His eyes don’t leave mine. “It’s a property cut. You need to put it on.”
My expression closes down completely. It feels like I’ve been doused with cold water. I know exactly what a property cut is. I’ve seen old ladies preen in them, club girls beg for them, and brothers use them as proof of ownership over their women. My father’s world taught me all about property cuts before I was old enough to understand why they made my skin crawl.
“No,” I tell him sternly. “I already told you I was running away from one forced marriage. What makes you think I want another? Absolutely not. I’m not your old lady and I’m not wearing your cut.”
Jinx doesn’t move any closer. “Hear me out, Nora. This isn’t ownership or romance.”
“I don’t care. I said no.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend. “I am not wearing something that tells every man in this club and the outside world that I belong to you.”
His face tightens. “You don’t understand. In my world, this is armor. It’s gonna protect you.”
I like Jinx but I’m not falling for his bullshit. “Men always have pretty words and justifications but in the end a property cut means ownership. It’s written right there on the back, ‘Property of Jinx’.”
He looks down at the brown paper package and then rips the paper off. I see what he’s offering for the first time. It’s high-quality leather. I can tell by the smell alone. He shakes it out, so I can see his name on the back. Something primal stirs in my very soul. If we were madly in love, and I could set aside the ownership thing, maybe wearing his property cut would make sense. But we’re not in love, so it doesn’t.
“You need protection, both inside the walls of this club and in the community. As long as you’re wearing my cut, no man with an ounce of common sense will touch you. This cut obligates every single man in this club and all our affiliate clubs throughout California to come to your aid if you’re in danger. That’s several thousand men, Nora. And not even your father would dare touch you while you’re wearing my cut. If he did, it would be a declaration of war with every Sons of Rage charter in the state. Even he wouldn’t be that reckless.”
“You clearly don’t know my father very well,” I shoot back.
“Maybe I don’t. But here’s another piece of this fucked up puzzle that you need to think about. Wearing my cut gives youstanding. If you refuse and your father gets his hands on you, my club brothers will help get you back because they’re my friends. But I wouldn’t have the authority to raise brothers from all our affiliate clubs. They’ll fight, risk their lives and die to protect an old lady in one of our cuts, but not personal friends, girls we like or…”
When he hesitates, I finish the sentence, “Or one-night stands, like me. Right?”
He doesn’t come right out and agree. Instead, he simply states, “There’s a difference between a cage and a shield.”
I hate that some scared, exhausted part of me wants to reach for the cut because he’s not lying about the protection it bestows on me. I grew up in a clubhouse. I know how things work. A woman can be invisible, available, protected, or targeted depending on what is on her back. A property cut isn’t just a cool leather fashion accessory. It’s a system, coded symbols brothers understand without having to think too hard about it.
He lays it on the banister of the porch and steps back. “It’s your choice, Nora. Wear it if you want the protection it offers. Leave it there if you don’t. You’re right about one thing. Some decisions a person has to make for themselves. I won’t force it on you.”
I look at the cut, and a little sliver of longing rises in my heart. Black leather gleams in the sunlight. The stitching is immaculate. The sight of the Sons of Rage patch on the back and the scripted Property of Jinx embroidery is beautiful. I shouldn’t want to wear his cut.
“I don’t want you unprotected here. But I like you, so I don’t want you to be just another man telling me what to do.”
“I won’t be,” Jinx assures me bluntly.
“As long as you understand that wearing this doesn’t mean you own me, regardless of what’s written on the back.”
His voice drops. “Sweetness, if you wear my name on your back, I’m gonna feel a certain kind of way about it. I’d be lying to you if I said otherwise. But no, it won’t mean I own you.”
“I’m not anyone’s property,” I whisper, before sliding my arms into it. The weight settles over my shoulders.
Jinx looks over the cut first. Then his eyes rise to look at mine. An expression flickers across his face, and he doesn’t speak or move for a full minute. His eyes darken with an intensity that takes my breath away. I can almost see the possessiveness rising in his mind, powerful and raw, before he shoves it down again.
That’s when I realize that protectiveness and possessiveness are too closely related to separate in his mind when he sees me wearing his cut. This is exactly what he meant by feeling some kind of way.
He finally asks, “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes. Once I make a decision, I don’t torture myself with self-doubt.”
“We all second guess ourselves. You can lie to yourself if you need to. Don’t lie to me.”
A shaky laugh slips out. “Telling me not to lie to you is rich, considering that you told me your name was Jake.”
His expression goes blank. “That wasn’t a lie. Jake is my name.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You didn’t give me your last name either, Nora Rivers.”
