by Zahra Girard
“Holy shit, brother.”
“She and I pulled a job in Reno. We got 70 grand robbing the place she worked for. She knew when the club was due to pull in cash from some of the drug and prostitution they run, so we set it up so it looked like I robbed the joint while she was closing up. But we needed a hundred grand to buy her freedom. That’s why I borrowed the cash from the club.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Then why the story about gambling?”
“Would you guys have lent me the cash if you knew it was for pussy? I doubt it.”
“You’re probably right. Fucking hell, you’ve got a set of balls on you for paying off those sons of bitches with their own money. That’s a nice touch,” he says, shaking his head. “Alright, so I get why you trust her. But why should I loop you in on this job?”
“Because the men that wiped out Selena’s brother’s club are the Devil’s Riders, and they work under the same club we’re at war with — the Bloody Jackals,” I say. Then, I lean in closer, my voice dropping lower. “Gunney got us involved in a war several states away. He’s our president, but is he really making the best judgment call on this? These guys are serious threats, fucking butchers on bikes, and it feels like he’s taking it lightly.”
He blinks. A frown pulls his mouth downward and his eyes go dark. “Do you think I’m an idiot, Jynx?”
“I think you’re smart. Smart enough to see when we’re not adequately protecting a major investment for our club in the face of some serious danger.”
“Say I agree with you. What’re the others going to do if you just show up at the transfer point like nothing’s wrong?”
I step closer. Look him in the eye. Slip a hand over his shoulder. “You think I can’t sneak around? Do you know the shit I’ve seen? That I’ve done? Weapons escort will be a walk in the park.”
“I think you definitely can sneak around — you’re here, aren’t you?” he says. “But you make a decent fucking point. Goddamnit. Keep your cell phone handy — I’ll text you the details later. But for now, I can give you the short and sweet briefing. You’ll keep this between us, got it?”
“Understood.”
“The weapons are coming in piecemeal. Nice, slow, and under the radar. They’re being stored at Roxy’s cabin outside of Rainier. Not in the cabin, but in a storage shed built into the woods about a hundred yards from the cabin. Bear and I have been keeping watch on it in shifts with Gunney’s guys. It’s secure — Gunney’s guys are pros, though a little on the ‘build a bunker and keep an arsenal’ side. Two weeks out — the same night of the charity thing — we move them south.”
“All the way to California? If you’re taking them that far, you’ll definitely need me on this. That’s almost seven hundred miles.”
Driving four truckloads of this kind of cargo that long of a distance is a special kind of crazy. There are so many places where things could go wrong, so many spots where police or enemies of the club could intercept the shipment. It blows my mind that a military guy like Gunney could have such a terrible plan.
Grease shakes his head and I heave a sigh of relief.
“No,” he says. “We don’t know the drop point yet.”
“Good,” I say. “If they have any sense, they’ll pick somewhere out of the way of everything. Small town with minimal law enforcement presence. Probably somewhere on the coast, Oregon likely, where they can give themselves an option of getting their cargo back to California by sea, or using the forest roads and logging roads as a way to keep off the radar.”
Grease nods, and looks a lot more sure than when I first broached the idea. “I’ll text you more about the watch schedule at the cabin and when I know the drop point. Even if we can’t work you in on the arms convoy, at least we can send you ahead of things. Use you to scout the way and make sure it’s safe. In the meantime, keep working on the charity thing, keep your nose out of the weapons stuff and away from the cabin, and, for the love of all that’s fucking holy, drop the bitching about the weapons shit, all right?”
“Makes sense, brother,” I say, suppressing my excitement at getting a chance for some action. “You can count on me.”
“You know, we might have to rethink your nickname when all this is over.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”
“How can we call you Jynx if you never actually lost that money?”
“You know ‘Bear’ is not actually a bear, right? And ‘Preacher’ is too weird to be a priest.”
“I’m not so sure about ‘Bear’. I mean, how close have you looked at his family tree? He’s fucking huge. I wouldn’t be surprised if some pioneer woman ancestor of his had a little tumble behind the barn with a grizzly.”
“Fair point.”
“Remember, you keep this between us. If anyone finds out, this whole situation could fucking blow up in our faces.”
I hardly hear the words, though I know he’s right. All I really hear is that I’m back in action.
I grin.
Finally, my luck’s changing.
And I owe so much of it to her.
Maybe I can actually trust her.
Chapter Twelve
Selena
He’s gone when I finally get the busted bike back to his bungalow. Damn that thing. Not that Jarrett being gone surprises me; he’s never been the type to sit still.
And the fact that there aren’t police raiding his house tells me he hasn’t gotten into any serious trouble.
I park the bike in his driveway, willfully neglect to put down a kickstand and let the thing crash to the ground.
The bike is so slow, I swear it’ll be the death of me.
I let myself in. Using the spare keys that he gave me after just twelve hours and a fuck.
It’s peaceful without him here. A mess, still, but when Jarrett Hayes is around, it may be silent, but it’s never quiet. Jarrett never adapted to things like calm. Or peace. Or quiet
I’d seen glimpses of this side of him when we were together in Reno, but it’d never seemed like his problems were this deep. Everything about him — the anger, the drinking, the willingness to throw down with anyone at any time — seemed natural. Every man around me — every one of the Devil’s Riders and the Bloody Jackals — was similar, to one degree or another. Hard men, surrounded by other hard men.
But it’s like he can’t shut it off.
This isn’t posturing, this isn’t a show.
There’s something in him that is damaged in a profound way.
I need to take my mind off that, and how it feels to be taking advantage of him.
I work a groove into his abysmal couch. Dig out my phone. Navigate to my little photo gallery and look at my son.
Jake.
He has the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.
I still can’t figure out where it came from — he didn’t get it from me or his deadbeat, and dead, father — but I am grateful to whatever god there is that he has it. It’s a light no matter how dark my life gets. It’s a reminder that, on those days when I feel like I’ve fucked up beyond any repair, that at least I’ve done something truly good: somehow, I made him.
Him and his smile. And his brown eyes that shine so bright. And his floppy, almost-curly brown hair.
How did I create that? How?
I’m too fucked up to have a gift like him in my life.
It’s like some great cosmic irony — I screw up, I steal, I lie, I hurt people, but I get the greatest gift of all.
I find my favorite picture of him. The sight of him causes me to smile in the way that happens when you lose yourself in the sweetest memory.
Two years ago, after Jarrett and I had spent a few days together and I was certain that he was the guy who was finally going to help me get free from the Devil’s Riders, I took him to my mom’s to meet Jake. I wanted Jarrett to see exactly who he was helping; he wasn’t just helping me, he was helping this smiley, energetic little boy with the brightest brown eyes and a megawatt
smile.
I wanted to get my hooks in deeper, to make sure Jarrett was absolutely committed to what I was planning.
I never expected what happened next.
The two took to each other like whiskey and coke.
Within hours, he was ‘Uncle Jarrett’. Without any prompting.
Two days later, Jarrett took us down to Las Vegas. His idea.
There’s a zoo inside one of the casinos down there. It’s filled with tigers, lions, and panthers. And there’s even an aquarium with dolphins. It’s a place that Jake and I had talked about visiting for ages, and then, one morning, Jarrett woke up in one of the brightest moods I’ve ever seen him in. I came out of the bedroom to see him sipping his coffee and listening to Jake talk about all the animals in the zoo.
Jarrett had this grin on his face as he told Jake about some time he and some of the men in his unit thought they saw a Caspian Tiger in Afghanistan. Jake sat through the whole story with his mouth wide open.
As soon as Jarrett saw me standing there in the hallway, watching the two of them with a smile on my face, he handed me a cup of coffee, gave me a kiss, and told me to get dressed.
We left fifteen minutes later. Drove straight to Las Vegas.
We spent the day together — all three of us — in Vegas. Exploring. Enjoying each other. Eating junk food the whole day, stuff like churros and ice cream and everything deep-fried we could get our hands on.
And, for a time, I was able to forget about all my problems.
And I think Jarrett was, too.
In the picture, Jarrett’s holding Jake up to the glass of the tiger exhibit. The tiger is looking right back at Jake with a half-predatory, half-curious look. The expression of wide-eyed wonderment on my son’s face makes my heart swell.
I’d never seen him smile as big as he did that day.
I could look at this picture for ages.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could go back to that moment. That smile on his face, that fleeting feeling of freedom I felt, that flicker of something more I felt with Jarrett, that sweet moment where every good potential in my life coalesced, is my great ‘what if’.
What if I hadn’t fucked it all up?
I sigh. I remind myself of my purpose. Jake.
He’s why I’m here.
I’m as hard as I have to be — for him.
I’ll fight and I’ll steal and I’ll kill if I have to — for him.
A bike grinds a rumbling path up the driveway, chugging on powerful steel cylinders.
I close the photo. I hide my heart, which threatens to beat again at the thought of the man outside. I grab a beer from the fridge and I slant my smile until it’s crooked and cocksure.
He’s home.
And I have work to do.
Chapter Thirteen
Jarrett
I’m fucking buoyant when I pull into the drive.
I have the help of someone I trust in putting together this charity thing for my club, and I have someone in our club’s command who understands that I have more to offer than being some party planner. He understands this isn’t me trying to scratch some combat itch — this is about doing what’s best for the club. For my brothers. My family.
Except for Bear, there’s no one else with the military training that I have. There’s no one else that’s seen the kind of action I have and the bullet wounds and battle scars to prove it.
With the fate of our club on the line, not doing everything possible to safeguard the mission is just foolish.
But that’s about to change. Things are moving my way.
I’m grinning when I come inside. And my smile gets wider seeing her. Hips jutting out to the side, beer in her hand, smile slanting across her beautiful face and a fire in her eyes.
I haven’t felt this way in ages. I smile at her and I fucking mean it.
Last time I remember feeling like this was two years ago. I had a tough-as-nails woman by my side, I spent time with her kid — a kid too damn good for the circumstances they were stuck in — and I had a mission: do whatever it takes to pull them out of the shit they were stuck in.
I’m starting to feel that fire again.
And when I look into her eyes, that fire inside me burns brighter.
“You’re looking good,” she says. “A lot better than earlier. I like it. What happened?”
I might be feeling great, but I’m still not going to let her in on club business. Especially something as big as this.
“Things are just taking a good turn with the club. I got the go-ahead to keep you in on this charity project, for one thing.”
“That’s a start. But I don’t see why they wouldn’t since this charity event is important and they want it to happen. What else? I haven’t seen you smile like this since the three of us took that trip to Vegas together.”
My face might freeze like this, thinking about her son. I don’t usually care for kids, but there’s something about that little guy and how tough he was, not letting everything that’d happened to Selena and the rest of his family bring him down.
“It’s club business.”
“Fair enough.” That’s all she needs to hear to know to stay out of it, because she’s spent enough time in this lifestyle to know what lines not to cross. If it’s something club-related that she needs to know, I’ll tell her. But until then, she’ll stay in her lane. “So, what now?”
“Do you have a handle on your shit?”
“Since when does it matter to you?” She says, eyes glinting teasingly.
“Since you fucking helped me out. Since you showed up on my doorstep saying you needed a place to lie low,” I say. “What’s really going on with your situation?”
A shadow dampens the smile on her face and eclipses the fire in her eyes.
“It’s complicated.”
“You know, there’s a lot my club and I could do to help. If you’re going to be living here for a while, why not let me do something?”
She shakes her head side to side quickly, like she’s trying to cast off the shadows in her eyes. But all that happens is those shadows grow darker.
“You’re doing all I need you to do. Trust me, Jarrett, this isn’t something you can work out with your fists and some bullets. Give me some time, some space when I need it, and that’s it.”
She could repeat what she’d said until the end of time and I doubt I’d ever fully believe her. There’s something behind her hazel eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on. But it’s not my place to ask questions because I have no idea what she might’ve been through in the two years since I last saw her. Plus, she’s doing me the favor of helping me out with this event thing. The least I can do is keep my nose out of her fucking business.
“Fine,” I say, looking her over, putting my mind to work thinking up something that could light that fire back in her eyes. The last thing I want is her in some bad mood, or, even worse, deciding to focus on her own shit rather than helping me with this charity event. Then it hits me. I grin.
“Grab your jacket and follow me.”
* * * * *
We rip down the highway on my bike, going fast enough the cars scream as we fly by them. Selena’s got her hands around my chest, her chin against my back, and her hair is whipping in the wind. This is freedom.
About forty miles south of Stony Shores, running parallel along the interstate, is a big old sprawling military base. Joint Base Lewis-McChord. A combination Army Base and airfield for the US Air Force. It borders the interstate for miles and stretches far back into the hills and forests.
If you keep going past the base, after about ten miles on you’ll see a faded sign for a bar: ‘The Broken Wing’. If you follow that sign, it’ll take you to a building that looks like it should’ve been condemned twenty years ago.
“What the hell, Jarrett? This place looks like it belongs in that ‘Hostel’ movie,” she says, taking off her helmet and looking up at the bar.
“That’d probabl
y be an improvement,” I admit. “This is a bar where a lot of those desk jockey Air Force guys come to unwind.”
“I’m still not following you. You brought me to a bar to drink with a bunch of government office workers? Did I do something to piss you off?”
“I didn’t bring you here just to drink with them. They’ve got pool tables, here. These guys make decent cash, they love to drink, and they deserve a good kick in the dick every once in a while.”
Her eyes light up. The corners of her lips lift upward. “You mean?”
I give her the same line that she gave me all those years ago. “How would you like to help me rob this place?”
Chapter Fourteen
Selena
It’s like old times in the best way possible.
Free-flowing booze, cursing loud and dirty enough to make these military boys blush, and a beat-up jukebox blaring classic rock, dirty blues, and raspy-voiced country.
Jarrett and I execute our plan to perfection. It’s one we’ve used several times before all around Reno, when he and I were nothing more than two drunken, fighting, fucking thieves terrorizing the area.
Back then, he said he did it all for me, so that I’d have a little something extra after we’d knocked over the Devil’s Den and I’d finally bought my freedom. He wanted me and Jake to have enough to start life off right and to be able to leave all the shit behind.
I think he did it for himself as much as anything. Doing something good helps him quiet his nerves while keeping out of trouble.
The first hour we’re there, all we do is loiter at the bar, tossing back pints and downing our fair share of whiskey and bourbon. Liquor flows like water and we make a scene. In everyone’s eyes, we’re getting shitfaced.