by Kim Jones
“She’s a well-informed one, too. Dallas is still pissed Winter knew that shit about her. By the way, how did she know?”
I smirk at him. “You accusing me of something?”
“No, brother. But you know every move this girl has made in the past two years. Who she talked to. Who she had lunch with. I want to know which of those is responsible for sharing shit that shouldn’t have been shared.”
I could tell him that in the two years I watched her, she hadn’t talked to anyone outside Madness and their affiliates. The girl had no friends. No outside connections. Not even a cell phone. It’s all true, but for some reason, it’s not something I want to share. So I give him another truth. One he should’ve thought of himself.
“Winter grew up around the club. She may not have known anyone from here personally, but she likely spoke to plenty of people who did. The shit about Red being a stripper, hell everybody knew that. She probably found out about Delilah from some whore who jumped ship and joined Madness. And Dallas…well, bad news travels fast, Luke. If your ol’ lady capped someone, people in this world are gonna hear about it. And not just the people who wear our colors.”
He considers that a moment before agreeing. Eyeing my phone, he picks it up and takes a closer look. “That dot hasn’t moved since I’ve been here.” He holds it up for me to see. I barely glance at the screen.
“My best guess is she’s curled up trying to get warm.”
“How do you know she’s not hurt?” he asks.
“I don’t.” I shrug. Indifferent.
He lifts a brow. “Seriously?”
I nod once. “Seriously.”
Shaking his head, he breathes out a laugh and stands. “Pierce won’t be happy if something happens to her.”
“Well Pierce ain’t the motherfucker stuck here babysitting her either, is he?”
Luke really laughs at that. “Something tells me you’re enjoying it more than you let on.” Funny fucker… I know what he’s insinuating. And he’s right.
I enjoyed fucking her last night. But that was a one-time thing. Still, I can’t keep that look she had in her eyes when she came all over my cock, out of my head.
“Call if you need me, Jinx,” he says, starting toward the door. Still getting his seven fucking chuckles. “Oh,” he adds, stopping at the door and turning. “Runner.”
“What?”
He smirks. “Six letter word for rug. Runner.”
Runner.
How fucking fitting.
14
WINTER
I hate fucking trees. I think I hate them more than country music. At least I can tell the difference between the miserable artists who make a living drowning people with depressing songs. But these trees? They all look exactly the same.
I should’ve left a trail. It couldn’t have been with breadcrumbs because A, I don’t have any, and B, if I did I would’ve eaten them by now. But I could’ve used something. Maybe one of these eighty-seven million fucking pinecones I keep stepping on.
As much as I hate to admit it, Jinx was right. I’m lost, fucking freezing, hungry, near tears and praying that he finds me. I’ve never wished for the sun to set more than I do right now. He said he’d be here just before dark, and I have to believe him. My sanity and my life depend on it.
I’m so stupid. He baited me with escape and I took it. Like a fool. If I’d have just made him believe I wasn’t going to run, then I could’ve better planned this. Stocked up some food. Water. Warm clothes. A cigarette. Or maybe I’d have thought to hide in the edge of the woods until he went in looking for me. Then I could’ve ran down the driveway and to the main road.
Fuck my life.
Every few steps I’m stumbling. Sometimes I fall but I manage to always get back up and keep moving. But when my right foot disappears into a hole and causes me to head-butt a tree, I decide I’ve had enough.
Slumping against the same tree that nearly knocked me unconscious, I pull my shirt over my legs and tuck my arms inside. I curl them around my waist in search of warmth. There isn’t any. My skin, scratched from head to toe from low hanging limbs, are as cold as my feet. Which are filled with stickers. And all I can think about is that warm bath that I’ll never get.
I must be dehydrated. Delirious. Mentally unstable. Because I’m crying. And I don’t cry. Ever. But here they are—big, fat tears streaming down my face. Worst of all, they’re not even hot. They’re like fucking icicles.
There’s no way I’ll make it until dark. That’s at least an hour away. I’ll be dead by then. Somehow, that’s not as disappointing as I thought it would be. At least then Jinx will lose, too.
I’ve given myself whiplash from snapping my head up every time I hear a limb snap—only to find a squirrel, rabbit or bird scampering off in the distance. Eventually, I quit looking. Mostly because I no longer have the energy. I just sit and shiver and cry as time passes and I, regretfully, don’t die. Instead I dream of pouring that hot coffee I drank this morning over my head.
“You made it further than I thought you would.” The voice sounds far away but when I lift my head, Jinx is standing over me. A fresh wave of tears floods my face at the sight of him.
“You f-found me,” I whisper, my teeth chattering so hard my jaw hurts.
“I told you I would.” And just like he said, it’s nearly dark. Had so much time already passed?
“How?”
Other than a smirk, he doesn’t answer. Like he knows some big secret I don’t. Which, obviously, he does if he could trek through this maze of fucking trees without so much as a footprint to lead him to me.
“If it makes you feel any better, you were about a hundred yards from freedom.” He points in the direction I was heading. “Just a little bit further and you’d have been at the back entrance of a high school. Probably could’ve found everything you needed there. Clothes…food…Driver’s ED car. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get there tomorrow.”
He’s teasing me. He wants me to run. And damn if I’m not already plotting how I can make it that extra one hundred yards if given the opportunity.
If I had the energy to scream, I would.
“I h-hate you.”
“So you’ve said,” he says, kneeling in front of me. “Can you stand?” I shoot him a cold look. My vision is fuzzy, but I can make out his smirk, the jacket he wears in place of his cut and the beanie on his head where his hat usually sits.
“Even if I c-could, I wouldn’t. If you want me to go b-back with you, you’ll have to drag me there.”
“I could force you to walk,” he says, only a hint of humor in his voice.
A sob builds in my chest. I try and fail to choke it down before admitting on a cry, “I have stickers.” For the first time, I hear him laugh. It’s only a light chuckle, but the sound seeps warmth into my bones.
Reaching beneath my shirt, he guides my hands back into the sleeves. “I may be an asshole but I draw the line at stickers,” he teases, placing my arms around his neck. He cradles me against his chest with one arm at my back and the other beneath my knees. I curl into him and absorb his warmth as he stands and starts walking us out of the woods.
We only walk a short distance before coming to a four wheeler. He climbs on—sitting me on the seat in front of him and keeping me pressed tight to his body. Probably because if I die of hypothermia, he won’t be able to gloat in the morning.
Shrugging out of his jacket, he places it over my shoulders. It’s so comfortable and inviting, I moan. And it makes it easier to endure the cold air on my naked legs. I still can’t feel my feet and I’m too scared to look at them. Afraid I’ll discover I’ve lost a toe or three.
“Seven miles,” he says, the deep tenor of his voice reverberating through his sweater. “You made it seven miles through unfamiliar woods, barefoot, wearing nothing but a shirt.”
“Your shirt,” I correct, tilting my head back a little to look up at him. This close, I can see a small dimple in his chin beneath the few days’ wo
rth of hair there.
“Yeah. My shirt. That’s ruined thanks to you. Stop wearing my shit.” He hands me a bottle of water. “Drink. All of it.”
I have no problem guzzling down the entire bottle. I’m still thirsty and am about to tell him that when he hands me another bottle. “Finish that before we get home.” He gases the four wheeler then, forcing me closer into him. I tuck my arms and legs as much as possible and allow myself to snuggle into his chest.
The ride is smooth and I find myself dozing in between sips of water. Only when I’m lifted and carried inside do I fully wake. It’s more to the scent of something delicious than the lack of cold air swirling around me.
“Is that soup?”
“Yep,” he says, continuing down the hall. When he pushes open the door to the room I slept in last night, I smile. Awe. Dinner in bed.
Gently, he lays me down—straddling my waist. “Making a habit of this, are we?” I tease, allowing him to take my hands in his. He secures them quickly before standing and pulling my body until my arms are stretched tight. Then he has my ankles in his grip.
“Hey!” I try to pull out of his hold but my strength is no match and he easily binds me despite my struggle. When he straightens and meets my gaze, I stiffen at the unexpected harshness in his eyes.
“I told you what would happen if you ran.” He snatches his jacket out from under me and instantly I’m cold.
“Wait!” I yell, just as he starts to walk away. “Where are you going?”
That stupid, blank look is on his face when he takes a step back to stare at me. “To eat soup,” he says simply.
“What about me?” Swallowing hard, I give him my most pitiful expression. “Please. I’m hungry.”
“Told you you’d beg. I’m a man of my word.”
Scowling, I jerk against my restraints. They don’t give. “You can’t just leave me like this.”
“You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of those woods.”
“Why? Because you draw the line at stickers? Well fuck you!” I scream, my anger heating my skin that’s slowly starting to regain color.
Leaning down, he brings his face close to mine and growls, “You already did, sweetheart. That’s what got you here in the first place.” His voice drops. “And I’m not talking about last night. I’m talking about two years ago when you stole every-fucking-thing from me.” With one last hard glare, he disappears from sight before cutting the lights and slamming the door behind him.
I’m left in the dark.
Tied up.
Dirty.
Hungry.
Tired.
Cold.
Just like he promised.
15
WINTER
When Jinx tossed me on the bed like an old sock, he made sure I was facing away from the door. So the only thing I have to look at is a plain wall and a window shielded by shades drawn so tight, I nearly miss the tiny sliver of light starting to filter between the cracks.
I have no idea how long I’ve been in here, but I lost my voice from screaming threats at him long before the sun came up. Now I wish I wouldn’t have yelled so much. Then I could tell him that I’m about to piss on myself.
My full bladder, dry throat, growling stomach, lack of sleep and numb limbs have me nearly in tears when the door opens and I’m suddenly blinded by light. I tuck my head into my arm to shield my eyes but see a large figure that appears in my peripherals. Cautiously, I squint up at him.
“Sleep well, sweetheart?”
“I’m not your sweetheart,” I whisper, turning my head back to get a full view of a smiling Jinx. Of course he looks good in his long-sleeved, black Henley that hugs his muscles and those baggy jeans. His hat low on his eyes. Jaw smooth. He smells good so he must be freshly showered. Meanwhile I smell like death.
He pulls a knife from his pocket and flips open the blade. “This is sharp. If you move, I might cut off a toe or a finger.”
“Well since there’s no blood there, I’m guessing my chances of survival are pretty good.” His eyes flit to my pale limbs. He doesn’t say anything, but he makes quick work of freeing me. I moan at the immediate relief then whimper in pain as the blood comes rushing back.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” he says, twisting my ankle in his hand. I jerk away from him and roll to my side—groaning in agony. After my few failed attempts at sitting up straight, he rolls his eyes and lets out a loud breath.
He scoops me up despite my whispered protests and carries me into the bathroom. Once there, he unceremoniously sits me on the toilet and towers over me. Rolling my shoulders, I glare up at him.
“What? You want to watch or something? Get the hell out of here.” The urge to pee has me curling my toes into the rug and squeezing my thighs together. I would like to use the bathroom in peace, but if he insists on watching, I won’t be able to hold back for long.
He smirks down at me, obviously aware of my struggle. “Maybe.”
“Asshole,” I growl, no longer caring if he’s in here. My entire body relaxes and my bladder thanks me for it.
When I’m finished, he hands me some tissue. I snort—half expecting him to demand to do that too. Before he can make some wise crack about it, I quickly wipe myself.
Without waiting for him, I stand on wobbly legs. He reaches out and wraps his big hand around my arm to steady me. I try my best to ignore how hot his skin feels on mine. Probably because mine is still so damn cold.
Making sure to avoid my reflection, I take the two steps toward the sink and wash my hands and face—clenching my jaw so hard my teeth hurt just to keep from biting the shit out of him.
“I can walk,” I snap when he scoops me up once again.
“If you do, our breakfast will be cold by the time we get there.”
I don’t look at him as he carries me. I even hold my breath so I don’t smell him either. Once we’re in the main room, he sits me next to him and this time there are two plates of steaming food on the table.
“Eat up,” he says, handing me a fork. “You’re gonna need your energy if you decide to run again today. Although I doubt you’ll make it out of the yard.”
With shaky hands, I lift the fork to my lips, ignoring him as I shovel in bite after bite. The silence is welcome and I’m thankful he doesn’t comment on the mess I’m making. If he did, I’d stab him in the eye with my fork. And the sight of blood would definitely ruin my appetite.
After I’ve cleaned my plate and some of his—which he offered to me—I reach for the pack of cigarettes on the table. He takes them from me wordlessly. I’m about to protest when he lights a smoke and passes it to me. I take it from his fingers, eyeing him cautiously when he hands me my coffee too.
“So do you plan to counter every horrible thing you do to me with an act of kindness?” I ask, taking a deep drag of the smoke I notice is my choice brand. Coincidence?
“You did this shit to yourself, sweetheart.”
If looks could kill, mine would have him dying a slow death. “So what’s the plan here, Jinx? You’re going to keep me here? Locked away in your clubhouse in the woods for sixty days? Then escort me to the lawyer’s office in San Diego, collect your money and send me on my way?”
“Something like that.”
“And what happens when Cain shows up here?”
He gives me a lazy smile. “Why do you say that like you’re positive he’s coming?”
I snort in disbelief. “Because he’s a greedy bastard. A prideful, greedy bastard. You took something that belongs to him. Rest assured he’ll be coming to collect.”
“Something?” he asks, amused. “You mean someone?”
I bristle. “You flew me out of the state on a plane that had Knox Companies boldly printed on it, from a private airport Cain has used more than once. Did you want him to find me? Because if your goal was to hide me, I can tell you now that you’ve failed. There’s no doubt in my mind that he already knows where I am.”
“Don’t you think I know
that, sweetheart?” He’s smiling again. Confident and proud as ever. “You’re here because there’s not a Madness affiliate within three hundred miles of this place. And if he plans to roll through my state with an army, you can rest assure I’ll know about it long before he gets here. His club don’t mean shit in the south. We outnumber him twenty to one. So…yeah…” Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table and fixes me with his glare. “I wanted him to find you. I’m fucking counting on it.”
Of course he is. I’m the bait. Just an excuse to start a war. Battle for pride. A means to an end for a decade-old MC feud. Fuck that. Fuck Cain. Jinx. My brother. The clubs. I’m tired of being the goddamn rope in this tug-of-war match.
“You’re an asshole,” I mutter, stubbing out my cigarette and standing.
“Aw, come on now,” he says, his voice as condescending as his grin. “If he does show up, you’ll get to see your boyfriend sooner than you thought. I figured you’d be happy about that. I mean…it’s not like you were running from him, right?”
Once again, he’s trying to trap me into telling him more than I want to. So, I change the subject and tell him I’m going to take a shower. He doesn’t respond, but I know he’s watching—I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.
I limp toward the hallway even though I can walk just fine. My legs aren’t nearly as sore as my arms and after moving around, the soreness in them has become pretty tolerable.
When I’m out of sight, I quicken my pace and dart back into my room. Stripping the bottom sheet from the bed, I tie it around my waist and collect the two water bottles I’d discreetly hidden beneath my shirt yesterday.
I fill the bottles and cut the shower on before peeking into the hall. Finding the coast clear, I tiptoe to the room with the door that leads outside. It opens silently into the cold.
Jinx is a clever guy. Chances are he’s got the front covered. So once again, I sprint off to the back of the property with one goal in mind—to make it one hundred yards further than I did yesterday.