Two more plates of eggs had vanished into the mysterious woman since then, both plates consumed with just as much gusto as the first. After each plate, Jenna would look up wordlessly at Cheery, clearly hopeful that there would be more food following after that she'd already consumed.
After Jenna had finished this last plate, she finally sat back, her hands dropping down to rub at her stomach. She groaned, and then let out a little belch, startling everyone - including herself, it seemed.
"Sorry," she said reflexively, and then jumped a little, as she realized she'd spoken aloud.
"That's okay," Cheery jumped in quickly, before the moment could pass. "So, Jenna, are you feeling better now? Or is there something else you want, that you're hungry for?"
"I'm good." The words were quiet, barely audible even to Cain sitting right beside her, but she was speaking.
Cain looked as though he wanted to open his mouth, but the dyed blonde sent him another glare. Given that Cheery was still holding onto the frying pan, he wisely pulled his mouth shut once again.
Once she was sure that Cain wasn't about to ruin things, Cheery once again focused her attention on Jenna. "Now, Jenna, we have to ask," she said gently, leaning forward and making sure that she kept her eyes on Jenna's. "Do you remember how you got here?"
"I escaped." Once again, the thin woman was starting to shrink back on herself, pulling in like a turtle retreating into its shell. Those eyes, however, remained defiantly on Cheery, refusing to drop and look away.
"Escaped?" Cheery risked a glance at Cain. The man gave his head a subtle little shake. He couldn't think of anywhere nearby from which someone might escape - no jails, psychiatric facilities, anything like that.
Jenna nodded. "Yeah. From the van."
Another glance at Cain revealed that the Iron Skull was just as confused as Cheery. "The van? Where did this van come from?"
"It came from..." Jenna's voice trailed off, and Cheery saw the girl start to shake. "It came from, from, from someplace scary. I don't remember - but I won't go back! I'll die first!"
Tears were pouring down the girl's face, and she was shaking like a leaf in a storm. Cheery started to move around the counter to put her arms around the girl, just as much to catch her as to comfort her, but Cain was closer, and he beat her to it.
For a moment, as the biker's big arm settled around her, Jenna froze, every muscle in her body snapping and going tense. But then, a fraction of a second later, she collapsed in against Cain's side, sobbing and clinging furiously to the man.
"Shh," Cain murmured, keeping his arm around the weeping girl. But over Jenna's head, he shot a helpless, impotent glance at Cheery. This is all your fault, and I don't want to be dealing with it, that glance said, as clearly as if he'd spoken aloud. Help me out of this, or I'm going to find some way to push it back onto you.
"Dear, come here, it's okay," Cheery murmured, sliding her own arms in around Jenna, carefully tugging her away from Cain. "Here, I know what will help you feel better. How about a nice, hot shower? It will get some of that dirt off of you, out of your hair, and it always makes me feel way better."
Jenna was still sniffling, but she glanced up at Cheery. The whore knew that the girl was on the fence, so she pressed a little more. "And I've got some lovely shampoo that will make your hair feel amazing," she insisted, carefully lifting the girl up from her seat on her stool. "And I bet I can find some nice, clean clothes that will fit you. Brandy's probably about your size."
Cain, now that he was free of the girl's clutches, started to stand up, but Cheery fixed him in place with one last glare. "And you," she ordered, even as she started to lead Jenna out of the kitchen and towards the largest of the bathrooms.
"What?"
Cheery nodded towards the girl clutching her. "Figure out what the hell is going on," she told Cain. "I know you hate mysteries, but you'd better be the one to get to the bottom of this, unless you want this to become the normal state of affairs!"
For just a moment, Cheery wondered if she'd pushed too far. Cain didn't exactly have a short temper; it wasn't as if he angrily lashed out or got into fights. But beneath a very thin veneer of quiet thoughtfulness, the man was pure iron. Cheery had almost never heard him raise his voice, but when anyone pushed him too hard, he simply shut down and refused, and no amount of threats or cajoling could move him.
Even after years of living in the man's house, Cheery still sometimes wasn't sure that she knew where that line lay. And most of the time, she made sure to keep a safe distance, worried about how Cain might respond if she tried to push too hard.
Now, trying not to show any concern, she still held her breath as Cain frowned. Was he going to tell her no, to use that calm, scarily emotionless voice of his to order her to get her things and haul her ass out of his house?
But then, after what felt like an eternity, Cain dropped his eyes and nodded. Just once, briefly, but it was a nod nonetheless. "I'll see," he allowed.
"Thank you." Cheery really meant it.
Then, before Cain could add anything else, or her mouth could drop her into any more hot water, Cheery returned her attention back to the thin girl clinging to her side. "Now, let's see about getting you nice and clean," she said in her most optimistic voice to Jenna. "Come on, you'll feel so much better."
As it turned out, getting Jenna into the shower proved slightly tougher than Cheery had anticipated. The girl went into the bathroom willingly enough, but when Cheery turned to leave, Jenna panicked, lunging naked across the room to clutch at her waist.
"No, please don't leave," the girl pleaded, squeezing Cheery so tightly that the whore felt on the brink of passing out. "Please, they'll come and take me away. Please don't leave."
For a moment, Cheery felt speechless. But after a minute, she relented, patting the girl on her bare back.
"Okay, okay," she agreed. "You take a shower. I'll be sitting right here."
As the girl cautiously climbed into the shower, Cheery stared up at the ceiling. What in the world had this poor thing endured, to make her so scared? she wondered. And who did this to her?
Once again, the whore remembered those bruises that had covered the woman's body, including the signs of repeated trauma between her legs. Someone was going to pay for this, she promised herself once again.
And no matter how terrifying the girl's captors might be, Cheery was certain that Cain and the other Iron Skulls could be much worse.
Chapter six
After Cheery and her panicked charge had left the kitchen, Cain finally stood up, grunting as he felt the slight stiffness in his legs.
For a moment, he felt a growling anger towards Cheery. Who did that whore think she was, trying to give Cain orders? After he put her up in his own house, no less, and let her cater to the various Iron Skulls who went for her... services?
But then he remembered Jenna's panic, how the girl had shook like a leaf as she wrapped her arms around his chest and clung to him. Most people, intimidated either by his appearance or by his attitude, insisted on giving Cain the deference that he demanded.
He'd never had anyone cling to him like that before, as though he was the only life preserver in a violent, dangerous sea.
After a minute's thought, Cain strode out of the kitchen, out of his house and over to the large barn that stood beside it, just a few steps away. He pulled open the barn's front door with a grunt, and then stepped inside to the gleaming chrome beast that rested just within.
Throwing a leg over his motorcycle, Cain started the engine, and then let the machine run for a minute or so, just listening to the steady purr of the engine. Yeah, that was nice.
After the engine's initial throaty roar had settled down to a steady growl, Cain pulled on the throttle and rode the bike out of the barn, down along the dirt track that served as the driveway to his house. He drove slowly, keeping the bike in first gear, his eyes sweeping the sides of the road.
The heavy rain of the previous night had unfortunately
washed away any tracks that might be present, Cain soon saw. It wasn't until he had reached the end of his dirt and gravel driveway, where the road merged to the tarred country road that led into town, that he spotted a bare foot's imprint in the dirt.
Shifting the bike into neutral and dropping the kickstand, Cain stepped over to the footprint, crouching down to examine it. It looked about the right size, he thought. Too small to have come from a man - and what man would be walking around his property barefoot?
The footprint was angled in towards his driveway, but Cain could see the direction from which it had originated. He climbed back onto his bike, kicked up the stand, and began heading slowly down the country road in the direction from which Jenna had come.
About a half mile further down the road, he found his next clue. A pair of dark tire tracks slipped off the road, ending with a couple of divots in the gravel at the road's edge. It looked like a vehicle, perhaps a van, had slipped on the road, skidding off to one side before the driver managed to bring the vehicle to a screeching, squealing stop.
Of course, the van wasn't here now. But Cain still pulled his bike over to the side and climbed off of it once again, stepping over to examine the tracks.
He was about to turn away when something, down in the gravel, caught his eye. Something small, in amid the little pebbles, glinted up at him in the morning sun. Cain bent down, carefully picking up the small object.
It looked like a pin of some sort, he considered, turning it over in his hands. No, not a pin - a button. A silver button, with a five-pointed star standing out in relief. On the back of the button, a little bit of dark colored thread, black or navy blue, still clung to the loop by which it had once attached to some garment.
Cain stared down at the button in his hand for several seconds, thinking. He couldn't remember seeing any buttons like this before. He carefully slipped the button into the bottom of his pocket.
The biker looked around the area for several more minutes, but he couldn't see any other sign of the van that had once been here. "They could've dropped a business card or something," he grunted to himself, before returning back to his bike.
Back astride his Harley, Cain considered his next moves for a minute before kicking the chopper into gear. He couldn't see much else that he could accomplish around here. And besides, he suddenly remembered, he had a meeting with a couple of prospects, in town. Cain normally hated these sorts of meetings, but the officer who'd intended to take the meeting had come down with some sort of illness, and Cain had been the only other senior member available.
"Figures," he grunted, as he fired up the bike and headed into town.
Rolling into the small town nearest to his home, Cain received several casual, small nods from some of the locals as he passed by. Most of them knew the biker by sight, if not by name or conversation. Cain preferred things that way - no reason for any of the civilians to get too close or chatty.
Talley's, the tavern that the Iron Skulls had claimed as their own, was open as usual - although that fact was indicated only by a single reddish light bulb turned on outside the club's wooden door. Cain noted with approval that a couple of bikes were already parked outside. He pulled his own up alongside them, turned it off, and stepped inside.
Of course, inside, it wasn't hard to spot the new prospects. They were clustered together at one end of the bar, simultaneously trying to look tough, while at the same time shrinking back ever so slightly from the other bikers in the bar.
Glancing around, Cain recognized a couple Bloody Bruisers, wearing their jackets with their insignia of blood-red patches. A trucker was in one corner; he wasn't a gang member, but as a fellow traverser of the road, he felt as though he had some right to be there, and besides, there were very few people who would tangle with a redneck well over six feet tall and weighing in at close to four hundred pounds.
Still, it didn't matter much. The Bruisers knew not to cause trouble - this bar belonged to the Skulls, and they had thoroughly kicked the asses of the last group of bikers foolish enough to challenge that assumption.
Cain crossed to the prospects, glaring at them as he approached. "So," he growled, "you lot are the newest sorry bunch of losers who think they're worthy of joining the Iron Skulls."
One of the young men started to speak up, but the angry expression on Cain's face made him fall silent, the words dying away half-spoken. Instead, he just nodded mutely, along with the rest of the prospects.
Cain sighed, reaching up and rubbing at his face. He hated having to deal with this stuff. He'd served his time in the ranks, running various illegal items and substances, drinking and getting high and breaking the rules with the other members of the Skulls. Now, the thought of diving back into gang life just made him feel tired.
"So, you've already made it this far, you've had someone from the Skulls speak up for you," he announced, running his eyes over the assembled young men. "But now that you're prospects, that doesn't mean shit. Understand? If you want to become initiates, and hopefully even join us and wear our signs, you're gonna have to do everything right from here on out."
He leveled a finger at the men, who shrank away from its tip as though it was a flamethrower. "You fuck something up? You're out of here," he reiterated.
The men nodded quickly, and one of them in the front, perhaps the leader, finally spoke up. "What do we have to do next?" he asked.
Cain had the answer ready. The officer who'd originally been about to handle this meeting had at least passed on that information. "There's a semi truck parked out back," he commented, not bothering to keep his voice down. "And the back of it's got, along with some rather shitty car stereos, several kilo bricks of weed."
Out of the corner of his eye, Cain saw the hefty truck driver in the corner come lunging up out of his seat, rage glowing incandescent in his eyes. He lunged across the room for Cain, his fists balled up like a pair of Christmas hams.
Cain waited until the man was almost upon him, and then spun around, his own hand coming up in an arc. He ducked under the trucker's blow and slammed his own fist into the man's gut, doubling him over as he knocked the air from the fellow's lungs.
Without pausing, Cain slammed an elbow down on the man's upper back, right where his shoulders came together. With a sound rather like a steak being thrown against a stone wall, the trucker dropped to the floor. His mouth flopped open, but only a soft bubbling sound came out.
Stepping over the trucker's prone figure, Cain glanced once again at the prospects, most of whom were staring with open mouths. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked, letting a note of anger color his voice. "If you don't show up at the meeting tonight with one of those bricks in your hands, you're out."
He watched with a sigh as the men scrambled for the bar's back entrance.
Chapter seven
Once the prospects were gone, off on their errand, Cain turned and headed out of the bar, pointing his Harley back towards his house. If the trucker woke up before the prospects had collected their entry token for tonight's Iron Skull meeting, well, they'd just have to find a way to deal with the man.
Cain sighed, shaking his head a little. He really disliked getting involved in this sort of stuff for the club, especially when it pertained to drugs. Once, when he was younger, he wouldn't have hesitated to indulge, maybe even taking some for himself.
Now, however, the thought of drugs, like so many things, made him feel tired.
Feeling the handlebars of his motorcycle rumble gently in his hands as it rode over the cracks in the road, Cain reflected slightly ruefully on his situation. He felt a bit like a man who, having completed his mission, now had no other cause to motivate him in life.
He'd grown close to the Iron Skulls for years, had helped them build up their organization into a true motorcycle club, a proud member of the one percenters. There wasn't a man in the Skulls who wouldn't choose to lay down his life to help Cain, to stand together.
Cain had a house, now. He had a fine bik
e, as well as another half-disassembled Harley in the garage that he'd been working to restore. Thanks to his opening the doors of his home, making use of the extra bedrooms, he had no shortage of female companions should he want someone to share his bed, although he seemed to feel those urges less and less frequently these days.
Most men would be thrilled with his circumstances, with the details of his life.
Yet for Cain, he felt little more than a mildly distant form of caring. It all seemed so unimportant. He felt as though he was missing something, but he just couldn't put a finger on what that might be.
He pulled up at the barn, carefully steering the bike back inside, out of the grasp of the elements. But as he cut the engine, he suddenly heard a high-pitched, shrill sound come from the house.
A woman was screaming.
Moving almost without thought, Cain leapt off the bike, wrenching the key out of the ignition as he hopped off. He sprinted out through the barn's open doors, not bothering to drag them closed as he ran for the house.
He burst through the front door of the house, staring around. One of his hands reached out for the baseball bat that he always kept standing right up against the corner in the front hall, in case of an intruder.
However, Cain was most definitely not prepared for the figure that rushed at him, letting out another shrieking scream.
In the instant before the figure collided with him, Cain recognized Jenna's face, looking cleaner and wetter than when he'd last seen it, but with eyes wide with fright. Before he could observe anything more, however, Jenna ran headlong into him, colliding damply with his chest and knocking him backwards off his feet.
Cain instinctively threw his arms around the woman as they both fell backwards, tightening down so that she hit his chest and he absorbed the hard impact with the house's front porch behind the open front door. The hit knocked the wind out of him, doubly so when the woman came down on top of his chest.
CHAINED: A Motorcycle Club Romance Page 3
