Fighting Dirty (Blind Jacks MC Book 2)

by J.C. Valentine

  Reaching for a cup of coffee, he’d walked her through his train of thought on the subject. “Leaving Stuart is the right thing to do, but the way you’re going about it is dangerous. You keep leaving, trying to stay close to your mother and me and getting jobs he can easily predict.”

  “I figure if I’m persistent enough, he’ll eventually get tired of chasing me.”

  “The thing you’re missing about this situation is how much Stuart enjoys hunting you down. He gets a kick out of it, and that means he ain’t ever gonna stop, sweetheart.” Gesturing to the table, he sighed. “You have to be smart, savvy, and unpredictable. You gotta run farther and not contact us in any way he can trace. You need to stay gone until he finds other prey. I’m talking years, not weeks or months.”

  “I don’t want to do that,” she’d told him, her eyes swimming with tears.

  Leaning in to look her in the eye, her father stated definitively, “You’ve got to. You’re my child, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you get away and stay clear of him. Think of these six packets as emergency escape hatches. If you suspect Stuart has found you, don’t wait for a run-in with the ignorant bastard. Hit the road and start over. Starting over means you use a new alias and new cell phone. Do not carry over names or electronic equipment from one area to another because these are the easiest ways for him to track you.”

  Tiffany still remembered every word he’d had to say. Don’t draw unnecessary attention to yourself. Dress down, avoid flashy accessories, and change up your hair color when you jump. Pay with cash when at all possible, avoid setting up bank accounts, and use the prepaid cards everywhere that won’t take cash.

  Two cell phones were in each pouch. One was to contact him and her mother so they would know she was safe and had to move again. She was to use it before leaving an area or while on the interstate far away from her current living situation. Conversations were to be kept short, and she was to take the battery out immediately after disconnecting the call. If the phone still had power, it could be tracked. The other phone was her day-to-day phone, until such time as Stuart found her, and then she was to jump locations again and start all over with a different alias.

  God only knew how much he spent to get those fake IDs and pull the kits together. Her best guess, between that and her new vehicle, he’d spent upwards of sixty grand. Each time she jumped, she sold her vehicle and bought something slightly less valuable to account for the depreciation of her trade-in.

  This was her fourth cycle, and it was becoming a comfortable and familiar pattern in her life. Being with Ryder didn’t count, since he’d bought her cell phone, and she moved to such a small town that no one was in danger of recognizing her.

  Clutching the book-sized pouch to her chest, Tiffany realized that her father had put a lot of time and effort into devising a way for her to survive. So far, it had actually worked. She hated using the escape hatches he’d made for her because he passed away last year after a short struggle with lung cancer and these small gifts of love and concern were her only remaining connections to him.

  The worse part of jumping this time was leaving behind both Ryder and any hope of having a normal life. Her college degree would also no longer line up with the name on her new photo ID.

  Pulling out twenty dollars, Tiffany drove to a local chain restaurant and got something to eat. Sitting safely ensconced in a huge booth, she pulled out a new burner phone from her pouch and plugged it into the wall to charge. When the phone was mostly charged, she dialed her mother’s number, tossed her garbage, and got a refill as the phone rang.

  “Hello.” Her mother’s voice sounded tired and anxious.

  “Mom, it’s me. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. It’s so good to hear from you, dear.”

  “I had to jump again,” she told her, cutting to the chase. “Stuart found out where I was. He started sending me little reminders of our time together. It was all kinds of creepy. How have you been?”

  Her mother groaned but accepted the change in topic. “I’m well. Did you get a job working for a garage?”

  Heading out to her vehicle, Tiffany set her coffee down and unlocked the car with her key fob. “No, but a man I’ve been sheltering with worked for a garage. Why do you ask?”

  “Two older men came around asking questions about you. They left a card for a garage in South Dakota.”

  “I know the owner, Darwin Dawson. He may look crazy, but he’s really nice,” Tiffany told her so she wouldn’t worry.

  “The two men who came here were Hickory and Wen. They say they’re worried about you.”

  Smiling to herself, she wondered what possessed the two men to go all the way to her hometown. Taking a sip of her coffee, she opened the door. “You can trust them. The second man is Ven, not Wen,” she corrected her mother. “He’s Ryder’s father.”

  “Ryder is the one you were staying with? Those men…they look a little rough.”

  Tiffany closed her eyes, imagining her mother’s reaction to seeing two huge, leather-clad bikers at her door. She must have been terrified. “They may look scary, but like I said, they were real nice to me. I didn’t have a falling out with them or anything. I just need to keep moving to stay away from Stuart.”

  “I know you do. Your father worried about you obsessively. In fact, he gathered some information he thought would help put Stuart behind bars. Should I share it with the police or send it to you? He always worried that it wasn’t enough, but you can’t stay on the run your whole life,” she said what Tiffany already knew.

  Settling into the driver’s seat, Tiffany thought it over. Her mom was one hundred percent correct about her not being able to continue running her whole life. “Hang onto it for now, Mom. I need time to think.”

  “All right, dear, that’s just what I’ll do. Stay safe and call me when you can.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, too, dear. Be careful.”

  “I will.”

  Even as she spoke the words, an idea was brewing in the back of Tiffany’s mind that would make being careful an impossible promise to make. Staring at the glove box, she knew Ryder had long since cleaned and replaced her small handgun.

  Reaching out, she unlocked the glove box and grabbed the small gun safe. Sliding her finger over the biometric scanning plate, she opened the lid and stared at the sleek handgun and extra clip nestled safely in the foam housing. An image of her snapping the clip into place and pointing it at Stuart’s head floated through her mind. Why should she always be the one running scared?

  Quickly closing the case, she heard the lock click automatically into place. Shoving it back into the glove box, she speedily locked the small compartment. Starting the engine, she wondered what it would be like to have a life free of running.

  Her blood boiled as she remembered missing her father’s funeral and all the other special family occasions since she went on the lam. Stuart was still enjoying the holidays with his crazy-ass family. How was that fair?

  Since being around Ryder, Tiffany had begun reassessing different parts of her life. She’d spent years acting like a hapless little victim, allowing Stuart to stalk and torment her. What would happen on the day she finally stopped accepting the role that crazy man foisted upon her?

  Deep in thought, her mind drifted through the long line of hurts Stuart had put on her while they were married. Never once had she managed to get her head and body on the same page to mount a unified defense. She begged and pleaded with him, like a hapless little victim, freezing up when it came time to act. What she’d give to have all those lost moments back again. Her head filled with dark thoughts—thoughts best left unspoken.

  Sliding from her dark internal musings back into the present, Tiffany put the vehicle in drive. Having spent most of her adult life homeless or nearly so, she could easily write a book on the subject. The first rule of being homeless was to never look homeless.

  Stopping by a local discount department store, she pic
ked up few nondescript changes of clothing, including yoga pants, T-shirts, sneakers, and a gym bag. Heading to the fitness center, she was grateful that her father had clued her in about staying fit and using the gym as a place to shower. Personal hygiene was an area most people didn’t tolerate another person neglecting.

  In any event, Tiffany had picked up a hair coloring kit and decided to dye her hair jet black. Going from brunette to black shouldn’t prove to be too shocking a change when she looked in the mirror. The gym had private showers, so dying shouldn’t draw much attention either, as long as she was careful to clean up well afterward.

  After a light workout, shower, and putting on some clean clothing, she was starting to feel like a million bucks. Climbing back in the driver’s seat, something clicked in her head.

  Staring straight ahead, she started the car and slid the gear soundlessly into place. Tired of living some kind of half-life and being estranged from her family, Tiffany headed for home. One way or another, she was finishing this.

  ~ Ryder ~

  Staring up at his father, Ryder asked, “She sent him a what?”

  “A cease and desist request written in crayons on a gigantic sheet of paper.”

  Trying his best to wrap his mind around what his father was saying, Ryder mumbled mindlessly, “Crayons? I came all the way here because you said she was in danger, and now you are telling me she’s sending him gigantic notes written in crayons.”

  “I shit you not, son. It was written in several shades of purple. I don’t know what that was all about, but the dude freaked the fuck out, right there standing in the street. A messenger cycled right up and handed him a tube. He signed for it and opened it up real eager like. I could read it from twenty paces away.”

  “I think between him and us, we’ve pushed her right over the edge,” Ryder commented.

  “Maybe, but he was hot under the collar. He took it to the police, and they pretty much told him to fuck right off. Since it was little more than a note asking him to stop trying to contact her, they couldn’t do a thing.”

  Ryder’s brows furrowed. “It seems really weird to me. You’re sure her mom hasn’t seen her?”

  “Like I told you on the phone, son, my gut tells me she’s here, but none of us has seen her. We’ve had her mother’s home staked out since we arrived. She even brings Hickory out baked goods and coffee. Trust me, if she had anything to hide, we would definitely know about it.”

  Pacing back and forth in the spacious hotel room, Ryder obsessed about where his old lady could be. “What in God’s name possessed her to come here? The dude’s a total nutjob. She’s not safe here.”

  “Maybe she got tired of running and figures her only shot at having a life with you is seeing this through,” his dad offered.

  “I hope the fuck not,” Ryder said through clenched teeth. “Being with me is not worth facing off with a lunatic.”

  “I’m not sure what she’s doing, but the man’s been looking progressively more fucked-up over the last week or so.”

  “It’s all fun and games until someone gets poked in the eye.” Ryder realized he was screeching, but he didn’t give a good goddamn.

  Ven’s stern voice filled the air. “Calm the fuck down. She’s a grown-ass woman now, not the scared little twenty-one-year-old that ran all those years ago. Maybe knowing you helped her come into her own somehow.”

  “Then why not contact us?” he questioned. “Her mother admitted to telling her we were here. She should know better than to go it alone with this nasty fucker.”

  “Should she? It looks like she’s doing a good job of taking care of this her own way. Why don’t you give her a chance, and we’ll be here to back her up if things get dangerous?”

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, Ryder sank down into an armchair. “I think that I have no choice on this one. What’s her mother like?”

  “Sweetest lady you’d ever want to meet,” he said with an obvious smile in his voice. “She wants to see you.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about that. It seems wrong to visit Tiffany’s mom without her approval. She left me, and that would make it seem like I’m forcing my way back in.”

  Looking for all the world like a father who would like to smack his son in the back of the head, Ven replied seriously, “Yeah, except there’s that whole part about her inviting you. I would think that your old lady might get offended that you turned down her mother’s very sincere invitation to dine with her.”

  Mulling it over, Ryder replied tersely, “Fine, tell her I’ll come.”

  “I already did. You’re bringing dessert.”

  Swearing under his breath, Ryder jumped to his feet. “What about my goddamn old lady being missing is hard for you old folks to grasp? Our attention should be on finding her and making sure she’s safe, not paying social calls on each other.”

  Giving his son’s shoulder a quick squeeze, Ven dropped the bomb he knew would seal the deal. “She alluded to the fact that she might have intel on Stuart Chamberlain. It seems her husband was gathering info on the crazy fucker before he kicked the bucket.”

  Ryder felt a surge of adrenaline pump though his body. Some dirt on Tiffany’s stalking ex was exactly what he needed most right now. “Let Mrs. Stone know I’d be happy to accept her kind invitation.”

  Ven grinned. “You can be downright gracious when you need to be, son. I thought you’d see it my way. Her last name isn’t Stone. It’s Donovan. Mom says Stone is an alias her father came up with to keep her safe.”

  “Her old man sounds like a smart fucker. I want my old lady back, and I don’t care what old lady’s shoes I have to lick to make that happen.”

  “That’s a visual that’ll stick with me. Get yourself a shower and put on something nice. I’ll pick up a dessert of some sort and swing back around to pick you up.”

  Curling his lip without meaning to, Ryder thought about climbing back into the cramped pickup that brought him here. “I hate riding in a cage.”

  Ven barked, “No bikes or colors here. It draws the wrong kind of attention, son. Pretend you’re a chameleon and try to blend in with the local color.”

  “That’s easier said than done, old man.”

  Stalking to the shower, Ryder tore off his clothing and stepped under the hot cascade of water. Imagining his old lady huddled under a bridge somewhere or sleeping in her cold SUV tore a gigantic hole in his heart. Never having been in love, Ryder was finding their first separation to be rife with worry. The loneliness was so profound that it was hard to find words to describe the pain their separation wrought on him.

  Pressing both hands to the wall, Ryder closed his eyes and remembered how she smelled. Images came to mind of her smiling at him, teasing him, and laughing at his jokes. God, how he missed her laugh.

  His body was a twisted mess. His chest hurt, his dick throbbed at the remembrance of her soft, warm body rubbing against his, and he just couldn’t find it in this heart to jack off. It was frustrating as hell. He was tempted to nail the stupid bastard and let them throw him in lockup. At least Tiffany would have a chance at a normal life. One of his club brothers would do right by her, of that he was certain.

  Soaping up, he rinsed his tired body and stepped out to dry off. Minutes later, he was dressed and standing in front of the bathroom mirror. He shot the blow dryer though his messy hair just so he didn’t have to hear his old man bitch.

  Switching it off, he slammed it on the empty counter. Finger-combing his hair, he tried to get ahold of his emotions. He was a goddamn mess. Staring at himself in the mirror, Ryder tried his best to see what Tiffany saw when she looked at him. His stringy brown hair had grown down almost to his collar. The brown eyes that she’d always said she liked were now listless and marred with dark circles underneath. He wasn’t anyone a woman would choose if they met him today, that’s for damn sure.

  He’d been working night and day for weeks, first on solving the issues related to his club president being shot, and then on
finding his nurse. The scruff of beard made him appear unkempt, but he just couldn’t find it in his heart to give a shit.

  Closing his eyes, he decided to shave because he was going to meet her mother. He didn’t want the woman to think badly of her daughter for being with him. Reaching into his grooming satchel, he pulled out his cordless razor. It had just about enough charge to get the job done.

  Slamming the razor back into his bag once he was done, Ryder scrubbed his hands over his smooth face. He could feel himself slowly becoming unhinged. Very soon, his beautiful little nurse was going to have two crazy men to contend with. The woman deserved so much better than the cards she’d been dealt in life.

  A gruff voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You ready, son?”

  Nodding, he turned to face his father. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Following his father out to their vehicle, he climbed into the passenger’s seat. His father must have sensed how close to the edge he was because he didn’t speak during the ride, electing instead to play vintage rock. That suited Ryder just fine.

  They pulled up within fifteen minutes at a charming two-story colonial in a nice neighborhood.

  Ryder immediately began to do a compare and contrast in his mind. His own home was easily as nice as the one Tiffany grew up in. Feeling something loosen in his chest, he sucked in a much-needed breath of the cool night air.

  Ven shoved something into his hands. Looking down, Ryder discovered it was a huge cake of some sort. “Could this night get any weirder?”

  “Don’t be a dick,” his father scolded. “It’s not like you never brought dessert to someone’s home before.”

  “Fuck you, old man. I usually am the desert when I go to a woman’s house.”

  Frowning, his father shook his head. “Sometimes, I think your brain is broken. Get the hell up to the door before I decide to leave you in the car.”

  “Sorry, I was just joking.”