by J. C. Emery
“Why are you asking him and not me?” I snap. She shrinks back, clearly taken aback by my response. She and I have never had a problem before now.
Jeremy wraps a hand around my upper arm and softly tugs me backward as he whispers, “We can talk elsewhere.” Though his voice is soft and he’s speaking quietly, I can feel the tension in his hand as he guides me out of the palace and down the hallway. He grabs my pink helmet from the table near the front door where I left it after Dad escorted me here. He doesn’t trust my car to get me anywhere safely now thanks to Jeremy’s lie.
Even out of the clubhouse, Jeremy’s still frustrated as all get out. He leads me to his bike, throws a leg over, and crooks his index finger at me. I affix my helmet to my head just as he does his own. We’re staring each other down like our lives depend on this eye contact.
As rebellious as I’m prone to be, even I know not to argue in this moment. Without a single word, I climb onto the rumbling bike, place my feet on the foot rests and wrap my arms around his midsection. He signals to Dunce, a prospect who’s been absent as of late, as he opens the gate for us, and we take off through the Forsaken Custom Cycle lot and down Main Street. The wet ground is slick beneath the tires of the bike. It’s been raining here fairly regularly the last few weeks—and thank goodness, too—but it seems like folks forget how to function in the first rain of the season. It could be three weeks without any rain, and the first rain is always the most dangerous. I never understood why until this moment.
Time has a way of making us forget the danger and the pain. I was so angry with Jeremy right after our date and then just disappointed when he never made the attempt to apologize. Then at the school, and with Tracie, and at the Jennings’ house a few weeks ago... after everything, I still like the feel of wrapping my arms around him. I like having my face pressed into his cut. I like his smell and his smile. I love his eyes, and I’m becoming quickly addicted to his bossy nature. But it’s a slippery slope, because the wounds are still so fresh and I’m not the best at letting things go. Chel didn’t technically do anything to hurt me, even if her actions did end up causing me pain. And I know how it is with the Lost Girls, so I really shouldn’t be surprised. Still, it’s going to take a while for me to be mature enough to not hate her.
But I’ve seen her fucking vagina, and if I could see it clear enough from where I stood, then Jeremy definitely got a good peep show. And that just pisses me off to no end.
“Stop it,” Jeremy shouts from in front of me. One of his hands leave the handlebars as he swats at my hands on his abdomen. We swerve slightly before he corrects us, now with both hands on the handlebars. I should be frightened since he’s only been riding since summer, but for some reason I trust him. Maybe not totally with my heart, but definitely with my life.
It’s only now that I realize that the more I think about Chel, the harder I dig my nails into his flesh. I retract my claws and close my eyes and enjoy the ride. As an apology, I trace small circles over the place I was scratching him. We slow down as the road gets bumpy, and the salty tang of the air grows stronger. Opening my eyes, I see we’re at the beach.
Jeremy cuts the bike off and pushes down her kickstand. I reluctantly let him go and push myself off the bike and onto the sandy concrete. He climbs down, and we remove our helmets and rest them on the seat side by side. There’s barely enough room for both of them, but he makes them fit. When he turns toward me, he looks down at my thin cotton long-sleeve and shakes his head. I didn’t think to grab a jacket before he dragged me out of the clubhouse, not that he gave me the opportunity to think about how cold I’d be. I didn’t even know where we were headed. He shrugs off his cut and hands it to me. I take the leather in my hands and marvel at the weight of it. I always forget how heavy they are until I’m holding one. It’s substantial, that’s for sure. It doesn’t weigh quite as much as my dad’s, but I’m guessing that’s partially because it’s maybe a size smaller and doesn’t have as many patches on it as Dad’s does. It will, though. One day Jeremy will have his top rocker and maybe even a few more patches. The only patch I don’t want him to collect is a memory patch, because that means he’s lost a brother.
“You’ll be cold,” I say as I realize he’s unzipping his Forsaken hoodie and handing it to me. He shakes his head and reaches out with both hands. Grabbing his cut, he shoves the hoodie in my face again, so I take it. Slipping the hoodie on, I bask in his scent and the size of the item. I curl the ends of the sleeves around my closed fists and huddle in when the winter wind picks up.
“I like seeing you in that,” he says with a nod.
“I like wearing it.” As awkward as I am, I’m not totally understanding exactly what he’s saying. Does he like seeing me in Forsaken stuff or his stuff?
It doesn’t matter, I realize. Because we’re here together, and he’s being sweet. He takes my hand and leads me off the concrete lot and down the jagged shoreline to Glass Beach. It’s a gorgeous spot, really. Millions of little shards of glass have shored up here, morphing and chiseling themselves into beautiful rocks that look like priceless stones. Individually, they’re pretty enough, but all together as they blanket the shoreline, they’re incredible.
He walks us to a spot that’s fairly dry and sits down. He leans up against a flat rock and motions for me to come to him. I lean down and go to sit beside him, but he reaches out and pulls me into his lap. I screech and laugh at the sudden change in direction, then settle in. Even though I know his good mood won’t last, I want to enjoy this calm before the storm.
“Warmer?” he asks. I nod my head, not wanting to speak. Anything I say is going to ruin the moment, I just know it. “Good, so now maybe you can fucking explain what you were doing listening in at the chapel while Church is in session.”
“Are you going to yell?” I ask quietly. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close to him. “Because quite frankly I’d rather just sit here and cuddle if talking leads to yelling.”
“I got reason to yell,” he says.
I squirm in his lap and get comfortable, then place my head on his shoulder. “I still have to find out why Mindy and Holly were attacked.”
“Club business, babe. How many times do I got to explain that shit?”
“Don’t give me that crap.” I sound like a petulant child, but I can’t help it. “I’m doing what I have to do.”
“I told you that I’d keep you safe,” he says in a rather unkind and sterile voice. I don’t want to lose soft Jeremy, but at least this is a Jeremy I can fight with.
“Dad said the same thing about Holly,” I say. “He swore she was safe and nothing bad would happen to her, but something bad did happen. Leo Scavo raped Mindy and forced Holly to watch. He probably hurt Darren Jennings, too. At least he’s getting better and can maybe tell someone what happened.”
“Wait,” he says in a firm voice that silences my whining. “I don’t even want to know how you know that name, but before you keep running your mouth, let me school you on something. I’m sure Scavo’s done a lot of fucked up shit in his life, but one thing he did not do is rape Mindy.”
“But you guys talk about finding him and how he’s so awful. He showed up at the—”
He tightens his grip around me and shushes me into silence. “Jennings,” he says. “That asshole is no fucking good. He’s not a goddamn victim.”
Nothing makes sense, and suddenly the last several weeks of my life feel like a total waste. How in the hell is Darren not a victim? He’s been in the hospital since the end of summer.
“Nic dated him back in high school. I didn’t fucking realize what was going on. Right under my fucking nose. That asshole made her feel like shit. I think I knew something wasn’t right, but I never really paid any attention. Nic’s a tough bitch. She doesn’t need no sympathy or help or nothing. She’s always able to take care of herself.”
“Who put him in the hospital?” I ask, afraid of the answer. Jeremy ignores my question. His refusal to answer is
as much of an admission as if he’d actually said it. Forsaken did it.
He takes a deep breath before he continues. “Few months back, Jennings came by the house to clear something up with Nic. I was watching TV and kept turning the volume up because they started yelling at each other. I didn’t want to be bothered by it. Her drama was an inconvenience. I didn’t even like what I was watching, but she was a fucking inconvenience.” His words don’t come out spiteful but rather remorseful. The shame that radiates through his voice is something I’ve never heard before. Forsaken don’t express shame or regret much, because it would mean they did something wrong, and that’s not something any of them are comfortable expressing. Even Aunt Ruby has a hard time saying she’s sorry. I guess in a way I’m as much Forsaken as the rest of them, because I don’t do great with I’m sorry either.
“I hear this crash and get up to tell the assholes to keep it down because he’s fucking up my night. As it was, I was already having a bad fucking night. It was the day I found out Nic was knocked up and accidentally spilled that shit to Duke before she had a chance to tell him. That did not go over well.” He takes a break from talking and places a kiss to the side of my head before continuing. A shiver runs up my spine, likely from the cold but possibly from the conversation. “I get in the hallway and all I can see is this preppy bastard standing with his back to me. He’s got my goddamn sister—my sister who doesn’t let anybody fuck with her—on the fucking floor. She’s on her knees, holding her stomach and sobbing. He has a hand in her hair and the other holding his dick. By the time I get ahold of him, he’s got his fucking dick shoved against her lips. She’s fucking sobbing and refusing to open her mouth, and he’s just fucking forcing himself on her.”
My heart breaks for Nic as tears slip down my cheeks. Every word Jeremy speaks is annunciated and sounds more painful than the last. He leans over, eyeing my face. Turning my head to him, I stare into his eyes and let the tears fall freely. I’d rather he not know I’m crying, but I think he wants to see it so he knows I’m listening and absorbing what he’s telling me.
“I wanted to kill him,” he says.
“Forsaken did it.” I’d already figured it out, but feel the need to verbalize my findings. Everything becomes so much clearer. Every time Jeremy would get annoyed at the news reports and how Dad would just turn off the TV and tell me to ignore it make so much sense. Jeremy just nods.
“I beat the guy down and got Nic’s keys from her. Shoved him in the trunk and took him to the clubhouse. I wanted him dead, but he hurt Duke’s woman, so it wasn’t my call.”
“That’s why they let you prospect early, isn’t it?” I ask. He nods again. I knew he had to have done something impressive for the club to give him a cut before he was legal. That’s always been the rules—nobody underage prospects. But then... Jeremy. And knowing he’s the youngest to ever prospect for the MC—in its entire history—made him desirable instantly. Getting to know this side of him is big trouble for me, because I’m getting sucked into him quickly.
“We’re at the clubhouse, and Wyatt—the fucking VP—looks at me and says, ‘Show me you got enough heart for this club,’ and has me hold Jennings’s head up while Knuck and Diesel held the fucker in place. Nobody wanted Nic to see the shit that was about to go down, but Duke fucking brought her in anyway and let her have first crack. She fucked him up good, and it looked painful, too. But the shit she was saying, like she was repeating Jennings’s words back to him? I won’t forget that shit. Not ever.”
We’re silent a long moment before Jeremy gives me a squeeze and whispers, “So after Nic’s done fucking him up, Duke takes his turn. Gotta tell ya, I’ve never respected the dude more than in that moment. He fixed my sister’s shit when I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper because I don’t know what else to say.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m going to do right by you. I won’t let that shit happen to you.”
“What exactly did he do?” My voice falls so quiet I’m not sure he hears me over the ocean.
He clears his throat and buries his face in my neck as he whispers, “He raped her. More than once. He beat her, too. I used to see the bruises when I was younger, but she’d say she got into another fight with some random chick when I asked. He never gave me reason to really think he was hurting her.”
“It’s hard to picture your sister like that.” Because I don’t know Nic any other way.
“Right?” he says, his mood lifting slightly. “Pissed her off once, and she shoved me in the fucking closet and locked it until I cooled down.”
“What?” I ask, letting out a small laugh. I just want to forget everything he’s said before that. I’ve always known a large part of my dad’s job involves violence and intimidation, but hearing the details of it is startling. Yeah, he’s got a loud bark and he can be a serious asshole, but he’s still just my dad. He’s the man who taught me to dance and played tea party with me. I’m not allowed to talk about it, but he did it. He’s the guy who holds Holly while she cries herself to sleep some nights, and he’s the man who never lets me forget how loved I am. The man who watches a person—even a disgusting parasite like Darren Jennings—be beaten within an inch of his life isn’t the man I know. But I guess that’s how they all are. There’s always two sides to Forsaken men.
“I want to say it was a while ago, but it was last year,” Jeremy says with a snicker.
I let out a short giggle at the mental image. Nic’s a foot shorter than Jeremy, so there’s no telling what tactics she employed to actually force him into a closet and lock him in. I might need to call her for tips.
“I won’t let anything hurt you, not even me,” he says. His mood darkens again, and he’s back to speaking in that sullen way where his words drag out painfully slow and so weighted with meaning and promises that I’m drowning in my own insecurity and desperation to have him love me the way I think I’ve fallen for him—fast, deep, hard, and without a safety net to limit the destruction when this all goes to shit. Because we just got together. Like… just.
“Not hurting me means not shutting me out,” I say.
“You’re scaring the crap out of me, Chey.”
“Then help me,” I plead. “Holly’s getting better, but she’s still struggling, and God only knows what’s going on with Mindy. Nobody can seem to get ahold of her.”
“Club’s handling it,” he says firmly. Like that’s supposed to stop me.
“You’re not saying anything new. Quit shutting me out.”
“Meth heads who raped Mindy kept calling her Nic while they did it, so the club thinks it’s revenge for his prick kid.”
I let my eyes fall closed so I can block the world out for a moment. I’m under no delusions that Forsaken is a club full of angels. They may be assholes, and they use women and lose them before the condom comes off. They may even sell pot by the fucking ton, but so what? It’s weed, not heroin. Even if it were, they don’t have women raped or send their men out to kill their own children. They don’t do those things, so why is all this awful shit happening to us?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says.
“I’m just trying to figure out why so much crap is happening to the club is all.”
Neither of us say a word for a long while. The sun starts to set as the temperature drops. Jeremy must be freezing, but he doesn’t move to leave.
“I got a job to do,” he says. “And for me to do that job, I got to know you’re not poking into shit you shouldn’t be. Got it?”
“One night, less than a week after the... attack.” My voice drops lower with every word as I figure out how to word what I’m trying to say. “Holly woke up screaming. Dad was outside with Ian. Whatever they were talking about had them both really upset. I didn’t want to bug them, so I went downstairs to see if I could calm her down. She let me crawl into their bed with her, and as we were lying there, side by side, she was crying. Not like screaming anymore, but her face was covered in tears. She l
ooked so out of it, like she didn’t really know what was going on around her. Then something clicked, and she looked at me and just said, ‘I’d do it again,’ and then she mumbled the numbers seven and one. It was totally creepy and really weird, but she did something for my dad, which means she did something for me. And I love her, and I can’t lose her.”
I let that settle with him for a long moment before saying, “Holly did what she had to do for us. Now I’m doing what I have to for her.”
“Christ,” he mutters. “If I promise to keep you up-to-date on shit I find out, will you promise to fucking leave it alone?”
I think that over for a moment before nodding in agreement. I feel lighter now, less frustrated and more hopeful. Being able to share my fears with him and to have him promise to keep me up-to-date makes me feel better than I have in weeks. He twists me in his lap so I can face him better, and very slowly, he leans in and presses his lips to mine. Letting out a happy sigh, I press back, and we begin to move in a practiced rhythm. It’s a few minutes of wandering hands and heaving breathing and a kiss that quickly moves from chaste to something that should most definitely be private. Just as my hands trail down his arms, rubbing his practically frozen flesh to warm him up, his phone buzzes from beneath me.
We pause, and I wiggle off his lap and onto the cold-as-hell sand and curl up to his side. He pulls the phone out, stares at the screen, and says, “Fuck.” He pushes a few buttons and then brings the phone to his ear. He closes his eyes and places his head in his hand. All is quiet for a moment before Duke’s voice shouts through the line in an angry string of curses.
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy says, sounding so freaking upset.
“You fucked up, boy,” Duke barks so loudly that I can hear him without even straining to listen in.
“Yes, sir,” Jeremy repeats.
“Where the fuck did you go?” Duke demands.
Jeremy kicks at the sand in front of him and mouths, “Fuck.” He hasn’t met my eyes, which may not be so bad after all. At least if he’s not looking at me I don’t have to see his eyes. He’s in trouble and, from the sound of it, lots of it—and it’s my fault.
