Page 9

Chapter Eight

Ronnie

I didn’t scream.

I don’t know how I got away with not doing so either, because when I heard the rustling and groaning coming from the sitting room, I was only seconds away from swinging the old, iron kettle from off the stove at the head of the perpetrator. It was only when I saw the black leather cut draped across the back of the cushion and the black motorcycle boots at the foot of the couch that I managed to hold off on giving Jax a concussion with the kitchenware.

It took me a few seconds to correct my breathing and heart rate before I placed the kettle back on the stove and headed into the sitting room. I didn’t enter past the doorframe, leaning up against the hardwood. When my glare of irritation at the sleeping man softened into an observational gaze, I couldn’t believe that this calm, passed-out man was the same one that had hightailed it out of the farm eighteen hours earlier, acting like an eight-year-old boy who I’d infected with my cooties.

I had wanted to be pissed at him, but I just ended up feeling hurt instead. Nobody liked rejection, and nobody did it quite like Jax.

As I looked at him longer, the morning sunlight creeping through the thin curtains, I realized that with a face so at peace as it was in his sleep, he looked like he couldn’t harm a soul. Once upon a time, he would never have dreamed of it. He had bent this way and that trying to make everyone happy until one day, his family had bent him too far and he’d snapped.

I hadn’t blamed him for it. No matter how hard I pushed for him to do what he loved, he had proved just how stubborn he was. Just like I was. Except, when he had forsaken his own for himself and not out of selfishness or greed but survival… I wasn’t able to do the same.

Which one of us was the coward and which one was brave was a question I had never been able to answer. Even now.

“What are you looking at?” A deep, worn and rumbling voice said from the still body on the couch.

“There’s a strange man sleeping on my couch,” I grunted in reply, not surprised he’d been awake this whole time. He was probably witness to my creeping around with the kettle at arms. I wouldn’t put it past him to let me hit him with a kettle, so he could bitch about it.

“You should probably do something about that,” he huffed.

“I’m tempted.”

What I’d do to him on the other hand was another question. Other things than clubbing him came to mind. Jax, covered head to toe in tattoos like a dark matrix wrapped around his perfect southern tan, tight body, and disciplined muscles. Who could blame me?

A few seconds passed before he began to move, the tattoos rippling across his skin the way water shimmers on a lake as the muscles beneath him lifted his body from the couch and up to a sitting position in one smooth motion. He outstretched his legs, nearly covering half the floor and raised his hands above his head. I heard a few clicks and pops of his joints and had to force myself not to gag in response.

A scoff came out of Jax’s mouth as his dark eyes turned to me, dark brown irises relaxed and gentled as they looked me over. “Get over that already, Ronnie.” He smirked.

The calm, almost drowsy look on his face had my body wanting to creep back upstairs. Not because I didn’t like the way he was looking at me but because I did. He was still half asleep, and I knew that any moment, Jax would come back to reality and our past would be thrown between us again.

“It’s disgusting.” I shook my head at him, my brown hair loose around my shoulders, soft as it touched the bare skin exposed by my tank. I had brushed it before coming downstairs, as I did every morning. It was routine if I wanted to keep my hair at its length without having it end up in a tangled mess after a day of riding. I would always brush Max’s mane before we went out, as well. It was a beautiful dark black that, under the light of the sun, glowed a warm brown. It reminded me of Jackson’s eyes back in the day; a thought I had but would never tell him.

“What are you thinking about?” Jax’s voice cut through my thoughts. His voice was close, and I jumped at the sudden presence at my side. Like a ghost, he moved from the couch to my side without my notice and without a sound.

I tried to turn away, but he was too close. The raw smell of his body, the faint stench of sweat and the crisp scent of dry, dusty hay was a hit straight to my heart. I stared up the few inches to his face, my eyes unable to help themselves as I looked beneath the rough and dark skin and saw the familiar sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and dark brows that Jackson had defined even better in his leather future self.

“I was wondering why you were here.”

“Got chased by a guy in a car yesterday while I was picking the girls up from the club,” Jax answered, and I almost staggered back at the sudden honesty. I tried not to wince at the way he casually skipped over the mention of the “girls,” probably including his hot topic of the week. People in Fellpeak hadn’t been afraid to share with me the highlights of Jax’s reputation in this town, some even introduced themselves. Although that pissed me off, I was more focused on the “chased by some random guy” part.

“Were you all okay?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “We’re fine.”

He continued to stare at me, brows furrowed together. I thought of the time I caught him overlooking the land and wanted to smile at the similar expression. I looked into his eyes, seeing the same shadow of the past casting over his face. I waited for a moment before speaking.

“But…,” I prompted.

He hesitated for a second longer, before whatever was stopping him let go and he opened his lips. “They probably followed me from the clubhouse. Had to wonder where else they were following me.”

“So, you came to check on me?” I couldn’t help the surprise in my voice, and I saw Jax’s face deepen into an even stronger frown. He didn’t do it because he was pissed at me though, he looked more… sympathetic?

“Got here just as my adrenaline was wearing off. Saw you were okay, but I was too tired to ride back.”

“Thus, you crashed on the couch.” I gestured to the crumpled looking cushions and his boots still propped to one side. He had managed to slip his cut on in the seconds he rose from his position and came to my side.

He nodded, confirming the end of last night’s story and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking at him now, he looked more exhausted than anything physically wrong with him. A red mark lined one side of his arm, and I was wondering if it was from driving the car or from the way he was sleeping.

“Okay,” I sighed, having a thousand different questions but not bothering to ask them. I had a feeling Jax’s honesty and relaxed attitude wouldn’t last too much longer. It was probably the sleep deprivation. “Coffee?”

I went to step away, sure I had some in the cupboards, and—

I stopped.

Rough callouses pressed against my arm, long fingers wrapped around my muscles. His hand rippled with tension as he held me still. I didn’t look at it. Instead, I looked at him, and the moment my eyes landed on him, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

“Jax….” I breathed.

I wasn’t looking at his hand, but he was. Surprise was etched in the cracks of his expression; the wrinkle of his eyes and lips, the rise of his heavy dark eyebrows, and the extension of white around his pupils.

I became all too aware of his silence, and the soft pulsing rustle of the cornfields wafting in through the cracked window like a distant wave lapping across the shore with a soft hush.

“Jackson?” I breathed, giving a gentle tug on my arm. Whatever was working its way through Jax’s mind disappeared and he broke from his trance.

“Four sugars. No milk,” he grunted, unwinding his hand from my skin and pulling it toward his chest like an injured bird.

But in this case, I was the fledgling taking the dive, because my heart had risen in that moment with the hopes that something was about to change. And now I was hitting the hard ground of reality, injured and pained.

I turned on Jax fast, and despite the burning heat in the form of a handprint wrapped around my bicep, I urged my cold body forward and into the kitchen. I was a stupid, little girl again for believing anything could override what I’d done to Jackson, turning him into the Jax of today, all forged on my simple but decisive betrayal.

* * *

J ax stayed most of the day and it was strange. He moved about unaware of the crushing blow he’d delivered to me that morning, but he was quiet and made it clear he was very aware of the way I puttered about doing my chores for the day.

He didn’t help, of course, not with his head ten miles into the engine of the old tractor he’d dug out from the furthest barn and dragged all the way over to the house. He had an impressive collection of tools sitting inside a rusty tool box on a table by his side, an old rag over his shoulder, and a splattering of oil all over him from head to toe. The look didn’t seem amiss on him, not with his perplexing black ink already burned deep into his skin. His dark black hair pushed back by a dark red bandana and sweat dripping down his skin and into the well of the engine just made the view that much better.

It pissed me off.

Max’s training wasn’t to start for another hour, but I felt the urge to get on her back and have her hooves trample all over him. It would be satisfying for sure, but then there’d be no one to help Max, and I preferred Max over Jax in the long run. Especially today.

I ignored him as best I could, keeping my head to the ground and reset the rat traps hidden within the cornfields, burying a few field mice as I went along. It wasn’t the best job, but at least the corn would make use of the decomposing bodies.

I was just covering over another poor soul’s body when I heard the roar of the engine. For a second, I thought Jax was hightailing it off the farm before Max’s training and I was about to go scream at his ass, but then I realized it wasn’t the sound of the engine I was used to.

This engine was deeper, louder, and filled the air with a heavy rumble in its wake. I popped my head up from the corner of the field as I saw two bikes stirring dust in their wake as they drove toward the house. The second engine was drowned out by the first, and as I crept from the field to the back of the house and peeked my head around the side, I realized the stronger engine belonged to the huge, bearded man pulling up alongside Jax’s bike.

I made note of the second rider, his bright blonde hair much paler than the golden fields with a pale, flawless skin I hadn’t seen on men like him before. I found myself creeping closer as I gravitated within earshot of their conversation. I didn’t hide, but they hadn’t spotted me, which I used to my advantage.

“I get you wanted to check on the girl, but you were supposed to be at church,” the large man with the heavy accent—Russian, I thought—snapped at him.

The younger blonde didn’t say anything, looking between Jax and the big guy with sympathetic eyes. He looked like he didn’t want to be in the middle of this anymore than I did.

“I get it, Prez,” Jax sighed, pulling loose his bandana to scrub a hand through his hair.

Jax’s so-called “Prez” stared at him a little longer. When his mouth fell open again, I expected him to continue shouting at him like the big, bad motorcycle club presidents were supposed to do. But much to my surprise, all that came out was a weighted sigh. A huge paw ran down his face, tugging on the short brown beard hanging off his thick jaw. He shook his head.

“I wanna say I don’t get what you’re doing, Jax, but a piece of advice for you,” the president said, and despite Jax’s frown, he didn’t stop. “Get your priorities sorted before this escalates any more. You won’t be able to handle this blow out from the Black Jacks if you don’t know what you want to protect and what you don’t.”

From the defiant flinch of Jax’s body, I had a feeling he wanted to argue his capabilities, but he didn’t. He just nodded his head and took his president’s words with a grain of salt.

“And next time,” the guy added, reaching down to the humungous bike nestled between his legs, “don’t miss church.”

With that, the engine’s thunder filled the air, and seconds later the smaller bike started up next to him.

They were gone and leaving dust in their wake and a heavy impression left on more than just Jax.

“You can stop hiding now.”

I stood to attention. My eyes that had been admiring the departure of his motorcycle buddies were now turned to him. Whatever annoyance that had been on his face had gone.

He arched an eyebrow up at me, almost amused as I stood there looking like I’d been caught red-handed. I hadn’t been hiding, but perhaps I should have made myself known instead of just skulking into hearing range.

I pushed through the grass that was beginning to get a bit long and made way up to Jax’s side. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“It’s fine.” He sighed. “That was my president, Wolf. He may look like a mobster but he’s a good guy.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised at his sudden offer of information. I looked back to the road. “And the one next to him?”

“That’s Pretty Boy. Our youngest. He’s back at school now, trying to get his GED.” Jax smirked up into the distance, looking like a proud big brother. It was a hilarious concept to me. Unfortunately, before I got to experience the true humor in that statement, Jax was walking back over to the barn. “Come on. Let’s get Max’s training started.”

I watched him walk away, admiring the purple skull and wings peering through the thin material of his sweat-drenched shirt. I thought about his cut. About the bleached white skull and lettering stating their name and turf. The same emblem was borne across the backs of the two other members who rode away on their bikes without looking back.

Maybe there was more to Jax’s new life than I thought.

I wondered if I would have the chance to find out or not.

I hoped I would.