by Kayce Kyle
Left like a gazelle to a lion, I feel helpless, but I will put up a fight.
“I want my stuff and if you think for one fraction of a second I’m spending any time up there, alone,” I gulp, “with you, you’re crazier than I thought.”
As if he was expecting my response, Justice smirks. “Guess I’m crazier than you thought,” he says and lifts me up and over his shoulders before I can even speak, and heads upstairs, taking each step two at a time.
“Put me down you psycho,” I yell and pound on his back with my closed fists, but he is completely unaffected.
Kicking my luggage back into his room while I’m still over his shoulder, he makes room to close the door behind us.
Setting me down, there is now floor beneath my feet. I eyeball the door and he quickly backs himself up against it.
“What am I, your prisoner now?”
Crossing his arms over his chest that is covered completely in ink he cracks his neck and replies, “Apparently, we both are. Pres’ orders…again. Just try not to talk too much or try anything stupid. Because then I will have to drag your ass back up here, and we’ll just keep going in circles. You will tire before I will, and I’ll just tie you to a chair.”
He gestures toward a chair in the corner with his hand. “You see where I’m going with this?” Although it’s clearly more of a statement rather than a question from him.
Finally reaching my own boiling point, the blood running through my veins feels like red hot lava and I approach him with stealth. A confused look paints his face. I close the distance between us to inches, never taking my eyes off of his.
“Oh, I see where you’re going, Jus. You’re going to regret everything you said and did to me earlier.” My tone low and almost whimpering. The tears welling up in my eyes are real, unlike my attempt to provoke pity from him. Just when he begins to look regretful, I slap him across his face with every ounce of energy I have left. My slap echoes throughout his room and actually knocks his head sideways. My assault continues and he grabs both my wrists and pushes me away from him making sure I land on his bed.
“Don’t fucking do that again,” he warns, standing over me.
I scream out in frustration as I draw my legs in and begin to sob uncontrollably, turning away from him, as I will not give him the pleasure of seeing my actual tears. I know he’d love nothing more, making this whole thing even more unbearable.
Why…why do I have to be up here with him right now? All these stupid fucking rules. Reminding me partially of why I left, to begin with.
I inch myself further up on his bed only to realize, I’m probably laying on the very sheets he’s just fucked that slut Roxie on. My sob turns into a full blown fit during this revelation. I didn’t come home, I’m in hell.
Justice
Taking retreat in a chair in the corner of my room, I listen to what started as a tantrum I thought, but has now become an internal pleading cry for help.
My thoughts are very confusing. I can’t lie, a part of me feels like she deserves this suffering. The other part is feeling helpless and the feeling of sympathy even taunts me. Hell, I’m not even sure why, considering she just slapped the shit outta me.
Inside I curse Pres for putting us both in this situation. Jenalyn’s completely unaware of the threat that is possibly imminent. That’s why Pres ordered me, and me alone to bring her up here. At one point it was as if my life was in her hands. I gambled with that fate and lost. Now, quite literally her life could be in my hands.
Any of us would do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Shaking my head, I find myself disagreeing with my own thoughts. Nobody can or will, protect her the way that I will. Pres knows this, that’s why he sent her up here with me. One thing’s for sure, I will not get any other feelings tangled into this.
Two weeks ago, we were left no choice but to take out our once ally, The Death Destructorz MC when a shipment of guns we were getting from them turned deadly. They turned on us, tried to scam us out of our shipment, then opened fire on us, killing our newest prospect D.J. The rest of us made it out, and vengeance was ours. We got most of them when we torched their clubhouse the next day. We’d made sure no women or children were there, first. Only a half a dozen or so made it out. We’re brutal bastards, but even so, we have standards.
Pres put in a call to our sister club in Dallas, Blazin’ Soulz MC, and they sent some of their crew out here. They’re posted discreetly down the road in a few houses the club owns. They’re here for any backup we might need just as a precautionary measure. Any time there’s a war, it’s bad for any of our businesses. We’ve had to temporarily close down our tattoo shop, our underground gambling houses, and our strip club.
I glance over at Jenalyn. She’s either cried herself to sleep, or she’s finally stopped crying. The sigh of relief that escapes me slightly pisses me off. As resentful as I am of her, I can feel that hardened spot in my heart I have for her defrosting. Damn, her timing really fucking sucks. Hell, there would’ve never been a good time, but during a possible war and lockdown? I know this is her own form of hell. Being this close to her, especially during these circumstances certainly is mine.
Her back is to me and she’s still wearing those denim shorts that her ass cheeks hang out of if she even bends an inch. That curled up position she’s in now exposing most, if not all of it. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but if anything, it looks better than I remember. If that’s even possible. My cock begins its treachery for the second time today. Quickly I turn away. I fucking refuse to let myself go down this road where she’s concerned.
Her slight whimper alerts me back toward her direction. “Jen,” I say softly trying not to interrupt the peace she’s found if she is sleeping. She doesn’t respond, so I turn my head away again assuming she is sleeping.
Again, she whimpers drawing my attention back toward her.
“No…stop. Dane…please,” she cries out.
“Justice?” she cries out restlessly asking for me.
In one long stride, I’m sitting next to her noticing she’s having a nightmare. “Jen.” I gently shake her trying to awaken her from this…whatever this is.
It works because before I can even blink her hand is around my throat and she’s wide awake staring into my eyes, trying to catch her breath.
“Jen,” I say very gently removing her hand from my throat. She looks mortified accompanied with a hint of embarrassment.
“You had a nightmare…at least I think.” Really wanting to say the word ‘hope’ in the place of ‘think’ because the alternative to this makes my stomach turn, as I gulp down nausea and continue, “At least I think you did?” I question but am not sure yet if I’m prepared for honesty in this moment.
Around her eyes are red and puffy. When she cries her eye color changes to a pure icy blue luminous exotic color. Her full lips become even plumper. It’s far too easy to get caught up in her beauty. Physically, she’s every man’s wet fucking dream and fantasy. Emotionally, she’s a fucking wild card.
She wipes her face, what was left of that stuff women wear on their eyelashes now smeared on her cheeks. I think my sister Savanna called it mascara, but I don’t really know, nor do I give a fuck. My only thought is on Jenalyn and who or what, this Dane person is and what the fuck has happened to her.
An audible gulp escapes her throat, and she scoots across my bed distancing herself from me. “I should really get myself cleaned up,” she says trying to change the subject.
“Mind if I have a shower?” she asks softly, clearly embarrassed.
She does this thing where she despises anyone seeing her vulnerable. She has this side to her that craves control.
Over the past five years, I’ve come to understand I now have my own need for the same. I used to let her take control most of the time. Maybe I’ve learned a lesson, or maybe I finally grew into my fucking balls.
My eyes firmly follow her as she scrambles through one of her suitcases, and grabs some clothes.<
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In a few short hours, we’ve gone from arguing, her slapping me, to an attempt at a non-argumentative conversation. Only this isn’t normal. None of this shit is.
She’s visibly shaken, nervous and I have more questions than answers. Yet, I’m terrified to pry as I may hear a truth I’m not prepared for. Not terrified for myself necessarily, but for what I might do to this Dane motherfucker. If he’s even real, I remind myself.
“Jus, you never answered. Can I use your shower?”
“Yeah…I mean…” She starts toward my bathroom then stops suddenly at my pause looking at me for a simple answer to her simple question, “Yes. Towels are…”
“I can find my way around a bathroom, thanks.” She looks back over her shoulder and forces a smile my way, leaving me tortured inside.
Heinous thoughts haunt my mind as I hear the shower running. Instinctively and protectively I stand vigil outside the bathroom door. If someone hurt her they’re dead. I don’t care if she’s not my girl anymore. She was once. We grew up together. She’s Pres’ daughter. She was always like a big sister for Savanna growing up, almost mothering her.
When we were together, we always tried to include Savanna. Fishing trips, the movies, Jenalyn would have her over when we were doing club business teaching her to paint or just painting. I’m not really sure, I just know, Savanna started becoming interested in art after Jenalyn’s influence.
Savanna took it almost as bad as I did when Jenalyn left. She started becoming reckless at sixteen. I may or may not have beat a few guys’ asses I’d found her shacked up with. Ace and I both did.
The day we found her with a stash of pain pills, Pop sent her to live with our grandmother out of state. Our mom's mother. Our mom was killed in a car accident when we were kids. Being the youngest at only ten at the time, Savanna had taken it the hardest. She needed Jenalyn, too.
The squeaking of the shower faucet being turned off grabs my attention, pulling me out of my stroll down nightmare lane. Only there may just be a new nightmare for me.
Jenalyn
Wiping the fog covered glass mirror above the porcelain sink I notice how puffy I’ve made my eyes from crying earlier. This is the least of my worries at the moment. I don’t give a shit what I look like, I wonder what Justice might have heard.
Nobody except my friend Tess in California knows what happened. Tess, oh how I already miss her. My roommate turned boss. She would always wake me up during a nightmare. Often telling me I’d said ‘it’ again. It was always the same thing. Me reliving my nightmare of what happened, then calling out for Justice.
Sleep has now become an enemy of mine. Nearly every night I’m plagued with these nightmares. It’s only been two months since the incident, and I’m here now.
I have a restraining order against Dane, so surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to ever fuck with me now that I’m back in Texas. He knows a little about the club, but not enough to know my daddy or anyone else here would kill him without hesitation if they knew. My daddy would be on a plane to California and kill him with his bare hands if he ever found out. That’s why I need to just try and play it cool.
I have just enough time to put on my T-shirt and panties before the knock at the bathroom door startles me.
“Everything good?” Justice questions.
Great, this has me thinking he’s worried about me for some reason. This sudden concern he’s showing hasn’t been our normal type of conversation today. It’s been anger and fighting.
“Everything’s great,” I assure him with the peppiest voice I can muster.
As I towel dry my hair, a loud bang and shattering glass breaches my hearing. Followed swiftly by the door being forced off its hinges as Justice comes barreling through. His body being the force.
He covers his body with mine like a blanket. “Get down!” he orders me, forcing me down as he towers over me bringing me all the way to the ground.
“What’s going on?” I look over and see he has his gun in his hand, telling me all I need to know. We’re on lockdown, meaning the club’s at war, and retaliation is occurring. I’ve been here and done this before.
“Are you okay?” he inquires while he frantically begins to inspect my body. Turning me over and looking over my shoulder, and behind me.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Stay here, and stay down,” he demands as he stands up and cautiously approaches his room, gun drawn and ready.
He steps out of sight and all I can hear are the sounds of more gunfire. I can’t tell if it’s him shooting, or him being shot at. It’s too loud and my ears begin ringing. I’m helpless laying here in a fetal position.
This only goes on for mere seconds, with pauses in between, but it feels as if hours are passing. With each sound, a new form of chaos seems to surround it.
During one of the pauses I hear the stampeding sound of boots and my heart begins to race as someone is approaching this room. I start choking on my own suffocation and fear.
“Justice,” Casper calls out.
“Over here, Pop,” Justice answers, and oxygen outflows from my lungs in relief.
I can hear their back and forth conversation, but I can’t quite make out exactly what they’re saying. Which in turn causes me to panic. Are they hit? Is anyone hurt, or killed? I wanna call out, but I’m frozen, and beginning to shut down inside.
Like tiny missiles, bullets begin to fly by, one landing in the door frame of the bathroom as it slices through the wood splintering it and opening up a hole.
I cover my head in my own defense. Then another round is fired off and I hear Casper acknowledge Justice. “You got him, Son. He’s down.”
For a short-lived moment, I allowed myself to believe it was over, only to hear more shots fired accompanied this time with shattering glass. Glass very close to where we were.
“Fuck,” I hear Justice groan out, in obvious pain.
I can no longer just lie here like a sitting duck. I’ve got to help them. I’m a pretty good shot, although it’s been years. I still remember the basics of how to operate a firearm.
Frantically I search Justice’s bathroom as I just know he used to keep one in here. I’m opening cabinets and tossing its contents out as quickly as my hands and brain can function.
“I’m coming over there, try to keep the pressure on the wound,” I hear Casper say to Justice, immediately causing the opposite reaction from myself than I’d expect.
I take a deep breath as the next set of gunshots become only background noise in slow motion and I force myself to calm. If I were Justice, where would I keep my gun in here? I ask myself. He’s six-foot gazillion inches tall so somewhere up high crosses my mind. That would be easy for him to grab, not so much for someone shorter. I stretch to the very tip of my toes until I’m all but standing on them and feel around in the top of the towel cabinet.
The steel material from the slide makes contact with my hand and I snatch it up. I pull the slide back and a bullet comes out. I figured it was loaded but wanted to double check. I then press the release button to drop the magazine, and it lands in my palm. It’s full. Well almost. So I quickly reload that stray bullet back into the magazine and slam it back in its place inside the gun. I chamber a bullet and now I’m ready. It felt like minutes, but it only took several seconds. I’m far too familiar with guns. More than I care to admit sometimes.
Quickly I duck as I hear friendly fire within the room that surprises me. I deduct it must be Casper if Justice is hit, then again, I remind myself he is an Amazon. Justice is a beast and very few ever fuck with him.
From my narrow view, I can see Soul Shifterz MC cuts running along the outside of the furthest window, alongside Blazin’ Souls MC cuts. My dad must’ve called them in. Under that window I see Justice sitting there slouched, blood dripping down the front of his left shoulder.
Looking to my right out the closest window to me, I see a foreign cut to another MC running across our property out of the shattered window. I ste
p closer to the window, aim, and he spots me raising his pistol. I rapidly exhale and unload the entire magazine until the man is down and not moving on the ground.
“Jen, get down!” Casper and Justice roar out in unison, but it was too late.
Chapter 5
Justice
“I don’t give a shit, Clarke. Her feet are covered in blood with shards of glass sticking out of them. I’ll fucking walk right out if you don’t check on her first,” I growl.
Clarke is our very well paid M.D. we have on staff here. Pres has an in on a pharmaceutical ring that allows us to keep pretty much everything we need here in the clubhouse. Everything to at least stitch us up, and get us prepped and stable if the need for an actual hospital visit should arise. He’s a general practitioner at our local hospital, but he takes vacation during instances of a lockdown. Thankfully, they are rare.
Clarke looks over at Jenalyn in our makeshift, sterile as possible infirmary room in the basement of the club warehouse.
He looks back over at me as serious as he can be. “Her parents are with her. She’s not in danger of bleeding to death. You on the other hand, just might be. You’ve got an enormous piece of glass window embedded into the deep tissue of your left shoulder muscle. If you want to live long enough to find out how her feet are doing you need to shut up and let me get an X-ray. I need to see what kind of damage this has done and get it out of you.”
I’m a stubborn son of a bitch, and I won’t rest until I know she’s okay. As I start to get up Clarke yells out, “A little help over here.” And then I notice he’s drawing up something in a syringe.
“Fuck that!” I protest, but my pops, Ace, Joker, and Ty are holding me down before I can get anywhere.
A warmth comes over my entire body, flooding my veins.
Jenalyn
