Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Jenna
“Well, looky here. How are you doing, sweetheart?” Some asshole smiles at me as I slam the door that I hope is bulletproof behind me.
The last thing I heard was Troy asking for a gun, and he didn’t sound like it was just for show. I hauled ass inside as he told me not to look back.
“Get away from her, tool. Jenna?” I turn to a familiar voice and start pointing at the door.
“Pirate, we were being followed. Troy’s going to—” Before I can say the word, a gunshot rings out, and the entire place breaks into organized chaos.
Pirate hits a button on the wall, and shutters fall over the windows.
A tall guy in a fedora with a cigar hanging out of his mouth moves to a cabinet that he opens, showing at least a dozen guns.
The guy who was hitting on me moves to the door and opens it when the cigar guy nears it.
He disappears into the night, and I listen carefully for any signs of fighting.
The roar of motorcycles is all I hear before the door opens again.
“All clear.” Troy walks in after the cigar guy, and my body starts to shake.
“Hey, hey. I’m okay. Jenna, breathe.” I collapse into his arms as the entire room goes quiet.
“CHURCH, NOW,” Pirate yells, and everyone moves to the back of the building.
“Prez,” Troy says above my head, but I can’t look to see who he’s addressing.
“Fucking bring her.” It’s Pirate who answers, annoyed.
I close my eyes as Troy lifts me into his arms and think about the vest they all wear. I knew they were in a club and had positions, but I never really paid attention until this moment. They moved with military precision, ready for an attack and willing to meet it head-on.
This isn’t a club. It’s a militia.
Troy’s vest says Vice President.
Does that mean he’s second-in-command?
“Quiet down. Everyone, this is Jenna, my—” His voice fumbles, and I grip him tighter.
“My old lady.” Fuck. He said it.
“What the fuck?” Pirate says to the deathly quiet room.
I open my eyes and glance around my hands, which are blocking my face from view, to find everyone staring at us.
“Oh, you are not getting the how. Ever.” Troy’s tone leaves no room to argue, and someone clears their throat.
“Congrats?”
“Should I order her cut?”
“What’s her name”
“Is she hurt?”
The room rumbles back to life with questions, but it’s the last one that has Troy lifting my chin to meet his eyes.
“Babe?” His brown eyes are so full of sadness and fear that I choke back a sob.
I always hated that I cried when I was angry, but having his arms around me now doesn’t make it seem so bad. I only allow it for a minute, though. Just long enough to clear my system of the excess adrenaline before I clear my throat and sit up straight.
“I’m okay,” I say to the room, my voice stronger than I feel.
“Everyone, this is Jenna Graham. She’s the nurse who delivered Zac.
Babe, these are the club’s officers. Pirate, you know, he’s the President.
I’m his vice president. To your left is Spector, our Sergeant at Arms, head of security, and club protector.
Next to him is Ares, one of our Enforcers.
To our right is Padre, the club chaplain.
Wizard, our Secretary, and Cyclone, our Road Captain. ” They nod and wave in my direction.
“Hi.” The word tumbles out lamely, and I bury my face in Troy’s neck again, not wanting to face the world right now.
“Alright, introductions done. What the fuck just happened?” Pirate asks, and I couldn’t agree more.
How did I end up biker married to the man I’m clinging to, and why were we being followed?
“I took Jenna to Asbury Park tonight. We spent the evening on the Boardwalk and then walked on the beach.” Someone started humming ‘Under the Boardwalk’ until Pirate banged the table with his fist.
“When we got to the parking lot to leave, we found it trashed. Someone spray-painted a circle around my Harley with the words ‘SOMC THINK THEY’RE UNTOUCHABLE’ written around the circle,” Troy continues the story.
Someone hisses as he tells them about our helmets and how we were followed back here.
“It wasn’t a circle.” The cigar man, Spector, says, looking at the screen of a laptop he’s been typing in since we sat down.
“Pretty sure I know my fucking shapes, dick,” Troy says over my head, and I turn so I can see Spector’s expression.
“Not arguing that. But it’s not a normal circle. It’s a bullseye. You’ve been marked.” He turns the laptop around to show us a video of the parking lot.
As soon as we leave, a red dot appears in the middle of the circle where the Harley was parked. Spector taps a few buttons, and the image zooms in on the red circle. A skull is in the middle, with the words “NEXT TIME” surrounding it.
“We’ve been marked for what?” I ask, sitting up fully to look at the screen better.
“Death.”