Jax

by Cristin Harber

  Why wasn't he in prison? "What are you doing here?"

  Her dad sauntered forward with a bastard's grin and mischievous eyes. "My little girl."

  "Don't call me that." She'd rather they were on a first-name basis—or a no-contact one. "You're not allowed here."

  "That's what they say." His forehead furrowed as his scrutiny became a visible inspection. "You are…"

  Adelia squeezed her fingers around Seven's hand again, offering more reassurance.

  "Colorful," he finally added.

  Seven wasn't sure if Adelia had ever met her dad in person. She couldn't recall the last time she had seen him. Sentencing when his lawyer had trotted her out for sympathy points, maybe. But he had years left before he could even hope to be paroled. How many years had it been? Six? Maybe, she didn't know. "I am colorful."

  "You look good, Lucky. Grown up a lot."

  Lucky. Her stomach churned, and Seven fought the nausea that came with his nickname, bad memories, and childhood panic attacks. "Don't call me that."

  He reached out as though he were going to touch her chin.

  "Don't touch—"

  Adelia stepped in front of Seven. "Like hell."

  Her dad smirked. "And who is this Latin beauty? Holding hands, defending her?" He inched his obtrusive hand back. "Did my lucky girl turn into a dyke?"

  Seven's molars ground, and a headache pulsed at her temples. Engaging with Cullen Blackburn was an exercise in stupidity, but so was avoiding his behavior. "Find your respect for the MC. This is Tex's daughter." Still holding onto Adelia's hand, Seven squeezed back. "I've got him. Will you go to my mom? Make sure she's okay?"

  "Sure thing." Adelia took off for Taini, and the added benefit of sending her back to Mom's room was Adelia was like a soldier. Who knew why Seven's dad was there? But if all hell broke loose, Adelia could hold her own protecting Taini while they flagged Mayhem for backup.

  Cullen cackled once she was gone. But they were not alone. The nursing home staff, including orderlies, lingered close. Her dad must've been quite the problem.

  "Just you and me, kid, like old times."

  Nothing would ever be like old times. "Did you break out of prison?"

  His greedy grin curled onto his whisker-covered cheeks. "You don't think very highly of your pops, huh?"

  "Go back to whatever hole you came from."

  "Guess that's a no."

  She sneered. "If they won't let you back into federal lockup, find a new hole."

  He sucked his cheeks and tilted his head. "There'd be a lot of people pissed off if they heard you talking to me like that, Lucky."

  Inside, she seethed, but Seven contained the gut-tearing scream. "Stop calling me Lucky."

  He pulled a pack of smokes from his back pocket, tapped out a cigarette, and stuck it behind his ear. "I dunno what Mayhem and Suarez have gotten themselves into, but there are many people unhappy with decisions lately." He pocketed the box as Seven's blood ran cold. "But it worked out well for me. You got me sprung."

  She couldn't swallow past the knot in her throat. The feds had let him out? What? The CIA— "Do you know Deacon Lanes?"

  His eyebrows bounced. "Doesn't matter who I know, just what I'm supposed to do."

  "Stay away from us. The club. Go back."

  "And just when I thought it'd be a good time to work on our family relations."

  It was the CIA and Deacon. They had done this. The government really was working against Hawke and wanted Mayhem to control the US cocaine distribution, and there was nothing she could do.

  Mayhem was ruining her world. Johnny was coked out, speedballing meth, coming down, getting high. Her children lived in fear of people around them dropping dead from overdoses, asking if she was alive after she fell asleep on the couch with her shoes on. Jax and Titan had risked their lives to change the trajectory of the MC, and now Uncle Sam was a goddamned puppet master, pulling strings that she didn't know how to compete with. "Go away. I never want to see you again. Stay away from Mayhem."

  "We both know that's never going to happen."

  She didn't care, didn't have the right to say anything she thought. But it was time, and she had to make a stand. "Take off your cut."

  "From my motorcycle club?" her dad mocked.

  "I'll tell them you're working with the feds."

  His face went from sarcastic to sadistic, and her dad took bold steps closer until he towered over her. "Lucky, they won't believe you, and then I will kill you." He took another step. "After those two beautiful children—"

  "Get out!"

  He laughed, taking a step back, and winked. "Always the Mayhem princess. It's in your blood, defending your own until the bloody end."

  Seven realized more staff had gathered as though she might need help. Or maybe for Sweet Hills gossip. She'd worked so hard to remove herself from association with Cullen and build a new reputation for her and her mom. "You need to leave."

  "Then we'll have this conversation elsewhere." He nodded goodbye to onlookers. "I'll see you at your house on Landover."

  He knew where she lived… Numbly, Seven rushed past the check-in desk as the Harley roared out of the parking lot.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Seven held a mug of coffee between her hands as she paced the length of her kitchen table, watching her father make origami creations out of her mail pile.

  He might think that he was cool under pressure, but she knew better. As far back as she could remember, he would make pyramids and buildings out of the junk mail when he was nervous. Cullen would fidget with whatever crisp paper was at his disposal.

  It had driven her mother silly. That was how they had always been able to tell when times were tough or Mayhem business was toeing the edge of a brutal decision, from the number of accordion-shaped pieces of paper stacked around the house and pinned down by beer bottles and lighters. No doubt Cullen's time in lockup had only expanded his origami talents—though he'd always gotten in a piss whenever she called it that, saying that was a girly word, that he was just folding shit.

  Either way, she knew he wasn't as confident as he seemed.

  "You have me alone. What do you want to say here that you couldn't possibly say there?" Seven backed against the wall, inhaling the scent of coffee to keep her calm. She leaned against the wall as though it were just a casual conversation and not one that she'd thought she had years to plan for.

  He tossed his papers aside, and Seven gripped her coffee mug as the mess went in every direction, no order to how it landed. Even though he took time to stack and crease the papers, when they landed zigzag, on top of one another, the mess was like fingernails down a chalkboard to her. She wrenched her eyes back to her dad, and he pushed his chair onto the back two legs.

  "You know? You disappoint me."

  Her arms dropped a few inches, but she stopped their freefall, pulling the coffee mug against her chest. He could not bait her. He could not shock her. That needed to be the day's mantra. Seven painted on a fuck-you smile like it was war paint. "The feeling's mutual, Dad."

  "I wonder if Johnny feels the same." He crashed down on all four legs of the chair to punctuate his thoughts.

  "The only thing Johnny cares about right now is blow. So I'm sure it's fine. Is that what you came here to talk about? My ex? Your ex?"

  "Sure, Lucky. Family. Loyalty. Where's your loyalty, kid? Your pop shows up out of the clink after six years, and that's how you act?" He raised a cocky eyebrow. "Sounds to me like you have too many masters."

  Her heart beat faster, hating that even behind bars he was able to get information about her. "So long as my master isn't you, I'm doing all right in life. If that's what you had to say, just go to the compound if that's what you want to do. We'll be polite with each other if I'm there. I won't get in your way. Whatever it is that you're here to do, I think they're smarter than you are." Her dad shook his head, chuckling as though Seven were mistaken. "You still listen to me. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here, talking. You s
erve foolish masters and don't even know. But this is where your loyalty should be. Always with me. Not with your coffee shop. Not with those new bloods, who think they know better about my club."

  Seven's heart jumped as he called it his club. It hadn't been his in a long time, and even though Mayhem had him on a pedestal, Cullen Blackburn was old news and no longer president. He was too dangerous and wanted things the club didn't need. It wasn't the intention of how he had set it up to begin with. That was what she could recall from when she was little—the great stories about why Mayhem had come to be. The talks about brotherhood and about bikes. The belief in Harleys as a lifestyle, the power of the open road. Not what they had become—greed and corruption and power.

  The front door opened as the terrifyingly beautiful sound of Nolan and Bianca ran inside followed by Glamma trailing them. "Get a clean shirt. Next time, I'll find a smock first."

  The temperature of the room plummeted to subzero, and Seven jumped in front of her dad as he stood. "Don't you dare go over there," she hissed.

  "You want me to miss a chance to see my grandbabies—two other things that you're a slave to."

  Tunnel vision was in full effect, and her hands itched to push him away, force him out of their world, away from what she loved best. "Don't go back there."

  "At least you don't have a man who's your master too. Maybe that is the one benefit of Johnny choosing the powder over you."

  "Oh—oh!" Gennita stepped into the kitchen behind Seven, and she had not heard the older woman even coming.

  Masters and loyalty. The kids had been kidnapped. Her dad. There was so much in the tornado of chaos happening right now that Seven wanted to scream, and she hadn't even heard someone coming near—even though Gennita was as safe as one could be. Seven needed to clean up her life, control things more… better. She turned around, eyes imploring Gennita to get the kids out of the house.

  "We'll be going. Right now." She backed out of the room, smart enough not to turn her back on Cullen Blackburn, and called to Bianca and Nolan that they were leaving that second, new shirts or not.

  The door slammed shut, and Seven turned back to her dad.

  Those babies, Nolan and Bianca, those were who she was supposed to be loyal to. That was who she was supposed to protect from horrible, life-sucking decisions and people like her dad and their dad. She was supposed to be their mother, their protector. "Get out." Cullen didn't move. "Get. Out!"

  It was all she could say. Over and over and over until she saw his boots moving then heard the door close and his Harley roar away.

  The sun was out, but her world was squeezing down. The walls inched in closer as the ceiling dropped, and the floor held her feet with every step, making walking an effort. Breaths were harder to take as she cleaned up her father's pile, first trying to smooth out the papers and fold them the way they should be then failing and shoving them in the trash can, where they mocked her, calling to her, making her skin crawl.

  "Holy shit. This is too much," she whispered as her cell phone rang. Unable to catch her breath, Seven glanced at the screen. Adelia. She could handle Seven's mother fine.

  Seven scooped every piece of paper that her father had folded out of the trash and brought them to her sink then lit a match and watched them burn. The black smoke was stronger than she'd expected, and the fire alarm beeped in her hallway, making her head pound as the alarm screamed. "Shit." She ran to the couch and grabbed a pillow, knocking over the blankets as she ran to fan the fire alarm.

  Finally, the siren stopped. She was panting, not from effort or exertion, but from the mental toll that this exasperation had taken on her. The blankets were on the floor, and she wanted to pick them up immediately, but she forced herself to go to the kitchen, wash the ashes down her sink, and scrub them away.

  This was too much. Tears burned her eyelids, and she had to force herself to slap off the water faucet. It felt as though Seven were drowning as the water dripped to a stop.

  She turned, unable to look at each drop, and rushed to the living room to pick up the blankets, folding them as precisely as she could, when her phone rang again. Shoot, she didn't have time to talk to Adelia.

  She didn't have time for any of this!

  After the last blanket was folded and everything was stacked the way it needed to be, she walked over and picked up her phone, fingers shaking, and saw the text message.

  JAX: Hey. I wanted to say hi. I won't be able to talk for a few days. If you're around now, that'd be cool.

  She swiped the message open as though she were going to type something, but she had no idea what as overwhelmed tears spilled.

  Her dad's words about loyalty and serving too many masters circled in her head as chaos erupted like a volcano, poisoning her thoughts. All she could see was Bianca and Nolan's faces, and how she had failed them. Her crushed heart hadn't dared even ask them how scared they had been when they were taken.

  There was only one thing that she could be responsible for. It wasn't herself. It was her kids. Seven threw the phone onto the couch, and her tears refused to stop until she walked away, leaving Jax's message on the couch. With her dad's voice in her head, Seven kept walking out the front door to Gennita's house to be with her kids.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  A loud knock rapped on the door, and Seven knew it was Jax without looking through the peephole.

  "It's been five days, princess." Bang, bang, bang.

  She wouldn't be stupid enough to ask five days since what. Lenora had let Seven know five days ago that Jax had been served with divorce papers. All he had to do was sign. Same with her, though she hadn't signed, either. They sat, ready with a pen, on the counter for the right moment.

  "Sidney said you weren't at work, and Gennita dished. You're home."

  Seven scowled at the door. Jax was making phone calls? "Coming." She opened the door. "People are going to talk if you start making calls like that."

  He brushed by her. "Let 'em talk."

  "Easy for you to say. You don't live here." And he hadn't had to do decades' worth of reputation repair, thanks to dear old dad. There were still people talking about the stunt her father had pulled at the nursing home. She'd had to apologize to the staff there, and the stink about town that had started was almost more than she could handle.

  Her dad was out of prison. Years early. It made her sick. At any minute, the bastard could show up and point a motor-oil-stained finger, questioning her fitness as a mother, her loyalty, her drive. She would be ready next time. Her defenses would be up. Cullen Blackburn wouldn't ruin her life again.

  Except that was all she could think about.

  "Seven," Jax said, standing in front of her. "I don't want a divorce. Are you listening?"

  "No." She walked to the kitchen. Honesty was the best policy, at least when she had a clue what was going on in her head. Since she had come back from Colombia and crashed into her dad, it seemed as though that wasn't as often as it should be.

  "What are you going to do? Move to Iowa? Get a job at the bank?" She shrugged then reached for the paperwork and pen. Now was as good of a time as any. She'd been waiting for the perfect time, but maybe it didn't exist. They could both sign her copy, and Lenora could file today and be done with it. Seven could pretend the last few weeks of her life were a dream. "The only thing I need to do is raise Nolan and Bianca so that they can have a normal life. It's the right thing to do."

  His lips twisted. "The right thing?"

  How could doing the right thing feel so wrong? Seven held on to the pen, paralyzed and terrified. The right decision was in front of her. There was no logical reason they should be married.

  "You haven't signed? I'm surprised."

  "I've been busy," she said.

  "Then sign already." Tension ticked at the corners of Jax's eyes. "If that's what you want to do."

  What she wanted and needed were polar opposites, and damn him, she didn't want to cry. "You don't have to be an asshole."

  "I
am an asshole, Seven. If there's one thing you've known about me for years, it's that I'm—" He crossed his arms and worked his jaw back and forth in silence. "What'd you call me? I'm a jerkface. Right?" He smirked. "Cute, by the way."

  He wasn't an asshole or a jerkface. He was… Jax. And he was being that way to prove her point—that she knew him better than most who maybe thought that was true.

  There was a right way and a wrong way, and she had spent her entire life trying to get away from the wrong way of doing things.

  "Hell. Put the pen down."

  "I can't." She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the small urge to listen. Tension wrecked her. The chaos and her need to organize it were driving her to the point that simple right and wrong, black and white were an upside-down gray mess.

  "Princess, give me the pen." Jax pushed away from the wall and rounded the table, dropping down so they were face-to-face.

  Her right arm ached from the intense force with which she held the pen, and dropping the pen seemed wrong, but handing it to him—hell, he had to sign, anyway.

  Trust Jax.

  He trusted her. She jolted like a rusty robot and thrust her hand to his. He clasped both hands around hers. "Don't sign that."

  "We don't even remember getting married."

  "That's bullshit. Maybe a few details are fuzzy. But stop fighting it and tell me you don't remember that night."

  "I don't," she lied. Every night, dreams came to her. True or not, she became more confused about fiction and reality.

  Jax stood up, tugging her hand. "On your feet."

  Gently, the brooding man pushed back the chair and gave another tug until she stood. Jax removed the pen from her loose grip and placed it next to the paper then gathered both her hands in his. Seven let her eyes drift shut as she rested her chin on his sternum.

  "There was Elvis in sequins," he said quietly. "Desserts that you were way too excited about."

  She quietly laughed then placed her cheek against his heart. "We should blame the bakers for this mess."

  His chest rumbled, and he played with her hair. "Do you remember giving the over-under on whether couples would last?"