When I wake up the next morning, I’m facing the planes upon planes of dark, tanned, tattooed back. I can’t help the smile that walks its way across my face as my eyes follow the lines of ink everywhere and the sun filters in through the curtains and across his flesh.
As slowly as I can, I turn onto my side and tuck my hand under my face. Then I settle in to watch him breathe as he sleeps. My gaze moves from the lines tattooed across his shoulders and his back to the actual lines of him. Where the crook of his arm meets the dip of his waist and the sheet just barely covers the crevice of his butt crack. Then I focus on the pattern of his deep breathing, pulling my eyes back to his broad, freckled shoulders.
I don’t know what I’m doing here. I mean, I know how I ended up here. I get that. After eating, he and I lay down. On top of the covers and fully clothed. Okay, well, I remained fully clothed. He obviously lost a T-shirt last night—at least he pulled the top covers up over his lower half. But we weren’t touching. And we just talked. About everything. His MC. My growing up. His amnesia. My sister’s funeral. The one I missed.
We talked about everything except the elephant in the room. And we talked until I fell asleep.
I’m going to be honest with you, mainly ’cause I need you to be prepared. And I can’t promise you I am. My nerves are going to get the better of me soon. And probably a lot sooner rather than later. Especially with my father getting back this morning. That’s one conversation I’m not looking forward to. But, where my family is concerned, you shouldn't be surprised. I hardly look forward to anything if it has to do with them. There’s still so much left unsaid. And way too much I don’t know from both of my parents.
“How long do you plan on lying here, pretending to be asleep?” Jacques’s sleep-laden voice rumbles through the space between us before he rolls onto his other side and faces me. “I can go get us some coffee while you decide whether or not you want to wake up.” He smiles at me, and as his navy-blue eyes pierce into mine, for the first time, I notice the lines around them.
“Okay. Coffee sounds good. It’s been a while,” I mutter around another yawn and then smile.
When he moves to stand from the bed, the sheet slides down from around his waist...and keeps sliding. Which reveals he didn’t just lose his shirt as he slept last night. He lost it all. Including the socks.
“Sorry. The deeper into REM sleep I get, the faster the clothes come off. I used to think it was a blessing, but I the older I get the more I see it as a curse.” He shrugs, scratching his chest. “I didn’t wake you by talking in my sleep, did I? My sleep pattern has been so fucked lately. I wasn’t expecting to even get a wink last night. Especially with the headache that was plaguing me all day yesterday. So, coffee... You want sugar? Cream?” He slides his jogging pants up his thighs before tying the string at the waist and slipping a T-shirt over his head. Then he runs his fingers through his dark, graying hair and loops a ponytail around it as he looks down at me, waiting on my answer. Or answers.
The shit the sun does to his dark, almost-black blue eyes should be illegal, in all honesty.
“No sugar. No cream. Straight black, please.” I smile before finishing with, “And no, you didn’t. I didn’t hear you say anything in your sleep.” After shaking my head, I scoot from the top of the bed. And the covers. I was a good girl last night. Then I make my way towards my room. The one I should’ve freaking woken up in. “I’m going to shower.” I nod and keep my eyes down, skirting my way around him until I’m behind the safety of the door between our rooms.
It doesn’t take me long to shower. After, I finger my hair into a braid and pull on another T-shirt and some yoga pants. As I’m stepping from the bathroom, some of the steam follows me into the closet-sized room. I mutter while trying to find my makeup bag, “You’d think, if my clothes keep popping up, I could find some lip gloss. But I guess not.” Then when I spot a tube in the bottom of my bag, I do a little jig. “Yes!”
I’m bringing the wand to my lips when Jacques storms into the room like a damn hurricane. Okay, we can’t keep doing this hot-and-cold shit. Come here. Or stay. He’s gotta make up his mind.
I screw the lid on the lip gloss on a little too tight before stalking towards his room. Once I’m through the door, I let him have it.
“Okay. This nice-one-second, pissed-the-next thing is getting exhausting. I’m surprised I don’t have whiplash—”
When he storms past me, I flap my mouth closed. Then I speak again as he walks back past me the other way only to be stopped by his words.
“Change in plans.” He begins plucking my clothes from various surfaces.
When he grabs my bra and holds it up before looking back at me with a smirk on his face, I almost blush. Almost.
“Sexy.” He chuckles and tosses it into my bag. “But seriously, shit just got real. Your pops is back. They found another bike. And this one’s note was a little more descriptive. Whoever was after your sister is now after you. And pissed that Ben didn’t fucking kill you when he had the chance. Apparently, you were supposed to have been dead. Not multiplying.” He nods at my even more pronounced pregnant belly.
And I swear, since learning about it two days ago, I’ve gone from bloated to obviously pregnant. How the hell does that happen?
“It’s Roxy.” I laugh at his ignorance and almost feel ashamed for not having mentioned this before. “I’m sorry, but are you fucking blind? I know you lost your mind. Or your memory or whatever. But isn’t it a little more than obvious? When do I need to speak to the police again, Jacques? That still hasn’t been mentioned. Actually, I’m a little surprised the hospital released me without doing so. Aren’t you?”
Why in the hell are these questions just dawning on me?
I zero in on his eyes as more questions bombard me. “What does Roxy do? Jacques, what does she do? Where does she work? I saw her in teal scrubs once. Here. When I was a kid. The night—” I shake my head, refusing to fucking go there. If he wants to continue avoiding the obvious, so will I. “My nurse at Mt. Sinai had on dark-blue scrubs. But housekeeping wore teal. Where does she work, Jacques?”
He doesn’t have to answer. Though I’ll be fucking damned if he thinks I’ll let it slide when he tries to avoid it.
“How do you know it’s Roxy? Did you see her?”
“Yes! Where does she work?!” I scream. “And stop packing my shit. What are you doing?” I jump to grab my bag from his hand, but he stops me.
“It doesn’t matter. Your pops already made the call. You’re heading out with him and Philip in thirty minutes. It’s for the best right now. I can’t take care of you here, not with all the shit going on. Hell, I shouldn’t be taking care of you at all. You have a family now. You’re not my responsibility. You’re theirs. DDDs.”
I wonder why he winces and squeezes his eyes closed as the last part is said. But I wouldn’t dare wonder aloud. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, not after he’s shattered a heart he’s already shattered so many times before. And, now, he doesn’t even remember it? Any of it?! None of the pain, none of the agony. But neither the bliss. He also doesn’t get to remember the highs. Like the lows, those are mine and mine alone now.
He slams my bag against my chest before taking both of his hands and grabbing my upper arms tightly. After he slowly slides his palms up and around the top of my shoulders, he sinks his hands into the hair at the nape of my neck. My bag drops to the floor at our feet as he pulls me closer to him, until the fronts of our bodies are flush. And, when his face is less than an inch from mine, he mutters, “You’re like the tree that falls and makes no sound. I know in the marrow of my bones how vital you are. But I don’t remember. So, like the tree that falls and no one hears, if I don’t remember, did it really happen?”
Riddles. I don’t like them. Never have. And that’s all he has. I asked specific questions, questions I expected specific answers to, and instead, he’s feeding me riddles. I move to shove against him, back away. Put the space I need between us. But he suddenly has me cinched up by one arm around my waist, his other hand still gripping the back of my neck yet oddly cupping my jaw.
“Just fucking stop it, Vagabond. Okay? Just fucking stop.”
The look that crosses his features as he furrows his brow is marred in pain. And then, a split second later, his mouth is crashing against mine.
His tongue delves, circling before withdrawing. And then his teeth nip at my bottom lip. When a guttural moan escapes my lips, his mouth catches it before swallowing it whole. His kiss is urgent and rough, and his stubbled beard abrades the skin on my face, but it doesn’t stop my arms from slowly circling his neck.
His rough, callused hands move, shoving their way up my body, squeezing when they reach my hips. And when they’re just under my arms, they circle again before tightening. He lifts me from the floor. When our mouths separate, we’re gasping for every breath. Using one of his hands, he reaches into his pants pocket. But I’m not paying attention to where his hands are. Not anymore. Not with the current look he’s aiming my way.
“The tree that falls and makes no sound,” he repeats as he sets me back onto the floor.
One of his hands picks my hair up from around my neck, and then his other strings a silver chain around it before they both meet in the middle behind the back of my neck and clasp.
I glance down at my necklace—his necklace.
“Your pops is waiting downstairs. Sorry our time has been cut short, Pipsqueak. I at least wanted a little more time before real life interrupted us again. To see if anything came back, but it looks like fate’s not on our side. Oh, and by the way, King said Ty flew in last night. He wants to take you to Lauryn’s house before y’all head out. They’re probably waiting on for you now.”
“Fate’s not on our side? ’Cause our time has been cut short? What the fu—” I slam my hands against his chest, mentally slamming my anger shut. “Like I said before you so rudely interrupted me: This hot-and-cold shit is getting tiring. Thank you for the necklace. It wasn’t expected. And I appreciate it more than you could ever know.” I curtly smile before snatching my duffel bag and shouldering it. After heading towards the door that leads from my room to the stairs, I'm proud of myself for not hesitating.
I wanted Jacques Cain to say something before I made it to the door. I wanted him to remember something. Either something he forgot to tell me or something, anything, about me or the time we were together six months ago. I wanted his voice to stop me from turning the knob when my hand clasp around it. I wanted his arms to circle my waist, maybe stop me by using force, since it’s worked before. Many times before, actually.
But none of that happened. None of it.
Instead I don’t think I see a muscle twitch beneath his skin as I open the door and close it behind me.
When I walk into the main room on the bottom floor of the compound, I briefly look around in search of two Cajun men. ’Cause, aside from that, all the men on the bottom level all look the same, especially with my current frame of mind. Black leather and beards. Line them up and the only difference’ll be the shade of the beard.
As Clutch and Nails step up, they stiffly look from me to each other and then back again.
“Hey,” I say, interrupting their awkwardness. “I’m just trying to get the hell outta here. Have either of the two of you seen King anywhere? Jacques said he was looking for me.” I hate when I pull my lip between my teeth after I finish speaking, but I’m awkward as hell and the tension in this place is so thick you could cut it with a knife. So, I don’t pull it back from between my teeth, either, until Clutch stops speaking.
“Dreads is just outside waiting on you. He’s gonna take you to where they are. Everyone’s at the steeple.” He nods towards the open bay garage doors. “You can head that way. He’s just through there.”
As I walk in the direction he indicated, I over hear Nails mutter under his breath, “That his? Shit, does Rox know?!”
But I close out their conversation. I can’t focus on that right now. I have way too much other shit going on. And what Rox or any of these motherfuckers think about me or the child I’m carrying is the least of my current concerns.
Let me find out who the hell I am first. Then I’ll worry about what people think. But not now. It’s too early in the damn game to care now.
Dreads is leaning against the side of the metal building when I step out onto the asphalt of the parking lot, but when he sees me, he comes jogging over. “Hey! You look well. Definitely can tell you got some rest. You get some breakfast to eat? We have a long road ahead of us.”
I smile up at him, placing my hand over my eyes so I can block out the sun rising over his shoulder. “Not yet. I’m sure we’ll eat at L’s though. Have you seen ‘King’? Jacques came storming upstairs, saying there was a change in plans. Looks like I lucked out. I won’t be locked up in his tower after all. No damsel in distress openings at the moment.” I shrug, fully recognizing the beginnings of a pity party, and I do try to stop it. Somewhat.
“Yeah.” He grins before grabbing my elbow and tugging. “Come on. I’ll take you. Actually, I’m going with. Jacques said the only way he’d let you out of his sight was if one of his brothers rode with y’all to NOLA. So we’re Big Easy bound, baby.” He winks before scooping up a black leather bag that’s gone unnoticed until now.
“You're going? Wait. That doesn’t make sense. What the hell does he care? Let me out of his sight?” I squawk and twist my arm when he stops us outside the church-looking building.
Dreads opens the door, and without missing a beat, he swings me over the threshold and plants me on my feet, looking from just inside the double doors, up at a pretty damn spectacular chrome stairway leading to the second and third floors.
“Wow,” I spit out ignorantly, and it sounds just as bad as it did the first time when it echoes the third or fourth time off the bare walls.
“Your boys are upstairs. I think they’re ready to go.” He cups his hands and hollers up the stairs, “Ay! She’s here. We all ready?”
As ‘King’ and Philip jog down the stairs, a whole new brand of anxiety mixes in my veins before I swallow the dry lump in my throat.
Okay...so, now what?
I still don’t know these people, either? Do I? I thought, with ‘King’ being my biological father, I would feel a second trusting nature or a sense of family. Loyalty. Something.
“Ahh, cher bebe. Look at ya, Evie. Simply beautiful.”
He smiles while clasping his cufflinks. As his dark-brown eyes narrow on mine, they almost seem to change to black, and I falter in my footsteps.
“It’s just pants and a T-shirt, but thanks.” I smile awkwardly, hoping like hell my father doesn’t realize my hesitation when I see the telltale sign of blood on his handkerchief just before he quickly tucks it away in his pocket.
My gaze shoots back up the stairs before I’m able to pull it back down and keep my eyes pinned on where he’s finishing with his cuffs.
“So we’re going by L’s, right? So I can see Ty? ’Cause he’s gonna be pissed as hell if he flew up here and doesn’t get to see me before we leave.” I chuckle, though I find the entire situation the furthest thing from funny.
I don’t really know any of these people. Hell, if I'm being honest here, I don’t really even know my own mother. So how can I possibly trust some random person she slept with more than twenty-five years ago? Nuh uh. No way.
Call it the pregnancy, but my alarms go up. And they stay.
“Of course, ma chère. Straightaway. I had them find a car. I didn’t want you uncomfortable for the ride. It’s a Lincoln MKZ. Clutch said she drives like a dream. I just want you at ease. I know the last half year’s been hard on you, yeah? It makes me almost see red to think what they done to you—” He squeezes his eyes shut, and when he’s seemingly regained composure, he glances over his shoulder and speaks to Philip. “Have my bike hooked up on the trailer. I’ll drive ma chère. There’s no need for her to be riding with a stranger,” he barks.
“King, I’m her cousin. I’m far from a stranger—” But before the younger man can finish speaking, my father has his hand in the air.
“Stop. I’ve already explained riding partners. Stay together. And stay safe. We’ll head out at oh nine hundred. Eve and I have to swing by and see some of her old acquaintances. Everyone be here and be ready.”
Once “King” has declared his order and reinforced his reign, I follow his lead to the car parked out front of the church. Or steeple. Whatever. And silently say goodbye to Jacques for possibly the last time.