I need out. I want to run. But I’m stuck, staring my mortality in the hooded face as it silently mocks me from the shadows. Mercy is not a word often used in the one percent world. There are rules. Strict codes of conduct. Hard lines that aren’t crossed in order to protect the club.
I represent a loose end. A thread that, if pulled, would unravel all manner of mess over their pristine floors.
I need to be cut off. Removed.
I’m in way over my head.Fuck you, Dad.
“How about we take a walk?” Fang’s voice is soft, soothing.
A fateful lie.
I open my mouth to protest, yet get cut short when Jezabel steps out of the house onto the porch. “Molly’s having a bath and going to bed, Fang.”
He nods, a slight tightness to the corner of his eyes that almost resembles regret. “Tell her I’ll come say goodnight when I’m done here.”
Jezabel’s gaze drifts over me. “She might be asleep by then.”
“I’ll risk it.”
The woman nods and returns indoors to tend to his child. “Is she related to you?”
He snorts. “Why would you think that?”
“Because she takes care of your daughter.”
“She’s property, Jenna. She does what the club needs her to.”
Property.Yet another slap in the face to wake me up to the reality—they’re all the same. The Kings of Anarchy may not traffick women, as far as I know, but they still treat females the same: as something to be used, not respected.
“Walk, Freckles.” Fang starts down the driveway, boldly expecting me to follow.
I eye the grain field beyond the house, measure the distance to the road, and count the obstacles in my mind.You’ll never make it.Even if I did get to the road, where would I go then? I have two tired feet. They have two wheels.Damn it.I start after the man, noticing how he slows his pace so I can catch up.
“What happened to Mary-Beth, Jenna?” he asks, staring straight ahead. “You didn’t tell methatearlier.”
I glance up at the man as he moves. At his stubbled jaw, the strong cords of his neck painted with ink. At the soft fall of his black hair. The piercings that highlight the gentle curve of his bottom lip.
I want to kiss him again, if only to escape this nauseating dread.I’m ruined.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “It won’t change anything.”
“But it will.” He tugs a Zippo lighter out of his pocket and fidgets with the lid as he talks, flicking it open and then closed repeatedly. “You told me she’s a daughter of the Blood Eagles. Who?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“Because Chaos would like to reach out to her father.”
“You told him what I said?” I stop walking, head spinning. “Why?” How many times in one day can I fear imminent death?Apparently a lot.
“Because that’s what we do: share things that affect the club.” He pauses. “It’s not your concern.”
“I think it is.”
Fang pauses once he realizes I no longer follow, turning to face me. “How did she die, Jenna?”
“Her lungs stopped working.”
His gaze hardens, evident even by moonlight.
