Jailbait (Southern Rebels MC Book 1)

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Jailbait (Southern Rebels MC Book 1) Page 10

by Kristin Coley


  “My room’s that way,” I said, pointing to the left. “Mom’s room was over here.” I indicated the short hallway on my right. “What I want is in her room.” I headed that way, coming up short when Creed caught my arm.

  “There’s nothing you want in your room?” He questioned and I shrugged.

  “Clothes?” Truthfully, the stuff Creed had bought me was nicer than most of what I’d had. “There are some books on the shelf by my bed,” I mentioned, “I’d like those.” It was rare we could afford to buy books, mostly going to the library so I could borrow them, but there were a few favorites Mom had bought me over the years.

  “A’ight, we’ll grab them and anything else we see,” Creed agreed. “Shout if you need us.” He seemed to understand I didn’t want an audience when I went into my mom’s room and I nodded gratefully.

  “I will,” I promised, swallowing hard. He and Deacon went to the left as I steeled myself to enter Mom’s room. Flashes of the day we’d left ran through my mind. Shouting and curses, panicked thoughts, and the mad rush to get away before he came back.

  The door clicked open and as I inhaled, tears pricked my eyes. It smelled like her and if I closed my eyes I could almost imagine she was still there. I stepped inside, seeing the unmade bed, the shirt she kept intending to iron, and the cluttered nightstand. I found myself next to the nightstand picking up her favorite bottle of lotion instead of going to the closet. I snapped the top open and breathed the familiar scent. I closed my eyes to stop the flow of tears, knowing they were pointless, but it didn’t stop me from slipping the lotion into my pocket as I moved to the closet.

  I shoved her clothes to the side, pushing on my tiptoes as I reached blindly into the corner of the little closet. I panicked for a second when I didn’t feel it, but finally my hand settled on top of cool leather.

  I tugged it down, hugging it to my chest in relief as I inhaled the familiar leather scent. For the first time though, it didn’t remind me of my father, but instead of Creed. I buried my head further in the jacket, inhaling even deeper, but memories of Creed continued to override the faint recollections I had of my father. The jacket was the only thing I had left of my Dad, the only thing my mother hadn’t destroyed or thrown away in her grief. It was the only thing I had to remember him by since not even a picture of him remained.

  I shut the closet, leaving my mom’s stuff behind as I tucked the jacket over my arm, and went to find Creed. I headed to my room, but Deacon blocked the door.

  “Creed,” he called over his shoulder, not allowing me past him.

  “What is it?” I questioned, trying to peek around him.

  “Nothing,” Creed said brusquely, squeezing past Deacon and making sure I couldn’t see into the room. “We should go. You got what you wanted?”

  I nodded, resisting when he tried to move me down the hall. “What is it?” I repeated, suddenly worried. “Creed,” I added sharply.

  “You shouldn’t have to see that,” Creed replied, his face tight. “No one should see that.” Deacon agreed, looking disgusted by whatever he saw in my room, but moved aside so I could see.

  “Oh my God,” I murmured, my eyes widening as I took in the chaos that was my room.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t leave it like that?” Deacon asked and I shook my head. My books had been torn and shredded, my clothes tossed, and my underwear piled on the bed. I stepped forward, seeing something crusted on my underwear but Creed caught my arm and prevented me from going further.

  “You really don’t want to touch that,” he warned, his voice a menacing growl. “Trust me, you don’t want anything in here.”

  “Okay,” I said faintly, stepping back and into Creed’s chest. My mind scrambled to process the ransacked space and the fact that it was the only room in the trailer that had been touched. “What is…it?” I pointed to my underwear and Creed jerked me out of the room.

  “We need to go,” Creed said instead, jerking his head to Deacon. “He’ll be back if he doesn’t already have someone watching the place.”

  I didn’t need to ask who he was, shuddering at the thought of him coming back and doing something to my room, to my underwear. We made it to the porch, stepping down when Mr. White came up in his golf cart, his stupid yippee dog riding next to him.

  “What are you doing here?” He yelled, poking his finger at us. “This is private property.”

  “I live here,” I snapped back, stepping up next to Creed. “I came to get my stuff.”

  “You have some nerve showing your face around here,” he shouted, waving his arm at me. “Your momma owes me money. You can’t take nothing from in there.”

  I hugged the jacket to my chest, daring him to try and take it from me. Creed stepped in front of me as Deacon crossed his arms next to us, drawing Mr. White’s attention to the two men.

  “I’m going to call the police,” he threatened, ducking back into his golf cart as his little white dog barked. “You leave that stuff or I’m gonna have you arrested for theft.”

  “I don’t think so,” Creed snarled, his boots thudding down the steps as Deacon ushered me down behind him. “She can take whatever she wants.” He stopped right in front of the cowering man. “Someone has already been in there. Was it you?”

  Mr. White shook his head, trying to back up, but Creed continued to crowd him.

  “I think you were or at least you know who was in there,” Creed rumbled, any hint of the caring guy I knew shed in an instant as he lived up to his reputation. Deacon nudged me toward the truck and I went, stumbling as I tried to hear what Creed was asking him.

  “Come on,” Deacon opened the door, lifting me inside. “We need to be ready to roll.” Something distracted him and he shouted, “We gotta ride.” His words set Creed in motion as Deacon slammed the truck door closed and I craned my neck to see what had caught his attention. Creed jumped in, starting the truck with a roar.

  “Is there another exit besides the one we came in?” He asked urgently and I nodded, pointing to the dumpster.

  “Behind the dumpster there’s a dirt road that connects to the main road. Most people avoid it because of the pot holes.” Creed was already gunning the engine as Deacon stayed on his tail, gravel flying, and when I glanced back I saw what had made them move. Flashing blue lights were just turning into the mobile home park, but it was the sight of the black town car that froze my blood.

  I twisted back around, suddenly terrified we’d be run off the road and Creed would be killed. “Your seatbelt,” I said frantically, reaching for him. He tugged it over his chest, keeping the truck steady even as he sped toward the road. He released it, letting me lock it into place, as my breath came in shuddering gasps.

  My own seatbelt locked as he tapped the brakes, spinning onto the dirt road. I gasped as the seatbelt bit into my bruised side and his arm shot in front of me to keep me from going forward.

  “He won’t touch you,” Creed swore, checking the rearview mirror to make sure Deacon followed. “We won’t let him.”

  “Why is he here?” I cried, clenching my hands around Dad’s jacket. “Hasn’t he done enough?”

  “He won’t stop until he has you,” Creed snarled, observing my reaction with a sideways glance. “He’s obsessed.”

  “How do I stop him?” My voice wavered embarrassingly and he reached over, grasping my hand.

  “You don’t,” he corrected. “I’ll take care of him.” His tone left no doubt what he meant by take care of and the idea should have terrified me as much as Grant’s pursuit, but it didn’t.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” I whispered, my eyes closing as he accelerated, the memory of my mom doing the same thing washing over me. “Why are you doing this?”

  His fingers tightened around my own and I wanted to tell him he should put both hands on the wheel, but I couldn’t bear to lose his touch. “Because I can’t not do this,” he finally answered, the words almost inaudible, as we rocketed down the dirt road, our fingers knotted togeth
er.

  ***

  “You see anything?” Creed questioned Deacon when we finally stopped.

  “Nah, nothing useful,” Deacon answered, tapping out a cigarette and offering it to Creed. He accepted, lighting it and then positioning his hand so the smoke didn’t blow toward me. “They didn’t follow us, but I couldn’t make out plates or anything else.” Deacon nodded at me. “Figured she was our priority.”

  Creed tilted his head in agreement as Deacon blew smoke out the side of his mouth. “She is. We’ll get our chance at him,” Creed replied confidently. “Until then, Jailbait’s safety is my number one.”

  Deacon nodded, seeming unsurprised by the statement, and I lifted my hand, waving it at them. “Hello? I’m right here and I don’t agree.” I crossed my arms over my chest once I had their attention and they both gave me blank stares. “I’m not that important. I don’t want either of you risking your lives to save me or protect me.” Creed lifted an eyebrow, unimpressed, and I huffed. “Look, my mom talked about Grant, said he was important.” I glanced between them. “I don’t want him to cause trouble for you or the club. You’ve helped me more than I ever could have asked.” I sucked in a deep breath, forcing the next words out. “You should leave me here. I can find my own way and y’all don’t have to worry about Grant.”

  “Do we look worried about Grant?” Creed questioned, bending down to meet my eyes, his fingers flicking the ashes of his cigarette without ever glancing away from me. I shook my head. “You don’t need to worry about us. We good.”

  “Ain’t no fat, white boy ever scared me,” Deacon chortled, white teeth flashing against dark skin. “Well, I take that back now. I wouldn’t want to get on Hank’s bad side. That motherfucker could crush me.”

  Creed chuckled, flashing him a look of agreement, and I stomped my foot impotently, drawing their attention once again. “What if he hurts one of you or causes trouble for the club? Hmmm? Johnny would be pissed.”

  “You’re club,” Creed responded, crushing the cigarette and flicking the stub into the back of the truck bed. “We voted.” I opened my mouth but he kept talking. “That means you have our protection no matter what and Johnny understands that.” His eyes drilled into mine. “Now, I don’t want to hear you talking about leaving or us leaving you again. That’s not how it works, got me?”

  Deacon had stepped back, giving us privacy, I noticed gratefully as I tried to form words under Creed’s gaze. “I’m not worth it,” I choked out, caving under his hard stare.

  “Not your decision,” Creed replied, his mouth softening slightly as he brushed his thumb along my cheekbone. “Now, you ever gonna show me what was so important it was the only thing you wanted?”

  I blinked at the change in subject and Deacon glanced over, his gaze curious. “Um, my Dad’s jacket,” I replied, going to the truck and pulling out the worn black leather. “It’s the only thing I have left of him.” I shook it out, showing them the old jacket, creased by time and wear.

  Deacon whistled at the sight of it as Creed positioned it so he could see the design on the back. “Your dad was club?” I nodded, having memorized the club emblem years ago. “I ain’t seen one of these in a decade or more.” Creed fingered the fierce eagle, taking in the talons curled around a set of handlebars, and the words stitched across the wings. “A flying eagle, I’ll be damned. Johnny gonna shit himself when he sees this.”

  I pulled the jacket back toward me protectively. “What do you mean?” Creed released it, shaking his head as he grinned at me.

  “It’s not bad,” he promised. “Not everything about Johnny is bad,” he informed me and I gave him a doubtful stare. “Really,” he reiterated, holding his fingers up as he said, “Scout’s honor.”

  “Somehow, I doubt you were ever a Scout,” I replied, my lips twitching as Deacon doubled over with laughter. “Why would Johnny care about my Dad’s old jacket anyway?”

  “Cause Johnny’s Dad was a Flying Eagle,” Creed answered, smirking at my surprise. “Yep, your Dad was in the same club as Johnny’s Dad.” His smile faded as he continued, “Johnny don’t talk about his old man much, but he was the reason Johnny and my Dad formed the Rebels.”

  “I would have thought Johnny would have be an Eagle like his Dad,” I commented, and Deacon’s gaze flickered to Creed, clearly thinking the same thing.

  Creed’s expression changed, growing uncomfortable as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Johnny wasn’t allowed to become an Eagle,” he admitted reluctantly. “The club refused to take any new prospects.”

  “Why?” I asked, my curiosity piqued by Creed’s vagueness. Mom never talked about Dad and I’d been so young when he died, I didn’t remember much. This was the closest I’d ever come to finding out about my Dad’s life and I didn’t plan to let it go.

  Creed exhaled, seeming to understand my need to know. “They considered themselves cursed,” he answered bluntly. “The club had a string of accidents and bad luck which killed several members. Members became paranoid and they stopped allowing prospects.”

  “You don’t think they were cursed,” I stated, taking in his stance as he spoke.

  “I don’t know,” he finally answered. “They believed.” His gaze flickered over me. “And there’s no denying they suffered losses.”

  “My Dad couldn’t have been any older than Johnny,” I persisted. “Why was he a member and not Johnny?”

  Creed shrugged as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. All I know is what Johnny told me on nights he drank more than he should. You want to know more –”

  “Talk to Johnny,” I concluded and he nodded sympathetically. “I will,” I promised, hitching the soft leather over my arm. “I need to know what happened. What my mom never wanted to tell me.”

  Creed rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know how much Johnny would know about your Dad, but he kept in touch with the Flying Eagles. If any of them are left, he might be able to get you in contact.” He gave me a cautious glance. “If you can get Johnny to talk to you about it. Those aren’t happy memories for him.”

  I forced a grim smile. “You said he has a soft spot for teenage girls. Hopefully that will be a start.” Creed eyed me with something resembling respect and I felt myself straighten in pride. I didn’t want to be a scared, little girl, not if I intended to stay, and I was starting to realize that’s exactly what I wanted. To stay with Creed and this motley crew.

  “Did you want to go back for a look see?” Deacon interrupted my thoughts and my gaze shot to Creed to see what his answer would be.

  He shook his head. “Nah, don’t want to risk it. Besides, we can shake it out of the owner. It was no coincidence they showed up minutes after we did.”

  “With cops,” Deacon grumbled, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out. “He’s got friends.”

  “So do we,” Creed responded grimly, a dark smile on his face as he gestured for me to get back in the truck. “So do we.”

  ***

  “Son of a bitch.”

  I jerked awake, my head awkwardly caught on the seatbelt as I felt the truck skid to a stop, Creed cursing as he jumped out, leaving the motor running and me in the truck. I craned my neck trying to see what had caused his reaction as Deacon rumbled to a stop next to the idling truck.

  “Stay in the truck,” he barked, swinging his leg over the bike and slipping a gun into the back of his jeans.

  “What’s going on?” Deacon just shook his head at my question, hurrying after Creed with an exasperated expression. “Okay, don’t answer me,” I muttered to myself as I looked around. We were on a back road in the middle of nowhere I recognized, stopped in the middle of the road in front of a crappy old house with a couple of rusted out cars sitting on cinder blocks.

  A flicker of motion caught my eye and I pressed my nose to the window to get a better look. I gasped when I realized what I was seeing, and scrambled from the truck. I jumped the low ditch separating the road and house and made my way ove
r to the dog chained in the hot sun.

  Scars covered the dog’s face and one ear was partially missing as it laid in the dirt. If it hadn’t been for that single flicker of movement, I would assume it was dead. As I slowly crept closer with no sign of life, I started to wonder if maybe I’d imagined the movement and the dog really was dead.

  “Hi,” I whispered, creeping closer and hoping it was friendly. I noticed it was a girl when I came around the side and said, “Hey girl.” She didn’t move, too tired or too far gone to bother, and I felt my throat tighten with tears. I could count her ribs and the heavy chain around her throat limited her motion. I wasn’t sure she could even lift her head from the weight. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to help you,” I murmured softly, steadily getting closer as I spoke to her. “You look hungry and thirsty.” Her chest rose slightly and I let out a relieved sigh at the sign of life. “You’re alive! Good. You can come home with me. I’ll take care of you.” I didn’t stop to think about the fact that I didn’t have a home or if Creed would allow me to bring her, I just knew I couldn’t leave her there to die, and that’s exactly what would happen.

  I reached down to stroke her side and when my hand touched her, she twisted, her jaws snapping at my hand. I jerked away, heart hammering, as I held still. She settled after a second, her energy sapped, and I whispered soothing nonsense as I tried again to touch her. This time she let me, her eyes guarded as she watched me carefully. I kept my movements slow, petting her gently until her head dropped and she let out a sigh.

  The sound of banging came from behind the house where Creed and Deacon had disappeared and I spared a glance over my shoulder, wondering what they were doing. I still wasn’t sure why we’d stopped, but I had already decided Maisy was coming home with us.

  “Maisy,” her eye cracked open when I said her name and I smiled. I had no idea what her name actually was but it was enough that she’d looked at me when I said it. “You like the name, Maisy?” I asked, stroking her gently and she pushed her nose into my hand. “Yeah, I think you do, sweet girl.”

 

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