Page 5 of Blue-Eyed Jacks (Destroyers MC: Skilletsville PA #1)

My heart rate picked up as he took my hand again. “Here.” He dug out a black knit cap. “Put it on and tuck all your hair into it while we’re in the elevator. When we get off, go left. Straight to the doors. I’ll go right.”

In the elevator, he pressed keys into my hand. “Black SUV, Ford. New York plates.” He described the location as I pocketed the keys and pulled the cap over my head.

He pulled off the gray coat and wrapped it around me. Then he took the shopping bag, and the doors opened. He went right, and I turned to the doors on the left.

Five minutes later, I found the fucking vehicle. There were seven black SUVs in that section alone. I was coughing hard and needed my inhaler. I started the car and turned on the heater. The driver’s door opened, and I screamed. It wasn’t loud, but triggered a harder coughing fit.

Jackson looked completely different. Somehow, he’d changed into an ugly Steelers jacket with a bright yellow scarf and hat.

“Move over.”

I bruised my leg climbing over the console. He dug under the seat and pulled out a Pennsylvania plate. “There it is.”

He was gone for only a moment to swap out the plate on the back of the car. Then we were on the move. He took the interstate north. I took it in stride, knowing if we were followed, going north wouldn’t lead them directly back to Jackson.

Hours later, we were heading east on 80. Once we passed Milton, I got worried. “We’re not going to Skilletsville?”

“Fuck no.”

Oh.

He fiddled with the radio. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

Anything but pop . But those words didn’t come out. Instead, I said, “I don’t. I hate music.”

“I beg your pardon?”

It was too long of a story to explain. “Can we please just be quiet?”

His scowl deepened. Then he said, “No. I either need music or conversation when I drive. Pick one.”

Both were land mines.

He tossed out ideas. “Here’s a topic. Favorite football team.”

“I don’t have one.”

He glanced at me. “Not even the Steelers?”

Especially not them . Shock loved the team. “Shock bets on every game. When they lose, he beats me.”

“Beat. Past tense. Favorite food?”

I didn’t think. “Chocolate.”

“Chocolate isn’t a food.”

“Yes, it is.” I froze. Would he think I’m arguing with him?

“Chocolate cake is a food. Chocolate ice cream is a food. Chocolate is a flavor.”

I put it as neutrally as I could. “It’s my favorite.”

“You mean to tell me you’d eat chocolate-flavored shit?”

Yuck . “No.”

“See? Not your favorite in all things. Which chocolate foods are your favorite?”

“You’re a jerk.” I crossed my arms and regretted it because it reminded me I wasn’t wearing a bra.

He tilted his head toward me to confide, “I’m a correct jerk. What foods?”

“You’re making me hungry.”

“That can be fixed.” He flicked on the blinker to take the exit.

“Wait, we can’t stop.” Panic seized me. “What if someone sees us?” What if there were cameras that could be hacked? What if someone followed us?

“Relax.”

He sounded so sure of himself. What I wouldn’t give for that kind of confidence.

“Should I continue calling you Bill?”

“Hell no. James. Call me that.”

“Why do they call you Jackson?”

“Jack’s son.” He said it as two distinct words.

“Your father’s name was Jack?”

He nodded. “John, Jack. Same difference. The club all called him One-Eyed Jack.”

“Did he lose an eye?” Sometimes, biker nicknames were on the nose.

“Ha, no. He got that from always winking at the ladies.” Jackson’s grin was devious. His wink was even more devilish.

“Ah.” The apple certainly didn’t fall far from the tree.

He turned into a small-town diner parking lot. When he parked, he spent a moment studying me. “Ah, what?”

I smiled at my thoughts. “It’s hereditary.”

“What is?” He crossed his arms over the steering wheel.

“Flirting.”

“Hell, babe, that’s like calling water wet.” He got out and circled the car to open my door. He even offered a hand so I wouldn’t slip on the ice as I got out.

And he didn’t let go as we walked into the restaurant. I told myself it wasn’t because he was a gentleman, but because he needed to control me. Then chided myself for thinking the worst.

Inside, it wasn’t much of a restaurant. Barely a dozen tables and a tired teen manning the counter. He set down his phone and grabbed two dirty menus as we took a table near the back. “Here.” He shoved them at us.

Jackson slid them to the side. “We’ll take two hot chocolates. Could you bring them while we figure out what we want?”

Once the kid disappeared into the back, I hissed, “Why’d you do that?” Ordering my food was something Shock would do.

“You like chocolate.”

“I can order my own food.” And why two?

“It’s like that, got it.” He rifled through his wallet and laid forty dollars on the table before tucking the billfold back into his coat.

We waged a silent war with our gazes. The server set down two mugs, which broke the spell. He noted the menus still stacked at the edge of the table. “I’ll give you a few more minutes.” Then he retreated.

Jackson spoke, “I’m not him.”

The kid was still in listening range. I waited until he picked up his phone before replying, keeping my voice quiet without whispering. “I don’t know that. I don’t know anything about you.”

“Now’s your chance. My favorite football team is the Eagles. And I don’t bet more than fifty bucks, ever. I don’t bet on things to win. I work to win. That I take very seriously. But if I can’t control it, there’s no point in giving a shit, understand me?”

I ran his words through my head carefully, searching for traps. “Control? Me?”

“Oh, hell no. Women can’t be controlled.

That’s why I’m single. Eventually, I’d piss ‘em off and they’d kill me.

And I like living too much for that shit.

” He stretched out, draping his arm over the chair next to him.

His demeanor was easy, but an edge of danger hung around him.

Maybe my perception was conditioned to see black leather and equate it with danger.

He had come to my rescue when I called, drove hours not only to get me, but move me somewhere far away from where we were.

And all without any promise of payment. He didn’t deserve my judgment.

“I’m sorry.”

“Drink your cocoa. Let’s see what’s good, shall we?” He picked up the menu and began to search the list.

I hesitated to tug my menu closer.

“Kate?”

I searched his face for a clue on how to proceed. He tipped his head to the table where the menu sat. “Pick anything you want. I’m buying.” He tapped the forty on the table.

My hand trembled as I picked up the coated paper. The offerings were simple. Burgers, soups, sandwiches. Even breakfast all day. But if I was going to get healthier, I needed a balanced meal. I picked the soup of the day and the chef’s salad.

Jackson ordered a burger with extra fries. As we ate, he slipped fries from his plate and dropped them next to my salad. After the first five, I began snitching them from the platter in front of him. The second time I did it, he smiled. But never in any of it complained or corrected me.

By the time I’d finished my soup and pushed around some of the wilted lettuce, I was stuffed and tenuously happy. It had been so long that I’d forgotten how it was supposed to feel.

“Any thoughts about where your dream vacation is?” Jackson had kept a running commentary during dinner, shifting topics around and dropping tidbits of information about him, but never divulging much about his life as a biker.

“Warm. I don’t care where. Just warm.” A couple of patrons arrived with a gust of winter air. It seeped under the sweater I wore and made me shiver.

“You don’t look like a warm-weather girl.”

“Normally, I’m not. I love autumn and the smell of burning leaves. But I also hate being cold.”

Jackson glanced at the door. The day had disappeared, and with the twilight, snow began to fall. “We should find a hotel.”

My fork clattered against the plate.

He wiped his face with a napkin, ran his fingers down his mustache, and twisted the beard at his chin into a point. “You trusted Gina, and through proxy, me. I take that seriously.” His gaze bored into mine.

“Why?”

“Trust is the rarest gift.”

I got snared in his sincerity. The simplicity and monumental importance of it shimmered in the air. If I could reach out and wrap my hand around it, I’d never be scared again. But words and concepts were intangible things. Spoken and forgotten. Lost in the blink of an eye.

“Did you want another hot chocolate?” The server’s words snapped me out of the fantasy I’d fallen into.

“I’m good.”

Jackson added another twenty to the pile. “Can you box up some of that cake to go?” He pointed at the counter. I hadn’t noticed the desserts in the glass case. But he had. A fancy chocolate ganache with cherries and cream held court in the center, between pieces of pie and assorted cupcakes.

“I should’ve never told you I liked chocolate.” I had a feeling he’d stuff me with sweets until I hated the flavor.

His eyes dipped to my chest.

I checked for spilled food. There was none. Nor was there much for him to see. The sweater was doing an excellent job of coverage. “What are you staring at?”

Busted, he smiled and looked away. “What is your second favorite flavor?”

“Strawberries.”

“That is a food.”

“It’s a flavor,” I argued.

He laughed. I’d made him laugh. Moreover, I’d contradicted him and didn’t pay a price for it. It gave me hope there wasn’t one. But time would prove me wrong. Dead wrong.