JETT (A Brikken Motorcycle Club Saga)

by Debra Kayn

  It wasn't her first trip to JDH, but it was her longest stay. Apparently running away from foster care for nine months made her high risk, and there were no foster parents who wanted an older child who caused trouble. Most of the families housed younger kids, and she was deemed a bad influence.

  The first few days back in JDH were more miserable than she remembered. It wasn't the strict conditions and rules pushed onto her after living life on her own, but the pain of loss over losing Jett. All her hope at making it back to him disappeared amongst teasing and bullying from the other girls serving their sentences.

  Most of the kids were either looking forward to or dreading their eighteenth birthday.

  She straightened the blanket on the bed and aligned her flat pillow with the edge of the thin padding covering the bunk. Her eyes burned, running her hand over the dingy pillow. She worried about Jett.

  He had trouble sleeping at home after spending time in prison. Now he was back in a cell, because of her. Would he hate her?

  Kylie hadn't tattled on him. Mr. Mathew often checked up on Kylie when she walked home from school in his patrol car. Her sister had no idea Jett was going to approach her. It was bad timing. Her sister had no idea he'd be arrested or that he was carrying a weapon.

  Without knowing how much time he had to serve, she could only hold on to hope that Chief would allow her to talk with Jett or at least write him a letter when she got out. Some kids in JDH had parents in the adult prison. The kids were able to talk on the phone to the prison.

  That's what she planned to do in six months. She'd con everyone into thinking Jett was her dad and walk into the prison and explain everything to him, face to face. He'd promised to come get her. Now, she was making the promise to herself that she would go to him.

  "Baker, Jugaski, Marshall, Hawkins. Line up," shouted the guard.

  Sydney gazed around the room making sure everything was in its place. Because the rooms were only under lockdown at night, anyone in the common corridor could walk in and snoop through her things.

  "Hawkins," yelled the guard.

  "Coming." She hurried out of her room and lined up against the wall.

  Once everyone was accounted for, she followed the guard down a level in the building to the kitchen. The group of four were allowed to go and help get lunch ready for the others. It was the only time all sixty-some residents in JDH were together. Mostly, she was only permitted to go to the common area outside the rooms.

  The other girls congregated at the tables all day long, while she preferred to stay to herself. There were a few girls that were almost eighteen and going to be transferred to the adult prison to continue their sentence.

  Compared to attempted murder, burglary, assault charges the other girls faced, her sentence for "not being wanted in foster care" put a label on her as being a wimp. She wouldn't allow anyone to bully her which meant staying away from them, so she didn't get in trouble. That was the only way she could guarantee she'd get out of JDH when she was eighteen years old.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chief and Keeffe sat on the other side of the stainless-steel table in the visiting room of Seattle Penitentiary. Jett sat on the other side, facing them. Unlike the last time he was incarcerated, he was allowed free use of his hands and feet.

  With the more relaxed visitations, he was also allowed two visitors at a time, and at the end of the hour, the guards allowed one, short hug.

  He'd only missed one visitation in the last year and a half when he spent time in solitary for fighting. He had twenty-nine more months of his sentence left, almost two and a half years of his four-year sentence.

  While his second time behind bars proved easier in many ways compared to his first time when he had to learn the rules, fight to secure his safety, and deal with hazing, his frustration and anger remained high because of Sydney.

  "Have they mentioned wanting to move you to general population yet?" asked Chief.

  He shook his head. "They won't."

  "They know you're Brikken." Chief sniffed. "Did they give you the line about your protection and other bullshit?"

  "At least I bunk alone at the moment." He looked around the room, seeing if anyone took special interest to his visitors at the table. "It's one step up from seg."

  Getting put in seg—the hole—messed with the sanest man's head. When his body tired from lack of sleep on the block, he'd often do enough to bring the guard's attention to him and take the mark-up to seg. Then, he'd spend his solitary confinement for twenty-three hours a day to sleep. Or, try to sleep in the freezer pit of the prison.

  "What's going on at home?" he asked.

  "We've added two more members." Chief's crossed arms and relaxed position belied the tension running through him. "We bumped Banter and O'Brien up and let them be involved in the garage."

  He'd expected growth within Brikken during his absence. The success of the club's survival meant adding to their numbers.

  "Has Banter matured?" Jett kept his hands under the table. "He was an irresponsible little shit when I was out."

  Chief lifted his shoulder. "As much as we can expect. We're watching him."

  "Got some bad news." Keeffe's gaze softened. "Doc passed away last week."

  "Damn." He leaned back in his chair. "His wife?"

  "She's doing okay. The women are making sure she's got food and an ear." Keeffe inhaled deeply. "He lived a good life. An honest life."

  Doc had treated him for every broken bone and stitched him up regularly throughout his childhood and up until he was carted off to prison. "How'd he go?"

  "Doc was pushing eighty-eight years old." Chief ran his hand down his beard. "He went in his sleep, the way he deserved to go out."

  He shook his head, leaving the reflections of his own life for another day when he had time by himself. "Take some money out of my account, make sure he's honored right."

  Keeffe nodded. "Will do."

  Jett looked to his father. "Sydney's got six more months in juvie. I want you to find her after she's released."

  "You're going to be stuck in here for a while. Don't you think it's better to let her be? She's young. You haven't seen or talked to her in a year and a half. A girl her age grows up...changes. Makes mistakes. Learns." Chief grimaced. "You weren't trusting her before, son. She's taken four years of your life. I won't allow her on Brikken property to take any more men down."

  "I made a promise." He steeled his jaw. "I plan on keeping it."

  He wasn't going to defend his feelings toward Sydney. Nothing had changed. What he felt toward her had multiplied while incarcerated. He had all the time in the world to go over every conversation, every night spent with her, and how she'd set him up. He wanted her in his bed when he got out, and then he'd punish her.

  She owed him.

  Sydney's sister turned him into the cops. He'd seen it with his own eyes. Kylie sat in the front of the cop car, unashamed of setting him up. The damn police showing up when he made contact with Kylie was too big of a coincidence for him. Hell, maybe Sydney opened her mouth and tried to frame him to get another chance at running away instead of spending time in a group home before she was sent to kiddy prison.

  He wouldn't know until he talked to her.

  "In the chance that she gets out early before we talk again, I want you to put her in the house. Put a couple men on her to make sure she stays around." His head pounded. The headaches that plagued him inside were a daily occurrence. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I need communication in here. I had to get rid of the other one."

  He'd used the throwaway phone to pay off a guard to look the other way when he'd got wind a few Sparrows members were going to jump him. He'd taken out two motherfuckers and put the other one in the hospital.

  "Can it wait a week or do you want someone else to make the mid-week visit?" asked his dad.

  "Next week is fine." He looked at the clock on the wall and the pressure to hurry passed through him. "Olin and Thorn doing okay?"r />
  "Doing the same shit," said Chief.

  "Ashley cut it off with Olin," added Keeffe.

  He scoffed. "That'll last a fucking minute."

  Chief scooted back his chair and walked away. He gazed after his dad. The years had been harsh on the old man, but he seemed to be winning.

  "He's doing okay?" he asked.

  Keeffe nodded. "You know Chief. He wouldn't let us know if he had troubles."

  "No, but Johanna would," he mumbled. "The family? My mom?"

  "They miss you and send their love." Keeffe shook his head in amusement. "Those little girls though...mouthier than all shit. Stassi likes saying no and Jackie's still got every man wrapped around her finger."

  A pang of longing to see family hit him. Stassi was almost two years old and wouldn't know him. He'd be lucky if Jackie remembered her oldest brother.

  Chief returned to the table with a couple candy bars and a Coke. "Eat."

  He didn't want any food. He wanted to beat Sydney's ass. Every time he had visitors, his desire to find Sydney and make her pay for putting him in prison escalated.

  Picking up a candy bar, he ate. Arguing with Chief wasn't done. If Chief said to carry the table to the other side of the room, he'd do it knowing there was a purpose and he'd find out later.

  He polished off the Coke when the guard announced visiting hour was over. The sugar boost brought him out of his seat. He met his dad halfway when Chief hooked his neck and brought his head forward. He remained that way, forehead to forehead, taking in all that was Chief and what he offered.

  "Head high. Don't tuck your thumbs. Do not let those motherfuckers get to you. Keep your cool." Chief rolled his head and whispered in his ear, "I'll find her for you, son."

  He nodded, shook hands with Keeffe, and turned to line up at the door to go back to his cell. Confident his dad would get Sydney as soon as she walked out of juvie, he inhaled a deep breath, ready to count down another fucking day.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The cord on the motel phone stretched to the bed. Sydney shoved the rest of her clothes in the duffle bag.

  "Are you excited to start the school year? Only nine more months and you graduate. Start counting down." She picked up her makeup bag and laid it on top of the clothes.

  "Don't change the subject. I don't like you going there by yourself," whispered Kylie over the phone. "Can't you wait until I'm with you?"

  "No." She'd waited long enough to visit the Brikken Clubhouse.

  She'd waited to get out of JDH.

  She'd waited to find out which prison Jett was locked up in.

  She'd waited to see her sister and make sure she was okay with her own eyes.

  All she'd done for the last two years was wait. If she had to wait for anything more, she'd go mental.

  "I'm out of money. JDH only gave me one-hundred and fifty dollars when I left," she said.

  "Why would they give you that much?"

  "It wasn't from them. It's from the state. You'll get that amount, too, once you turn eighteen," she said.

  "Sort of like a big screw you, you're out on your own now, sucker," whispered Kylie.

  She laughed despite how pathetically true the statement was. "I don't have enough money for another night at the motel. I'm going to the clubhouse as soon as I hang up." She looked around the room, making sure she left nothing behind. "After I get more information about Jett, I'm going to hit some of my old spots and make some money. Then, I'm going to try and get a motel room closer to you."

  "I hate not knowing what is happening with you and not being able to help. Can you call me again when you know where you're staying? Before eight o'clock."

  Kylie's curfew was whacked. She was seventeen years old. The least the Mathew's could do was let her talk to her sister whenever she wanted.

  "I'll try if I can find a phone but not making any promises because I don't want you to worry if I can't." She turned and sat down on the bed. "I'll be fine either way."

  "I still worry."

  "I know, but I'm the big sister. I got this." She sat straighter. "All right, sister. I'm heading out. Wish me luck."

  "Wait." Kylie paused. "What if he's in prison somewhere far away. You're not going to leave me in Tacoma, right?"

  "No. Definitely no. I would never leave you. No matter what." She stood. "Okay, I need to go. Love you bunches."

  "Love you bunches back," said Kylie.

  She hung up the phone. Before the downer mood could hit her, she picked up her bag and walked out to the office to turn in the key to her room.

  Thankful for the slob of a man who ran the place, he never blinked when she handed over a brand-new proof of identity card her social worker gave her when she walked out of JDH.

  Outside, she slipped her arms into the handles of her duffle and headed left, toward the north side of town. It was four miles until she'd reach the road that would take her to the Brikken property, and another four and a half miles until she reached the clubhouse. She wasn't going to waste money paying for a ride when she could walk. The trip would keep her occupied until night arrived and she could do some cons.

  She strolled on the sidewalk and looked up at the sky. A sunny day with big, white fluffy clouds overheard made her smile. She walked faster knowing the clouds would lead her to the clubhouse where she'd be closer to Jett, even though he was away.

  He'll come back to me.

  Whatever prison he was at, she'd take a bus or train or hitchhike to see him.

  At the next three intersections, the walk sign turned as she approached, failing to break her stride. She took her good luck as a sign that she was doing the right thing. Not even traffic signals could stop her.

  She'd lived her life wanting to turn eighteen years old for as long as she understood what that magical age meant to a foster kid. To be an adult and have control over how she lived, how Kylie lived, and never have others—who knew nothing about her, act like they cared when all they were doing was keeping her in their home to receive a paycheck every month—tell her how to live. Not to mention, how many of the fosters abused their position as the adult in the relationship.

  She couldn't remember a time when she felt like a kid. Her maturity had nothing to do with the way she'd grown up. There came a point in time where she realized that she was the one responsible for herself. Everyone else was temporary.

  Her newfound freedom, out of JDH, away from being in a system, smelled fresh as a spring day and as bright as the sun.

  She stepped over the crack in the sidewalk. Two weeks ago, she'd turned the official age. It took the state of Washington ten days to release her from their care and let her walk out of JDH. So far, being an adult was lonely.

  She was good at being lonely.

  Ahead of her, a group of men walked out of the bar onto the sidewalk. She looked straight ahead and minded her own business. Until she found out what prison Jett was in and how much money she'd need to travel there, she'd wait to con them out of their hard-earned money.

  Two blocks away, she stopped under an awning of a Mexican restaurant to get out of the sun and cool off. The day had already grown warm, and it was only nine o'clock in the morning.

  Traffic flowed by, probably other adults going to work. The pressure to make money continually on her mind, she spent relentless hours combing the ads in the newspaper. With only a GED diploma, no driver's license, and no permanent address, not to mention no cell phone, she'd have a hard time finding a conventional job.

  Last night, she'd watched the sports channel on cable in the motel room and jotted down teams playing. The easiest route to getting more money would be to hit the sports enthusiasts. She could run her own bets the way Victor had and keep all the cash. A week working would probably keep her in a hotel room for the month.

  A loud rumble drew her attention. She stepped out of the shadow and raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the sun. A big, black motorcycle headed toward her on the street and adrenaline flooded her at the sight
of the full beard and broad body.

  The closer the rider came, she realized it wasn't Jett but Chief. She bent over and grabbed her duffle and stepped off the curb, waving her arm over her head. In her excitement at seeing anyone from Brikken, she couldn't even muster enough fear at seeing Chief after more than two years.

  Only when he stopped at the curb and looked at her did she realize being overconfident was a huge mistake.

  Chief glared. He was not happy to see her.

  She stepped over to his bike and waited for him to turn the engine off so she could talk.

  When she finally convinced herself he wasn't going to give her the courtesy to hear her out, the air suddenly quieted. She pried her tongue off the roof of her mouth. All her prepared questions fled.

  "Grab the extra helmet and get on," he ordered.

  She jumped to do what he asked, and then stepped on the foot peg and sat behind him. Unprepared to run into him before she reached the clubhouse, she could only hold on as he rode out of town.

  Fifteen minutes later, Chief pulled into the driveway at Jett's house. A plethora of emotions choked her. He'd made this her home more than any foster family had in the past. He never had time to buy furniture or run a normal house, but he was with her, and that was all that she required.

  He'd made her happy here. Every night, he snuggled up against her. She swallowed the lump of emotions in her throat. He'd wanted her.

  The last morning they were together, he'd planned to have sex with her. Her feelings had been out of control. Wild and free.

  "Sydney?" said Chief.

  She left the memories for the moment and slid from the motorcycle, taking the helmet off. "Yes?"

  Chief held out a keyring. "You can stay here."

  Surprised, she stared up at him. Jett's father hadn't asked where she'd been or why she'd been gone.

  "Where's Jett?" she asked handing Chief the helmet.

  "You don't know?" He shifted on the seat and attached the helmet to the bungee cord.