Chapter Eighteen
Selena
The two of us get ready quickly; Jarrett being driven on by relentless enthusiasm, while I do by best to hide the disquiet and dread building in my heart; Everything seems to be fighting against me doing what I know I have to do.
I can’t fall for him. I’m here to use him, to get what I need and leave. I have to remember that.
While he’s in the shower, I glance down at my phone again.
There’s a picture of my son with the kind of fearful look on his face that a mother should never see from her child. They sent it to me this morning. Below it are four words that make my heart stop: You have 48 hours.
My chest tightens until my heart feels ready to burst from the pressure.
The text is from an anonymous number, a burner phone that’s already been busted to untraceable pieces.
But I know exactly who sent it: the man who beat me into submission and took the most precious thing in the world from me. My son.
His time is running out.
I cling to Jarrett’s back on the ride into town. Inside, I’m screaming, wishing I could tell him what I’m up against. He’s so solid against me and I know what kind of soldier he can be. I know he’d help. I know he wouldn’t hesitate to lay down his life, if only to see Jake free. And I know the second I deviate from the plan, my son’s life will be in danger. I can’t risk that.
The entire ride, I’m wishing I could hold onto this side of Jarrett that’s just come out. The side of him that represents the man I can love. The man who could be a father to my son.
I wish I could talk to him.
But if I open my mouth, if I say a word, I’ll lose what’s most important to me in the world. I’ve fucked up plenty in my life, I’ve made mistake after mistake and I bear the scars to prove it, but this is one time I refuse to fail.
I cling to him as we ride, I feel his strength against me, and, if I were alone, I’d weep for the part of Jarrett that’ll be dead when all this is over; a side of him I’ve only started to get to know.
But it’s my mistakes that got me into this mess. My pride. My arrogance.
We rumble to a stop at one of the few stoplights in Stony Shores.
“There aren’t many choices in town when it comes to venues,” he says to me over his shoulder, his voice raised over the noise of the engine. “But I have one in mind. It’s kind of a special place.”
I start to open my mouth, but shut it as the stoplight changes and we pick up speed. I’m grateful, anyways, to avoid talking. I’m not sure if I could keep my voice steady right now.
The two of us ride a little further a few miles outside of town.
The extra time gives me the chance to quell my heart and get my feelings under control.
He brings the bike into a parking lot of a train station. It’s an old building that looks like it dates back to the 1910’s or 20’s, with stained-glass skylights, carved Art Deco flourishes in the concrete walls and marble columns, and a large clock set into the arched front of the station.
I stare at it.
“What is a building like this doing out in some tiny town like that?”
He shrugs. “What I heard is that, way back when, a few rich families moved to Stony Shores. Back when being a ‘lumber baron’ was a career choice. Some rich guy thought this place might compete with Tacoma as a rail hub, or as a transit point for all the other logging and mining towns on the Olympic Peninsula, so he sunk a lot of money into it. It never really took off. The historical society for the state keeps it up as a landmark.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“You think it’ll work?”
It doesn’t take much effort to see that it will. The platform in front of the station could easily be a stage for a band or whatever entertainment they book, there’s plenty of open area for dancing and mingling, and I’m sure that the douchebag chef from The Bellhaven can do his cooking outside.
“Yeah, definitely.”
“You think you can help me book this?”
There’s a hint of doubt in his voice. I know it’s not about whether I’ll help him, but about facing the — for him — challenges of booking it; the man will gladly jump into combat, earning scars and battle wounds, but there’s a part of him that treats everything as a war, as combat, and it’s a part of him he can’t shut off. It makes the common things beyond difficult. And I know it’s something that, deep inside, shames him.
That part of him is quieter lately, but it won’t be for much longer. I know what I’m going to do will ruin him.
I’m running out of time.
I smile at him though it hurts. “Of course. I can call the historical society if you want. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“You know, I owe you a lot for this. You’re going to say it’s nothing — but this job would’ve been a bitch without you. When you and Jake get settled in, I want to take the two of you out for dinner.”
“You what?”
“I owe you a lot, Selena. You and Jake are important to me. Let me show you my gratitude.”
I turn and blink back a few tears. Why the fuck does he have to make this so fucking hard? If he were the violent, kill-em-all mess I remember from Reno, this would be so much easier.
Instead, he’s turning into the kind of man I’d want in my life longer than just a couple frantic weeks of fucking and fighting. Someone that I’d want in my son’s life. Someone with a heart that is as capable of caring as it is of rage.
Fuck you, Jarrett Hayes. Fuck you and the busted luck that brought us together.
“You don’t need to do that,” I say, hoping he’ll just drop the whole thing.
“This isn’t something to be hardheaded about, Selena,” he says. “You’ve helped me in ways you don’t know. This is about more than just me getting some shit assignment out of the way. It’s about having someone around that I can trust completely. Someone who has seen how low I can go and doesn’t judge. It’s quieter inside my head than it’s been in years. And I owe a lot of that to you.”
He tries to slip an arm over my shoulder and I pull away.
“Let’s just get this out of the way before we talk about anything, ok? There’s still a lot we have to do.”
He nods. “You’re right. And there’s one thing I can think of that we need to do first.”
* * * * *
He takes me to the clubhouse. There aren’t many bikes in the lot, just a handful, far fewer than the night I first showed up here and he chased me away with a gun.
I get off his bike and fix him with a look. There’s a palpable feeling dread dawning on me.
“Why here?”
He shrugs, but there’s a knowing smile on his face. “It seems like the right thing to do.”
“Right thing to do? What the hell are you getting at, Jarrett?”
“When you first came here, I chased you away. I know you had your reasons for running off — you’ve explained that — and it was wrong of me to kick you out. You’ve proved yourself as someone I can trust. Someone the club can trust. I’m going to re-introduce you and set things right.”
“You don’t need to do this,” I say. There’s a note of urgency in my voice and frantic tightness in my throat. Please don’t do this, I beg him internally. “There’s other things we could be doing right now instead of hanging out at some bar. We still need to book that venue.”
The last thing I want is to face as a friend the people I’m going to betray. It’ll be so much easier remembering them as the assortment of angry faces that escorted me outside and told me that, next time, I’d be leaving in a body bag.
He opens the door for me and puts his hand on the small of my back to usher me inside. I put on a smiling mask and force myself to act like I’m not here to condemn these people to death.