“No,” I replied.“But I recognize institutional damage when I see it.”I hiked my thumb over my shoulder to the clubhouse.“I’ve been very involved in my brother’s life.Before and after he went away.Knight wasn’t in prison nearly as long as you, and he came out different.”I shrugged.“I read up.Tried to understand what was going on in his mind.I never really figured it out, but I did find ways for me to change my behavior so he’d be more comfortable.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.“That right?”he said, his tone flat.He wiped his hands on a shop rag, his movements precise.“You got a psychology degree to go with whatever else you do?”
I smiled slightly.“No degree.Just tried to help my brother and apply those same alterations to my behavior when I was here until everyone got used to me.”I gestured to the bike with my free hand.“She’s beautiful.Knight mentioned they kept her for you.”
The change of subject seemed to throw him, if only for a fraction of a second.He glanced back at the motorcycle, and something in his expression softened minutely.
“Didn’t expect that,” he admitted, running his hand along the fuel tank with unexpected gentleness.“Thought she’d been sold off years ago.”
“The club takes care of its own,” I said, echoing what I’d heard countless times from Knight.“Even when its own can’t be here to take care of their stuff.”
Jag’s eyes returned to me, studying me with renewed intensity.I met his gaze steadily, neither challenging nor submissive.Just present.His discomfort at my perceptiveness was visible only in the slight tightening around his eyes, but I didn’t look away or apologize for seeing him clearly.
“Wasn’t always like that.Not when I went away.”He glanced off, his features hardening.
I could tell this wasn’t a subject he was ready for and, honestly, not my business.Instead of making him more uncomfortable I gave him a gentle smile.“See you around, Jag,” I said, taking a step back.“Take care of that bike.”
He didn’t respond verbally, but I felt his attention follow me as I walked away.The weight of his gaze on my back was tangible, like the heat from a fire at a distance.Not burning exactly, but unmistakably present.
At my car, I glanced back over my shoulder.He was still watching me, his posture rigid, expression unreadable.Our eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, neither of us looked away.Then I slid into my car and started the engine.
As I pulled out of the compound, I checked my rearview mirror.Jag remained motionless beside his motorcycle, tracking my departure with that same intense focus.Something about our brief interaction left me unsettled yet strangely energized.Most men at the compound were easy to read.Jag was different.
I’d always been good at reading people.It was both a gift and a curse.But Jagger Kross was a book written in a language I only partially understood, with entire chapters redacted.And despite my brother’s warning, I found myself curious to learn more.
Chapter Three
Jag
The road stretched ahead of me like freedom itself, my bike eating up asphalt as Nashville faded in my rearview.Two weeks out of the compound and I already felt more like myself than I had in thirty-seven fucking years.Hell, I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be free.Having had a taste of it now, I knew I’d die before I ever went back to prison again.
The engine rumbled between my legs, vibrations traveling up through my bones like a forgotten language my body suddenly remembered.Wind slapped against my face, stinging and beautiful.
The late afternoon sun baked the tar, sending waves of heat rippling upward.Sweat trickled down my back under the leather jacket.The road curved gently through patches of woodland and open fields.No particular destination in mind.Just riding to remember how.The road wasn’t isolated.In fact, there were several businesses in the area, but one side of the highway held a tree line.It was well away from the road but it still gave me an uncomfortable feeling.Anything could be lying in wait and there was every possibility I wouldn’t know until the threat was on me.
A flash of metal caught my eye around the next bend.A car pulled over on the shoulder, hazard lights blinking weakly against the glare of sunlight.My first instinct was to keep going.Not my problem.Then I recognized the dark blue Taurus.Knight’s sister’s vehicle.
I slowed and moved toward the shoulder behind her car.Ada crouched by the rear wheel, struggling with a car jack that kept slipping on the uneven ground.Before dismounting, I scanned the surroundings again out of habit, finding the road empty.Woods lined the opposite side of the road, thicker than I’d realized from a distance.A ravine ran along this side, shallow enough that her car wasn’t in danger, but steep enough to make changing a tire a bitch.
That’s when I saw it.A figure at the tree line, partially hidden by undergrowth.Something about the silhouette, the way the shoulders hunched forward, sparked recognition.Reminded me of someone from before.Someone who should’ve been long gone.
I kept my eyes on the tree line as I killed the engine and dismounted.Helmets weren’t mandatory in Tennessee, but I wore one anyway.I had no intention of giving anyone a reason to come after me if I could avoid it.I pulled it off, hanging the helmet from the handlebar, keeping the figure in my peripheral vision as I approached Ada.
She looked up at the sound of my boots on gravel, surprise flashing across her face.Not fear.Interesting.
“Jag,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, leaving a smudge of dirt across her cheek.“What are you doing out here?”
I glanced again at the tree line.The figure hadn’t moved.Watching us.
“Saw you had a flat,” I said, crouching beside her.My eyes flickered between her and the figure across the road.“Jack’s not set right.”
“Yeah, I figured that out after the third time it slipped.”She sat back on her heels, brushing her hands against her jeans.“Never been great at this part.I can handle most basic car maintenance, but I always hated changing tires.”She looked up at me, shielding her eyes from the sun and grinning at me.“Or attempting to, anyway.”
I took the jack from her hands, our fingers brushing momentarily.The brief contact jolted through me like an electrical current.Touch starvation.Another prison souvenir.I focused on the task at hand.“Ground’s uneven.”I dug into the gravel with my hands, creating a flatter surface.“Need something solid under it.”
Ada reached into the car and pulled out a small roadside emergency kit.“Would this help?”She handed me a flat piece of plastic meant for exactly this purpose.
Smart woman.I nodded, positioning the plastic and resetting the jack.The whole time, I kept the tree line in my field of vision.The figure had shifted slightly, moving deeper into shadow.
