Penance

by Kristin Harte

  There were a lot of bikes in The Jury Room parking lot. Too many. Enough to block the view of the highway. They had to be ten rows deep and five or six wide, just sitting there facing the bar. Deacon and Parris had both texted that they were on their way, but until they got here, it was Jinx and me and one Beretta M9 with a magazine of seventeen bullets in it.

  The guys needed to haul ass.

  “Let me guess,” a man straddling the bike that was maybe three inches in front of all the rest said, smirking my way. “You must be the infamous Finn Kennard.”

  That statement brought a small amount of relief. At least they were focusing on me and not Jinx. I’d dealt with men like these during my time inside—tough, alpha men who showed their worth through their fists. I knew how to play their game, and I’d win. I had to. “Who wants to know?”

  The smirk grew, the arrogance shining through. “Name’s Cash. I’ve heard a lot about you, kid.”

  “I’m not your kid, and unless you’re here to tell me where Coyote from the local Soul Suckers crew is, we don’t have anything to talk about.”

  “Don’t know no Coyote. Do you, Creeper?”

  The guy next to Cash shrugged with an exaggeration that made it clear he was lying. “Nope. No Coyote that I know of.”

  “Then I guess we can call this little drop-in visit over, can’t we?” I kept my eyes on Cash but couldn’t help but notice the guy behind him and to his left. The same guy from the night at the truck stop. The one who’d been staring hard at Jinx. The one I had a feeling she recognized. I didn’t dare give him my full attention, but I could sense him watching the woman behind me. Again.

  Cash, meanwhile, simply chuckled and turned to talk to the guy beside him, giving me a moment to let my eyes wander away. Fifty bikes, plus or minus a couple. And yeah, that guy was definitely staring at Jinx. Pure rage burned hot and bright under my skin, igniting my temper, but I kept my control over it. Kept my face stoic and forced my eyes back to Cash’s location.

  But that fucker wasn’t coming anywhere near my girl.

  Cash finally stopped jawing with his buddies and turned back my way, looking far too confident for my liking. “Who’s your friend there?”

  Translation: I know who she is, likely know more about her than you do.

  “Who’re yours?” I nodded my chin in the direction of their posse. “You say you know me, but you can’t come talk to me without an entire crew behind you? What’s got you so scared, Cash?”

  Jinx’s fingers brushed against my back, a signal for sure. Not that I needed one. I was skating on thin ice, and I knew it—there was no denying how outnumbered we were. But from my experience, guys like Cash didn’t respect politeness and talking out their differences. They responded to strength. Arrogance. This wasn’t a full-on attack, or they wouldn’t all be sitting in the parking lot, wouldn’t have waited for us to come out. This was a dick-measuring contest. And I could swing mine with the best of them.

  Sadly for him, Cash was just beginning to figure this out. “What’d you say to me?”

  But it was already too late for bravado. The guys around him—especially the ones wearing colors for clubs other than his own—were already chattering and whispering to one another. Already smelling the blood of someone weaker than them in the water. And Cash knew it.

  “You think you’ve got one up on me, kid?”

  I drew the Beretta, pulled the slide to disengage the safety, and held it straight out with one hand, arm locked and canted slightly, aiming for Cash’s head while keeping my free hand brushing Jinx’s hip. Keeping my face calm and my body in front of her. Not the best shooting stance, but one I’d practiced extensively over the years out in the hills around town. One I knew I could use to aim accurately and still keep what was precious behind me.

  And then I let the cocksure, testosterone-fueled attitude I’d learned in prison—the one I usually kept tucked away in the deepest, darkest places of my mind—free. “I’ll tell you this one last time. I’m not your kid. The name’s Finn, and if you don’t get it right, I’ll carve it into your dead body as a reminder.”

  I heard Jinx gasp just as Cash moved as if to dismount his bike. An engine roared through the night, though—a truck screaming into the lot behind the bikers. Everyone turned, including Cash. That gave me a moment to grab Jinx by the elbow and shove her backward, almost pinning her against the door. Completely blocking her body with mine just in case. No way was I the only one carrying. If I couldn’t make her hide inside, I’d wall her off myself.

  By the way her fists connected with my lower back, I had a feeling she wasn’t a fan of my plan.

  “Settle the fuck down,” I hissed just before Deacon’s truck slid to a stop. He opened his door and hopped out, grinning widely at the bikers even as the tension tightened the skin around his eyes.

  “Gentlemen. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but The Jury Room is closed for the foreseeable future.”

  I had my eyes on Cash, so it wasn’t until the sound of a second set of footsteps to my left caught my attention that I looked behind Deacon. A man stood with him, one I only vaguely recognized. The badge hanging around his neck I knew at first glance, though.

  Deacon had brought the law.

  And me? I was fucked. Being an ex-felon with a gun in his possession wouldn’t fly with a county sheriff. But if I dropped the Beretta or tried to hide it, I’d leave Jinx exposed. Her life, or heading back inside—the choice was an easy one.

  I tightened my grip on the pistol and kept my aim true.

  “We were just chatting up old friends,” Cash said, eyeing the man with the badge. “You bring the sheriff in on us?”

  “Who, this guy?” Deacon nodded toward the man with the badge. The one who stood silent and still as he looked over the dozens of bikers before him. “This is my old friend Zane. He was helping me with a home repair project when we heard y’all had made the trek out here. I figured he could come along, seeing as he knows the county a little better than I do. Maybe he can direct you to a more fitting establishment for your needs.”

  Cash laughed. “I don’t think we need a sheriff to tell us where to go.”

  The sheriff clapped his hands once. “Well good, then. So we can all get back to whatever we were doing. Right, fellas?”

  Cash glared my way, but I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away either. I got the message from that look—I’d made him look weak, so he’d be coming for me. That was fine. I’d be ready for him.

  “We’ve done what we came to do,” Cash said, glaring my way. “I’ll see you around, Finn Kennard.”

  “Anytime.” I didn’t drop the gun, though. Didn’t relax for even a second. Cash kept looking my way, the two of us in some sort of staring contest. One I refused to back down from.

  Thankfully, Cash’s own crew called an end to it.

  “Let’s ride,” Creeper said just before he started his engine. The other bikers followed suit, the noise level rising from near silent to cacophonous in an instant. They revved those engines a few times, the sound near deafening, but eventually started to peel off. To leave. Jinx grabbed on to the waist of my jeans, pressing her body against mine. Resting her head between my shoulder blades. Safe…for the moment.

  Once the bikers were all gone, having driven down the highway toward wherever they were staying, Deacon headed our way. Dragging me into the bar with nothing more than a hard look tossed over his shoulder toward his old friend Zane. “You two okay?”

  I had other things to worry about at that moment, though. “You brought the sheriff?”

  “Undersheriff Grogan, yeah. I figured you needed all the help I could get.”

  “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  The man looked ready to roll his eyes, but smartly didn’t. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  I didn’t, but whatever. “Why are you hanging with the law?”

  “Some things you don’t need to know right now. You planning on letting me see her?” J
inx. He meant Jinx, who was still tucked behind me.

  Deacon raised an eyebrow, holding it until I stepped to the side and exposed Jinx for the first time. He looked her over from head to toe, smiling softly. “You okay, lucky one?”

  Even scared out of her mind—which I could tell she was—my girl was pure attitude. “I’d be better if this big ape hadn’t tried to stuff me into a corner. I’m not helpless, you know.”

  Deacon shot me a look, one that said he was just as impressed by her as I was. “Better than throwing you to the wolves.”

  “You don’t need to throw me to them—they come when I call.”

  This chick was something else. “Next time, I’ll let you hide me instead, okay?”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared. “No, you won’t.”

  “You’re right, I won’t.” I gave her hand a squeeze, then refocused on my boss as I held out the Beretta. “That undersheriff going to give me a hard time about this?”

  Deacon shook his head and took the gun, double-checking the safety was on before handing it to Jinx. “What gun? I didn’t see you with a gun. You mean the soda gun head? That just needs to go back under the bar. Right, Jinx?”

  “Sure. Yeah,” she said, palming the gun before heading across the room for the bar.

  Well, that was one less thing to worry about. “What’s the plan?”

  Deacon grimaced before blowing out a harsh breath. “You two get the fuck out of here for a day or so.”

  “Out of here…as in the bar?”

  “Yep. We’re closed until this shit is handled.”

  That wasn’t anything I’d been expecting, and my chest tightened up at the thought of my routine being thrown so far out of whack. But I still had Jinx, and my need to protect her overrode just about everything else. “What about Jinx? She’s staying at the motel.”

  Deacon shot a glance at the girl in question, the one walking toward us. Who would likely hear his answer even if she didn’t know the question. “Parris is still staying there. Jinx should be fine.”

  “Jinx is always fine,” she said, looking from Deacon to me and back again.

  Her confidence wasn’t soothing, and “should be” wasn’t good enough. I sure as shit wasn’t arguing with Deacon in front of her, though. “And you?”

  “I’ll be working the angles. Like always.” He turned toward the door as Zane walked in. “Time?”

  The undersheriff gave me a solid look-over, those sharp eyes seeming to take in every detail in a matter of seconds, then refocused on Deacon. “Definitely.”

  My boss nodded. “Get out of here. Both of you. And don’t do anything stupid. Parris or I will be in touch when we’re ready to make a move.”

  With that, he literally herded us through the kitchen, allowing me to stop and pack up the vegetables I’d brought for Jinx that morning, and pushed us out the rear entrance where my truck was parked in its usual spot. Locking the door behind us as soon as it latched. The Jury Room closed because Deacon had given up on his business. Something I hadn’t thought possible. That alone told me how much trouble we were all in.

  “Well, now what?” Jinx asked, sounding way smaller than I’d ever heard her.

  There was only one answer. “Now you come to my place.”

  Chapter Twelve

  JINX

  Fear made you do strange things. I hadn’t planned on leaving the motel with Finn. I hadn’t planned on jumping into Finn’s truck and letting him drive us off into the mountains in the middle of the night. I hadn’t planned on the gut-wrenching need to physically touch another human being that swamped me the second we were alone in a closed space together.

  I hadn’t planned on Finn Kennard at all, but I had a feeling he was going to shatter my entire world.

  And after being terrified my life was over, I was ready to let him.

  “This is it,” he said softly as he turned into an almost invisible driveway between some trees. A small, single-level house sat on a slight rise, the porch light glowing softly in the distance.

  “It looks peaceful.” Because it did. Everything about the house seemed calming. The straight lines, the tidy flower beds, even the driveway that curved toward a detached garage. Nothing out of place. Not a beer can on the grass, a cigarette butt on the asphalt, or a bag of garbage to be seen. This was what a home was supposed to look like. Such a stark contrast to what I’d been exposed to over the last few years but a nice reminder of what had come before.

  Finn shut off the engine but didn’t leave the cab of the truck. Instead, we sat in darkness, both breathing just a little too hard. Did he feel the same anticipation and nervousness pounding through his body that was raging through mine? Did he notice the tension growing between us? How could he sit in silence and just…not talk? Because I couldn’t.

  “Finn, I—”

  “I don’t bring people here.”

  Direct. Blunt. That, I would have expected, but not the harshness of his tone. Not the feeling of anger I could sense in his words. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to—”

  “Don’t apologize, Jinx. This is my fault. I need you to know that I don’t…do this. I don’t bring people—women—home with me.”

  I couldn’t say that I minded that particular declaration. I also couldn’t say that I understood where this conversation was going. “Okay.”

  “It’s not okay. This is really far from okay.” He gripped the steering wheel so hard, I could hear it creak. “Jinx, can I touch you?”

  As if he needed to ask. “Of course.”

  He turned toward me, circling his fingers around my wrist and leading me across the bench seat. Pulling me close but not overpowering me. Not wrapping me up in his arms the way I wanted him to. Not yet, at least.

  And then he sighed. “Almost no one comes here. Not even my family. It’s my space, and I’m not the most welcoming person to guests.”

  My poor Finn. “We don’t have to go inside—”

  “But I want you here.” He sighed and squeezed me closer. “I’m sorry. I keep interrupting you, but I really wanted to get that out. I want you here, but I don’t know that I’ll do everything right once we’re inside the house.”

  I tugged on his hand until he looked at me, until I knew I had his eyes locked on mine. And then I said the only thing I could in that moment. “Okay.”

  He jerked back. “Okay? That’s all you give me is okay?”

  “What else is there to say?”

  “I have no idea, but I was expecting more…something.”

  Silly Finn. “It’s almost four in the morning, we worked all night, and fifty bikers showed up looking ready to kick both our asses. I don’t have more in me right now. If you’re worried that you might somehow insult or offend me once we get inside with your lack of social graces, forget all that. I’m a big girl—I don’t need a welcoming party. If you’re afraid me being in your space will throw you too far off, I promise to be quiet and virtually invisible.”

  “Not what I wa—”

  I put my finger against his lips, quieting him. “Whatever you need, just tell me, and I’ll figure out how to give that to you. You said you wanted me here, and I’m glad because there’s no place I’d rather be right now than with you.”

  Without a word, Finn pulled me into his arms and wrapped me up tight, breathing into my neck as I clung to him. As I spider-monkeyed the heck out of his body as best I could. Even when he opened the door and started sliding backward out of the truck, I didn’t let go. Couldn’t. I needed him to anchor me. Needed the touch and smell of him to lock me in the present and not let me go back to those moments at the bar when I’d first seen all those bikers. When I’d seen a couple who would definitely recognize me. When I’d had a sudden and terrifying thought that they were there to take me back to the Soul Suckers.

  Take me away from Justice and the man holding me.

  Take me back to hell where I knew my life would end.

  Finn never stopped his retreat out of the truck. He simpl
y took me with him, dragging me across the seat then hefting me up his body once his feet hit the ground. I wrapped my legs around his waist and draped myself over him. Enveloping him.

  He never said a word about my sudden clinginess as he walked to the front door of the ranch house and unlocked it. As he carried me inside. Not until he had me secured, the door locked behind us once more, and a dim light glowing in his foyer did he say a thing.

  “Jinx.”

  My name. A single syllable whispered into my hair practically undid me, laid me out bare for him to do whatever he wanted to all the broken and damaged parts of me. That one word was more terrifying than anything else he could have said, and it left me feeling vulnerable and shaky. Needy. Unable to hold back as I said, “Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t. I just need to figure out where you’ll—”

  “Finn.” Because it was definitely my turn to interrupt him.

  He didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah?”

  “Take me to bed.”

  He paused just for a moment, a slight beat of time where he stood stock-still before everything kicked into place for him. He toed off his shoes and hung his keys on a small hook by the door. His change went into a bowl beneath them, and the knife from another pocket went with it. No wallet, though, oddly enough. He turned off the light and walked down the hallway, his bare feet padding softly across the wood floors. I got the impression the house was very neutral—in color, in style, and in feel. Neutral and calming, nothing to excite an ex-con addict who probably avoided chaos. And there I was, nothing but chaos, interrupting his peaceful little life.

  When we got to his bedroom—soft blue, a lighter shade than his eyes, with gray accents—he paused. Still holding me.

  Still far too anxious for me to ignore. “What are you trying to figure out?”