it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You know how much I like it when you stuff my mouth.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters.
We arrive at the top of Isla’s driveway, and where Garrett would have stomped straight under the hood and fixed her car, I put a hand out to stop him from stepping foot on her property.
He grabs for my hand. “What are you—?”
“Consent,” I remind him. I turn my eyes to Isla who is adorably dressed in scrubs, sneakers, and an unzipped fleece.
Her face is clear of make-up and her hair is up high on her head in an elastic that makes her neck even more enticing.
“Morning, Isla. Could hear you’re having car trouble. Can we help you get it started?”
“Oh, uh, hi.” Her voice carries the threat of more tears, and I have to fight the urge to go and tug her into my arms. I want to tell her it’s just a fucking car. We’ll fix it. We’ll get her where she needs to go. “No. I’m fine. I just really need to—”
“God help my mortal soul,” Garrett says, shoving my arm out of the way.
So much for consent.
“Go get the truck,” he says. “We’ll jump it.”
Isla looks between us, frustration and embarrassment warring on her pretty face. “I don’t…I’m not…Shade, I don’t want help.”
Garrett’s tone softens, just for a heartbeat. It’s the same voice he uses with me, and it works every time. “It’s not about want or need, or you versus bikers.” He offers her his hand. “I’m Garrett, Isla. Maybe it’s best if you don’t call me Shade anymore.”
Her throat bobs. I can see it from here. And while it’s killing me to not step forward, I know my man needs to lead her. To help. To fix. To make things right.
I just don’t want his painfully damaged heart to take any more knocks in the process. I’m not sure it has another rejection left in it.
Isla studies the hand for longer than is comfortable, but Garrett never drops it. “Fine,” she whispers finally, and shakes it.
My heart skips a beat.
I’m touched by Garrett’s gesture, and because I love this man, I don’t jump on his moment, whatever this means to him, by telling her my name is Kai.
I step by the two of them to look beneath the hood and go through the obvious checks.
Battery wires, alternator connections. And that’s when I see it.
There, in the little square plastic blocks, the fuel pump relay.
The edges aren’t flush with the other surrounding relays.
It sits a couple of millimeters high. I touch it and it wiggles.
But worse, there are light scuffs, a faint twist mark. It wouldn’t be obvious to the untrained eye, but I have a sinking suspicion this has been tampered with. With that thought in mind, I check every other connection, then get to my knees and look beneath the car.
There are no signs of cut fuel lines or brake lines. Plus, I think that would have taken more effort, time, and equipment than tampering with her relay would.
“Did you get those cameras hooked up yet?” I ask Isla as I stand, hoping that even if she couldn’t ask us, she asked someone else.
She shakes her head as she glances at the camera on the porch that would have told us everything we needed to know. “Not yet.”
“Garrett,” I say, using his real name given he’s told Isla to call him that. “Make that happen while I get the truck.”
If he senses concern in my words, he doesn’t show it.
And I jog home, let myself into the house to get the keys, and then hop into the truck. But before I drive off, I send a text message to Wren, asking if they can find out where Isla’s uncle lives.
I grew up in a house filled with love. My dad loved my mom with his whole heart until we lost him to prostate cancer two years ago. But they also loved Ginny, who was like a second mom to me. And Mom loved Nascha.
They all showed me how it was possible to love multiple people, to work through jealousies, and to make it seem easy.
I’ve always known it was possible to feel like you’ve already given your whole heart to someone, then give it to another, without your love for the first person being diminished.
So, in my head, it’s easy to wonder what it would feel like to fall asleep with my arms around Isla, and Garrett’s arms around the two of us.
Of letting him have all the love he deserves from the two of us.
What’s harder to understand is why I’m thinking about Isla as a third?
And why now, when we’ve known her for a while?
I shake my head. The chances of it happening are slim. On one hand, I have a man who is welded to monogamy. On the other, a woman who hates bikers.
I maneuver the truck onto Isla’s drive so that the jumper cables will reach.
Isla watches anxiously from the porch, occasionally glancing at her watch to see the time.
A part of me wants to walk over to her, tug her into my arms, and tell her it’s all going to be okay.
That with the two of us looking out for her, she’s safe.
Once we’re set up, Garrett sits in her car, as I sit in the truck.
It takes a heartbeat for her car to start, but the relief on her face is palpable when her engine roars to life.
I guess it’s a cheesy fucking metaphor to think of the three of us bringing each other back to life, but it doesn’t stop the tumble my heart takes at the look Isla and Garrett give each other.
Garrett gets out of the car as I step down from the truck to remove the cables.
“Take it for a drive before you go to work,” he says.
“And message us if it’s dead tonight,” I add. “Don’t be hanging around that parking lot asking strangers for help.”
I reverse the truck off the drive and pull out of her way while she repeats the same maneuver.
“I checked she still has both our numbers,” Garrett says as he jumps into the truck for the very short ride across the street. “You see something beneath the hood?”
“Looked like a relay had been fucked with. I mean, it could have been marks from a previous repair, but it definitely looked messed with.”
Garrett rubs two fingers over his lips. “Good thing those cameras are now working.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He turns to me and grins. “And because I helped her set them up, and might have been a nosey bastard, I know the username and password she set up for the account.”
As I park the truck in its garage, he messes around with his phone, then shows me what he’s done.
A live feed to all the cameras around her house.
“You know this probably constitutes stalking,” I say.
Garrett shrugs. “You really think we shouldn’t?”
I huff a laugh. “Legally, we shouldn’t. But who gives a fuck about the law?”
It takes us about twenty minutes to ride out to Grizz’s place, out by the old mine road. He’s pushing sixty and I’ve heard he was a decent rider back in the day. But he’s been missing meetings, missing shifts, missing everything.
With the exception of old age and ill-health, there’s a line between being involved enough to keep on carrying the ink or deciding you’ve left the club but are holding on to your ink and cuts as trophies. Every ounce of gear with the Iron Outlaws logo on it comes back to us if you leave for good.
When we step up to the porch, Garrett hammers on the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “We’re here to talk, not knock the house down.”
“Maybe his hearing’s shit,” Garrett deadpans.
The door cracks open, and Grizz’s eyes look more tired than usual. Like he hasn’t slept all night. Behind him, the house smells of stale coffee and weed.
“What do you two want?” His voice is rough, like sandpaper.
“Club business,” I say. “Can we come in?”
Grizz hesitates, shoulders slumping before he shakes his head, but opens the door anyway.
Inside, the living room is cluttered, but clean. And on the sofa, wrapped in a quilt, is his old lady, Birdie, who I’ve been told was once an exotic dancer, a rare beauty in her day.
I soften immediately when I take in her bald head and sickly pallor. “Birdie. Good to see you.”
She gives me a weak smile. “Oh, sweetheart. I’d give you both a hug, but I’m immunocompromised.”
It’s hard to miss the oxygen tank and pill bottles and bowl on the floor, sitting on an old towel.
“Take care of yourself, yeah?” We both step back to create space between us and Grizz. “Step out with us a minute.”
As soon as the door closes, Garrett tugs at his hair. “Why didn’t you tell us she was sick?”
Grizz’s jaw flexes. “Not the club’s problem.”
Garrett sighed. “We’re here because we’re supposed to kick your ass to get you to show up like you’re meant to.”
Grizz glances to the living room window. “Still not the club’s problem.”
“Bullshit,” Garrett says. “You’re family. Club stands with family.”
Grizz throws his hands in the air. “Heard the club lost some money back end of last year. Not gonna force you guys to go without.”
Garrett steps closer, his voice dropped to a tone that usually makes grown men rethink their life choices. “You don’t hide shit like this. We take care of our own. Let Grudge figure out how to keep the club afloat, but for the record, we got it all back, thanks to Wren.”
I put my hands on Grizz’s shoulders. “Brother, needing help doesn’t make you weak.
Makes you human. We’ll tell Grudge. You’ll get support.
Rides covered, shifts reassigned. And you’ll have a schedule of people checking on you both, bringing meals, helping with shit around here you don’t have time to do because you’re looking after Birdie. ”
Grizz looks at us like we just handed him oxygen.
“Thank you,” he says. “I guess I didn’t want to be a burden to the club.”
Garrett slaps his back, his version of a sympathetic hug. “You’re never alone, brother. Not on my watch.”