JETT (A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga)

by Debra Kayn

  He wasn't sorry for slicing the man's throat. The night hadn't gone as he planned but he couldn't leave her here to take the blame. "I'm going to need you and a few others once I get her back to the house. Clean up."

  "Can you wait that long?"

  "Yeah, nobody is around," he said. "I'm riding out now."

  He disconnected the call and slid the phone into his pocket. "Ready?"

  "I'm not going with you." She trembled. "I won't say anything. I swear, I won't."

  "Swear all you want." He lifted his chin. "Did you leave anything in the trailer? Any mail or a notebook or anything with your name on it?"

  She shook her head.

  Her fingerprints would be all over the place and her DNA on the couch. He stepped forward, opened her duffle, and removed a shirt. Retracing all the places he'd touched, he wiped down the door, stepped inside, and scrubbed the fridge unit and counter. He wouldn't worry about her prints. If the cops tracked her down, she could tell them she'd rented the place from the owner months ago.

  But, he couldn't be linked to the place or the murder. With a prison sentence under his belt, he'd be thrown back in a cell without a chance of escaping the charge.

  He grabbed her arm, making sure she didn't disturb anything on her way out and walked her outside and past her dead boss. Spotting the backdoor of the house, he pulled her with him up the two steps and found the door unlocked.

  Her boss had something he wanted. While he grasped the door handle with the edge of his T-shirt, he asked, "Where's he keep the money?"

  "I don't know." She dragged her feet. "Please, I don't want to be a part of this."

  "Too late. Don't touch anything." He pulled her through the house following the light coming from the front room.

  For a man who dealt with stealing money from others, he lived a depressing life. A box television sat on the floor, and the two recliners came right out of the seventies.

  Jett walked over to the tin T.V. stand and picked up the stack of cash. The guy hadn't even had time to put Sydney's work for the night away in a safe place. He shoved the wad of bills in his back pocket.

  Taking the afghan off the back of the chair, he walked over to the front door, towing Sydney behind him. He used the blanket to keep his fingerprints off the handle and then tossed it to the side.

  "We're going to walk out, turn right, and stroll down the block holding hands. My Harley is parked at the AM/PM. Don't throw a fit or I'll toss you back with your boss." He stepped out and shut the door with his elbow.

  They walked to his motorcycle in silence, giving him time to think. At any time, he could've dumped Sydney. Young and scared, she'd probably disappear into another section of Tacoma where she could make money to survive. He held on to her hand, forcing her to keep up with his longer stride. But the unhidden face, perfection underneath the makeup, appealed to him.

  He had two younger sisters. One five years old and another one only an infant. He'd want someone taking care of them if they ever found themselves in trouble.

  Tomorrow, he'd find out her story, test her on how quiet she would be about what went down tonight, and then help her be on her way.

  Chapter Four

  The men's voices on the other side of the door discussed the murder of Victor Clark. Sydney paced inside the bedroom Jett escorted her to in a house outside of Tacoma. He'd ordered her to sleep as if he expected her to listen and obey. Needing to figure out how to get away from him, she'd given him a fake yawn.

  Then, the men showed up. Six of them. All riding motorcycles.

  Far as she could tell, his house was only two or three miles outside of Tacoma. Nowhere near the Brikken clubhouse but far enough from any neighboring houses she couldn't even run next door for help.

  Jett's voice came through the door. "I cleaned up as I left but I've changed my mind on leaving the body. We need to get rid of him and sweep the trailer again. I can't be positive that something wasn't left behind and I want the girl's prints and DNA gone. I don't want her being pulled into the crime and pointing fingers at Brikken."

  The others answered him, but the low murmur of voices made no sense. She tiptoed over to the window and checked the lock. The metal tab lifted easily, and she pushed it back down. She could escape.

  Looking around the room, she sat on the bed. Now all she needed was a safe time to leave.

  Her stomach gurgled. The noise seemed louder than normal.

  She'd gotten herself in a lot of dangerous situations before. Going to the social worker and telling her the truth about abusive foster parents always put her in a risky position. If no one believed her, the situation only became more volatile. If the state of Washington removed her, there was always a chance that they'd split up her and Kylie. She'd thought the worst thing to happen to her was making the decision to run away from foster care so Kylie could live in a good environment.

  She'd been wrong. Being taken by a killer topped the list.

  How could she have gotten mixed up in a murder?

  Her stomach rolled, and she covered her mouth. She hadn't liked Victor, but she hadn't wanted him dead.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing the blood surrounding him. None of it looked real. The blood wasn't even red, it was just dark. Dark as if he'd pissed himself—which he'd done before when she'd found him passed out drunk.

  Opening her eyes, she looked at the closed door. She had to get out of here. Tomorrow was Sunday. She needed to see Kylie.

  After her visitation, she could figure out what she needed to do to make sure the Mathew's never found out she was without a home and an income. Her eyes burned, and she rubbed her face, unable to believe tonight happened. Going to the Brikken clubhouse was supposed to be an easy con.

  The bikers she'd met the first time she'd hit them up were easy going and game for giving their money to her again.

  Jett wasn't like the others. He was dangerous and a killer.

  A knock came. She jumped from the bed and stood. The door was locked. Jett told her it was okay to shut herself in, and she hadn't hesitated.

  "Sydney?" said Jett.

  She walked to the door. "Yes?"

  "I'm leaving for a few hours."

  Adrenaline surged inside of her. She swallowed, forcing her voice to sound sleepy. "Okay."

  "There will be a prospect in the house. If you need something, he can help you. His name is Banter."

  And, just as quickly, disappointment zapped all her strength. "Mm-hm. 'kay."

  One man would be easier to escape from than six unless the guy was like Jett. She stood beside the door for several minutes. Finally, the rumble of the motorcycles started. She'd need to take the chance that Banter wouldn't catch her.

  Without knowing what he looked like, she could only hope he was a big guy or better yet, old. She could run fast. Being quicker than Banter could save her life.

  She gathered her duffle bag and stood in front of the window. All the bikers sat on their motorcycles, facing away from the house. Sparked into action, she flipped the lock and opened the window using the noise of the engines as cover. Tears of elation filled her eyes when the glass slid noiselessly in the track.

  As soon as the bikers rode out of view, she tossed her bag to the ground outside. Waiting for any noise to alert her to Banter coming close to the door, she eyed the windowsill. It would take all her strength to lift herself high enough to get her ass through the window.

  Not wanting to try and move the bed closer and with any other furniture in the room, she counted to three and jumped. The wood from the window frame dug into her forearms as she dangled off the floor. Using the toes of her sneakers against the wall, she managed to get her upper body through the opening.

  With all her weight on her stomach, she realized there was nowhere to go but down. The strength it took to get that far after the hellish night she'd gone through waned. She stretched her arms above her head, hoping to touch the ground and came up three feet short.

  Never before had she hat
ed her lack of height. Why couldn't she be tall?

  The longer she waited, the more she chickened out. Her greatest risk was getting caught. She gritted her teeth, pressed her hands against the side of the house, and wiggled her way out of the window opening, letting gravity and her weight take her down to the ground, head first.

  "Ugh." The air in her lungs spilled out on contact, and she pushed her upper body off the ground, groaning against the pain in her wrist.

  Rubbing her hand, she glared at the duffle bag for not softening her landing. Unable to spend any more time nursing her hurts, she grabbed the bag with her good hand and ran through the yard, listening for a door, a motorcycle, a voice behind her.

  When she reached the road, her lungs burned, and she slowed down to a fast walk. Assuming Jett and the other men would need at least an hour to clean the trailer and get rid of Victor's body—she shook off the reminder, she needed to keep a fast pace and lose herself on a street that wasn't a normal route to the house.

  If she stayed hidden for the rest of the night, all she had to do was wait until ten o'clock in the morning, and she could go to the Mathew's house and spend two hours with Kylie.

  Wiping the perspiration from her forehead, she'd also need to find a restroom to freshen up and change her clothes before she showed up at the Mathew's. She slipped her arms through the straps of her duffle bag.

  Her wrist ached, and she rubbed the tender bones as she hurried along the side of the road. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. Every bush, every tree, every shadow seemed to hide a danger, ready to hurt her.

  She'd lived a life being afraid. But, her fear was never about who hid in the dark outside. Evil people lived inside homes, protected from the eyes of those on the outside.

  Like, Jett. He'd killed Victor.

  Sure, it happened outside, but he'd been in her trailer moments before.

  Ahead of her, a street light lit the roadway. Knowing she was close to the city limits of Tacoma, she hurried forward. At least she'd run in the right direction.

  THE SPRINKLER IN THE Mathew's backyard arched over the lawn creating a rainbow in the sunshine. Sydney sat on the edge of the lawn chair, courteous and biting her tongue. Every visit to Kylie started out exactly the same way with her being escorted to the side gate by Mr. Mathew and let into the backyard.

  As if stepping inside the house would subject the couple to her stealing their possessions. Kylie couldn't even go for a walk with her so they could talk in private because the neighbors might see her. The Mathew's had a reputation to keep, apparently.

  The sliding door opened. Sydney turned in the chair.

  Kylie shut the door hard enough the glass shook and ran across the concrete patio. Sydney sprung from the chair and threw her arms around her, needing her younger sister more than ever.

  The same height as her, Kylie's untouched blonde hair hung to her waist. Sydney pulled back and looked her over, highly aware of the signs of someone hiding abuse.

  Clear blue eyes stared into hers, holding back tears. Sydney hugged Kylie again before pulling her down into the empty chair beside the one she'd sat in when she'd arrived. They only had two hours together, and like every week, the time went by too fast.

  "Tell me everything since I've talked to you," whispered Sydney, scooting her chair closer and angling the seat.

  She held Kylie's hand not wanting to let her go yet.

  Kylie glanced at the house and whispered back, "I got a C in math on my final report, and they refused to sign me up for Driver's Ed when school starts again."

  "Then, you'll work harder when summer is over. You still have time. You're only going to be a junior. Try your best, and maybe they'll let you take the class the second semester." She squeezed Kylie's hand.

  Kylie paused. "I don't even want to go to school."

  "You have to, or you risk the social worker moving you to a different district...farther away," she said.

  It wasn't about going to a different school. Kylie needed to stay with the Mathew's. While they were weird and controlling, they provided her with a quiet home, free of abuse.

  "I know, but I hate St. Mary's." Kylie's chin lowered. "Everyone knows about me."

  When Mr. and Mrs. Mathew became foster parents to Kylie, they'd enrolled her in a private school. Used to bigger public schools where she could get lost in the overcrowding, Kylie found it hard to bond with others. Unfortunately, she stayed with a family who had money, which meant the kids at the school also looked down on those who weren't as well-off.

  A foster kid would always be an outsider.

  If Kylie rebelled or failed in school, the Mathew's could put her back into the system. She could end up with another family, an abusive home, and be too far away for Sydney to see her. As it was, the Mathew's were gracious for allowing her to visit and so far, they believed she was Kylie's adult sister. There was nothing in the rules forcing them to give her two hours each Sunday to visit.

  Considering her life, Sydney was thankful to them for what they had allowed.

  "Look at me." Sydney waited until Kylie straightened her back and raised her gaze. "You are just as good as any of those kids. Even better, because you already know what is important. You're strong."

  "Only when you're with me," muttered Kylie.

  She swallowed the emotions down. "It doesn't matter if I'm right beside you or miles away, you always—always have me."

  That promise meant even more with her life unbalanced at the moment. The Mathew's required her to support herself and be clean to come to their house. If she ended up homeless for too long, she'd need to find a shelter, prolonging her visits.

  Her obstacles to stay in Kylie's life kept getting higher.

  Chapter Five

  "What do you mean she's gone?" Jett strode past Banter and looked in the bedroom he'd put Sydney in. "How the fuck did she get away from you?"

  "Climbed out the window." Banter exhaled loudly. "I don't know when she slipped out, but I noticed the window open when I went outside to have a smoke. That was an hour after you'd left."

  Jett fisted his hand. "I need to find her."

  "I'll help," said Banter.

  "You, can get out of my sight and go back to the clubhouse." Jett waited until Banter left and shook his head. "God damnit," he muttered.

  Brikken never allowed a loose thread in the tightly woven business they conducted. Running on no sleep, he went back through the house and informed Cutter, D-Con, Shore, and Freddy they needed to ride out.

  "Do we have any idea where she'd go?" Freddy pushed himself out of the overstuffed chair and hitched his jeans higher.

  "I know her name is Sydney and she's twenty years old." He grabbed his phone off the arm of the couch and slid it into his pocket. "Without a boss and a way of earning money, she could be anywhere. I want Shore to keep an eye on the house where I took out her boss. She's young enough to be stupid. Without a place to stay, she could return to the trailer not realizing that's the first place the cops will look if they get wind of a missing person. We can't let that happen."

  Angry over leaving Banter in charge of the girl, he headed toward the front door issuing the riding order. During the daytime hours, it'd be almost impossible to find a young girl. At night, he stood a bigger chance. Simply because he hoped she had the smarts to seek shelter. Brikken had enough people on the outside, he could spread the word. Someone would have to see her.

  He walked outside to his motorcycle. People tended to stay in the area they were familiar with. Sydney knew where the stores, gas stations, and bars were located going by the cons she pulled. He had a feeling, she'd return to the bars. To her easiest targets.

  He started his motorcycle realizing it was Sunday. Most bars were closed, except the seedier places.

  The urge to find her before she opened her mouth to the wrong person and ratted him out to the cops outweighed his desire to pull her over his knee and spank her little ass for running off.

  He rode out, determined to find h
er.

  TWELVE HOURS LATER, ten minutes before midnight, Jett spotted Sydney walking across the parking lot of a Motel 6. He pointed her out to D-Con and started his Harley. He would've overlooked her, except she carried the same duffle bag she seemed to have with her wherever she went.

  He shook his head at D-Con to stay back and crossed the road, coming in on the opposite side of the parking lot and cutting off Sydney.

  She spotted him and turned around, running toward the sidewalk. Annoyed after wasting a day and killing a man because of her, he gassed the Harley and rode up on the sidewalk beside her. He grabbed her arm without getting off the motorcycle.

  "Get on," he barked.

  Now that he'd found her, the urgency battering him all day left, and he found himself pissed off. A woman, no matter her age, should have someone looking out for her. She appeared to have no one. Looking at her, all dolled up, she should have someone with her twenty-four/seven.

  She tugged. "I'll scream."

  "I'll shoot."

  Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped struggling. He pulled her over until she needed to brace her hands on him and said, "Put your duffle on your back, take the helmet, and if you try and run again, you won't like what happens."

  Her chin trembled. He let go of her. Once he got her out of town, he wouldn't put up with her shit.

  She put the duffle on her back, the helmet on her head, and struggled with the chinstrap. He grabbed her jacket, pulled her closer, and worked the material through the D-strap while looking at her eyes, which she averted.

  There was something different about her now compared to when she conned the Brikken men. The makeup she hid behind could no longer hide her startling blue eyes that were as clear as a cold river on a spring day. Those eyes carried the burden of pain. Whether it was physical or emotional scars of her past, she carried something heavy.

  She tried to keep the truth from him, but he recognized it all the same. He'd struggled himself through eighteen months of being locked up only relying on himself for survival. His life in turmoil ever since, it seemed as if he hadn't slept for years.