JETT (A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga)

by Debra Kayn

  The police car pulled into the parking lot.

  "Fuck," he muttered, starting his Harley.

  The blue and red lights lit up the area, heading straight toward him. He rode out of the no-parking area, checking his side mirror to find out if the sudden arrival had anything to do with him. He'd have no problem losing the cop, but it would mean leaving Sydney behind until someone from Brikken could come pick her up and trusting that she'd stay at the store for him.

  The police car stopped at the front of the building. A bad feeling came over him. Sydney was inside. If a robbery was going down, he was no use to her outside.

  Parking between a truck and a van in the middle of the lot, he got off his bike and walked toward the store. He dodged a car coming down the aisle, keeping sight of the activity in front of the store.

  A group of people walked out of the automatic doors together, including two security guards. His gaze lowered to the small figure smashed between the large bodies and he stopped walking.

  Rage filled him. He stalked forward. Another cop car arrived, blocking him from Sydney. He cut around the fender and Sydney spotted him.

  She shook her head, stopping him from approaching. Trying to find out what was happening, but unable to take his gaze off her, he held her insight, willing her to be strong.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He ignored the call.

  "Take her down to the station and put her in holding." A policeman stood beside a middle-aged woman scowling at Sydney. "Her social worker will follow you to the station."

  They pushed Sydney into the back of the patrol car. He leaned over, looking through the windshield, keeping contact with her. Sweat broke out on him, and he reached down to the side of his boot for his knife.

  "Sir, you're going to have to move out of the way," said a male voice.

  He stepped back, glanced at the man, and seeing the security patch on the left side of his chest, disregarded him. He was no more than a glorified watchdog without any power.

  Jett walked to the side of the patrol car and bent down.

  Sydney crawled across the back seat to get close to him and tried to push on the door. He squatted, out of sight of the police talking to the social worker on the other side of the vehicle. He couldn't afford to get arrested as a felon for breaking into a police car.

  Sydney shouted his name inside the closed windows. He put his finger in front of his mouth. Tears stained her cheeks, and his gut tightened. He'd demanded she not wear makeup and act her age around him. Someone must've fucking recognized her.

  "I'll find you," he mouthed.

  Her face bunched in confusion and her lips moved. He couldn't hear her.

  He flicked two fingers, moving them back and forth, and pointed at her. She blinked and nodded, mouthing, "Please."

  Placing his hand on his chest, over his heart, he nodded. He promised to find her. Wherever they took her, he'd get her back.

  Voices raised outside. He gazed at Sydney and stood, backing away from the car. He had to leave before the officers grew curious about him hanging around.

  Sydney put her hand on the window, calling him back. Each step away from her, stole his breath until he turned around and walked to his motorcycle. At the Harley, he flat out sucked in air to stay alive.

  Brikken had people inside the police force. He slid onto the seat and started his motorcycle. There was nothing he could do while she remained in holding but the second she got out, he'd find her, and bring her home.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The new social worker assigned to Sydney's case talked on the phone and ignored her. She hooked her feet behind the legs of the chair and leaned against the table in the dining room of the group home for unplaced foster kids under watch by the judge. She'd already served thirty days in the group home run by a woman named Stella and her time was up.

  She'd tried to run away four times. Every week, she broke out of the home only to be snitched on by one of the other foster kids. Now, she was being locked up in JDH—Juvenile Detention Hall.

  Mrs. Hawthorne hung up the phone. "You will be escorted to JDH by a uniformed police officer." She removed a piece of paper from her opened briefcase and slid it across the table. "Please read the instructions. If for some reason, you can't read them, I will read them to you." She set a blue ballpoint pen down in front of her. "You must initial after each rule and sign your name at the bottom of the paper. Do I need to repeat the instructions?"

  She shook her head and read.

  1. I, Sydney Hawkins, will remain in Tacoma Juvenile Detention Hall until eighteen years old or three years, whichever one comes first.

  2. The individual must be enrolled in online school.

  3. The individual must stay in compliance with all conditions of supervision while in custody.

  4. The individual must meet with his or her social worker or probation officer at scheduled times.

  5. The individual must abstain from drugs and alcohol.

  6. The individual has 1 hour of recreation per day between the hours of 3:00 p.m. and 6:00 p.m.

  The rest of the rules blurred in her vision. She grabbed the pen and scribbled her initials at the end of each sentence. Because the state couldn't find an appropriate home for her within thirty days, she was being shoved into a cell at JDH.

  Signing her name, she gave back the pen and pushed the paper away from her. "Done."

  "I will meet with you every Tuesday. You will not know the time I'll show up, but it's mandatory that we meet. If for any reason you refuse to meet with me, I'll contact the judge. There could be punishment or/and monetary charges that would be held and served after your eighteenth birthday." Mrs. Hawthorne pushed another paper at Sydney. "Please sign that you know the appointment day and acknowledge that you will be tested for drugs once a month at my discretion."

  She signed her name.

  More papers were shoved at her. "You can keep these. They're the rules that you'll be expected to follow. You'll initially be put in a room by yourself. Prove you can get along with others and you could be moved to having a roommate."

  "Can I have visitors?" asked Sydney.

  "Only parents or guardians." Mrs. Hawthorne looked over her glasses at her. "The foster parents that you ran away from have signed off on their roles as your guardians. There will be no other acquaintances allowed inside the visitor's room."

  "What about siblings?"

  Mrs. Hawthorne's mouth tightened. "Only siblings that are over the age of eighteen."

  Refusing to let the strict rules get her down, she shut her mouth. Tomorrow, she'd have some freedom. From a prior stay in JDH, she knew phone calls would be allowed. She could call Kylie. Maybe she would be able to find out Jett's phone number and let him know she was being put in JDH so he wouldn't worry.

  She swallowed hard. Leaving Kylie had been the hardest thing she'd lived through. Until she got used to sleeping beside Jett. Her heart hurt. It hurt so bad, she couldn't even cry.

  JETT SLAMMED THE DOOR of the clubhouse. The violent noise he needed to hear in the large room never happened because of the fucking music blaring.

  Chief stopped him halfway across the room. "Anything, son?"

  "No." He walked with Chief to the kitchen where they could talk without shouting.

  Chief leaned against the counter. "Our contacts with the P.D. couldn't help?"

  "Wasted trip." He opened the fridge, pulled out a sandwich, and unwrapped the Saran Wrap. "Even the police can't get into the state records of minors. They're sealed by the courts. We'd need a judge."

  "Tried before. The two sons of bitches sitting on the bench were selected by a legislative committee at the state level." Chief gazed at the counter, frowning. "She wasn't in the group home you checked out?"

  He wiped the crumbs from his beard over his rushed dinner after not having eaten all day. "The guard believes she left three days ago. Apparently, he knows some chick in the office down in juvie and is going to try and get more information for me.
Until then, I wait and keep looking."

  "We've got a run in two weeks," said Chief.

  He stepped over to the sink and filled a glass with water. "I'll be ready."

  Whether he found Sydney or not, he wouldn't jeopardize Brikken business. It took years to keep the same men on the road, each one having proved his loyalty to Brikken.

  Chapter Twenty

  Six months later –

  The girl Jett looked for rounded the corner. He waited at the end of the block. It'd taken breaking into social services office to find out where Sydney was taken. After the State of Washington failed to find her a home within the system, they'd locked her up in Tacoma's Juvenile Detention Hall.

  He found it bullshit that he could break into a state-run office easier than visit the inside of a children's facility during daytime hours.

  During his search for Sydney, he'd found the reason behind her continually trying to run away and why she'd become despondent while staying with him.

  And, that reason was walking straight toward him.

  His chest tightened. He'd left his Harley, along with his MC vest, around the corner so not to frighten the child. There wasn't much he could do about his looks, but he'd remember to keep his voice softer than normal. All he needed was a few minutes to find out the information he needed.

  The closer the girl got to him, the more Jett's pulse beat. She looked like Sydney, except for the sloped posture of her shoulders. The girl had the same hair length, except blonde. The flawless complexion hinted that if the girl raised her head, he'd be looking in eyes that were the same as Sydney's.

  She got within ten feet of him without noticing. He cleared his throat, hoping not to startle her. "Kylie?"

  She looked up and stopped, her eyes widening. He raised his hands in front of him in a non-threatening way. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off or draw attention from the houses on the street.

  "I'm a friend of Sydney's. I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to talk," he said, keeping his voice quiet when all he wanted to do was force her to answer his questions.

  "I know who you are." Kylie shifted her backpack to the other arm and glanced around. "My sister told me about you."

  Sydney was a year older than Kylie. From the information out of their file, their mother gave both children to their father's mother and ran off before the girls were two years old. The state took them away from their grandmother when Sydney was four years old. It turned out the grandmother was showing signs of dementia. With no family member around to look after the girls, they entered foster care. A year later, their grandmother passed away.

  "Good." The tension in his chest eased. It would go a lot easier if the girl weren't afraid of him. "Do you have any contact with Sydney?"

  Kylie nodded. "I'm allowed to write her letters, and she calls me twice a week."

  He had to strain to hear her. She barely moved her lips.

  "They don't let you see her at juvie?"

  She shook her head.

  Okay, he could work with this. "Do you think you could pass on a message to her?"

  "I can't see—"

  "No, I know." He slowed down. "Writing it in a letter is fine."

  Kylie bit her lip, glanced around, and finally said, "Okay."

  "Tell her to take care of herself, and I'll be here for her when she's released." His throat tightened. Unused to talking to others about his private life, he wanted to tell Sydney face to face. "Tell her I can't get her out. Tell her...tell her to look for the clouds above her."

  "Mr..."

  "Just Jett," he said.

  "I'll tell her but—" Her gaze shot to the street.

  He followed her gaze. A cop car rolled toward them slowly. Fuck.

  Jett walked backward away from Kylie, not wanting to get caught talking to a minor. "Appreciate you passing on my words, Kylie. Take care of yourself."

  He turned and headed toward his motorcycle. Acting as if the cop car wasn't a concern, he never looked behind him. At his Harley, he put on his vest.

  Rain splattered on his motorcycle seat. He latched his helmet on his head.

  The cop car came around the block toward him as he threw his leg over the motorcycle. The urge to race away stolen from him when the patrol car crossed the center line and pulled in front of his motorcycle, blocking his path.

  He got off his Harley and stepped up on the curb.

  The driver's door opened, and the officer stood, using the door as cover, and pointed a pistol at him. "Hands in the air."

  He raised his hands.

  "On your knees," said the policeman. "Now."

  He lowered himself to his knees.

  "Lay down and put your arms out to the sides."

  Jesus Christ. He hadn't done anything wrong.

  He followed the policeman's instructions. The officer's shoes walked past his head. A knee landed on his back. He grunted, tightening his stomach against the added weight and felt his pistol slide out from under his belt.

  God Damnit. He'd taken off his vest to talk to Kylie, leaving his gun in sight for any cop driving by to see.

  A hand gripped his wrist, pulling his arm down and behind him. Then, his other hand, until he was cuffed.

  "I.D.?" asked the police officer.

  "In my wallet. Back pocket." He stared at the bushes off the sidewalk. He was up shit creek. Once the officer ran his license, he'd find out he was a felon with a weapon. He'd be going back in a cell. Alone.

  Sydney would wonder why he never came for her when she was released from juvie.

  He'd lost her.

  The muscles in his arms strained to move. The club needed him. Sydney needed him.

  He lifted his head and looked at the cop car. Squinting, he peered through the windshield. The cop was on the radio, getting his information.

  His gaze wandered to movement in the passenger seat, and his whole body hardened. Sydney's sister sat in the cop car.

  He'd been betrayed.

  Part 2

  Chapter Twenty One

  KYLIE,

  It's important that you stay on good terms with your foster parents and do well in school. I only have six more months until I'm eighteen years old and if it's okay with Mr. and Mrs. Mathew, I'll be able to see you.

  SYDNEY LIFTED THE PEN and stared at the wall. Knowing Kylie's foster parents opened and read the letters she sent, she needed to keep things light and motivating. Her sister was smart enough to read between the lines. That's how Kylie had explained to her what happened to Jett. It took three letters for her to understand that having a hard time with an upcoming speech in history meant she hadn't figured out a way to talk to Jett.

  She warmed. Her sister calling Jett history was brilliant. He was old.

  Through the letters three times a week, Kylie was able to give her enough information. Jett had been arrested after talking with Kylie for carrying a knife or gun. She wasn't sure.

  She put the pen on the paper.

  I'M USING MY FREE TIME in here to get caught up with my school work. I'm crossing my fingers that I can pass my GED test before I'm released. I'm doing the best in history, but I hate math.

  SHE SMIRKED. HISTORY...Jett. Math...Mathew. Her sister would smile at her play on words.

  MY HAIR IS ALMOST BACK to blonde. Only the tips are black. One of the new girls here purposely dyed her hair black before she was arrested and brought in. Maybe I started the new style. Me, a beauty expert. Hahaha

  I had oatmeal for breakfast. When I get out, after I get a job, I'm going to go to the Pancake House. You know that place that's always loud and crowded? That Pancake House.

  SHE TAPPED THE PEN against the paper. Would her sister understand she was talking about Brikken clubhouse? Kylie had never been there, but she hoped her sister remembered their conversation from when she was in the group home and could talk freely.

  I'M GOING TO ORDER everything on the menu until my stomach is satisfied. I'll take you if you can go. I'll even buy whatever you
want to eat. I bet you'll love the strawberries with whip cream on the pancakes. Tell me everything! All the things you like to eat.

  SHE NEEDED ANSWERS about Jett. Even if she had to face Chief, who probably hated her, she needed to know how to find Jett and see him. They must let people into the adult prison, wherever they took him, to visit.

  I BETTER GET BACK TO studying. Soon, they'll come in and check my room, and I need to clean first. Count the days, sister! I'm excited to be out soon and better my life. Talk to your foster parents about me seeing you when I do get out. Make sure you keep getting good grades. That's important.

  I love you most!

  Sydney

  SHE SET THE PEN DOWN, folded the paper, and set it on her bunk. The guard would give the letter to Mrs. Hawthorne who would read it before judging whether it was okay to send or not. JDH had strict rules about what was appropriate or not. The computers in the classroom weren't even hooked to WIFI because they didn't want any of the kids contacting people on the outside.

  Over the last year and a half, she'd tried everything to find out more about Brikken Motorcycle Club. She looked through all the phone books in the library during free time, trying to remember all the members she'd met and their names. Unfortunately, between the nicknames she remembered and having no last names for the members, she couldn't find one single person with a phone number listed.

  She even wrote down all the prisons in the state of Washington for when she was able to walk out of JDH. If she couldn't get answers from going to the Brikken clubhouse, she'd call each penitentiary until she found Jett.

  She put her pen on the shelf beside the five sheets of paper. To earn money, she helped out in the kitchen and was able to buy better food out of the vending machines, paper to write Kylie, phone privileges, a pen, and an extra blanket.