by Debra Kayn
She wanted to know how Jacko fit into the club. What was his job, besides providing cheap entertainment for them all? Did the women approve of the activities the men participated in? Was it true every single member of Moroad was a felon?
She walked beside Jacko through the lush grass to his motorcycle. She sat behind him without knowing where they were going to next. At almost noon, she wasn't ready to go back to the motel and sit in the dank room to waste away the day. Though the visit to Cam's house overwhelmed her emotionally, she rather go anywhere else but around other people or back to the motel.
Jacko rode away from the house. The dust from the gravel road tickled her nose and underneath the dry dirt scent, she inhaled the rich, almost cinnamon like musk scent she'd come to recognize as Jacko. Warmth filled her insides while the sun heated her shoulders. For once, her bones stopped shaking and strength filled her body.
Tired of the actions of others forcing her to hide, to lose everything familiar, she wanted to capture a moment to call her own. She tapped Jacko on the stomach and caught his gaze in the side view mirror.
He slowed down, pulled off the road, and coasted to a stop under the viaduct. She leaned against him fully. "Can you take me for a ride?"
"Where to?"
"My old house." She continued before she lost her nerve. "You only have to ride by, and then we can leave. I haven't seen it since I left."
His jaw ticked and he stared at her. Bolstered to see her family home again, she gazed at him not backing down from wanting to go somewhere familiar. Finally, he pulled his Harley back on the road. Instead of going through town, he took the other road leading away from Federal. She laid her head against the back of his shoulder in thanks.
The last time she'd seen the house, she'd thought her whole world had slipped away. After hoping, praying, and waiting for six months for Sarah to return, Jacko informed her Sarah had been killed and she needed to leave immediately, go far away and tell no one what happened.
She'd started life over alone without any family. Now she found herself thrust back into a world where men controlled the outcome and her wounds were still tender over losing her sister. She no longer wanted every guilty person to pay. She wanted a life where she could get up every morning and not worry about who was standing outside her door and at night, she could sleep without fear of burning.
Jacko pulled down the private road leading to the house. She peered through trees that'd grown twice as tall in her absence and caught a glimpse of the green single story home she grew up in. The bad memories of losing her mom and her sister fogged her recollections of the good things like running barefoot in the yard through the sprinkler and staying out after dark to catch the crickets that chirped loud enough to keep her awake at night.
She took her time studying the faded paint on the front of the house and the weeds in the overgrown yard. The beige curtains her mom bought in Federal on sale still hung open in the windows. Jacko shut off the engine of the motorcycle and she slid off before he could stop her.
A need to peek through the windows at the inside and find a part of her that was missing drove her forward. At the front bay window, she cupped her hands against the glass and squinted inside. Everything remained exactly as it was left. A pair of her white sneakers sat beside the couch. Sarah's black and periwinkle colored ski jacket hung on the back of a chair. She shifted farther along the window, peering back into the kitchen. The dirty dishes from the night Sarah was taken still sat in the sink.
Chicken strips.
That's what they had for dinner the night Sarah was kidnaped. Both of them had fought over the crispiest piece, until she'd let Sarah win and received six extra fries in return. Six. Sarah had counted.
Tears blurred her vision, and she pressed her hand against the filthy glass. Personal loss held her prisoner, looking in from the outside. Locked out of her past. She expected someone else to live in the house, maybe a new color of paint on the siding or a garage built on the property, and strangers living her life. A life she wished she could get back.
"Have you seen enough?" Jacko asked beside her.
She gazed up at him, letting the tears fall. Something inside of her ignited, pushing the fear, the pain, the hurt away. "Why hasn't someone bought the house?"
"I paid off the mortgage five years ago before I went to prison." He looked away. "I thought someday..."
"You thought Sarah was coming home," she said, finishing his sentence.
Learning the truth crushed her and at the same time reinforced her feelings for Jacko. She reached out, wanting to ease the pain in Jacko's eyes. He was the one person who understood what she'd lost. What he'd lost. What the world lost.
She wanted to hold him and make him feel better with hugs and kisses. Except, the scars Jacko carried were burned into his soul. How could someone survive what he'd been through?
Somehow, he'd lost hope when Sarah got murdered. His losses were too much, and he'd changed. She couldn't fathom how his mind worked, but she understood pain.
He gave her comfort being near. They shared the same pain and in different ways they each cried for the past they'd never get back.
She squeezed his arm. "Why didn't you sell the house when you found out they'd killed her?"
He gazed toward the window. "I don't know."
She accepted his non-reason. Maybe he truly never wanted to face the fact Sarah was gone or want to come back to the house he'd spent time in getting to know her sister. Maybe the ghosts kept him from taking care of the property and renovating the neglected house. Or, he preferred living in town, even if he slept in a stinky bed with mold on the ceiling.
She inhaled, stopping herself from thinking too hard about something she couldn't change.
Jacko slipped his hand inside hers. "Come on. There's nothing else here for you."
She walked down the driveway. At the edge, where the concrete met the gravel, she stopped and let go of Jacko's hand. She kneeled on the ground and covered her mouth.
Three sets of handprints, side by side, biggest to smallest, permanently etched in time in the concrete. She placed her right hand in the first impression. The fingers were the exact length of her own.
"Mom laughed as hard as we did the day we came out here after the men finished pouring the driveway. I was afraid of getting in trouble for ruining their work because the company was due back the next day to take the boards off the edge." She shook her head in amusement. "Sarah wasn't afraid. She egged mom on until we all kneeled together and counted to three. Even then, both of them put their hand in the wet, cold concrete, and I waited. They squealed and giggled, more like sisters doing something against the rules than mother and daughter."
She lifted her hand and replaced it in the next handprint. "This one is mine. I was thirteen years old. My hands bigger now."
Her scalp tingled and she looked down at Sarah's handprint. Tiny and innocent, her sister had wrinkled her nose at the mess the concrete made on her hand afterward. Their mom made everything better when she painted all their fingernails later that night before bed.
Amy put her hand over Sarah's hand indention. Her fingers curled and her nails scratched along the concrete. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't grasp the hand of her little sister. She sucked in her breath, her chest tightening. What she wouldn't give to hold Sarah's hand, tug her along, and keep her safe.
It was her job to look after Sarah. She should've gone with her sister to Jacko's house. Sarah had gone by herself in the dark, because Amy was too tired after working all day to walk the mile there and the mile back home. All she'd wanted to do was veg out in front of the television and go to bed early.
Jacko lifted Amy to her feet and pulled her to his chest. She leaned against him, thankful for his strength wrapped around her and having him share the moment with her.
She sniffed. "I miss her."
Jacko swayed side to side, and she ignored his habit and took comfort from him. She didn't want to end up kidnapped by L
os Li and used by strange men. She only wanted the nightmare to end.
"Yep, yep, yep." Jacko stepped back, holding her hand, and twirled her under his arm.
"What are—?"
He flung her away, until his arm stretched straight out in front of him, and pulled her back. Yoyo'd three times, she dug her heels into the ground and brought his idiocy to an end.
"Jacko?"
He pressed his finger to her lips and whispered. "Do something."
"Like what?"
He grinned. "Something crazy."
She sighed, hating when he deflected what was happening right in front of him and instead chose to do something completely wrong.
"I don't want to," she said.
He crossed his arms. "Try it. You'll like it. Mikey did."
"I don't know who Mikey is."
He laughed. "That's because you're young and I'm old. Good cereal, though and if Mike liked it, I ate it."
She shook her head in confusion. "You're not making any sense."
"Just do it." He leaned to the side. "You've got the Nike shoes for it."
"You're nuts." She shook her head, fighting a grin. "Okay, okay, you win. What am I supposed to do?"
"That's it." He framed her face with his hands. "Do it again."
"What?"
"Roll your eyes."
She rolled her eyes.
"Feel better?"
"No," she snapped.
He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out. She walked away from whatever game he planned. He caught her by the arm and stopped her. "I'll race you to the motorcycle."
"I'm not racing you."
"Right, because you're confident you'll win against someone my age." He eyed her lower body before returning his gaze to her face. "Maybe you will. You've got sexy shaped legs."
An electric jolt of pleasure coursed through her body over his backhanded compliment. She waved her hand in front of her face, hiding her feelings and ignoring the racing of her heart, the ache in her chest, and the flutters in her stomach.
He widened his stance, putting one foot in front of the other and bent over holding her hand. "Come on, Momma. If you win, you can have the bed tonight, and I'll sleep on the floor."
Amusement relaxed her face, and she raised her brows. "What if you win?"
His gaze went to her breasts, and he grinned. She slapped his arm at what he insinuated and ran. Her lungs burned. She pumped her arms, remembering how many foot races her and Sarah had from the driveway to the dead-end road. She always won, because she was taller and older.
Her hair floated behind her, whipping her shoulders. The bike was up ahead, almost within ten paces, when Jacko passed her, looking over his shoulder and laughing. She slowed down and came to a stop, out of breath, thighs cramping. She bent over gasping for breath.
While her body screamed at her for the stupidity she'd joined in, thinking she could sprint and win after years of never going faster than a jog, she couldn't hold back her smile. The exertion felt good. No, she felt wonderful. She felt alive.
Jacko handed her the helmet and sat on the motorcycle. She climbed on behind him. Lost in the euphoria Jacko created for her, she absorbed the changes and how easily she'd slipped back to remembering the time in her life when she had her sister, her mom, and the only worry came from making sure she got up in time to get her and Sarah ready for school.
Life was hard living on the edge of poverty, but love made the macaroni dinners and second-hand shoes worth every second. She would never trade her childhood for anything different.
They rode down the county road and headed back to Federal. It wasn't until they pulled into the motel and found the other bikers parked in front of the motel room that she realized what Jacko had done.
He'd influenced her to join his craziness and in return, he'd helped her push the sadness away and made her stronger to deal with the dangers threatening her life.
Chapter Nine
Jacko stood outside the circle of Moroad members gathered around the fire pit at the motel, swaying from one foot to the other, inhaling a joint. Amy stood beside Desiree on the opposite side of the fire than the men, letting the heat keep her warm. The changes around the motel in the last several days brightened everyone's mood, and she had to admit, the motel would be a valuable place for a motorcycle club.
Behind the rooms, the freshly mown grass let her view the entertainment area the previous motel owners provided for their customers. Now, picnic tables replaced the broken swingset. The fire pit replaced the horseshoe pit they discovered under the tall weeds. The bikers even cleared out one of the worst motel rooms and added a fresh coat of paint, new refrigerator, stove, and freezer, and turned it into a kitchen the bikers could utilize.
Best of all, Jacko removed the carpet in their room and placed a roll of linoleum on the floor and had Johnson purchase a new mattress, eliminating most of the musty smell plaguing her. She brought her bottle of beer to her mouth and drank. With all the hard work the men put in during the last week, she figured Jacko would sit back and relax tonight with the rest of his MC brothers. Instead, he moved with excess energy and kept shifting his position around the perimeter of the area.
Desiree nudged her with an elbow. "I wonder if Moroad will fix up the other rooms and rent to tourists."
"I don't think so." Amy picked at the label on the beer bottle. "It sounds like they're using both buildings as a clubhouse and a halfway house for the members as they get released from prison."
"Hm," Desiree said.
"You don't like the idea," she asked.
"It's not that I can't see how much the bikers need a clubhouse and Cam and Christina need privacy. The motel is closer to town, so it's even easier for me to come to the parties with Merk after work." Desiree raised her brow. "I'm a businesswoman though, and I know how tourists eat up anything quaint and set back in time. They could market the motel as a place right out of the seventies and fix the huge tacky neon sign out front. They'd draw a crowd during the summer, which would bring legal money into the club."
She kept her opinion to herself, since Jacko never explained how he earned the cash he had on him. Desiree was involved with Merk, and probably had information she couldn't share, but she couldn't imagine Cam taking anyone's advice on how he should run his club.
Desiree sighed. "Of course, that'd blow their quiet cover around Federal."
She nodded, because she was well aware of Moroad keeping a low profile. "Yeah. They like having their privacy."
Jacko stood by a large tree, gazing up into the branches. He raised his finger, pointing in all directions. He seemed to have a conversation going with himself.
Gunner walked to the edge of the grassy area. Jacko charged him, tackling him around his waist. They both hit the ground with a grunt. Amy gasped, covering her mouth.
Desiree bumped against Amy. "It's okay. Jacko does that all the time."
She lowered her hand. "Are you—"
Jacko punched Gunner in the nose. The pop stopped all conversations.
"Oh, my God." Amy stepped forward, but Desiree grabbed her wrist.
"He does that, too." Desiree gave her a half hug. "It's okay. The guys know it doesn't mean anything. Jacko's only goofing around. Just watch."
Jacko stood up, offered his hand to Gunner and heaved him off the ground to his feet. Amy shook her head, traumatized over the violence.
"See, they're laughing now," said Desiree.
"That doesn't make any sense. He hurt Gunner." She turned away from Jacko and frowned at Desiree. "Jacko is crazy."
Desiree laughed. "I used to think the same thing when I first met him."
"But, now you don't?"
"Not so much. I had time to get to know him when he helped us at the bar." Desiree studied Jacko. "If you pay attention, you'll notice even though he's away from the group, he knows what everyone is discussing. If someone moves, he knows where they're going and their intent. There's a certain crazy brilliance to his madness. I kn
ow Merk trusts him with his life, and I would too."
"He wasn't always like that though," she whispered. "Something happened to make him act as if he's checked out of what's going on around him."
"The men don't talk about what happens in prison. Some of them come out barely able to live on their own. Others jump back into the kind of life they led before they were incarcerated and pretend nothing has changed, but no matter what their sentence, or sentences for Moroad members, prison changes them all. Jacko's adapted, even if he appears lost half the time," said Desiree.
She had never asked Jacko what he'd done to end up in prison. Sarah had shrugged off Amy's concern over her dating a felon and said he'd paid his time. After being around him and getting to know him better, she agreed with Sarah's opinion of him. Jacko had given her no reason not to trust him.
Amy scooted closer to Desiree. "Why was Jacko serving time?" she asked.
Desiree shrugged. "I don't know, and I never ask."
"Heads up," Jacko yelled, rushing toward Amy.
She grabbed onto Desiree, panic flowing through her. "What's going on?"
The men stood and Cam limped over to Christina. Merk headed straight toward Desiree. She gazed around trying to find out what alerted Jacko when he stepped in front of her and backed her toward the wall.
With the bricks against her back and Jacko pressed against her front, she couldn't see beyond his broad shoulders. She grabbed the bottom of his vest.
"What happened?" she said against his chest.
"Riders."
She gazed up at him. "Reds?"
"No. Reds don't ride bikes."
"Do you think the riders are enemies of the club?" She exhaled, relieving the pressure of his body squeezing her against the building.
Jacko turned his head and stepped away from her. "Stay back here."
She looked around for Desiree, but she and the others were gone.
"Wait." She tugged on his vest. "Why?"
"Because I said so."
She followed him a few steps. "You can't leave me back here. Everyone went out front, even the other women."
