by Debra Kayn
She couldn't do that to him.
Forcing herself to straighten, she wiped her face off with her hands and tried to collect herself. Inside, she trembled, physically sick. She couldn't tell Keeffe what Skidd had done to her or the things he'd said. The vice president would go straight to Chief with the information.
She fingered her bare neck, swallowing her sob. Skidd had ripped off and stolen Chief's tag he'd given her. An unforgivable action within Brikken.
Wanting to go home where she could fall apart in privacy and decide what to do, she straightened her shirt and headed to the door to find Lindsay and Ashley, because she was not going to walk to her car alone and have Skidd attack her again. She shivered, and bile rose up in her throat. Those things he said—she shivered, they were scary.
The phone in her back pocket vibrated with a call.
She stood by the door of the clubhouse, unable to stop the tears, and let the phone ring until it stopped.
Chief would hear right through her voice and know something was wrong. It would be better for him to go without talking to her, and her getting a lecture from Keeffe that she'd missed his call. She could blame it on the music and dancing.
The phone rang again. She closed her eyes and swallowed the tears. Chief was so close to being released. One phone call wouldn't matter if it meant he'd come home to her.
When the ringing stopped, she swiped her hands across her cheeks and trailed her fingers under her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she entered the club and searched for Keeffe. After a quick explanation of missing the call and giving him back the phone, she found Lindsay and Ashley and told them it was time to leave.
She couldn't escape the clubhouse and Skidd fast enough. The music, the pressure of bodies, the stink of smoke, everything made her nauseous on top of her fright.
Lindsay looped her arm around hers when she pushed through the door. "Where did you disappear to?"
"Just went outside to cool off." Johanna got out her keys, pulling her friends faster across the field to the vehicles.
"We still have time to hit up Blue Light." Ashley danced ahead of them, stopping at the car. "Are you okay to drive?"
Fear, she learned, sobered a person fast. She unlocked the door, popped the locks, and said, "I'm fine. I've got a killer headache starting. I just want to go home and crawl into bed. I'll call you both tomorrow, 'kay?"
"Sure." Lindsay opened the passenger side of Ashley's car. "Drive safe."
The lies piled up on each other. She drove off of Brikken property and headed home. She needed Chief more than ever, and couldn't have him. Not tonight. Not for four more months.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Johanna answered the incoming call. "Hello?"
"This is Seattle Penitentiary; will you accept a collect call from inmate... Dean Stanton?"
"Yes." She grabbed the pillow off her bed and squeezed it to her stomach.
"Bug?"
"I'm here." Adrenaline bubbled inside of her. "Everything okay?" she asked, breaking the rule of asking after him on the prison's phone system.
"Yeah."
In less than sixteen hours, Chief would walk out of prison after serving four years. Goosebumps broke out over her arms. She had a hard time believing Chief would be free to walk out of prison and scared to death something would happen that would keep him from returning to her.
"I made ground hamburger today, so tomorrow, all I have to do is throw some seasoning in and make the fixings for tacos." Her voice quivered. "I thought you'd like your favorite meal when you get home."
"You are my favorite meal," he whispered.
She laughed softly, nervous, not to see him, but what would happen between them when they're finally together in the same room. "I hope you're starving," she whispered back.
"You have no fucking clue, bug."
A quiver swept through her, and she hummed, making him chuckle at the effect he was having on her. "I heard tonight that the plan is to pick you up in the morning and bring you home."
The whole club, leaving only a skeleton crew back at the clubhouse, planned to gather on Interstate 5, away from the prison. One of the prospects would follow Keeffe to the penitentiary in Chief's truck with his Harley loaded in the back.
"Are you excited to ride?" she asked.
"Ride home."
She hummed, imagining him coming toward her. "I'm not going to be able to sleep."
"Yeah, me neither." He paused. "I'm going to cut the call early."
"Why?"
"Best if I go back to my cell." He cleared his throat. "Remember what I told you last time."
"I do." She sighed. "That's why I don't want to let you go. If I can hear you, I know everything is okay."
"Go to sleep. Time will go faster."
"I'll try."
"This is it, bug."
She melted, trying to believe. "Yeah."
"Love you.
"I love you, too."
The call disconnected. She flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Being released wasn't a given. Anything could happen up to the moment he stepped out the door that would halt his release. Last phone call made on the burner phone, he'd told her not to get her hopes up. Apparently, there was a prison full of inmates that would try to stop him.
She couldn't understand the mentality behind something so cruel as to deliberately mess with a person's freedom. Over the last four years, her eyes were forced open to how low people could go.
Nene went out of her way to never speak to her—which at first, she thought was a blessing. She'd never liked Chief's relationship with her or the way Nene treated her like a second thought. Karla had loved her one minute, and the next disapproved of everything about her. She touched her chest, running her hand down until her fingers reached between her breasts where Chief's tag should be. Skidd, while she wasn't emotionally connected to him, upset her world.
For the last four months, she'd gone out of her way never to be alone. If she went to the clubhouse, she waited in her car until one of the members came outside and then ran inside. She never stayed out after dark. At night, she listened for the rumble of a motorcycle, afraid Skidd would try and approach her at home.
She'd seen him at parties and coming and going at the clubhouse. She'd even talked to Olin when Skidd stood there pretending nothing had happened. When he'd walked away, he'd practically violated her with his gaze leaving her shaken and knowing he hadn't forgotten his threats.
Her plan to wait and tell Chief about Skidd when he returned from prison to make sure nothing happened to delay his release had turned into not knowing if she should tell him at all. Afraid of losing him again after just getting him home, she had no doubt that Chief would go after Skidd.
But, she had no idea how to explain losing the necklace Chief gave her. He'd ask about it when his life settled down, and things got back to normal. It meant a lot, as much as a wedding ring.
The doorbell rang. She shot out of bed. Caught up in her own dilemma, she hadn't heard anyone pull into the driveway.
Grabbing her cell phone, she walked out to the living room and looked through the front window, spotting Keeffe and his wife, Deana. She stepped over and opened the door.
"Hey, guys." She moved back. "Come on in."
Deana, a petite curvy middle-aged woman who usually only came to the clubhouse on Family Day, entered the house first. "How are you doing?"
"Hanging in there." She stood by the couch. "Can I get you guys a drink?"
"No, we're good." Keeffe sat down on the loveseat next to his wife. "I talked with Chief earlier. At that time, everything is good to go."
She smiled and sat down across from them. "He called a few minutes ago. I can tell he's trying hard not to get his hopes up. I don't know how he's handling everything by himself. I can't even eat or sit down for more than five minutes because I'm a nervous wreck."
Keeffe stood. "I'm going outside for a smoke."
When the door shut, Deana laughed. "I asked h
im to bring me here."
"Oh." She tried to think why, since she and Deana hadn't had more than an exchange of how-are-you-doing conversations in the last thirteen years when Chief started bringing her around to the clubhouse. "Why?"
"I was a little older than you when I found myself alone with a one-year-old baby and my husband in prison for five years." Deana's gaze softened. "Looking back, I would've given anything to have someone explain to me what would happen when Keeffe returned home because I expected everything to go back to normal and it was anything but."
She scooted to the edge of the couch, hungry to hear what she could expect. "Is it that hard?"
"It's that hard, but it's also the most wonderful thing you can imagine." Deana smiled sadly.
"Tell me more. Please. I'm so afraid he's going to come back, and everything has changed between us." She inhaled deeply and patted her chest. "That I've lost him and he won't be able to feel the same way about me. Four years is a long time, and I don't know how much prison has changed him. What I hear on the phone is nothing compared to what he lives with every single minute."
"At first, you'll confidently believe everything is slipping back in place to where it was before he was incarcerated. I know with Keeffe, he was honestly happy to be home, to be with me, to be around our child—who he had to get to know all over again, and maybe even a little afraid of losing me that he gave me a lot of attention, which I snapped up." Deana paused and her brows wrinkled. "Looking back, I was very insecure. I guess I looked for signs that I was going to be okay and then to make things harder, I looked for signs that Keeffe didn't love me."
She found herself nodding her head. "That's what I do now with our phone conversations. I went from needing to hear from him to not able to face talking with him because I started to wonder if the feelings were one-sided. The last few months, I've forced myself to focus on when he gets home and not what is happening at that moment. I hate the feelings I'm going through because I want to be strong for him."
"I'll be honest, Johanna. You will have to be the strong one." She lowered her voice. "Once the newness of being home wears off on him, he'll be angry at everyone, and he'll retreat to protect himself from further hurt. In prison, everything is controlled. Their emotions, their physical release, their ability to handle the most basic problems. And, he's going to want that control back, and he'll become paranoid. Everyone is after him in prison, and he has to watch his back when he showers, when he goes in the yard, when he goes in the cafeteria, when he's in his cell, and when he's sleeping. That behavior will continue at home. He's going to be on guard."
She blew her breath out. "I never thought of any of that. It scares me."
"You will be scared of him. Chief will be a different man. One you don't recognize." Deana's eyes closed an extra beat and then she looked at Johanna. "Maybe I will take a coffee if you have some."
"Sure. I'll put some in the coffee maker." She went into the kitchen, still in view of the living room. Looking over her shoulder, she said, "Keeffe knew you were going to talk to me, didn't he?"
Deana walked into the kitchen. "I asked him to get Chief's permission to talk with you a few weeks ago."
"He said yes?" She filled the maker up with water, surprised at the length Deana went for her. "I guess he did since you're here."
"Chief loves you."
"I love him." She pushed the ON button and turned around. "You and Keeffe obviously made it through the hard times. You've said he became angry when he returned, but I'm wondering if you were angry? Is that okay to ask?"
"Are you?" Deana raised her brows and leaned her hip against the counter.
She swallowed and finally nodded. "It probably makes no sense, but I'm angry that he left me before I was ready to live life without him—I'm not sure I can live life without him." Embarrassed, she said, "While he's been gone, I realize that my problem is I have abandonment issues from before Chief came into my life. I'm caught between wanting to scream how angry I am at him for leaving me alone here, and never saying a word because I'm afraid he'll permanently leave my life like everyone else."
Deana opened her mouth and then closed it. Johanna reached out and rubbed her arm, understanding that Chief wouldn't allow anyone in Brikken to talk about her life before Chief took her away from the apartment. Despite Deana's offer of friendship and support, there were certain boundaries she wouldn't cross because of her husband's position in Brikken, and she respected that.
"Thank you for listening. I never realized that I'd been holding so much of this in and that it feels wonderful to get it out there and talk to someone who understands," she said.
The coffee maker gurgled to a stop. She filled two cups, pointed Deana to the sugar and cream, and then went back into the living room to sit when she spotted Keeffe squatted down beside his motorcycle in the driveway.
Both women watched Keeffe from the window. Overwhelmed with how fast life was moving and how many years had slipped away from her, Johanna said, "Chief's a good man like Keeffe."
Both men had spent time in prison, probably more than twice. They made their livelihood stealing motorcycles, chopping the parts, and making new bikes to sell in California. That was only one of the businesses Brikken had going. She chose not to know about any others.
"Yes, I believe that's true." Deana moved and sat down on the loveseat. "Now, sit, and tell me how you plan to celebrate tomorrow."
With Chief's pressure not to hope for the best and to be prepared for his release to be delayed, she clung to Deana's optimism and sat down beside her. The more she talked, the more excited she became.
She believed Chief would return to her tomorrow.
Part 3
Chapter Twenty-Four
OVER TWO HUNDRED BRIKKEN Motorcycle Club members rode behind Chief. He signaled and led his men onto the exit leaving Interstate 5. Freedom outside the prison after four years keyed him up.
He had his club.
He had his motorcycle.
He had his boys.
In ten minutes, he'd ride onto Brikken property and have his woman. Only then would he allow himself to believe he stood on the outside of solitude and regained all that he controlled, and Rollo had built.
The tension in his body turned to need the further away from the prison he rode, a power to gather everyone around him and remind them who they belonged to foremost on his mind. The responsibilities he'd handled from afar were now in front of him.
He would retaliate for the mistakes he'd made and come out on top.
Tacoma's finest in blue sprinkled themselves along his route to the clubhouse. Aware of the possibilities of targeting, he kept his club in line, setting the speed, the laws, the passive riding.
On the outskirt of town, out of the city police jurisdiction, he opened the throttle, knowing the skeleton crew left behind would make the road safe for traveling, and that the sheriff's department was kept busy in another area of Pierce County.
The six-foot, sheet-metal fence surrounding Brikken MC property came into view, a little more rusted but still standing. He glanced in his side-view mirror at his men, shifted, and returned his gaze to the gate, pushed open by two prospects who'd come to Brikken during his absence and he hadn't met in person but knew their backgrounds.
Shore, coming in from the Washington coast area, and Cash, who showed up knocking with two bucks in his pocket, lifted their fists in the air in solidarity with Brikken. He rode through the opening, his gaze going to the crowd in front of the clubhouse. His eyes drawn naturally to Johanna, he spotted her standing in the front, and took in everything about her.
Wearing small-ass shorts, a sleeveless top with strings coming from the center of her chest and tied around her neck, she stood with her hip out in high heels, and her hands pressed flat against her stomach as if to contain her emotions. He backed his Harley into the first position in the line and shut off his bike.
His body continued vibrating, no longer from the ride. He was home.
Tearing off his helmet, he hung the bucket on the handlebar and strode forward. Out of respect, his men waited until he greeted his woman.
Johanna — staring at him, overwhelmed with what she was seeing.
He'd changed. At forty-nine years old, doing hard time, he'd accepted the changes. The gray in his hair took up more property on his head every fucking day. His ungroomed beard, longer, more ragged. His soul more scarred and hardened.
With softness waiting twenty-feet in front of him, he walked straight to Johanna and stopped in front of her. The lightest brown eyes held his gaze, and he absorbed all the emotions going through her. He'd seen those eyes every damn time he blinked over the last four years.
Her gaze dropped to his beard, and a shiver rolled through her. It was too much. Too fucking much.
"Take it," he said, croaking out the first sentence he'd spoken all day.
Johanna lifted her hands and slowly slipped them into his beard until she cupped his face. Her mouth opened and a soft gasp escaped her lips. He watched her eyelids flutter as she fought getting what she needed after four long years. He scooped her up, unable to hold back any longer.
She dove her head into his neck, wrapping her legs around him. Palming the cushion of her ass, he carried her through the crowd, kicked open the door, and walked straight upstairs to his old bedroom. The scent of warm vanilla sugar intoxicated him.
He sat on the bed with her on his lap and wrapped his arms around her. Whether she shook or he shook, it only mattered that he held her. He was home where he could take care of her his way.
"You came back to me," she whispered.
Her fingers pulled his beard in her need to touch his face. He slipped his hands under her shirt and absorbed the warmth of her skin through his palms.
He'd been cold every day in prison. She was the first warm thing he'd touched in too long.