“Did you get it?” I mutter. “What you wanted from us? From them?”
Jenna brings both hands to her face, the oversized sleeves of my sweater covering her palms as she hides her tears. “Stop it.”
“Makes me think you didn’t if you’re still here. Still trying to fuck everyone over.”
“I said stop it, Fang.” Her shoulders shake with hiccuped breaths.
A nice guywouldstop. A thoughtful guy would give her space. I’m neither when provoked.
I’m a patched King looking for a reason why a Breed mutt would want to take them down. Loyalties are black and white in this moment, but her intentions aren’t.
“It was big enough to kill Mary-Beth over.” I lean down a little, get real close to that hidden face of hers. “Big enough that you wanted to.”
“Stop it!” She tears her hands away, eyes maddened as she screams the demand.
“What. Was in it. For you?” I don’t move, words loud in the open yard.
Her frantic breaths pepper my face.
“Fuck!” Jenna spins away, hands clenched at her sides as she screams into the void. “Fuck everyone! All of this!” Her anger eventually gives way, shoulders shaking as lamented moans escape her throat. All the frustration, the grief, the injustice, and the weight of somebody else’s vendetta burdened on her soul erupt, pouring out into the cool morning air.
The broken husk of a woman falls to her knees and cries, interrupting the rhythmic sobs every so often to scream at the sky.
And I watch it all, like the perverted fucker I am. I watch it all, and I absorb her pain, curious how that would feel to let it all out finally. To break that tension rod inside of me. To drop the pretenses, if only for a little while.
“Fuck you,” she sobs, the strength gone from her words as she struggles to stay upright. “Fuck you all for doing this to me. Putting me in this position. It’s not fair.”
“No, it ain’t,” I agree, sliding my arms under hers. “But it’s how it is, and nothing’s gonna change that now.”
She reluctantly allows me to take her weight and haul her to her feet. The tears continue, dry more than anything else, but the pain is still raw and vulnerable as it escapes her throat in scratchy chords. “Let go of me.”
“No.”
“I don’t want you to touch me.”
“You don’t get a choice.”
Tight fists pummel my chest. “Why not?” she wails. “You don’t care. Nobody does. What I want doesn’t matter. All you fuckers care about is what you can get from me.”
Haven’t I had that thought plenty in my life?“What you want matters, Freckles. But I don’t think you even know what that is, do you?” She’s been guided by her father for years. Does she even know who she is anymore? Who she wants to be?
Jenna pauses her assault, only for a second, wide eyes looking up at me as she hiccups for air.
And then it begins anew. Only this time, I’m not the enemy.
I’m purely the outlet.
I fight her thrashing fists, pushing her hands aside so I can scoop her off her feet. My gaze drifts to the clubhouse. The last thing she needs right now is the criticism and judgment of the others while she reassembles herself—while I get the answers I need. So, instead, I take the wilted woman toward the barn where I know we should be able to find privacy, at least for a little while.
Jenna shakes in my arms, hands hiding her face while she continues to hiccup the last of her sadness from her lungs. Her body is stiff in my hold, elbow digging hard into my ribs, almost as though she tries desperately to keep her body from resting against mine. I jostle her, tilt her toward me, and force the woman to find human connection—even if it is from someone who still tries to work out what she means—to me—to the club.
I get the feeling she doesn’t let herself do this often.
“Here.” I set the woman on her feet beside a log stool at one of the wooden tables. “Stay there. I’ll get you a blanket.” There are linens in the back for when we have out-of-town groups stay over.
“I’m fine.” Jenna hiccups in through her nose. It makes a strange little whistle.
Paper, too.“No, you’re not.”
