by Kim Jones
You’re welcome.
Ha.
Like he’s doing me a favor.
Fuck him.
After all, he’s the one trying to kill me. Or rather have me kill myself. He knows I hate country music. And that shit has been playing on a loop for the past twenty minutes. He’s just sitting there, tapping his fucking foot to the beat and drumming his fingers on his knee. Next, he’ll be playing a banjo and dipping snuff.
“Hey!” I yell past the gag in my mouth. Twisting in my seat to get his attention. He turns to me and lifts a brow. “Where are you taking me?”
He cups his ear. “What’s that? I can’t understand you.” I narrow my eyes at him. His smile widens. “You said you wanted some Merle?” My glare hardens. “Hey man, you got Misery and Gin?” he asks, tapping the cage to get the attention of the men up front.
“Coming right up.”
When Merle Haggard’s Misery and Gin begins to play, I roll my eyes and groan. Outside the window, the sun is starting to set in the Nevada sky. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere, on some deserted highway. A part of me wonders if Pierce is planning to take me out here and kill me. Another part of me hopes like hell he does. Then I won’t have to listen to this crap anymore.
“Better get used to this music, Winter.” I shoot Pierce a look. “This is what they listen to in the dirty, dirty south. By the way…” He touches my nose with the tip of his finger. “That’s where you’re going.” The dirty south could be Louisiana. Mississippi. Alabama. Texas. Who the hell knows.
I look down at my torn robe and ripped stockings that are as dirty as my bare feet. “I don’t have any clothes.”
“Clothes?” he scoffs. “I didn’t think a girl like you needed clothes. I mean, you do spend most of your time on your back, don’t you?”
“Fuck you,” I spit. I’m so pissed, I’d strangle him if my hands weren’t cuffed behind my back. He laughs at me, and I have the feeling he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Or at least some of it. I’m sure he doesn’t know that I’m also thinking his plan is fucking stupid.
If I was in Pierce’s shoes, I could come up with a million different ways to get back that money. None of them nearly as risky as this. Does he really think sending me away is the answer? Cain will still come to California to look for me. And no matter the lies Pierce tells him, he’ll be convinced he knows where I am. Then he’ll do something stupid. Pierce will retaliate. War will commence. People will die.
But then again, this isn’t about me at all. It’s a standoff. A fight for respect. A battle over territory. A pissing contest between two MC’s. I mean, if whose dick is bigger is really that important, one might wonder why they don’t just whip the motherfuckers out and see? I’ll tell you why. Because they’re men. And men are stupid.
I stare out the window for the rest of the ride. It doesn’t bother Pierce though. He sings. Tells the guys to turn up the volume when one of his favorites comes on. Nudges my shoulder to tell me how much he’s enjoying our time together. Meanwhile I’m contemplating biting my tongue off in hopes of bleeding out. Banging my head against the window and knocking myself unconscious. Faking a seizure. Something.
Six songs later, Pierce announces, “We’re here.”
I straighten and look through the windshield as we pass through the gate of a private air strip. The driver pulls the car right out onto the runway and I look up at the jet waiting to take me to my doom. The name on the side of it informs me of exactly where that doom is.
Knox Companies.
Dallas Knox-Carmical.
Wife of Luke Carmical.
President of Devil’s Renegades MC Hattiesburg, Mississippi.
I remember he came to my parents’ funeral. I also remember him telling Pierce, “If you ever need anything, brother, let me know.” I guess he called in that promised favor.
Mississippi. I’m going to fucking Mississippi. It’s cold there in November. And I’m dressed like a poor, sidewalk tramp. Suddenly, I feel the urge to cry. I’m talking real tears. Real raw emotion.
I’m sad because of how Pierce is treating me. Disappointed that he would. Yeah, I deserve it. But he is better than me. Better than this. There’s no quid-pro-quo with him. I shit on him. He doesn’t stoop to my level. Therefore, he doesn’t shit on me back. That’s how it’s always been. Or maybe that’s just how it once was.
Stop it, Winter!
I blink back my tears and harden my stare as Pierce opens the door and helps me out. I refuse to look him in the eye. Instead, I stare at the button of his shirt. But he’s not having it.
With his finger under my chin, he tilts my head back to look at him. “Don’t worry, sweet pea. It’s only a couple of months. Then you’re free to go back to your old life. I’m sure Cain will welcome his little cutslut back with open arms. Or at least you better hope he does. Because who the fuck would want you now?”
My jaw tightens and my nostrils flare as I fight my emotion. Before I can pull away from him, he notices and the smile on his face falters. A look of regret flashes in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he steps to my side and takes my arm—escorting me to the plane.
He passes something to the lady standing on the bottom of the stairs. Then, with a squeeze to my elbow, he turns and walks away. I don’t know if it was a gesture of reassurance, apology or him just being an asshole.
“Ms. Tews, I’m Shira,” the flight attendant greets. She’s short. Blonde. Pretty in that little girl kind of way. She doesn’t seem the least bit concerned with my appearance. Makes sense. I’m pretty sure Luke is into that BDSM shit. He probably gags Dallas all the time.
I’m ushered inside and led to the main cabin. The carpet is so soft beneath my sore feet I almost moan. Luxurious white seats, lined with the finest leather are scattered throughout the cabin along with a couch, a few tables and a mini bar. A massive T.V. is mounted over the door—viewable from anywhere you sit. This is my first time on a private jet, and I must admit—I’m not disappointed.
“Let me get these off of you.” She removes my cuffs and I immediately untie the gag from around my head. It’s a bandana—the same bandana I used to take off my makeup. Fucking Pierce.
“You got any scotch, Shira?” I ask, working my jaw and rolling my shoulders.
“Of course, Ms. Tews.”
“Winter,” I correct, falling into one of the seats. “Call me Winter.” She doesn’t comment, she just smiles and hands me a glass filled with amber liquid. Without bothering to scent it, I take a sip and nearly melt in the seat at how fine it is.
“What are the chances that you’d have my favorite single malt scotch on board?”
Shira smiles. “No chance, Winter. Pierce’s request for your accommodations was quite clear.” I nearly laugh. I guess I’m supposed to forgive him now. Or maybe he was hoping I’d just get drunk and forget how he treated me. “We have about thirty minutes before we take off, if you’d like to use the bathroom or take a shower.”
“Shower?” This time I do laugh. “You going to let me wear your clothes, Shira?” I rake my eyes suggestively down her body. She flushes from head to toe—quickly dismissing herself.
When I walk into the massive bedroom equipped with a king sized bed and private bathroom with a walk-in shower, I realize I won’t be needing Shira’s clothes after all.
There are four suitcases and two garment bags sitting open on the bed—filled with everything I’ll need for my trip. Shoes. Clothes. Cosmetics. I have it all. In the center of them is a single piece of paper with a simple message.
-P
7
JINX
“How is she?” Pierce asks, trying like hell to feign nonchalance. I smirk at his shitty attempt.
I know my brother. I know he likely said some mean shit to Winter. The kind of shit you immediately regret. Now he’s calling me, on headset, while I’m thirty thousand feet in the air, uncaring that I have a fear of flying, all in hopes I’ll tell him something that will ease his conscience. An
d of course, I do.
“Bitchy.”
I really wouldn’t know. I’m in the cockpit. Out of sight. The only information I get comes from Shira, the flight attendant. But even though her last update was that Winter was simply drinking—a lot, I assumed she was still a bitch when she drank. So I don’t feel guilty about my answer. And the relief in his exhale is evident—which tells me I made the right decision. Not that I ever make the wrong one.
“I found a new article on the internet,” he starts. My eyes roll in my head. Here we fucking go. “It was published by this woman who was in an abusive relationship. She calls it, the eight steps to knowing.”
“Pierce…”
“There was a couple I’d never considered.”
“Pierce…”
“Like, compulsion to confess. The victim begins to acquire the beliefs and values the abuser has ingrained…” He continues to read directly from the article. I cover the speaker and lower my headset.
“Can you hear this?” I ask the pilot.
My brother’s business is just that—my brother’s business. I don’t need some asshat I don’t know hearing it. I won’t take the chance that this pilot might just encourage Pierce. Give him some story about his sister, or aunt or cousin who suffered the same shit. Or possibly the name of some other website or support group.
The pilot shakes his head and points to a button on the computer board. Like I know what the fuck that means. “Don’t be listenin’ in on this shit,” I warn, shooting him a look that promises death. He lifts his hands in the air. I about have a fucking heart attack. I hate flying. Before I can tell him to put his hands back on the steering wheel, or handlebar or whatever the hell that thing is, he does.
I position the headset back over my ears. Pierce is still reading. The hope in his tone pulls at my chest. As infuriating as it is to have a brother obsessed with trying to find a reasonable explanation behind his only sister’s actions, it’s also admirable. The man is dead set on finding a solution to a problem that can’t be fixed. But I have to give him props for trying. His loyalty knows no bounds.
“Pierce,” I say, a little louder this time. He finally shuts the fuck up and I quickly start talking before he can start again. “She’s a con-artist. A thief. A liar. If she wanted out, she would’ve found a way.”
“What if he threatened to kill me if she left?” He’s asked the question a million times before.
“For the last time, she’s not stupid. A traitor? Yes. A bitch? Yes. But she’s not dumb enough to believe that a scum-sucking, piece of low-life shit like Cain would ever be capable of taking out the most powerful, protected man on the west coast.”
I pause to take a breath. My anger eating away at me. Anger toward her for torturing Pierce like this. There are many little sisters who would kill to have a brother like Pierce. She doesn’t deserve him.
“She made her decision a long time ago,” I say, my anger controlled. “Stop letting the ghost of that girl you once knew haunt you into believing she’s still somewhere inside Winter’s shell.”
“What if you’re wrong?” he asks, and I have to refrain from telling him I’m never wrong. Especially when it comes to his selfish, manipulative little sweet pea.
“Look, in two months, we’ll know for sure. She’ll have every opportunity in the world to make a better life for herself. If she’s smart enough to take it, then I’ll admit I was wrong. But if she isn’t and she ends up going back to him, then you’re gonna have to find a way to let this shit go, man.”
It feels wrong for me to ask him to give up on her. But fuck… he’s going to wake up one day and life will have passed him by. He’s already spent so much of it obsessing over this. Which is the second reason I agreed to do this—give her one final shot for Pierce’s sake. The first reason being revenge.
She’s been given more chances than any man who wears a patch has been given. When she left, Pierce tried giving her time to make her own decision. Realize her mistake. Remember who her family was. Where her loyalties lie. When that didn’t work, he went to get her. Rolled into enemy territory, his brothers by his side—ready to go to war for one of their own. To die and to kill. And she spit in the club’s face.
She stood behind Cain. Refused her brother’s outstretched hand. Spoke blasphemous words about our club that were unforgivable. It was then that the club decided to cut her loose. To this day I believe if it weren’t for our bi-laws, Pierce never would’ve eighty-sixed her. Not that I’m judging. I don’t have a little sister. If I did, I’m sure I’d be doing the same thing Pierce is.
“Two months,” he says, his voice powerful. Strong. Pride swells in my chest at the sound. It’s the voice of Devil’s Renegades President, Pierce—not her big brother. “Don’t show her any courtesy. We had to earn the right to belong. She sure as fuck will too.” I smile at that.
Yes…she will.
8
WINTER
The girl in the mirror looks like me. The old me. Not the past twenty-four hour me. Makeup done, hair styled, short dress, tattoo showing, high heel wearing me. At five foot nine, I’m tall. With heels, I’m really tall. And my height makes me feel a lot less intimidated by the crowd of people standing on the tarmac just outside the window.
I glance back at my reflection again—noticing for the first time how glassy my eyes are. After I’d showered and dressed, I still had two hours’ worth of flying time. I wasn’t in the mood for T.V. I hate to read. I was too anxious to sleep. So I drank. A lot. And I’m feeling it.
“I’m taking this,” I tell Shira, holding up the bottle of scotch as I walk out of the bedroom and into the main cabin. “You have a comment box?” She frowns. “Like a suggestion box?”
“Oh… no ma’am. I don’t believe we do.”
“Well tell Dallas she needs a smoking section on this plane.” I hold my hand up. “Better yet, I’ll tell her. Since I’m being forced to spend the next sixty days down here.” I pull a cigarette from my purse and place it between my lips. Shira looks at it nervously but doesn’t comment. “Did you know that, Shira? That I’m being held against my will?”
“I don’t know anything about that, Ms. Tews,” she says, wringing her hands. Her eyes on the lighter in my hand.
“Winter. Not Ms. Tews. Winter.”
“Winter. Yes. Um…” She points at the cigarette a second then clasps her hands together and presses her lips into a thin line. I smile, knowing she wants to tell me I can’t smoke but is too worried about how I’ll react to do it.
“I’m not going to light it, Shira,” I say. She visibly relaxes. “And I’m going to tell Dallas what an amazing employee she has in you.”
She flushes. “Thank you, Ms…I mean, Winter.”
“You’re welcome. Now, where’s my ride?” I follow her to the open door. She stops and gestures for me to go ahead. The cool air hits me and I pause on the top step—the effects of the alcohol hitting me hard. I light a cigarette before I look up and flash my best smile.
Eight of Hattiesburg’s finest Devil’s are here. Waiting for me. Dressed in leather from head to toe, standing tall and proud next to their steel horses, they watch me with curious expressions as I descend the stairs. And behind them, gathered in a circle of their own, is their ol’ ladies. Shooting daggers at me—the cutslut.
As I make my way toward them, my eyes lock on the man in front who wears a President patch. He looks nothing like the Luke Carmical I remember as a kid. He’s a hell of a lot hotter. “What?” I ask. “No marching band?”
He smirks, lifting a brow as he surveys me from head to toe. “Winter,” he greets on a nod. “You’ve grown up.”
“And not a moment too soon,” I say, surveying the crowd of men. There’s a few who return my lustful look, and I commit their faces to memory. They’ll be the ones to help get me out of here. Judging by the eye fucking I’m getting from the VP, it’ll be sooner than I’d thought.
“Plotting already?”
I slide my gaze
back to Luke whose blue eyes hold a hint of challenge. “Nah. Just checking for wedding rings.” I wink at the ol’ ladies who’ve stepped closer to hear what I have to say. “You know, despite popular belief, us cutsluts do have morals.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Look, I know you’re probably tired, but tonight is the grand opening of our newest night club. Since I promised Pierce I wouldn’t let you out of our sight, you’re coming with us. We’re gonna be busy. Distracted. But there’ll be eyes on you at all times. So don’t get any ideas in that pretty little head of yours.”
Unable to stop myself, I look over at Dallas and smile. She glares back at me. “Don’t worry, baby,” I say, pulling my eyes back to Luke before adding, “I’m all yours.” His eyes narrow as he studies me—his lips fighting a smile. He knows exactly what I’m doing.
The man next to Luke laughs. It’s deep and throaty and sexy as hell. It’s the VP. I point my finger at him and smile. “Regg, right?” He nods. His wife, Red, takes a step closer. Might as well go ahead and piss her off too while I have the opportunity. “We should do a shot later. No hands.” I lick my lips and drop my eyes to his crotch. “Blowjob style.”
“Did she say blowjob? That bitch said blowjob.” Red’s tone gets louder with every word. She starts over and Regg must recognize the sound of her heels because he straightens and drops his smile.
Red stops mid-stride when Luke lifts his hand. He didn’t even have to turn to address her. His power over this club and the ol’ ladies leaves me with the feeling he’s going to be my biggest obstacle in my attempt to escape.
In two steps, he’s towering over me. Using the same move as Pierce, he puts his finger under my chin and tilts it back until I meet his eyes. They’re as blue as the ocean. And hard as a rock. “I’m not gonna have any problems out of you, am I, Winter?” His says my name like the season. Cold.
