And I don’t care if it’s known.
“Not a whole helluva lot, no. I’ll fill you in before we leave, though.” He nods at Eve before shaking his head. “I’m gonna go detail our security.” He turns and grabs something out of the house before tossing it—Eve’s bag—at me. “Here’s this. You two go get your bike situated.” He jerks his chin to where my bike still sits from earlier when I pulled up, pissed, and seven shades of it, but for completely different reasons. Completely fucking different reasons, I think as Pipsqueak and I make our way to my bike.
It was very moving to say the least. We’re somewhere along the stretch of highway in the Carolinas—I think the north one—cruising alongside the beach headed north on I-95. When he keeps downshifting the gears of the bike it interrupts the thoughts and poignant moments I remember seeing earlier in the Keys. Those rare and beautiful moments as I stood aside and witnessed Chase Cain’s ashes being released in the breeze amongst the biggest of beastly and burly men. Some stood dry-eyed, but stone-faced. And some stood there silently as a few tears fell from the corner of their eyes before running down and hiding in their beard. And some just stood with their eyes closed, as if they were in silent prayer.
I hear Jacques talk to someone on the CB in his helmet, but I can’t make out what he says when I notice how much we’ve slowed. “We stopping?” I ask, but he must not hear me. That, or he decides it isn’t time for that answer. And once he has the bike settled between his thighs, he turns the engine off before kicking out the kickstand. I glance around quickly and try to guess where I’m at.
“I’ve never been here, I don’t think,” I whisper as I pull the helmet off my head. I pinch my nose up before breathing the ocean air through the do rag across my face. “Same ocean, I can tell. Even with this on, it smells the same.” I laugh before trying to hop off the bike.
When Jacques is finished helping me from the top of the damn thing, I tug the bandana down from across the bridge of my nose and squint up at him, getting an even better fresh breath of air.
“Sorry we’re hitting it so hard.” His dark eyes glance down at mine. “I’ve got a timeline. And I’d kinda like stay on it too. I didn’t realize we were racing against the clock. I’m sorry I’m pushing you so hard. We usually break more often.”
When the sun reflecting off the chrome of his bike hits his eyes, it makes them look different, almost odd, especially as the light contrasts so starkly against the black and blue specks of his irises.
“It’s okay.” I smile up at him and whisper, “This is nothing compared to some of the cramped places I’ve had to ride in. Child of the system, lest you forget? Us vagabond orphans didn’t have badass things like motorcycles as our tight spaces to ride in. Or on.” The toe of my Chuck shoes tap his front tire as I eye the ground next to it. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. Riding bitch with you.” And it’s not. I chuckle at the face he makes as my words register.
Don’t get me wrong, I was pissed when I was lying there in the middle of my kitchen floor. For over two damn hours? Oh, I was pissed. Much more pissed than I was when I’d finally got myself onto my feet and started shuffling. My problem started when I only shuffled twice, though. Then after that the damn armchair flipped, and I went ass over tea kettle? Oh, it took a minute or two for the urge to pee to come back. It was so freaking embarrassing. Then having to ask to pee? The first words out of my mouth, and I couldn’t even tell you what they were, I was so pissed. Full of piss. I’m telling you. But better to be pissed full than pissed on, I guess.
“You okay?” Jacques’ dark, gentle voice asks, and when I hear the deep concern in his tone, I have to swallow the lump that lodges itself in my throat.
Once I’ve gained my composure, I answer, as truthfully as I can, “I don’t fucking know. Am I?” My eyes search for the answer in his. Every square centimeter of them. Then I glance back and forth between his dazzling blues and whisper, “I feel like I am. But I think that’s just because I’m numb. Either I’m numb, or I’m still feigning ignorance and the reality of the situation hasn’t struck me yet. Am I okay, Jacques?”
His earthy scent envelops me more and more the closer he gets. And when his warm, ink-covered arms circle my waist, he jerks until the front of me is flush with the front of him. “You’re gonna be okay, Vagabond. How many different ways do I gotta tell you that? As long as you’re with me, you’re considered mine—and as long as that’s happening, no one’s gonna fuck with you. I promise.” He links his pinkie with mine before kissing it and then settles our hands at our sides. “I even pinkie promise. And I don’t do that dumb shit. Usually.” He chuckles and then the damn butterflies take flight. And this time...there aren’t any anxious knots there to tie them up and strangle them with. They just take flight as we kick off our shoes and step out onto the beach. And for the first time, in I can’t fucking tell you how long, I feel my heart mend...and this time it doesn’t ache.
***
We’ve been at the MC for less than thirty minutes when all hell breaks loose. And of course, I’m stuck all up in the middle of it. I’m stepping from the shower when Roxy’s evil, snide voice snaps across the small bathroom from the door coming from Jacques’ bedroom. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought—”
“Roxy? Right?” Without missing a beat, I hear her voice, make eye contact, and turn around before advancing towards her. And I don’t think she expects it. Because as I step forward, brightening the smile on my face before holding out my hand to shake hers, her confidence visibly wavers. And all the while keeping my other hand where my towel is hooked around me, I continue stepping towards her. “I thought I remembered you. I’m Eve. Eve O’Malley. We’ve met before, I’m not sure if you…” Her steps falter at the same time I see the recognition flash across her face. And I let my words trail off.
Once she’s finished looking me up and down, I figure the look across my face mimics the cat who ate the canary, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to hide it now. “And you do.” I slide my hand into her weak hold, firmly grasp, then shake hands with her. “And the last time my sister was seen alive was with you? Correct?”
“No.” She shakes her head before raising both of her hands and backing towards the window on the opposite side of the room as the exit door. “I don’t know what you think you know about these people. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but I’ve already warned you once. You don’t know these people. I told you ten years ago to run and never think of this place or Jacques Cain again. And you didn’t heed my warning. What happens to you and your sister is now on you. Not me. I’ve got what I came back for.” She holds up an envelope and smirks. And then she slides out of the window before jumping down.
“What the fu—?” I quickly make my way to the window but there’s no sign of her. Nowhere. No sign of anyone. Just a few of the brothers pulling off on their bikes, heading home after Chase Cain’s last ride.
And the door leading inside the room flies open, startling me, just before Jacques comes barreling in with a plate, a napkin, and a glass of something to drink.
“Hey, Pipsqueak. Made you some supper. Hope you like sweet tea. I tried, believe it or not. I tried. Now get dressed then eat.” He nods at my bag on the floor beside the foot of his bed, and instantly I jump into action and start getting dressed.
“Umm...your girlfriend was just here,” I tell him over my shoulder as I pull on clothes around the towel still covering me. “She grabbed an envelope off your desk and booked it out the window, though.” I point in the direction the crazy bitch went and scoop up my bag.
“What? When?” he asks as he sets the plate he brought in with him on the dresser next to the window.
“Maybe four seconds before you came in with dinner.” I glance at the plate between sliding a t-shirt over my head and shimmying some jeans up. “Looks good. I asked her about my sister, too. Sorry. Don’t know if that clashes with your policy and procedure shit, but you weren’t here, so I took it by the seat of my
pants. Had to wing it.” I smile up at him while slipping my feet into some ballerina slippers.
“Fuck!” A second after he curses the profanity, his cellphone is to his ear and he’s barking orders at Dreads. “Dreads, circle the perimeter. With 'King' this close we don’t need any motherfuckers with no colors besides our red and ‘King’s blue anywhere near or around the compound. And tell ‘em to stop the fuckers if they don’t see any colors! That’s still in place, yeah?” He growls the last part out and then nods at whatever response he receives. “My girl said Rox just left. Ask one of our guys to link up with NYPD. See if we can get around putting out an APB. At least for the next few hours. Break backs if ya gotta, Dreads. This shit takes precedence. For greater, grander reasons than it likely seems, I promise, it takes precedence for the club, bro.”
Jacques Cain turns his back to me. And only then do I realize how small I am compared to him. To this whole mess, really. His massive shoulders sink with the weight of a burden I can’t even see. And it makes my heart, which has been so unusually light in my chest the last few hours, harden too, before it sinks a bit. “Thanks, man. Sounds good.” He sighs out a shuddering breath.
As I nervously pull the hair tie I keep around my wrist down around my hand, I chew another hole through my lip and twist my hair before tugging the ponytail into the hair tie. Once I have a semi-bun tied on top of my head, I skirt around him ‘til I’m standing beside him.
I catch his eyes moving to where my feet creep closer to him and almost chuckle. But then he sighs again. And this time I note how exhausted he is. He’s actually pretty damn near past. Especially after all the shit I’ve caused with all the stunts I’ve pulled. I hate myself for lollygagging and not just listening to him in the first place. And getting on that damn plane.
Then maybe my sister wouldn’t be wherever—
“We got a hot date in about an hour. And big...big motherfucking plans afterward,” he says as he lays out a blanket across his bed. When he’s finished he sits down on it and pats the seat beside him. Smiling up at me he motions to the plate still on his dresser. “Grab your plate. Come eat, Pipsqueak. I’ll talk.”
Once I’m settled on his bed next to him, he sets the plate he held for me in my lap. “Eat,” he orders again. And I do as I’m told and start gobbling up the spaghetti. Which is the first thing I’ve consumed since pizza with Ty. God, almost twenty freaking hours ago.
Time and thought thereof shakes me from my thoughts. Time. My eyes shoot to Jacques. “My sister? Has anyone else gotten anymore texts?” I blurt out around the wad of noodles in my mouth. When I realize what I just did, I duck my head and cover my mouth with the napkin he brought in with the plate. “Sorry,” I mutter after swallowing.
“It’s okay.” He chuckles and grabs a bite of garlic bread, then winks at me before talking around it. “No. No more texts. But as far as I’m concerned, the less we hear, the better. I spoke to Ty earlier. He said they’re expecting to be able to bring your mother out of her drug-induced coma tomorrow morning. The authorities will speak to her when they can. But I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I have a feeling any questions you may have are going to get answered here, long before your mother will be able to help you. I know you want your answers, Vagabond. But sometimes you gotta go about getting them a little differently than you originally planned. You know what I mean? I’ve told you there’s more than one way to skin a cat, haven’t I?” he asks, and I watch as his eyes look back and forth between mine.
“N-not really. But then again, you’re speaking in riddles...so how you expect me to follow—” I shake my head, almost at a loss for words in response to his. “As far as you’re concerned, the less we hear, the better? Who says that? And why?” I keep trying to square off with him. I move again to stand in front of him, trying to put us eye to eye, but he dodges me and steps back to the other side of his bed. “What’s this meeting shit you keep referring to? And this hot date? Who’s supposed to be in attendance, Jacques? Stop speaking in riddles and fucking talk to me. Goddamn it, I’m trying to listen!” I shout, abruptly standing before setting down my plate of spaghetti on his desk. “What the hell is going here? Are you going to tell me? Or not? I’m here.” When his dark blue eyes shoot back up to mine, I smile. And I almost get a smirk out of him, but his shutters drop down behind his eyes and he effectively closes me out. He lets out another sigh as his shoulders fall again for the second time in five minutes.
“I know you’re here. And I promise, Vagabond. As soon as I can, I’ll tell you. Everything. Okay?” He’s still on the opposite side of the bed and as our eyes remain locked, I slowly walk towards him. Very, very slowly. I raise my hands when I’m close then reach for his when I’m close enough to grab them. “Is the meeting with 'King'? Is that what this is? Jacques?” I beg him.
I just want answers. I know what I said earlier, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ve tried to be good. I’ve done what he’s asked. And right now, I think it’s time I was rewarded. Right now, I think it’s time he gives me some damn answers.
His eyes search mine as his hands come up and cup my cheeks. My eyes flutter closed when the pad of his thumb barely skims across my bottom lip. “Anyone ever told you how toxic you are to their head? I knew it. I knew it the minute I was first sober enough to realize it. When I felt you against me—skin to skin. That morning. I knew then. Didn’t I, Vagabond?” he mutters in a husky, accusing voice.
And I never even felt the tears well up in my eyes. I look up at him, hearing his words, feeling them, each and every one, make their mark—then the tears are suddenly there and they’re falling. “I-I—” And then his mouth slants over mine, cutting off whatever it was...I can’t remember to tell you to save my life.
And you can kiss my ass—I’m sure the people on the first floor heard me moan. But I couldn’t help it.
I never fucking can with Jacques Cain.
***
I lay down. After Jacques kissed me like there was no God blessed tomorrow, and then looked down into my face, and gazed into my eyes before smiling and turning to leave—I did lay down and take a thirty minute nap. And I’m not sure if it was the ride or the emotions—as wide and different varying emotions as they were—that were felt on it, but when my head hit Jacques Cain’s pillow, I went out like a light. I don’t even think I remember closing my eyes.
I do remember the dreams, though. The same ones from when I was a child—the ones of us when we were kids—as they bombarded through my closing mental thoughts as I drifted to sleep. And as they each played out behind my closed, REM-dreaming eyelids, for the first time I can remember, I remember them—him with a fondness that I haven’t felt towards him since I was a small child.
And something terrible happens...right there in his room, somewhere between my eyes closing and being re-awoken by Dreads on Jacques’ bed thirty minutes later. Something big and terrible happens. That image of Jacques Cain, the same image I’d held onto with his mother’s necklace for so long, the one of him being my hero. The one who would save me one day. That image grew wings in the shape of hope inside my adult mind, and took off...rooting as truth again in my logic. And somewhere in my dreams, I fell in love with Jacques Cain.
“Eve. Eve. Get up.” I feel someone’s hand grab my shoulder before shaking me. “Eve, wake up. Shit—” The hand shaking me shoves me then I’m flat on my back, looking up at Jacques’ ceiling when Dreads’ head pops into my field of vision. “Good. You’re awake. Time to get up. Your pops is here. I dunno where Jacques is. He got a call he had to take; some shit about Roxy. I haven’t been able to get ahold of him yet, though. But I will. Come on.” He grabs my elbow before yanking. “Upsie daisy.” He dusts his hands clean like I’m filthy and he just touched me, and I scoff. “No.” He shakes a finger in my face then points in the direction of the bathroom. “No attitude from you. Go take care of your business. You have five minutes. I’ll be outside waiting.”
“I thought you didn’t make orders, or w
hat is it you said? You just do as you’re told?” I ask, puffing my chest out as I walk towards him like a ten-year-old. But I can’t freaking help it.
He chuckles at me and all that does is piss me off further. So getting nowhere near information, I do as I’m told and head towards the bathroom. I may not have had no full-time momma, but my grams didn’t raise no fool. I learned my lesson the first time I saw that second picture of Eden on Jacques’ phone. This shit is real. None of it’s fake. And I stopped taking everything I was learning from these men with a damned grain of salt. That damn picture more than put weight behind the reality of this situation. Fucking more than.
After I’ve brushed my hair and my teeth, I pee real quick, ‘cause I don’t want to have to piss in the middle of something important later. Then I check my reflection in the mirror and head out of the bathroom. Once I grab my smaller bag, I head out the exit door, leaving Jacques’ room. When I see Dreads, I smile and close the door behind me. “Do I lock it?” I ask.
But he moves around me, locking the main entrance to Jacques’ room instead. “Nah, I got it. Jacques has the key.” He nods towards the stairs. “Go ahead. I got your back when your boy’s not here.” He chuckles at me and I barely hold back the urge to cut my eyes at him.
“He’s not my boy. And it’s what you have behind my back that concerns me. Keep your paws up, buddy,” I tell him, then walk ahead. I continue yapping over my shoulder. ‘Cause that’s what I do. Especially when I need information. “Just so you know, your boy—” Okay, when I look over my shoulder this time, I cut my eyes at him, “—was keeping all this shit with ‘King’ hush-hush. So other than the fact that I know he’s my biological sperm donor, and he’s the president of another motorcycle club, I don’t know anything. Oh, besides what he refuses to believe, I also think Roxy and that asshole Ben have something to do this. With Eden missing and my mom getting hurt.” I have to swallow the lump in my throat and blink the tears away, but any signs of my little mental freak-out I have mid-way through their MC’s compound is a thing of the past when we both come to the ground floor, stepping off the bottom step.
If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel Page 22
