by Zahra Girard
I get off his bike and fix him with a look. There’s a palpable feeling dread dawning on me.
“Why here?”
He shrugs, but there’s a knowing smile on his face. “It seems like the right thing to do.”
“Right thing to do? What the hell are you getting at, Jarrett?”
“When you first came here, I chased you away. I know you had your reasons for running off — you’ve explained that — and it was wrong of me to kick you out. You’ve proved yourself as someone I can trust. Someone the club can trust. I’m going to re-introduce you and set things right.”
“You don’t need to do this,” I say. There’s a note of urgency in my voice and frantic tightness in my throat. Please don’t do this, I beg him internally. “There’s other things we could be doing right now instead of hanging out at some bar. We still need to book that venue.”
The last thing I want is to face as a friend the people I’m going to betray. It’ll be so much easier remembering them as the assortment of angry faces that escorted me outside and told me that, next time, I’d be leaving in a body bag.
He opens the door for me and puts his hand on the small of my back to usher me inside. I put on a smiling mask and force myself to act like I’m not here to condemn these people to death.
Chapter Nineteen
Jarrett
I take her hand as I bring her into the clubhouse — the Broken Crown Saloon — and the place that, if she puts down roots nearby, might become her clubhouse, too.
She’s everything I want without a doubt. She’ll fight with the best of them; she’ll drink any challenger under the table; she’ll keep a stiff upper lip when life’s giving her shit, and she’ll fuck until sunrise and both our bodies give out. She’s fearless when fighting and fearless in love.
When this is over, when our club’s free of our weapons obligations to the Triads and we don’t have the threat of war hanging over our heads, I’m going to ask her a question I never thought I’d ask a woman: to stick around and stay as my old lady.
Even thinking that puts jitters in my stomach, but it’s what I know deep down to be the right thing to do. I care for her, and I care for her son. My life will be a lot better with them in it.
In the meantime, I mean to introduce her to my family. And make up for the fact that the last time she stepped foot in my club’s bar, I pulled a gun to her head and threatened to kill her if she ever came back. That’s something that I have to set right.
Heads turn as we enter the clubhouse. Ozzy from his place at the bar, Sam from behind the beer taps, Bear from one of the tables, where he’s got a pile of papers spread out in front of him. Concern flashes across the face of each of them for just a second, until they get a look at the smile on my face — and then they look relieved.
“What’s going on here, Jynx?” Sam says, handing over a full-headed pint glass to Ozzy. “I don’t want any blood on my floors. So if you’re here to kill her, take her out back. Do it on the gravel.”
“I’m not killing her, Sam,” I say. “I need to set the record straight about the two of us.”
“This about the gambling?” Bear says, looking up from the papers in front of him.
“You heard?”
“Grease told me about it,” he says. “We had a talk last night over a few beers when we were switching shifts.”
“Did you lose more money, Jynx?” Sam says. “Rog isn’t going to be happy to hear that.”
I shake my head.
“No, I didn’t. Not now, and not back then, either.”
Selena tightens her grip on my hand.
“You don’t need to do this right now.”
She sounds like someone’s got a gun to her head. I frown but decide to keep going. This is important, there’s a record I need to correct, and I want to make sure she starts things off with the club on the right foot.
“Way back when, I didn’t lose that money gambling. I didn’t fucking gamble at all in Reno. I got up to the usual, I drank too much, I fucked around, I got in a few scrapes, but I didn’t gamble. I borrowed that cash to help Selena out of a tough spot and to settle a debt she had with some serious players that had killed her old club and decided they wanted to keep her around like some kind of slave.”
It feels good to finally get that off my chest. There’s a lot of things in my past that still have a hold on me, but, if I can get this small one out of the way, it’s a step in the right direction.
She brings it out in me. This urge to figure my shit out.
For a moment, everyone turns to look at Selena, who has a mixture of embarrassment and fear painted on her face. I don’t blame her for feeling that way — it’s a tough thing having dirty laundry like this dragged out into the open. But it’s the first step in setting things right with the club and she shouldn’t feel any shame about what’s in the past and what she’s overcome.
I want her to be part of this. For the first time in so long, things are becoming stable for me — I have a club around me, I’ve lived in the same home for a few years now, and now I have woman by my side that has seen some of the shit I’ve been through and is willing to stay and help me fight my demons.
I have hope.
And damn, does it feel good.
“So, we can’t really call you Jynx anymore,” Ozzy says, squinting at me with a curious look on his face. “Course, not many things really go along with ‘Jarrett’. I suppose we could just call you ‘Jerry’. Or ‘JerBear’.”
Sam scowls. “Ozzy, hun, just… no.”
“Seriously, Ozzy, what the hell? You want to call him ‘Jerry’?” Bear says. “It makes him sound like he’s some sixty-year-old used car salesman, with a fucking beer gut and a combover.”
“Do you hate me, now? Is that it?” I say, half-teasing.
“No. I had an uncle named Jerry. He was a good bloke. Very business-minded,” Ozzy says.
“What’d your uncle do for a living, Ozzy?” Sam says.
“He worked for Amway Australia. They called him the Amway King of Auckland. If you bought Nutrilite anywhere in the city, you bought it from him.”
“How many people in Auckland actually bought Nutrilite?” I say.
“Not many, to be honest — Uncle Jerry lived in his mum’s guest room until the end. Died when a bunch of boxes of Nutrilite fell on him. But still, not many people can say they cornered an industry.”
“Yeah, Jarrett, I’m not too fond of you having the same nickname as the failed vitamin king of New Zealand,” Selena says.
“We’ll think of something for you, brother,” says Bear. “Until then, we’ll just use your name, yeah?”
“Fine, fine, but let’s keep on the topic, here,” I say.
“Your non-existent gambling debts? Or would you like to buy some vitamins?” Ozzy says.
“No. And no fucking vitamins,” I say, gesturing to Selena by my side. “Brothers, I need to introduce Selena to you, properly. She’s helping me organize the charity event, and, when this is all over, I’m going to convince her to stick around.”
Sam’s got a knowing look on her face and hasn’t taken her eyes off Selena the whole time I’ve been talking. Ozzy and Bear both nod, accepting without any objection.
I turn to Selena.
She looks like she’s seen a ghost. It’s an impression that’s barely there for a second, and by the time I blink, she’s got her usual twisted smile on her face and a friendly light in her eyes.
“Pleased to meet you all,” she says. “This time without a gun in my face. It’s going to be nice to have a place like this to call home.”
I kiss her right on the lips, long enough to draw hoots and cheers from the others.
This is the best I’ve felt in ages. And I owe it all to her.
Life is finally looking up.
Let’s hope it stays this way.
Chapter Twenty
Selena
I’m sick enough I could vomit. Introducing me to the club? It’s a nightmare.
The last thing I need to is to see any more of these people, to have them try to get friendly with me while I’m stuck here knowing what’s going to happen to them.
Lucky for me, any sort of decent news turns into a reason to drink. And I am more than ready for that.
I pay more attention to my glass while the five of us get to drinking. No matter what’s going on around me, no matter how decent the people in Jarrett’s club seem, I can’t take my mind off the deadline I’m under.
Some way, somehow, and soon, I have to find what I’m after.
With any luck, they’ll all be dead soon and I won’t have to deal with the aftermath.
Everyone’s at least three drinks in, except for Bear — he says he’s taking it easy because the mountain of papers in front of him are school applications and his wife, Roxy, will kill him if he screws them up — and I realize I’d probably really like Roxy if I were to meet her. Ozzy’s told at least a dozen stories about his family, half of which I can’t even follow and the other half involve either sheep or beer or both, when Jarrett looks over at me, face flushed.
“We still need to call that historical society about that place,” he mumbles.
“Historical society?” Bear says.
“Jarrett had the great idea to book that old train station for the charity thing,” I say, blinking to focus my blurry vision. Drunk and desperate is probably not the best time to make a call like this, but I have a feeling that ‘drunk and desperate’ is going to become my motto for the near term. Plus, it’s a welcome distraction from the bonding going on around me.
I can’t get close to these people, I remind myself for the thousandth time.
I take my phone out. A quick search online finds the number.
I call them and, it’s then I realize just how drunk I am. Thank god, it rings to voicemail, as it’d probably turn out seriously bad if I had to speak to a live person right now. Speaking slowly and deliberately enough that I wouldn’t be shocked if they think English is my seventeenth language, I give them my name, my phone number, and let them know I’m interested in reserving the old train station.
Then, I hang up and set my phone down on the table hard enough to topple everyone’s drinks. Liquor and beer roll over my phone and everywhere else. I get whiskey in my lap and stout on my shoes.
“Son of a bitch,” I scream. Probably louder than necessary.
“Relax, babe,” Jarrett says, drawing a surprised look from everyone at the table at the use of the word. A look that, thankfully, he’s buzzed enough not to catch. “It’s just a fucking phone.”
It might be just a fucking phone, but it’s emblematic of my life these last few years; I fuck up even the most basic tasks.
I pull in some air and steady myself. I’m supposed to be happy and excited to have a supportive group of not-fucking-evil people around me.
I need an excuse to get out of here.
“I’m just upset, honey, because if those historical society people call and my phone is dead, we’ll miss out on booking the place. We’re trying to do it last minute enough as it is, the last thing we need to do is screw up our chances even more.”
He nods, drunkenly.
“She’s right, mate,” Ozzy adds. “I was in the same situation a few years ago. My cousin Reggie and I wanted to rent a lighthouse. Had phone troubles, missed some important calls and missed out on renting it. I actually ended up leaving my phone out on the Coromandel after a drunken weekend at my mate’s bach. Took a few days to find it — had to use one of that ‘find my phone’ apps — and by then it was too late.”
“Why the hell were you trying to rent a lighthouse?” Bear says.
“To surprise some cousins of mine with a party. They were on a sailing trip and we knew where they were supposed to land. Lighthouses are good for parties. They actually have really good lighting systems, believe it or not.”
“Could that be why they’re called ‘lighthouses’?” Sam says.
“Now that you mention it, I reckon you’re right.”
“Here, take my phone, call them back and leave them my number as a backup,” Jarrett says, shoving his phone into my hands, mumbling the password, and then he turning his attention to Ozzy. “Yeah, seriously, a fucking lighthouse?”
I get up and head outside, just as Ozzy launches into a story about something called a waka and people sailing from Fiji. Outside, I unlock his phone and my objective slaps me right in the face. It’s all laid out on the screen in front of me. Location. Times. Security.
My hands are shaking. This is what I’m looking for. Some time goes by where I just stare at the phone. All I need to do is send a text to a number I know by heart and I’ll be done. I’ll be done and I’ll be free.
I can get my son back.
And I’ll be alone in this world except for Jake. Just as I’m finding a family, just as I’m finding people to replace everyone I lost to the Devil’s Riders and the Bloody Jackals down in Reno.
I’m going to get them all killed.
This is the second family those Jackals will have taken from me.
Tears fall from my cheeks, splashing to the concrete and shimmering on the screen of the phone, as I swipe my shaking finger across the screen.
I hate myself right now.
I hate every step that led me to this day. Every selfish choice, every cocky, over-confident decision.
For years, I’ve been my own worst enemy. And today is no different.
Still, I send the message.
Then, I delete the evidence and, with a battered voice, I call the historical society and leave a message that probably sounds like I’m a hostage who managed to sneak a phone while her captors left to go get groceries.
I need to scream.
Every step forward I take in life, I end up throwing myself two steps back with my stupid choices. Just as I wind up with Jarrett again and find him starting to put some of the many broken pieces of his life together, I have to shatter it all. Just as I find a group that could accept me as part of their family, I have to go and get them all killed.
“Are you alright?” It’s a familiar voice, but it’s alien in how caring it sounds. “Selena, what’s wrong?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I turn around.
He’s there. And the smile on his face is enough to break my heart.
He doesn’t know what’s coming.
I do the one thing I know how to do. The one thing I’m good at.
I run.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jarrett
What’s happened to her?
She turns and runs like an animal in fear.
I’m not letting her get away this time. Not now, not as we’re just starting to find our footing together. We’ve each got our demons, our fears, our pain, but we’re stronger together. I can’t let her face whatever is bothering her alone.
I chase after her.
I catch her a quarter mile down the road. She’s fast, but not fast enough.
I reach out and seize her by the arm. She tries to shake me off, but I tighten my grip and pull her to a stop.
“You’re not going anywhere, Selena. Not until we talk and figure this shit out.”
Spinning, she hits me across the face with a right hook.
“Just let me go, Jarrett.”
She’s always had a good punch on her and a few stars flash across my vision as her knuckles crack me in the jaw. Anyone else, I’d hit them back. But her, I pull in close and wrap her up in my arms. Squeezing her tight against my chest.
“What’s gotten into you?”
She won’t stop trembling, she won’t stop struggling.
“What’s wrong?” I say again.
“Just shut up and let me go,” she says, still quaking in my grip.
“Not until you’re fucking honest with me about what’s going on,” I say. She won’t look me in the eyes, but I can see the moisture on her cheeks. She’s been crying. “We’re two fucked up people, Selena. We’ve ruine
d our own lives over and over again, it’s a fucking miracle that we have anything right now. But we’re stronger together. For the first time that I can remember, I feel like I have someone I can count on, someone who can help me get things under control. Like this might be a fucking second chance for the two of us.”
“Second chance? What a fucking delusion.”
“When this charity thing is over and my club’s finished with this business thing, I want to ask you to stick around. I want you and Jake to stay with me while you get on your feet.”
“What do you mean ‘stick around’?”
“I want to see where things go between us. I don’t think Reno was a fluke. You and I could have a future here — there are some good schools in town, and better ones down in Tacoma, which would be great for Jake.”
Something in what I say makes her howl like a wounded animal.
She spits in my face and hits me again.
“I have my own shit to take care of, Jarrett. I have my own fucking family to care for. And I’m not your fucking old lady,” she says. “Let me fucking go.”
The pain in her voice is worse than any slap in the face; I’ve never seen her this hurt. Even when she was a mess back in Reno, working herself to the bone, drinking and doing whatever she had to just to keep her and her son alive.
I let her go, though everything inside me is screaming out against it.
I need to trust her.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Let me go, Jarrett. That’s it. You can’t help me any more than that. Just give me space to figure my shit out on my own,” she says, then she looks me in the eyes. I can see every tear brimming in the corners of her eyes and pain deeper than I can imagine swirling in those hazel orbs. “Just trust me, ok?”
“I trust you,” I say without hesitation. I let her go and she takes a step back from me. “I don’t want to lose what we’ve started.”
