Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Jigsaw
The demons of my past are branded into my skin. No matter how hard I twist the throttle, or how many miles of concrete I’ve put between my old life and my new one, those demons never give me peace.
On my back, the physical scars have been obscured with carefully placed ink, but they’re still an ugly reminder of the brutality I was raised in. Of who I came from.
Now, I’ve made my home on the other side of the country, far from those memories. As road captain of the Lost Kings MC, the club that’s been my family since I was twenty, I’ve found stability but I’m often still edgy and restless to run. My best friend, Logan—now known as Rooster—is the VP of our charter.
We’ve come a long way.
But the past never really rests.
Rooster’s met the perfect woman and they’ll be tying the knot soon. I love her like a sister and I’m happy for them.
I have way too much darkness in me to ever settle down with one woman. I don’t even like to sleep next to one in case I wake up with nightmares. Love them and leave them smiling has served me well and I have no intention of ever changing that.
Soon I’ll need to find my own place. Not that Rooster and Shelby have told me I have to move, but it’s the right thing to do.
Today, I’m helping my little sister Jezzie move into her new apartment. I’ve been coughing up money for her college tuition for a few years. When she mentioned she wanted to switch to yet another school this semester, I finally convinced her to move to New York so we can be closer to each other.
Our relationship’s awkward at best. Guilt’s cemented onto my shoulders for leaving her behind. It doesn’t matter that I was a kid myself. Or that I came back for her when I could. I chose myself over her and while I was living comfortably with Rooster and his aunt and uncle—finishing high school, going to keggers in the woods, and healing from the trauma my father inflicted—Jezzie was in hell.
At least my father will never harm another woman or child again. I made sure of that.
Now that we’ve finished clearing the load out of the truck she rented in Pennsylvania, I stop to fiddle with the locks on her front door. Dead bolt. I flick it in and out. Not bad. Frame’s sturdy.
“Don’t start, Jensen,” my sister warns. “The locks are fine.”
I glance up. She’s standing in the hallway, hands on her hips, elbows pointing sideways, irritation all over her scrunched face.
I resist the urge to boop her on the nose.
The sweet kid who tended to my wounds turned into a young woman who’s more like a hedgehog today—adorably unassuming to look at but when she’s provoked, her sharp defenses prickle to life, keeping you at a distance.
“You’re still too far away for my liking.” This is guaranteed to piss her off, but I say it anyway. “You couldn’t find a school closer to Empire at least?”
“Nooo,” she answers slowly to punctuate her annoyance.
“All clear. No hidden cameras or anything weird that I can find.” Rooster strides into the living room. “It’s a nice place, Jezzie.”
She beams at him . No attitude for ol’ Uncle Rooster, she saves the snark for me. “Thank you, Logan.”
“No problem.”
“Actually.” Jezzie lunges at me and throws her arms around my neck so fast, I take a quick step back to balance myself. “Thank you . For finding this place, paying for it, moving me here.” Emotion wells up in her eyes and she glances away, hugging me tighter and resting her cheek on my chest. “All of it.”
Even though I’m not usually a hugger, I return the embrace, lifting her slightly off the ground. The scent of cotton candy tickles my nose. “Proud of you, Jezebel,” I murmur against her hair.
She lets out a harsh laugh and pulls away. “Two colleges in the last three years. And I’m still mooching off you. What’s to be proud of?”
“You could’ve gone to no colleges and spend your days milking goats and popping out babies.” That’s the life she would’ve had if our father’d had his way.
“Ugh.” Her face screws into a disgusted pout. She pops her fist against my shoulder. “Why’d you have to ruin a nice moment by bringing up our freak show family?”
“Can’t help it.” I tug at a large chunk of her long, multi-colored hair. Pink, blue, and purple this month. “I like this. Reminds me of cotton candy.” It also reminds me that she has choices now. Hair colors outside of nature would not have been permitted on the Killgore farm. Better to leave that unsaid, though.
“Is that your way of saying I look like a clown?” she asks, gathering all of her hair and twisting it into a bun, then letting it fall down her back.
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“It’s pretty,” Rooster says.
“Thanks.” Jezzie glances around the small, sparsely furnished space. Love seat. Desk. Bookshelf. Lots of boxes of books. Heavy boxes of books. Paying for her living expenses isn’t difficult. She doesn’t ask for much. The most expensive thing she owns is the neon purple fat tire ebike she asked for last Christmas. She swears that’s all she needs to get around campus and the small college town.
“I’ll get a job so I can take over some expenses,” she says with a serious squint.
I snort. “Your cell phone and Spotify subscription aren’t breaking my bank, Jezzie. Just worry about school.”
“I think this is going to be a better fit for me. Almost all of my credits transferred. And once I get these summer classes done, I’ll officially be a junior.”
“I think you’re going to do great here.” I stuff my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “And I like having you closer. I want you to come visit when you have time off.”
“You can stay with us,” Rooster adds.
Her eyes light up. “With you and Shelby?” She squees. “I still can’t believe you’re engaged to Shelby Morgan.”
Rooster chuckles. “You and me both.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe anyone wants to marry his homely, bearded face, either.” I shrug. “It really is true love.” I cock my head. “Since when do you listen to country music, anyway?”
“Shelby’s more than country music. She’s a lyrical genius.” She slaps my arm and grins. “I still can’t believe you’ve been out on tour with her and Dawson Roads. I wish you’d let me ride along.”
“Maybe next summer,” Rooster says.
I had a different answer in mind.
“You sure you’d let me around all your MC brothers?” Jezzie flashes a wicked smirk at me.
Joke’s on her. If she’s going to date anyone, I would rather have her with a brother. I just can’t think of one who’s single and close enough to her age who I’d trust with my little sister. Jezebel’s grown into such a contrary little pain in my ass, though. If I tell her I want her to date a Lost King, she’ll be engaged to a fucking FBI agent or worse in no time.
“Yeah, they’ll all know to keep their hands off you.” That’s sure to piss her off.
“Ugh.”
There’s a buzzing, and Rooster pulls his phone out of his pocket. He taps my arm and I nod.
“Biker business?” Jezzie asks with a hint of teasing.
“Something like that,” Rooster says.
I hate leaving her this soon after she just moved into somewhere new.
“I’ll be fine.” She nods to the stack of boxes. “I’m looking forward to organizing all my books. And tomorrow I’m supposed to meet up with the girl I know who’s in my program.”
“Good.”
“The guys for the truck are here,” Rooster says. “I’m going to go meet them and check it over one more time.”
“I got everything,” Jezzie says. “I think.”
“I’ll check. No worries.” Rooster pats her shoulder and walks out.
Once he’s gone, Jezzie turns to me with a more serious expression. “I’ll call Aunt Andrea later and let her know I’m all settled in.”
“Good. She doing all right?” She’s the only other member of our family either of us have had contact with in years. Since she extracted herself from our father’s insane religious beliefs before he formed his fucked-up cult, she was the only person I trusted to raise Jezzie after I got her away from our father. She doesn’t necessarily approve of me, so we keep our relationship minimal contact. But she was good to Jezzie and that’s all I care about.
Rooster returns a few minutes later. “All done.”
Jezzie hugs me again. Then Rooster.
Then we head out.
“All good?” Rooster asks as we exit the apartment building.
“I think so.” I glance back at the tall, brick building. “Seems safe.”
He stops at his bike, helmet in hand, and looks at me. “You two seem better. Like you’re mending things. Being closer will be good.”
Not in the mood to talk about it, I straddle my bike and grip the handlebars. “Yeah, I hope so.”
The only way to mend our relationship is to let go of the guilt and pain of our past and start over. And I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.