Page 11 of Blue-Eyed Jacks (Destroyers MC: Skilletsville PA #1)

J ackson’s fingers tightened on my hips. Not painfully, but hard enough that I felt the tremors he tried to hide. He’d stayed with me for three days. But this morning, the urgency in our love-making and the way his eyes scanned the horizon made me nervous. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” I was lying, but he needed to hear those falsehoods.

I could be strong, so he’d be safe. I knew there was a huge possibility that Shock would find me despite Jackson’s plots.

That didn’t scare me as much as what would happen to him if he didn’t leave.

“You can go. I’m good.” He’d introduced me to Crystal, who lived a half mile down the road.

And to the local sheriff who lived literally next door.

In fact, John stood on his front steps, coffee in hand, watching the road.

Perhaps he picked up on Jackson’s nervousness, or perhaps he was just nosy that way.

It was strange how much of a contrast this little island was from Pittsburgh.

I’d lived my entire life in a city, never noticing how much people ignored your business.

Until I needed help. Then that deliberate blindness became a nightmare.

Here? The connectivity was subtle. Like drinking coffee on your front steps.

Or knowing everyone’s first and last names.

Where they lived. Whether they were born in this county or were from “away”—as they put it.

Few of the latter group remained during the winter.

Only three hundred residents remained on this island once the icy storms rolled in.

On the bigger island, a mere thousand braced nature’s worst. The bustle of the summer tourist season would vanish, and having people to count on like Crystal and John was necessary.

The whole island was made up of brave, unselfish folks like that.

“If you have trouble with the generator or the—”

I cut Jackson off. “I’ll talk to John. Right John?” I raised my voice, so he’d hear. He smiled and raised a friendly hand to wave. Agreeing without knowing what he was agreeing to—but that didn’t matter with him. He’d do what was requested of him. It was comforting and scary at the same time.

Jackson kicked a ridge of gravel. “I can’t come back.”

“I know.”

“You can’t contact me.” This was goodbye. His hands shook as he peeled them from me. “They’ll kill me if they find out about this.”

“I know.” He’d whispered more than once how betraying a brother earned him a death sentence.

Sure, bikers stole each other’s women occasionally.

Usually, it reconciled with a fist fight or maybe a long-standing grudge.

But by doing what he did behind a chapter president’s back and hiding me here, Jackson broke a code they lived by.

Brothers trusted brothers. Even when they weren’t trustworthy at all.

It was a messed up and brutal life that I’d seen the ugliest side of.

But outright betrayal? Deceit, to the extent Jackson would have to maintain, was an insult to all of them. “I’m fine.”

His eyes raked my figure from head to toe. “Damn straight.” One eyebrow quirked up into a crooked arch, and his mouth twisted into a smirk.

It fell, but before it could disappear entirely, he’d turned to go. He barely looked at me or John before backing onto the road and pointing the car toward the outside world.

Dust settled in his wake. Insects buzzed in the grass. A ways out, a boat horn echoed against the bluffs, signaling their departure from the harbor. A tourist, most likely. The fishermen had been up for hours already. I’d tuned to the life here. I had to; it was my home now.

John coughed once. “Morning.” He waved again and disappeared into his house. Assured that I knew he was watching out but leaving me to my peace.

And a run-down shack that needed work.

I eyed the ugly shelves. “You’re on my list.”

But first was scrubbing the dated linoleum in the kitchen. As I dumped the dirty water outside, Crystal pulled into the driveway. She was on her way to her shop on the big island and asked, “Do you need me to pick up anything for you?”

“A job?” I joked. There were some to be had, mostly tourist-related, but nothing permanent. That, and I either had to depend on rides or find one within walking distance.

She stared at the rubber gloves on my hands. “You’re cleaning?”

I nodded.

“Well. I hate that part of the job. You’re hired. I’d gladly give you the fees for the next two months, and if you get done with this place sooner than that, it’ll be a miracle. I want updates, and I’ll pick up whatever groceries and supplies you need. Make a list.”

“That’s…”

“I was where you are. It’s not easy finding an employer who doesn’t ask for your social security number.”

My breath caught. I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. Instead of focusing inward, I tried to lie to myself by asking, “But you got out, right?” Maybe I was reaching for hope.

Crystal went still. “If you call running a psychic shop on an island near the ass end of nowhere getting out? Yeah.”

That sounded like paradise, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. My thoughts resurfaced the fear I felt when Cara was taken. “I think I can’t run a shop. Or be in public, yet.”

My words caused Crystal’s brow to furrow. “How bad was it?”

Bad. There weren’t words to describe some of it. “Even after two years, he’s got his club looking for me.”

She thought for a moment. “Jackson needs to kill him.”

“He can’t.”

“Would it start a war?”

“No.”

Crystal got out of the car and met me on the steps. “I thought he, your abuser, was from a club?”

“ The club,” I clarified.

Her mouth fell open. “Oh.” It was strange how she immediately scanned the trees surrounding us as if she expected an attack at any moment.

I took a leap of faith. If Jackson trusted these people with a secret that could kill him, then I had no reason not to either. “My h-h-husband is the president of the Pittsburgh chapter.”

Her eyes snapped to mine. “Two years?” The thoughts racing through her mind echoed in the quick darting of her eyes and the myriad shifts in her face. “Did you ever see anything that could implicate him?”

“Aside from nearly murdering me, and gang rape, and drug deals?” That came out sarcastically. I shored up my emotions. “I’m sure I have.”

“He’ll want to stay married to you, so you can’t testify.”

That’s where I’d gone wrong. It made sense now.

Just disappearing was one thing; divorcing him was another.

He didn’t want me back. He wanted me dead.

But the proceedings never happened. Perhaps if I stayed hidden, stayed quiet, and never got that divorce, he’d forget about me.

“After I’m done fixing this place up, what kind of job could I get? ”

She smiled. “By then, it will be Fall. There’s a festival at the shop I need help with, and after the equinox and Samhain, there’s more work, especially cleaning. Jackson’s not the only person paying me to watch their place. If I had help, I could expand.”

That was a plan. I had plans. I searched the quiet trees and empty road for hope and discovered that it was right here on my doorstep. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Funny how her words echoed Jackson’s.

* * *

Three months later, Crystal inspected my latest project and then commented on the bombshell I’d dropped on her. “Are you sure you want to live without running water for a month?”

“These pipes need to be redone, and you never know when it might freeze.”

She sent me an admonishing glare. “You sound like one of them.”

“Who?” I sanded the drywall in my bedroom.

“The locals. Always harping on winter coming.”

“It is.”

“It’s October.”

“Which leads to November, and … winter.” I shuddered, my imagination trying to picture what the locals called “harsh.” Probably ten-foot drifts and icebergs crashing into the shore. In other words, cold as fuck.

Her head shook. She stared at me for a full minute as I worked.

“If you’re going to be here, sand.” I handed her the block with 220 grit paper wrapped around it.

“I don’t do hard labor.”

She was lying. I’d come to realize she always had work somewhere.

Whether it was running her store, delivering groceries to shut-ins, or maintaining the twenty, yes, twenty vacation houses on this and two other islands, she had more work than both of us could handle, which was great because it was much better than working a seafood shack on the shore for minimum wage.

I’d made enough in the last month to pay a contractor to build a real bathroom in the place.

It even covered the extra fees that kept the building’s historical charm without the inconvenience of historical living.

But it also uncovered the issues with the well and pipes that forced me to go back to the cystern system.

And like hell was I going to bathe in the kitchen all winter when I was so close to using my new bathroom.

“Indulge me.” I pushed the bundle into her hand.

Crystal reluctantly scraped the block over a patch near the door. “You’re going to help me with the Halloween festival, right?”

“Absolutely.” Despite my upbeat answer, my heart rate picked up. “How big are the crowds?”

“Not as big as the lobster festival, and you did fine then.”

I froze. “You noticed?”

“That you’re a recluse with men issues. Yes.”

“I don’t have men issues.” Just one man.

“You practically dove under the table when those bikers walked in.”

They were bikers. Just not the outlaw kind. “They were wearing leather coats.” I doubled my sanding speed to make up for the time lost.

Crystal sent me a look of pity. “They had HOG patches.”

Harley Owners Group, HOG, was the civilian equivalent of bad-ass with about as much bad in that designation as a kitten. “I’m being careful.”

She set the sanding block down and put a hand on my arm. “You’re hiding.”

I looked around the house pointedly. “Duh.”

“And you’re missing out on life.”

Next, she’d ask me to smoke pot with her or something. “I’m not missing out on anything.”

“Jeffery asked about you.”

Said man was the owner of a seaside restaurant. He had kind eyes, but thick eyebrows. I didn’t trust him because of that. “So?”

“You might want to go out on a date or something.”

The thought made me queasy. A lot of things did. “No.”

Crystal tried to infuse compassion into her expression, but I saw some pity in there, too. She proved me right when she finally said, “He’s gone.”

She and I both knew who she was talking about. “Obviously.”

“And he’s not coming back.”

There it was. Spoken out loud in a room I was stripping, rebuilding, and completely altering because sleeping in it the way it was reminded me of Jackson.

So did the kitchen and that damn tub. And the living room…

stairs, and face it, this whole island. I couldn’t look at the bay or the bridge and not wonder how it would be if he were beside me.

I had “it” bad. It being obsessive lust disguised as passion and probably love.

Or, at the very least, whatever was the opposite of a trauma bond.

I gestured to the room. “Good. Because I looked up his bullshit story about this being a historic property, and it isn’t. I’m gutting this place one room at a time.”

My dearest and currently only friend shook her head. “You’re nesting.”

“What?!”

It shouldn’t have come out as a shriek. Nesting was something… No. I wasn’t; I couldn’t be. We’d used condoms, mostly, and I had an implant.

“When was your last period?”

“No.” I waved my hands in front of me to ward off what she was implying.

“Kate,” she put a warning note into her voice. “You’ve been sick every morning for the last two weeks, and you can’t stand clams.”

“That’s not surprising since I puked up that bowl of chowder. Why would I like something that tried to kill me? Besides, I have an implant.”

She sat on her heels. Puzzlement caused her face to twist into a frown. “How old is it?”

I thought back with some trepidation. “Four years, in August.”

“Sweetie, it’s October.”

I knew that.

“You may want to get it removed and get tested.”

“No.”

“Kate, as your friend and as the person who will have to run your dumb ass to the hospital, you need to get checked out.”

“I can’t.” That was the biggest thing holding me back from acknowledging what I didn’t want to face.

“If I use my real name, my social security number, or ID, he’ll find me.

” My voice shook. My hands shook. My whole body shook.

And the crackers I’d eaten for breakfast started back up my throat as clumpy acid.

I shoved Crystal out of the way and ran down the stairs, skidding on the third to the last one that sloped downward, and catching myself on the landing before twisting around the newel post and racing to the bathroom.

I tried to expel my soul through my mouth for a good five minutes straight, the dry heaves catching so bad that every smell from the moldy tile to the piney sap on the boards made my head spin.

Crystal held my hair away from the bowl. “You need to go in. We’ll use the traveling nurse clinic on the island. She’ll keep your name out of the records.

My breathing was heavy. “I can’t run anymore.”

“I know. You won’t have to. We’ll keep you safe.”

“You got a mouse in your pocket?”

She smiled. “Ye of little faith. Us transplants stick together, didn’t you know that? We might not be true Mainers, but when push comes to shove, we’re just as ornery and insular.” Crystal wetted a washcloth and wiped my face like I was a child.

A child, about to have a child of my own. What the hell was I going to do?