by Kim Jones
“You okay?” he asks, his voice thick-laced with sleep.
Am I?
No.
Not really.
My vision blurs and I shake my head—more to clear it than anything.
Through the misty haze, I see him sit up. One moment he’s reaching for me, the next I’m in his lap. The heat emanating from his naked chest is like the sun—instantly warming me. His big hands frame my face. Thumbs rubbing across my jaw before tilting my eyes up to look at him.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Baby. Dammit. Why does he do that? And how can one simple word decimate those iron walls I’ve built around me?
“I’m lonely,” I whisper, my answer honest and pathetic and completely unlike me. Immediately, I regret my admission and start to crawfish. “Never—“
“Hush.” He cuts me off as he moves his hands to the hem of my T-shirt. When he tries to pull it over my head, I allow it. When he lays back and tucks me into his side, I allow that too. Then he covers us both. Pulls my leg over his hip. Rests one hand on the small of my back. Cradles the back of my skull with the other. Holds me to his chest. Kisses my hair. And I more than allow it…I yearn for it.
“I thought about what you said,” Jinx tells me the next morning over scrambled eggs and coffee. I pause mid-chew and shoot him an expectant look. “About why you left Pierce. Why you thought staying with Cain was so much better. I can’t understand it.”
I shrug. “You can’t. You never will. You’re a man.”
“So?”
Laying down my fork, I lean back in my chair. “So being a woman in the MC is tough, Jinx,” I say, picking at my nails. “It’s not the same for me as it is for you. I grew up in a man’s world where cunts don’t count. A world where women were to be seen and not heard. Told how to dress. How to act. What to do. I watched those women sit silently in the background for years. And it made me sick.
“With Cain, I knew who I was and where I stood with him. He controlled every aspect of my life. But in a weird, fucked up way, I had power over a lot of people. I could walk in a room and people would stand. When I spoke, people shut up to listen. I know it’s not because I really had the power. They did it out of respect for Cain. But it still felt good. The more involved I became in the business and the decision making, the more addicted I became.
“I’m not proud of the things I did, but I can’t feel ashamed about it either because at least I was more than those women who settled to just be property of some motherfucker who considered themselves superior because they wore a patch on their back and staked claim to a territory they didn’t even own.”
“Not all of us who wear a patch want that.”
I lift my eyes to find his brows drawn in confusion as if he can’t believe he just said that.
“Want what?”
He clears his throat and straightens as if he’s uncomfortable. “A shell. A woman without a voice. Without an opinion or a backbone. Just like not all of us get off on using a woman as a punching bag or marking her body to stake our claim.”
“Are you saying you’re different from those men?”
“I sure as fuck hope so.” His admission has the image of me wearing a patch with his name on it flashing in my head. I shake the ridiculous idea away. I don’t want that—ever.
“You might be different in some aspects, Jinx, but I’ve been around long enough to know that ultimately, you all think the same. That’s why you wear a CDC patch.”
He lifts a brow. “You’re pretty vain, sweetheart. What makes you think cunts don’t count applies to you?” For the first time ever, I’m suddenly not fully convinced it does. “Judging by your strong expression of feminism in your claim that all bikers are opposed to women’s rights, I figured you’d refuse to be considered a cunt.”
“So who does it apply to?”
“Can’t tell you.” Smiling playfully, he winks. “You’re a woman.”
I scowl at him in an attempt to hide my own smile. “Funny.”
I run my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. My mind taking me back to all those nights I dreamed of a different life—one that didn’t involve any MC. I wondered what it would be like to grow up in a normal family. Have a brother who had normal friends—not bearded, gun-carrying, possessive ones.
“You know I’ve never been to a dance club or a bar and just had fun,” I say, the sadness in my voice ringing through. “When I was with Cain, it was always about business. The few times it wasn’t, during those first couple of years with him, I still couldn’t let loose. If I danced too sexy, he thought I was doing it to gain attention from other men. If I was too quiet or wasn’t as happy as he thought I should be, he’d swear to never take me out again because every time he tries to show me a good time, I act like it’s not good enough.” I mock the last part in my best Cain voice.
“Even when I was a teenager, I couldn’t have fun. I always had to look over my shoulder to see if I was being watched. Make sure Pierce hadn’t caught me sneaking out and sent the cavalry to come get me.”
I glance up at Jinx to gauge his reaction. It’s the same as always. He isn’t the least bit sympathetic or even interested.
“Cinderella,” he says, after several more long moments of silence have passed. “Locked away in her tower. Hidden from the world.”
“That was Rapunzel,” I correct.
He shrugs. “Same shit.”
“Actually…it’s not.”
“Who gives a damn what their names are. They were both young, beautiful girls who were refused something in life. You have that in common with them.”
I grin. “Are you saying I’m beautiful?”
“I am.” Oh. Okay then. “I’m also saying that despite how much I respect my brother, I kinda hate him a little for not allowing you those rights of passage all teenagers should experience.”
“Who knows?” I say, lifting my hands and shrugging my shoulders. “It might’ve led me down a different path in life.” I’m only teasing, but I can’t help but wonder…
“Too bad you missed out,” he says, but his voice is distracted as he studies me. As if he’s thinking hard about something.
“Maybe one day. You know, when Cain is dead and Pierce has found something to obsess over in his life that doesn’t involve me.” Like my shitty luck will allow either to ever happen.
“Tonight.”
My brows draw in confusion. “What?”
“Tonight. I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go, within reason. Of course I won’t be able to let you out of my sight, but I won’t intervene no matter how sexy you dance. I won’t tell you what you can and can’t do or who you can talk to. I won’t tell you how to dress or act or what to order when we eat. You won’t have to look over your shoulder for Cain because I’ll be doing that for you. Tonight. One night. You can be free…to a certain extent,” he adds on a smile.
“You’re serious?” I ask, not believing that he’d actually do what he says he will. Or that he’d actually do something that nice for me.
“I’m serious.”
“You’re not worried about Ten’s?”
He shoots me a bored look. “Fuck no.”
His answer makes my insides flutter. He’s so…male. So powerful. So fucking cocky. I shift in my seat.
“I know that if something is too good to be true, it always is,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re not just doing this out of the kindness of your heart, Jinx. There’s a catch.”
“There’s a catch,” he reiterates on a nod. “You can’t run. If you do, I’ll make the rest of your stay here as miserable for you as I possibly can without causing any permanent harm.”
That…I believe.
“You’d really do all this. Just for me.”
“No,” he deadpans. “I’m getting something out of it too.”
“Yeah? Like what?” A blow job? Some kinky shit he’s into?
“An opportunity to prove that I really am different.”
Reality i
s…I already know that.
27
JINX
I think I’ve lost my motherfucking mind.
I don’t need to prove shit to this girl. And I really shouldn’t risk taking her outside of these four walls because I want her to experience something as simple as a night of fun. Just like I shouldn’t have held her in my bed last night. Kissed her good morning. Scrambled her fucking eggs. Felt happy and giddy and relieved that she was over whatever shit she’d been dealing with and was now talking to me and off that fucking couch.
If I wanted to be some thoughtful sap with the desire to make her happy, I could’ve just repeated my actions from last night. Or rolled us a blunt, played some blues and ate Cheetos while discussing all her personal woes like how bad it sucks to be a woman. Then, I’d not only still have my balls, but maybe some valuable information from her too.
But did I do that? No. After a few hours of working out, a shower and a lot of restless pacing and overthinking, I’m in here searching through my closet, very carefully so I don’t disrupt the order of anything. I’m looking for an outfit that is appropriate for a restaurant—in case she chooses one that’s nice—and also doesn’t stain easily—in case I get the chance to kill Cain and some of his blood splatters on it.
I settle on jeans and a dark polo. Grab my leather jacket. My hat. Wallet. Keys…Cut. I’m going to wear it to whatever bar or club we go to. I’m going to prove that I can represent my club, protect her and not be a douche by controlling her night. Telling her what to do. How to act. Who to talk to. Just like I promised her I would. Like the fucking idiot I am.
It’s after five. It’s already dark outside. We agreed to leave ten minutes ago. She’s been hulled up in my bathroom for hours. Well, I don’t know if it’s been hours, but it’s been long enough that I had to use the other bathroom to shower in. The funky one that’s dirty. The one I made her use. The one I swear that no matter what she does, I’ll never let her use again. Luke should really hire someone to clean that shit.
She’s probably dressing in something that will have me reneging on this deal before we even leave. I said I wouldn’t tell her how to dress, but I can’t have her going out in public looking like a tramp either. If that shit gets back to Pierce, he’ll kill me. Although he’ll probably kill me anyway if he finds out I let her out in public at all.
“You ready?” she asks, from behind me. I take a deep breath and steel my face. Prepare for the worst. Then I turn. And all my preparation for the worst wasn’t necessary. But I am glad I filled my lungs with air. Because at the sight of her, she completely takes my breath.
Her green eyes are striking, framed in her long, black lashes. Lips big and pink and perfectly pouty. Hair blonde and wavy falling over her shoulders and spilling down her sides. Tits—those fucking tits—high and round and only partially hidden from view by the white shirt that’s splayed open at the chest, cropped at her waist and split down the arms displaying her tattoos. The bright colors of her ink and the tanned hue of the exposed skin on her chest and stomach even more prominent against the white material.
Swallowing hard, my eyes trail down to her legs. They go on for days in those tight, black pants she wears that stop at her ankle. And on her feet are shimmering, gold heels that look as uncomfortable as fuck, but she wears them with ease. Twirls around in them gracefully to give me a view of her from behind.
Her ass is heart shaped perfection. Hips significantly wider than her tiny waist. Her back covered. She spins back to face me and lifts an eyebrow.
“So? Do you approve?”
Fuck yes I approve, I’m thinking. What I say is completely different. “You don’t need my approval.”
“What about your opinion?”
I shake my head. “You don’t need that either.”
“What if I want it?”
She does. Damn, she does. I can see the hope in her eyes. The bit of anxiety. The nervousness that I may not like what I see. Because whether she knows it or not, she dressed with me in mind. She wants to impress me. She has. But I don’t want her to know that. So I shrug with indifference.
“You’ll do.”
Her knowing smile tells me that despite my attempts, she can see right through me. Or maybe she’s learning me quicker than I thought she would.
Eyeing my cut that’s folded over my arm, she smirks. “Representin’ I see.”
“Always.”
“You do know you can’t wear that and not act like a biker. You have a reputation to protect. How can you do that and keep your promise?”
“Like I said, tonight’s not just about your right of passage. It’s about proving you wrong. Let’s go.”
Spinning on her heels, she mutters something under her breath and walks to the door. I keep a couple paces behind her, let her open her own car door and slide into the driver’s seat next to her. The car is already running, so it’s warm inside—something I did for me. Not her. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. And what I fear I’ll be telling myself all night.
28
WINTER
“I can’t eat anymore,” I say, tossing my napkin on the table. Jinx eyes my plate of half-eaten food before looking at me. “I mean, I can but I’m not going to. I’d rather drink. And dance. And I can’t do that if I’m miserably full.” His response is a simple shake of his head and another bite of steak.
The place we’re in looks like something out of a horror movie. There’s farm equipment hanging from the ceiling. Dead animals mounted on the walls. Not to mention the strange, homely folks running the place. But Jinx promised the food was good. And it is. Maybe even some of the best I’ve had.
When we got in his car, I told him he could decide where we went since I didn’t know anything about south Mississippi. He’d asked me what I liked to eat and I’d replied with the easily met demand of, “anything.” I really didn’t care to eat at all. I was too excited about having fun. Not to say this isn’t fun, but…well, it’s not.
“Why don’t you belong to a specific chapter?” I ask, figuring a little conversation might help the time pass by faster.
He glances up at me, takes one final bite then tosses his napkin onto his plate. “Because I don’t like conforming to one set of standards.”
“But every chapter wears the same patch,” I state, confused—eying the worn patches covering the front of his leather vest. “Don’t you all have the same standards?”
“Each chapter governs themselves. Some people run their shit differently. Some things I agree with, some I don’t. But I respect all of them. By not dedicating my time to one in particular, I get to come and go between chapters as I please.”
“So when you get tired of one, you just move along.” He gives me a nod. “If they made you choose a chapter, which one would it be?”
“They wouldn’t.” His response is dismissive, but I’m nosey.
“But what if they did?”
“They wouldn’t.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, let’s say they would.”
“They. Won’t. And if they did, then it would be a violation of our bi-laws.”
I give him a disgusted look. “You’re impossible.”
“No…I just don’t make a habit of answering pointless questions for the sake of conversation.”
“You’re way too convinced they wouldn’t. Sounds to me like if they did, it’d be a deal breaker for you.” He doesn’t deny it. Which makes me that much more determined to figure out why. “So are you going to tell me why you’d never belong to a chapter?”
“I already have.”
I shake my head. “Not that bullshit excuse. The real reason.” He quietly regards me.
“Fine,” I say, after the silence becomes uncomfortable. “I’ll guess.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean back and study him a moment. He stares back at me, his head slightly tilted. Body relaxed. Expression bored. Same shit as always.
“I think you can’t fully commit to brotherhood and al
l it entails. Sure you show up when you’re called. Help when you’re needed. But there’s some deep-seated issue that prevents you from really getting close to someone. Much like brothers in a chapter are. So…” I lean forward and ask, “is it daddy issues? Mommy? You come from a broken home? Only child or lots of siblings you helped raise by sacrificing your childhood only to have them turn out like thugs?” Pausing, I tap my chin as if I’m thinking hard.
“Or were you a child of the state? Jumped from foster home to foster home…never really fit in…quit school…searched for an outlet that would help you vent all that frustration and anger you have toward the parents that never showed you love. I bet your sob story is the same as all the others. You lost your way in life, the MC found you and now you feel like you actually belong somewhere. But the rebel in you just won’t allow you to settle down and, as you say, conform to one certain set of standards.”
I’m satisfied I got it right. My smile is victorious. But it doesn’t last long.
“You’re wrong,” he deadpans. Now, I’m intrigued.
“So tell me the truth.”
Smiling, he shakes his head. “No.”
“Oh, come on. You know everything about me,” I whine, suddenly thirsty for knowledge about this man. This sexy man in his black polo and dark jeans with silver eyes and pretty white teeth.
“I didn’t come from a broken home,” he says, surprising the hell out of me. “My mother and father are both alive and well. Together. They’re supportive and loving and hardworking. I have a close relationship with my two younger brothers. Both are extremely intelligent. Both play football at an Ivy League University. Both are NFL draft prospects.”
“Do I know them?”
He shrugs, putting his bottle to his lips. “Maybe.” He takes a couple long pulls then sets the bottle down and lifts his eyes to meet mine as I fire off the next question.
