by Jc Emery
The white colonial doesn’t really fit in the neighborhood but pays tribute to Mrs. Jennings’s Southern roots. At least that’s what the newspaper said when they did a feature on the family shortly after Darren’s beating. Most of the homes in this neighborhood are set far apart—so far, in fact, that you’d have to squint to see much detail about a neighbor’s house without a pair of binoculars. They’re all set far back from the road, too, and none of them are really very large. Nice, but not large. Yet the Jennings’ house sticks out like a sore thumb with its ridiculous columns and fancy-pants flowers everywhere. Not that the flowers are in great shape right now. Every inch of the property looks like it was well cared for and perfectly designed at one time. Now the grass is overgrown, and the weeds are out of control. The flower beds would be worse off had it not been raining a lot recently. But nothing appears to have been kept up in the last few months.
Without any major leads at the house, I’m kind of stuck. I don’t know what I was hoping to find, but an abandoned house is definitely not it.
At the next house down, a woman is bent over what I think is her flower garden and working away. Her home is a one-story ranch with fresh paint and sturdy shutters. It looks a little bigger than Jeremy’s house, though it can’t be by much, but it’s definitely better updated. As fast as I can, I make my way over to the woman. The closer I get, the more nervous I become. I have no idea what I’m going to say to her or how I’m going to convince her to talk to me.
“Excuse me,” I say loudly but without being too rude or invasive. The woman stops her work and pushes herself up from the dirt. She reminds me of Grandma in a way. She’s definitely Grandma’s age, and judging by her khaki pants and brightly-colored floral top, it looks like they probably shop in the same store.
“Hello,” she says politely with a smile on her face.
“Do you know where they went?” I ask, hitching my thumb toward the Jennings residence.
“Oh, them?” Taking a step forward, she removes her gardening gloves and holds them in her right hand while slapping them into her left repeatedly. “No, I don’t.”
“Okay.” I blow out a frustrated breath. I need something here—anything would help. “Take a wild guess—what would you come up with?”
“I’d guess that man got himself into some trouble,” she says. “There a reason Forsaken wants to know?”
I look down at my hoodie, realizing that she thinks I’m asking for the club. I guess I am, in a way. I just have to keep her talking as much as I can. I’m on eggshells over here. One crack and I might be done for. I can’t tell her the club is asking, because they don’t take kindly to people using them for their own gain, even if this is kind of for them, and I can’t try to bully her. She doesn’t look like she’s one to be bullied.
“Forsaken is my family. The woman who was raped at Universal Grounds is my stepmom’s cousin and best friend. Nobody tells me anything, and it’s scary. I was just hoping that maybe Mr. and Mrs. Jennings knew something that might link what happened to their son to what happened to Mindy and Holly.”
The woman’s face falls, and she sighs. When she nods her head, I know honesty was the right way to go. The only fib there was that Holly isn’t technically my stepmom. Yet.
“I’ve told the police, but they blew me off like I’m a nosy busybody. That man built that god-awful house, and then he bought himself a Porsche. Then he bought his wife a new car. They redid the whole front yard and then got approval for some kind of man-made safari thing in the backyard. And do you know what they used on the soil? Pesticides.”
Okay, once she decides to talk, she really talks. I nod my head and scowl in what I hope are the appropriate places. She doesn’t even seem to notice.
“The homeowners association banned the use of pesticides, but that man paid somebody off to get that stupid safari plan approved. He had to. Nobody’s happy with them.”
“So,” I say slowly, “do you know where they went?”
“Oh, right.” She taps the index finger of her free hand to her lips. “No, I don’t know where they went, but I think he has a gambling problem. Don’t tell anybody that came from me. Anyway, they left early one morning and only took a few bags with them when they went. Why would they leave their son in the hospital like that unless they had to?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I say.
She nods her head and then squints at me. “What’s your name?”
Come on, Cheyenne. You know how to lie and how to be evasive, so figure it out already.
“Um, maybe it’s best we don’t exchange names.” I give her a smile while making a hasty retreat. “Thanks!”
Pulling my phone out of my pocket when it chimes, I read the message that awaits me. It’s from Jeremy. WHERE R U?
Crap.
OUT, I text back.
I FUCKIN KNOW THAT. WHERE R U?
I so don’t want to tell him where I’m at or what I’m doing, but he can be relentless. I think I need his help anyway, so I give him the address of the neighbor lady. I hope he doesn’t recognize the street name as the Jennings’ street, but knowing my luck, he will.
DON’T MOVE, he says.
ON WAY HOME. I hope this will calm him down.
It doesn’t.
DON’T FUCKIN MOVE, he says and finishes it off with, I GOT 2 HUNT U DOWN, I WON’T BE HAPPY.
That makes two of us, dude. He shouldn’t be looking for me. He’s not on patrol at the house anymore since Dad caught wind of Jeremy’s antics about switching out detail with Diesel anytime he was supposed to be keeping an eye on me. If Dad sent him to find me, then I’m in even more trouble than I think.
Oh well. All I know is that I’m fed up with running into one roadblock after another. I’m basically getting nowhere with everything I’m doing, and if Jeremy can shed some light on some of this, then maybe working with him won’t be so terrible.
I shouldn’t want to share this with him, but I kind of do. For some reason, I trust that he won’t rat me out. I shouldn’t want to share anything with him, especially considering I’ve already shared him with the former bestie. The pain from that betrayal is still too fresh to think about without getting upset. Still, this is information the club might need, so I’m going to try to set my feelings aside. I’m not getting very far on my own, and Holly is too important to me to not keep trying. For Holly, I can be mature enough to work with that stupid idiot. I just won’t call him that to his face.
CHAPTER 16
February
14 months to Mancuso’s downfall
I’m waiting on the Jennings’ front porch when I hear Jeremy’s bike in the distance. I couldn’t very well have hung out at the neighbor’s house. That would have been awkward. His bike is loud, but not as loud as Dad’s bike or even Duke’s. I think Ryan’s bike is the loudest, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. Jeremy’s bike sounds a little rougher than the other guy’s bikes. It probably needs a tune-up and some work. I know Duke’s been teaching him how to take care of her, but he’s still a little green around the shop.
When he pulls up, his expression is unreadable. My heart beats faster and faster the closer I get to having to talk to him, to really seeing him. The last time I saw him, I was so angry and then so hurt. He cuts the bike off and dismounts, then takes off his helmet and sets it on the seat of the bike. He’s wearing dark sunglasses even though it’s cold and overcast. It’s freaking February in Mendocino County for crying out loud. Why on earth is he wearing sunglasses?
He strides up quickly, his jaw firmly set and his cheeks pinched in a manner that leads me to believe he’s tense. Underneath his cut is a black sweatshirt with the Forsaken symbol across the chest. I look down at my own black Forsaken hoodie and blush. Wearing the same thing is a little embarrassing for some reason. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of our connection—to the club—and that we’ll never really be able to go our separate ways and be out of each other’s lives. Not that I really want to be
out of his life.
“Hey,” I say and clear my throat, trying to get rid of the hoarse nervousness I hear in my voice.
He doesn’t say a word as he reaches the porch, steps up, and turns toward me. His stride doesn’t falter the closer he gets. Wide footsteps close in on me, never slowing, and he is on me in a moment, his chest bumping into mine, pushing me backward. I stumble into the column behind me and am caught between the cool plaster and Jeremy’s warm, hard body. His tangy breath washes over my face, engulfing me in the sweet smell of whiskey. He doesn’t even look down at me—nothing. He just stands here like he’s shielding me from the world.
Jeremy’s arm lifts at his side, and a hard object brushes against my stomach. The quiet click of the safety releasing tells me he’s pulled out his gun. His free hand lifts, barely tracing the curves of my body from my hip up to my ribs to the sides of my breasts and up above my head as he slaps it against the column and anchors himself to me. His tangy sweet breath comes harder and faster on my face now. His chest rises and falls quickly. His heartbeat is so fast that I worry for him. Our torsos push together, letting me share his adrenaline. He’s been drinking and riding, and this isn’t what I expected.
I don’t know what I expected.
Reaching up, I place a hand over his heart. It’s stupid, but I just want to feel his heartbeat. I want to know he’s human and not entirely cruel. Still, he doesn’t look at me. He leans in and turns his head to the left and then the right. His skin is so close I can almost feel him. I want to feel him, and I hate myself for it.
For every time Aunt Ruby showed me what it means to be a strong woman. For every intimate moment I’ve witnessed between Dad and Holly where I see who really wears the pants in that relationship. For how hard Nic made Duke work to earn her forgiveness, and for how strong Alex fought to have something with Ryan. They each took a chance on something they didn’t know would work out, but they did it anyway. I don’t have that kind of faith, so whatever I’m doing here is just torturing myself with what I want, but never will be.
And I’m here letting myself get sucked into the beat of Jeremy’s heart and the way he smells, even now. I feel pathetic and weak. Dirty even. I should want nothing to do with him. But he’s here, covering me with his body, and it doesn’t feel scary or like he wants to hurt me. It feels like he’s guarding me. Why is he so intense? Why won’t he look at me?
Carefully, I reach up and grab ahold of his sunglasses and slide them off his face. With the loudest voice I can muster, I say, “Look at me.”
He doesn’t move, and for some reason, I feel even more determined at his refusal. I pass the glasses to my left hand and then place the thumb of my right hand on his chin and pull down until he’s forced to face me. His red, swollen eyes stare down at me blankly. His eyes are misleading because his chest still expands and compresses quickly.
“You”—his deep voice comes out in a low growl, and he sucks in a breath—“fucked up.”
The commanding way he looms over me, the way his eyes come alive as he speaks, and the way he presses himself into me makes it hard to breathe. He’s so much man in this moment that it’s both exciting and intimidating. He’s still Jeremy, but he’s a Jeremy I’m not sure I know. This is Jeremy, the guy who’s prospecting for the club, not the cute teenage boy I usually see him as. And I fucking love it.
“I want to help,” I whisper.
He leans in and lowers his face to my neck where he sucks in a deep breath. “You should not be here,” his hisses into my ear.
“But I am,” I say stupidly. It’s the only thing I can think of with his face in my neck and his hot breath washing over my skin. I close my eyes, forcing myself to focus on why we’re here and not what my body wants to do. “I need your help.”
“You need me?” He holds his breath for a moment while he waits for my response.
“I need your help,” I correct. Quiet. We’re so freaking quiet. It’s making this moment private and weird all at the same time. “I have to find out who raped Mindy.”
His body goes completely still as my words register, and then he tenses and sucks in a deep breath. He grits his teeth as if he’s struggling to control himself. “Club business. We’re taking care of it. It’s fine.”
“Liar,” I say before I can stop myself. I hate that word, fine. “It’s not fine. Dad said it was fine when Scavo showed up at school, and he said it was fine when Holly moved in. He promised me we were safe, and then Mindy was raped.” Now my chest is rising and falling quickly, my heart rate is picking up, and I’m on the verge of tears. I hate how that word—fine—makes me react. Everything is so not fine.
“You’re safe,” he says, his voice softening just slightly.
“No, I’m not. None of us are.” My voice shakes.
He pulls his head back and looks me in the eye. “I will keep you safe.”
His words feel like a vow, like he really believes them. I’ll bet he does, but that’s the problem. They all think they can make that promise and keep it. I’ll bet Ryan made that promise to Alex, but then she was taken by her brother and beaten. I’ll bet Dad made that promise to Holly, but then she had to watch Mindy be violently raped. We’re all just sitting ducks.
“Whatever you’re doing here, you need to stop it,” he says. I give him a noncommittal sigh and continue looking in his eyes. I’m not going to stop what I’m doing, I can’t. He must sense this, because the fire in his eyes comes back and he’s back to looking at me blankly. I’m learning that this means he’s angry and maybe even a little scared. “I mean it, Cheyenne.”
“No,” I say loudly.
He removes his hand from the column and replaces the safety on his gun. He slides the gun into the back of his jeans and reaches around, grabbing me by my upper arms.
“You need to understand,” he barks loudly in my face. “You could get yourself killed.”
“I could get killed anyway!” I shout back. My arms ache as the adrenaline pumps through them, and my legs tingle with the desire to run. He’s not intimidating or scary now, just so freaking intense that it makes it hard to breathe.
“Either I’m going to have to show you how very bad of an idea it is for you to be poking into club business, or I’m going to let your father make you understand,” he screams. Veins pop out of the sides of his neck, and a blue line appears on his forehead. He’s snapping. I can see it.
“Do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I have to do,” I scream back.
The anger fuels me, pushing me to lose my temper. Still with his sunglasses in my hands, I shove against his chest to give myself some space. He steps back just one solitary step before reaching out and pulling on my arm. He spins me around with my arm behind my back and pushes me into the plaster behind me. His glasses, still in my hand, crack from the impact. The sky breaks with the crashing sound of thunder. Droplets of rain thump against the top of the covered porch. The welcome chaotic, rhythmic drumming provides a blanket of privacy over us, making me feel less exposed to the nosy neighbor next door.
“Are you going to listen to me now?” he says roughly in my ear.
“Are you?” I shoot back. “You don’t even know what information I have. I could help the club.”
“Last warning, Cheyenne.” His voice drops as his mouth falls to my ear, lips ghosting the shell.
I turn into his face, letting our cheeks touch as I whisper, “You need help. Admit it.”
He pulls back, but his grip on my arm is as strong as ever as he spins me around, pushing my face into the column. The warmth of his body disappears, and a cool wind picks up, chilling me. His hand slams down on my ass, pushing me forward.
I gasp, shocked and unsure how to respond. It’s just a moment before I struggle against him, but that only encourages him to bring his hand down to spank me again. I throw a leg back and kick him in the shins. Jeremy loses his grip on my arm, and I pull away, spin around, and lunge for him, swinging with an open hand. I make contact with his che
ek. The force of my slap surprises me, and my flesh stings in response. He grabs me by my wrists. I pull away but lose my footing and pull us both to the brick pavers below. He lands on his butt. I’m falling backward when his strong arms yank me forward, bringing me down on top of him. He groans beneath me.
“You spanked me,” I say breathily, wholly incapable of focusing on anything else at the moment.
“You slapped me,” he responds on a ragged breath.
“But you actually spanked me,” I repeat, this time a little more forceful.
“I like your ass.” He sucks in a struggling breath.
I cast him a dirty look to find that my elbow is jabbing into his gut as I lie across him with my hip on top of his. It’s only my side that’s touching his front, but this feels more tender than when he was up in my room mauling me. Testing the waters, I shove my elbow deeper into his abdomen. He responds by scrunching his navy eyes shut and wincing, but he doesn’t move to stop me.
“This is for being a jerk,” I say and dig in as hard as I can. He kicks at the brick beneath him but still doesn’t stop me. “And for sleeping with my best friend when you know I like you. And for coming up here and fucking spanking me.”
“I deserve that,” he manages to say on a gasp. “You still like me?”
Forgetting all about the pressure I’m supposed to be applying to his stomach, I retract and demand, “Say it. Say you’re sorry and mean it, or I’ll figure out a way to crush your windpipe.”
He opens his eyes, and while they’re still red and swollen, like he’s been drinking and not sleeping very well, they’re still so very blue and so very deep. They’re one of the reasons I fell for him so hard and so fast. His eyes are absolutely gorgeous. I place my arm along his ribs and redistribute my weight so he can adequately breathe, but I don’t move off of him just in case he decides to be a dick again.
“I’m an asshole, okay?” he says. “I liked you, and I fucked it up. You made me mad, so I did what I always do. I shouldn’t have said shit about what happened at my party.”
