Page 6 of Blue-Eyed Jacks (Destroyers MC: Skilletsville PA #1)

Danville, Pennsylvania—Jackson

T he motel room was about as typical as you can get.

Two full-size beds, a shared nightstand in the middle, a TV with porn twenty-four-seven if you could afford it, and an anemic coffee machine that spat out one cup at a time.

Kate stiffened when I led her in, but relaxed a little at seeing the two beds.

I got busy, first tossing all but one of the pillows on the bed near the window. “That one’s yours.”

“I don’t need all these pillows.”

“Make a pillow fort with them.” I had calls to make and not a huge timeframe to make them in.

In my haste to get to Pittsburgh, I couldn’t find my most recent burner phone.

And I didn’t have time to waste with the salesperson at the discount store to discuss features and options and that shit.

I’d pushed speed limits as much as I dared with one of the club’s “Sheila’s.

” That was code for a car with no registration or license plates, and nondescript enough to blend in.

We swapped out stolen plates from various cars we collected in our repossession and junk business, and the two plates I nabbed didn’t match the vehicle.

That’s why it got backed into the parking space—and for good measure, I made sure all of our shit was out of it before getting inside. If I had to, I’d hot-wire a car.

Kate was a lot of trouble for a girl with almost zero reason to be in the sights of the MC.

Then again, she was also feisty. During the meal and the ride I caught glimmers of the girl she’d been before Shock got his ugly mitts on her.

And each time I saw that fire, I liked what I saw.

Someday, she’d get that back. And it was my job to make sure she was safe enough to get there.

Which meant I had a plan. But first, I needed an alibi.

“I seriously don’t need these.” She tossed two back on my bed.

“You’re team no-touch then.”

“What?”

Christ , me and my big mouth. “Mom, a hooker if you wanna know, had a theory about some of the girls. They either sleep with a shit-ton of pillows, making a fort no one can trespass in, or they sleep with nothing around them so they’re aware if something or someone wants to fuck with them.”

Her mouth fell open. “I—Your mom was a hooker?”

“Dad’s favorite. And when I came along, his only. For a while.” Until the law split them apart.

There were things she wanted to say but was too nice to say them. The way her face blotched red at her cheeks and the quick close of her mouth told me so.

“I was about thirteen when Dad knocked over a liquor store. Third strike and all that shit. Mom went back to hooking for a while. But working for herself, not my dad. That is how I know most of this shit. I couldn’t tell you how many women I drove across the state, or the number of Johns I beat up, all before age twenty when I prospected at Dad’s club.

But I rolled over to Skilletsville because I didn’t want to walk in his shadow.

Is that enough for you? Or do you need to know more?

” My verbal vomit ended sourly, like most puke sessions.

“She’s not a hooker anymore?”

“Nope. Married a dentist. Lives in suburbia with a fat 401k and an Etsy shop that pays the bills until he retires.”

Her face paled then.

“What did I say wrong?”

“There’s life after this.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

One she obviously dreaded. “Yeah, Kate. There’s life after.

For most.” Why the fuck did I tack that on?

She didn’t need to know the facts. I should be telling her about rainbows and kittens and that ilk, not the three-times rate of suicide, or the two-fifths recidivism, or the lifetime problems with PTSD.

Not to mention the poverty and loss of self-identity.

Christ. And it was worse for her because she not only had partner abuse but the whole damn rotten Pittsburgh chapter’s abuse.

That was evident when they showed up to party.

Not a goddamned one of them looked out for her, and they should have.

She was the kind of woman who tugged at a man’s instinct to protect and procreate.

Whoo-boy, I was in this mess fucking deep.

“The life you have now, and from now on, is yours. Pillow fort, starfish, whatever you want.”

She stared at the carpet for a few more minutes. Rumination complete, she grabbed one of the pillows back.

“Gotta make a call, close your ears, and stay quiet.” I dialed one of the VPs of a feeder chapter of ours. It was a gamble, but Disney hadn’t let me down yet. “Yo, Diz. I gotta problem.”

I listened to him bitch for a minute. The man always had something sarcastic or snide to say. If it put him in a good mood to complain, I’d let him. Finally, he asked what was up.

“So… I went on this run earlier. Stopped at a bar on the way back and uh, met this chick. Forty-four D’s man.”

His laugher and crude comments were almost exactly as I imagined it.

“Anyways, I still got the truck and shit, so could you call up Pinner and tell him you needed me to do a run for you? Or tell them I went fishing with you or something.”

I held my breath. But he was like, “Anything for you, man. What she look like?” I waxed on about the redhead I’d picked up.

In my retelling, she looked nothing like Kate.

As I described the imaginary woman, Kate held her hands in front of her, trying to picture what forty-four D would even look like.

She was a bit off, so I moved her hands in place as I joked around.

“Hey, Diz? She’s getting cold, man. I gotta go warm her up. ‘Smell ya later.”

I hung up and confirmed the line was dead before addressing Kate. “Alibi complete. They won’t miss me until tomorrow night, maybe even Saturday morning.”

“Forty-four Ds, huh?”

“Don’t knock it. Mom’s still got the rack for the sack. Yet…I kind of like ‘em a bit…” My eyes lingered on the t-shirt she wore. She’d ditched the sweater when we got to the hotel. Her tits were the kind that sloped like a ski ramp. The tips poked at the thin fabric.

Her hands flew to her chest and covered them.

“Sorry, babe. Caught staring. It’ll happen again.”

“You’re so…”

“Full of it?”

“That.” Her cheeks colored. But her eyes sparkled.

There it was. That spark. Damn . “Okay, here’s what to expect.

Tomorrow we’ll head southeast. Cross over into ‘Jersey. I’m going to get you to Trenton.

There’s at least seven shelters there. We’ll call around until we find one that can take you.

You should be safe since you’ll be out of state and technically in Demon’s territory.

Well, safer. Don’t mess with any Demons, got it? ”

“I don’t intend on it. After the shelter, what happens?”

“Anything you want. My job ends at getting you in the pick-up van. They don’t give out addresses, and I won’t know where you are or anything.”

“But what if something goes wrong? What if I need—”

This is where things would get complicated. She’d already attached to me. “I go back to being the same shitty asshole I’ve always been. And you forget about me.”

Her mouth opened to argue.

“No, Kate. I’m dead, just as dead to you as Shock. More so. He’ll kill me. Don’t call.”

And I was officially an asshole. The crinkle between her eyebrows gave her thoughts away, even if she didn’t say them.

“Sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a lot for you. Did you take your medicine?”

I noticed her slip a pill earlier. I sincerely hoped those were from the hospital, not something Shock got her hooked on. Maybe I should ask?

Or maybe I should just not give a fuck. It would be a lot easier to cover my tracks if I did.

Shock would know she had help. And if that nurse talked, fingers would point.

All it would take was a little jog of memory, and he’d remember how I stood between him and Kate at the junkyard.

Another jog, a few calls, and Disney’s alibi would fall flat.

He’d tell whoever asked that I was with a chick.

Maybe I should’ve taken the alibi a little further from the truth?

It would be a long ass day for me, too.

But if Kate got the help she needed and never came back, life would be fine. Eventually, Shock would forget about her. Move on to a new girl. And then I’d be in the clear.

I only needed time. And a teleportation device to be as far away from Kate as possible.

But if wishes were landmines, there’d be body parts flying everywhere.

“I’ll take it now.”

The defeat in her voice killed me. I pulled out a deck of cards and shuffled. Solitaire was no fun with a marked deck, so I dealt out two hands. “You play gin?”

“Gin rummy?” She settled on the end of the bed, crisscross applesauce. Her bare knees mocked me.

“Yup. I’d offer spades, but you probably didn’t learn with the best spades players on the planet so…” Even not trying to hustle her, I slipped back into the habit.

“I know hearts. Same thing.”

Our eyes met. In the dim lamplight, I couldn’t see any color at all.

Only light gray. But she was smiling. If only on the inside, it was enough to light up her face.

Her cheekbones disappeared under rounded cheeks, and her lips were…

off limits. “That’s a metaphor for us, you know? I’m spades, you’re hearts.”

“The Jack of Death, huh?”

“And the Queen of Hearts.” Shit . Why did I say something so sappy? “Did you know they call the Jacks knaves?” I cut the deck and offered her a pick to see who had the lowest card. That player would go first.

“You’re a knave, alright.” She pulled a two.

I flipped over my card, a Jack. I hadn’t even looked at the marks. That boded well.

“I try.” Just like I tried not to pay any attention to the backs of her cards. But she made it damn easy for me to see the scratched corners. And because she made it easy, I made it easier for her to win. She’d been dealt too many shit hands in her life so far.

After four games, we called it quits. I won one just to make it seem fair, but she was catching on. “Do you always carry a marked deck?”

I threw my hand down. “What gave it away?”

She sifted through the discard pile and pulled the queen I’d practically gift-wrapped for her. The one she ignored. “You had the run.”

“I did.”

She leaned forward. “I see you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Her eyebrow flicked upward, daring me to lie again. But I wasn’t lying. Not about this. “You think you see me. But what you got is only what I’m willing to show. There’s a lot more under the surface you’ll never get. And that’s a good thing.”

“You talk about your parents like you love them.”

And she hadn’t said a peep about either parent.

“I do. Even though my dad is no longer in this mortal coil, he was a hell of a man. Did anything and everything he could to teach me all the bad shit he knew. And also the good shit. Ma? She did the same. I couldn’t ask for better parents.

They were honest with me. That, my little Kate, is much better than lying your ass off and giving kids foolish dreams.”

I held her eyes and saw my words sink in to her brain.

What she didn’t know was that I dug around after her appearance at our clubhouse.

I knew all about her junkie-lawyer dad’s involvement.

I also dug up dirt on her absentee mother.

The one who got a nice divorce settlement and took off to Vegas without the kid.

She married a fourth or fifth-tier mobster down there.

And her life was shit. He ran a restaurant that was on the skids, and she was batshit crazy, talking to her twin peek-a-poo dogs like they were children.

She treated those damn dogs better than Kate. It sucked balls.

Her gaze dropped. “I’m tired.”

I’d be, too, with that shithole family. She moved to her bed to rearrange the pillows but kept flipping around, not quite comfortable. I tugged the extra pillow from under my head and stood over her fortress of down. “Put this one against your chest. Hold it tight.”

She moved around and got it in position. I tucked one of the strays against her back. “That pillow?” I pointed at the one she strangled. “That’s me.”

Her glare spit fire.

I smiled. She’d make it. No matter what life threw at her. She’d make it.