Jax: Black Angels MC, #3

by Fisher, A. E.

  Even the crowd still standing by the door seemed to have quieted under the atmosphere.

  Ronnie allowed slack on the rope to punctuate her every step until she stopped with the length of rope in her small, calloused hands at the bottom of the ramp, a safe distance from the horse.

  I didn’t miss a single thing and could feel the frown already fixed on my face. Ronnie glanced over her shoulder, catching my expression. Her eyes turned down and away, the pain and shame radiating from her like a rain cloud hanging above her head. It made my hands tighten at my sides.

  I knew this horse. She was a seal brown thoroughbred called Max, and she was Ronnie’s best friend. At the beginning, Max was a strong horse and had a rebellious nature, so much so she couldn’t even be considered for a race horse. B ut Ronnie fought in her corner and ended up keeping her for herself despite Max’s difficulty. Even when I advised the brat against it, Ronnie hadn’t listened to me. She was stubborn and bullheaded as always, and every step of the way Ronnie had been determined to train Max. The road was long and difficult, but the bond the two built became unbreakable. Ronnie loved Max and Max loved her.

  When I saw Ronnie creep into the trailer, I knew something was very, very wrong.

  I saw her chest rise with a deep breath and shaking hands trying to still before she began to pull at the rope. Max’s head got a slight tug in our direction.

  That was all it took.

  Max bucked against its side and the trailer let out a horrifying screech. She crashed against it left and right, and I heard the shouts of surprise of the club members behind me. At the sound of danger, the men were yelling and dragging the screaming kids and startled women inside.

  I spun back to Ronnie, only to see her desperately fighting with the rope as the large animal bucked, kicked, and slammed into the edges of the trailer without care of the pain it was inflicting on itself.

  This situation is getting out of hand.

  Max gave a terrified shriek, her hind crashing against the wall of the trailer, causing a cry of metal as the trailer nearly tipped onto one side. It slammed back to the concrete with a resounding bang, and the jerking motion did the trick.

  Max was free.

  I didn’t even think as I lunged for Ronnie, grabbing the rope straight out of her hands, shoving her out the way and behind me just as the horse jolted out of the trailer. Max bolted across the lot, gaining speed as the slack of the rope was eaten by the distance in less than a second.

  The rope gave a mighty snap and it was the only warning I got before I was pulled forward after her. The concrete came up in front of my face. I was about to get a mouthful of blood, teeth, and grit had my timeless instincts not kicked in.

  Ronnie’s warning cry was late. I shoved my feet out in front of me; my spine straightened and threw my center of gravity away from Max’s direction. My boots hit the concrete, and burning rubber filled my nose as I was dragged on behind her.

  For a second, my resistant soles slowed her run and the slightest bit of slack was gifted back to me. I took the opportunity and wound the rope around my forearms as fast as I could and adjusted my weight back.

  She pulled. Hard.

  The rope dug into my skin and tightened around it stronger than any snake, and I couldn’t help the loud roar of pain through gritted teeth.

  Max’s fight didn’t wane at my bellow. She bucked and shrieked before bolting again. I held onto the rope, held my ground, and held onto any sense of reason I could, as Max tried to drag me like a rag doll.

  I realized too late that I hadn’t pulled the rope in close enough. This wasn’t the wide fields of Texas, and as my eyes flew to a new Jeep positioned in Max’s panicked path, I braced.

  Crunching metal, shattering glass, and Max’s shocked shriek shook the air. The vehicle jerked a few feet to the side with a screech and Max’s body slumped into the bending metal.

  The large collision did nothing to snap Max free of her blind panic. She stumbled to her feet and jerked forward against the rope. I countered it, using my weight to pull her back into line. She raced forward and I saw Ronnie jump back into the trailer and out of the way as Max headed toward it.

  I wrapped the rope round my waist and leaned back even further, pulling Max back enough that she didn’t trip over the ramp. I let her run, fast and with all her might around in a circle, roping her in bit by bit until she was close enough that she couldn’t reach any more cars. I turned with her, leaning my weight into the rope around my back until I felt it begin to wane.

  Max’s weighted pull on the rope slowed, and her exhaustion set in.

  Twenty minutes later, her legs shook so much they were barely holding her up. Hoarse, grated breaths heaved in and out her mouth, her eyes lowered and head hanging to the ground. All her energy had been used up.

  I hissed and let the rope slacken from behind my back, then unwound it from my forearm. A fresh, throbbing wound stung at the touch of air as a trail of blood trickled over my tattoos where my skin had torn.

  Ignoring that pain for now, I focused my attention on wrapping a quick Honda knot at my end of the rope before giving a small, steady pull, bringing Max about eight feet from me at the center of the circle, but it was more than close enough.

  Using my good arm, I swung the lasso in the air and released it as naturally as one might toss a horseshoe. But unlike others, I never missed, and the rope cleared Max’s long face and slipped down her broad, sweat-dampened neck. She stiffened as it sunk down onto her shoulders but otherwise didn’t have the energy to fight it.

  I kept it loose as I walked her back near the club house. I led her up next to the wall with me on the other side of her, and when I reached the end, I turned and walked back up the length again. Both of us regaining our lost air and resting our tired muscles.

  It was there, as I calmly watched her move up and down one side, that I looked at her condition. This close, I could see the scars that her dark hair had hidden, an arc of jagged, angry marks over her rump that dragged down to her thigh.

  Animal attack.

  It was likely to have been some variation of cougar or bobcat or one of the other breeds of wild beasts that lived in the area surrounding the ranches Max lived on.

  I sighed with defeat in my chest and soul as I walked Max back from the wall and across the car lot.

  Ronnie stood in silence by the trailer, dry tear tracks on her cheeks, fresh ones filling her eyes. I saw her biting down on her lip, her shoulders tucked into her chest. She was bracing herself.

  I took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”

  Ronnie’s heart was written across her face as it flooded with relief. She bent over like she’d been punched in her stomach, her breathing stuttering in and out of her. When she looked back up to me, she was crying.

  “Thank yo—”

  “Not for you,” I interrupted. “I’ll help. But I’m not doing it for you.”

  Whatever reaction Ronnie had disappeared as her walls came up. She knew where I stood. This wasn’t a start over for us or a chance. This was just a business deal.

  Like every time I’d done this before, I would do it for the horse. For the creature that needed my help when everyone else refused. Because I was Max’s chance for a happy life. A happy life I could give back to her.

  But not one I was offering to Ronnie.

  Her chance had long passed.

  Ronnie took a deep breath and dried her tears. She looked to Max and then to me. She swallowed, cleared her throat and with a clear voice, she said simply, “Okay.”

  Chapter Two

  Ronnie

  I did it.

  I actually... did it.

  Even an hour later, as I sank down on to the bed of my motel with a gushing breath, it was still unbelievable. I laid down onto the musty sheets, ignoring the stagnant smell that had soaked into the room.

  There was only one motel in the small rural town of Fellpeak and it wasn’t exactly five-star. There wasn’t much in the room but an old te
levision mounted on the yellowed doily-decorated side table in the corner of the room, looking like it’d collapse under a single breath. The tiny bathroom wasn’t much more: rusty shower, toilet, sink, and cracked mirror. There wasn’t even a lamp or a complementary Bible.

  Even so, poor accommodations meant little to me when I knew that this was where I was going to be until Max got better. Where I’d go after that was a different story that I didn’t have to face just yet.

  I turned my head, breathing in the bitter lemon-wash scent of the sheets and found my eyes wandering beyond the crack in the floral curtains. Outside, I could see the pale blue of my truck beneath the layer of rust; the sight of it without the plain silver trailer was an eyesore. My heart was already aching at the thought of Max being so physically far away from me. Mentally, she hadn’t been there for a long time, the last two years had been hard on her after the attack, but my hope had carried me here, to this town, and back to Jackson.

  He’d taken Max off my hands within moments of agreeing to my plea, and then he hadn’t even let me give him so much as a thank you before he kicked me out of his compound.

  The sour taste still sat at the back of my throat at the thought of our confrontation. Coming to Jackson after so many years had been risky, but he was my final option after having bled America dry of every horse expert it had to offer. Everyone had taken one look at her and told me the best thing to do would be to put her down. Selfish as it may have seemed to drag a traumatized horse around the country, I couldn’t give her up so easily. After losing the one place I had belonged, Max had become my everything. She had been there when I was young and stubborn, and I thought she would be with me until I was much older. In the last few years, Max was my only comfort, galloping through the fields on her back like I was young again, wondering if maybe, just for a moment, I could ride back to those times when life was vibrant and bright. Back when I lived only for horses and the man I was determined to marry when I grew up.

  The man that now hated me. I knew we hadn’t parted on the best of terms, but when we inevitably reached our crossroads, he had chosen one way and I had chosen the other. Our lives turned out as different as night and day, coming across each other’s paths again to find ourselves looking at complete strangers.

  I supposed that was how it was. It wasn’t like the old times. Not because of the time having passed, but the people having changed. I wasn’t little Ronnie looking at my young Jackson. I was the woman, Veronica, facing the man, Jax.

  Jax, the biker, the outlaw, the man nobody messed with. I can’t say I was surprised. I wasn’t sure where I expected him to have run to, but seeing it all made sense. The thrill of the ride he had once sought out in horses was now replaced by a metal machine.

  But that wasn’t the only thing he’d swapped. The warm bronze of his skin after hours under the sun on saddleback was now covered almost completely in soft black ink. His hair was longer, and his face had lost its boyish charm. It morphed into a sharper, more masculine handsomeness. He looked bigger too, in both muscles and height, though I hadn’t thought it possible for him to grow any more than his towering teenage height. It was hard to believe that the same boy managed to eclipse the powerfully free image he had once painted for himself.

  I supposed I was no longer the same person either. From the young, stubborn, and wild teenage girl he had once known—always getting into trouble somehow or other—and the me now was a massive contrast. The woman I became had long since lost her childhood innocence and naivety and replaced it with a cold hard awareness of how dark the world really was.

  The softness of a single tear shed from my eye fell down my cheek and was swallowed by the sheets. I pushed myself to sit, wiping my cheeks with the long sleeve of my shirt.

  No more tears.

  It was a promise to myself I wanted to keep.

  Since I intended to keep it, letting myself wallow in “what-was-once” and “what-could-have-been” wouldn’t be a smart choice. If anything, I wanted to hold true to the fact that I wasn’t a doll. I had my own mind, my own brain. I was smart. I was myself.

  I took a deep breath, using the inner strength in my chest to push down the swelling emotions wanting to escape.

  Knowing I needed to take my mind off it, I leaned back as I outstretched my leg. My heel dug into the floor, my toes pointed at the ceiling as my lungs reached capacity. The ache was dull at first, the muscles twitching but not pulling as I relaxed the stretch and leaned forward, pushing myself down over my thighs and releasing a long, drawn-out breath.

  It was on the third set that the throbbing and twinges started beneath my skin and the protesting burn followed them.

  The attack was severe… You’ve lost a lot of blood… We need to operate.

  “One…Two…Three….” I breathed through the voices. The endless repetition of doctors, and nurses and surgeons nagging on and on in my head.

  The muscle is too badly damaged, and your body is resisting the antibiotics. We’ll have to remove part of it.

  “One…Two…Three….”

  You’ll only get about eighty-percent of movement back if you work hard at rehab. But the pain might never go away.

  “One…Two….”

  BEEP-BEEP!

  I jerked hard, both in mind and body. The sharp noise from across the room had my hand slipping off my leg and my knee jerking into my ribs.

  “Goddammit,” I gasped, lifting myself up and dropping back onto the sheets once more. I tried to breath as normally as I could until the throbbing in my leg subsided enough for me to look in the direction the beep had come from.

  The screen of the black, cheap burner phone sitting on the pillow of the bed had already stopped flashing, but it didn’t matter. I already knew who it was. There was only one person who had the number.

  I wiped the thin layer of sweat from my brow, grabbed the device, and looked up at the screen.

  Fellpeak Organic Farm.

  A farm?

  It beeped again.

  10 minutes.

  Wait. He wants me to go?

  When Jackson—I meant—Jax had taken Max out of my hands, I thought that was it. I wasn’t exactly surprised that he’d want as little involvement with me as possible. After seeing Max like she was, I knew it would take time to help her, and although I was expecting him to keep me notified, I didn’t think he’d be demanding my presence so quickly. I reread the message to make sure I wasn’t reading it wrong, but after the sixth time, I knew Jackson couldn’t be clearer.

  I stood from the bed and before I even got my boots on, another beep rang from the phone.

  9 minutes.

  Maybe Jackson hadn’t changed as much as I thought.

  * * *

  “You took in another one?” I mumbled, pushing back the strands of hair the wind was tugging out. My boots pushed against the dirt at the base of the fence, working a small groove the size of my shoe as I waited for Jackson to reply to me. Sometimes he never did—a kid’s opinion isn’t important after all—and I didn’t think he would.

  “Stop scuffing your boots, Ronnie,” Jackson tutted, fiddling with the strand of mature golden grass between his teeth. He flicked it about like a cat’s tail and I glared at it with envy.

  With one more kick in the dirt—just to annoy him—I climbed through the fence, taking his bored reply as invitation into the field. I took a seat next to him in the long grass, plucking my own piece of grass and placing it between my teeth—until it was suddenly gone.

  “Hey!” I glared, watching Jackson toss it into the endless sea of its counterparts.

  “Don’t put weird things in your mouth,” Jackson didn’t bother to look at me. His big brown eyes looked at the figure of the spotted stallion gnawing on a nearby tree branch.

  “Hypocritter.”

  He smirked. “It’s hypocrite.” It was small and fleeting, but I glared at his face anyway. His stupid, pretty face.

  “So,” I grumbled, leaning closer to him. Not enough t
o touch him since I didn’t want him to move away. “What’s this one’s problem?”

  “It’s not as simple as a problem, Ronnie.” Jax sighed, the piece of grass lowering toward the earth. “It’s a trial. A series of problems it’s got to overcome.”

  “Like in the Bible?” I mused, thinking about the sermons momma had me attend every Sunday.

  “Yeah, like the Bible.” Softness overshadowed his voice, and I knew he had stopped listening to me. Daddy always told me he had an attention span as short as a toothpick for people, but as wide as an ocean for horses.

  If only he had that kind of attention for me….

  A child’s dream—that’s what Pa would call that. But even when I grew up, I knew I’d still have that same dream. Jackson was the love of my life, after all.

  I watched him a little longer that afternoon as he observed the stallion, leaving only when I was called for supper. Without looking back, I knew Jackson would be staying to watch that horse long past his supper and long past the sun setting.

  That was just who my Jackson was.

  * * *

  The memory felt longer than the short few minutes it took me to arrive at the organic farm. I felt as if I were waking from a long dream, and I remembered little from the journey.

  So much for no more reminiscing….

  I had long since left town and was now bumbling down a dirt path past the hand-painted wooden sign reading Fellpeak Organic Farm.

  I drove toward an old-styled farm house that looked like it had been preserved for the last fifty years with the wooden swing on the porch, hatched window shutters, white pansies in the flower boxes, and endless golden fields stretching into the horizon behind it.

  The sight of it filled me with a warm, homely feeling, seeing a house that appeared to have a long history of care and love.