The women in Jett's life weren't prone to tears. He couldn't remember Johanna or his mom ever using tears to get their way. The women at the clubhouse never had a reason to cry, because he only hung around them for sex—and they sure in the hell never cried tears. He studied the woman. Even his little sisters never cried, unless they were physically hurt or overtired.

He leaned his hip against the counter and studied the bowed back of the woman who viciously scrubbed her face. He'd only seen one other person break down to where it seemed like they'd lost all self-control and put themselves in a vulnerable state.

During his stint in the penitentiary, an inmate fell apart. The man's anguished cry had haunted the corridor before silence fell upon every prisoner, including him. It was during the next shift change that word got passed around that the man hung himself with his jumper. A picture of his wife clutched in his hand.

After several minutes, he realized the woman no longer scrubbed her face. He put his hand on her hip and turned her.

She exhaled in defeat and faced him. He couldn't move, and it had nothing to do with the cramped space inside the trailer.

The bloodshot eyes, free of makeup, gazed up at him. He took in the blue eyes, such a striking color with the black hair. His hand tightened on her hip, knowing he'd been suckered.

"How old are you?" His gaze intensified, looking for any sign that she'd lie.

There was not one blemish on her face. No squint lines, no laugh lines, no stress lines testifying to her con-artist life. Standing in front of him, she was the picture of perfection, while he resembled the aftermath of a Don't Drink and Drive poster.

"Twenty," she whispered.

"Twenty years old?" When she nodded, he whistled low.

With the heavy makeup on, he would've taken her for mid-twenties, at least. Irritated that he'd been conned by a baby, he said, "What's your name?"

"Sydney."

"Sydney what?"

The muscles in her slim neck convulsed. "Sydney—"

The trailer rocked, and the door swung open to a large older man wielding a pry bar. Jett grabbed his pistol and jerked the woman behind him in one move.

"Drop the weapon." Jett aimed at the man's chest.

At least three hundred and fifty pounds, the man's cheeks inflated with each exhale. "Get off my property."

Without taking his gaze off the man, he said, "Sydney? Is this your daddy?"

"No," she said.

"Do you work for him?"

Several seconds ticked by and Jett watched the man's eyes flick from him to the girl. His disgust grew as he took in the situation. A young girl living in a moldy travel trailer with a middle-aged man gave him the situation without asking.

"Yes," she whispered, leaning against his back. "Please, go. I can't lose the job."

"He's got you working the streets? Taking people's money?"

"It's okay. I don't—"

"Is he paying you?"

She pulled on the back of his vest. His anger grew as the man in front of him panted, blocking his way.

"Sydney, does he pay you?"

"I-I get to sleep—"

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

"Please, just leave," whispered Sydney.

Ignoring her request, he stepped forward, forcing the man away from the doorway of the trailer. He stepped down into the yard holding the pistol on the man. He'd dealt with fuckers his whole life who used brute size for intimidation. They were the worst fighters.

Overweight, the man couldn't even hold a pry bar without breaking out in a sweat. Not wanting to shoot the pistol in the city and have cops surround the house within minutes, he slid the weapon under his belt.

"Sydney?" said Jett. "Throw some of your things together in a bag. We're going on a little ride."

"You're not taking her." The man stepped forward raising the bar.

"Try and stop me." Jett stepped forward.

The man swung. He ducked, keeping his eye on the man's arm.

Sydney's boss raised the three-foot-long piece of heavy metal over his head as if to stab Jett. That's all the movement he needed. Jett lunged, catching the man's wrist in his hand and taking him down to the ground. The element of surprise on his side, he removed the knife from his boot and sliced the man's throat before he could utter a sound and alert the neighbors.

Wide, desperate eyes stared back at him. Jett pushed off the man and stood over his body, knowing any effort from the man to haul his fat ass off the ground would have him spurting blood at a rate he wouldn't make it five feet. His time on earth leaked out of him. He wouldn't make it fifteen minutes.

"Oh, my God," said Sydney behind him. "What have you—"

"Quiet." He turned, swinging his gaze in an arc over the trailer at the neighbors surrounding the backyard. All the houses were single story, and the fence kept their windows out of view. His activity tonight remained free of nosy eyes.

"Get your things." He squatted and wiped his knife off in the grass. "Be ready to ride in two minutes."

She stepped back into the trailer, struggling to close the door as if hiding inside would stop him. He stood and grabbed the aluminum door. Maybe she was in shock or two young to realize the situation. She couldn't stay here.

The cops would eventually find a dead man in the yard. It wasn't safe for her to be around.

Her mouth opened and closed looking past him to the man out on the ground. "H-he's going to die."

"Sydney," he said firmly.

She snapped her gaze to him and stiffened. If being scared of him got her moving, he'd take it. "Pack. Now. Unless you have plans to spend the next seven years in prison for murder."

She turned away and started picking up clothes and holding them in her arms. Satisfied that she worked toward getting out of here, he looked over at the man and pulled out his cell phone.

He put a call into his brother.

"Yeah?" answered Olin.

"Are you still at the clubhouse?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I need your house tonight." He glanced into the trailer and made sure Sydney stayed on task. "Call Chief. Tell him I walked into some trouble tonight but all's good. I'll see him in the morning."

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. It's the other guy who isn't." He lowered his voice. "I'm bringing someone back with me."

"Need help?"

Amusement hit him. Only Olin would skim over the details and assume a woman was involved. The middle son, two years younger than Jett, Olin enjoyed living on his own, off Brikken property, but never turned down time with the opposite sex.

Though, Sydney was a girl, not even twenty-one yet. He couldn't leave her here to take the fall for the murder of the man who seemed to have some control over her.

He inhaled deeply, finding Sydney staring at him with the same duffle bag she'd ran with through the night, and her vulnerability hit him. She'd swindled Brikken members out of their money without any fear. Lived in the backyard of the man who dared put a woman-child on the street to do his dirty work.

She'd gone out dressed like a fucking whore to hide her age. Someone had forced her into the life she led, and he suspected the man fighting for his last minute of consciousness was the one to blame.

He wasn't sorry for slicing the man's throat. The night hadn't gone as he planned but he couldn't leave her here to take the blame. "I'm going to need you and a few others once I get her back to the house. Clean up."

"Can you wait that long?"

"Yeah, nobody is around," he said. "I'm riding out now."

He disconnected the call and slid the phone into his pocket. "Ready?"

"I'm not going with you." She trembled. "I won't say anything. I swear, I won't."

"Swear all you want." He lifted his chin. "Did you leave anything in the trailer? Any mail or a notebook or anything with your name on it?"

She shook her head.

Her fingerprints would be all over the place and her DNA on the couch. He stepped forward, opened her duffle, and removed a shirt. Retracing all the places he'd touched, he wiped down the door, stepped inside, and scrubbed the fridge unit and counter. He wouldn't worry about her prints. If the cops tracked her down, she could tell them she'd rented the place from the owner months ago.

But, he couldn't be linked to the place or the murder. With a prison sentence under his belt, he'd be thrown back in a cell without a chance of escaping the charge.

He grabbed her arm, making sure she didn't disturb anything on her way out and walked her outside and past her dead boss. Spotting the backdoor of the house, he pulled her with him up the two steps and found the door unlocked.

Her boss had something he wanted. While he grasped the door handle with the edge of his T-shirt, he asked, "Where's he keep the money?"

"I don't know." She dragged her feet. "Please, I don't want to be a part of this."

"Too late. Don't touch anything." He pulled her through the house following the light coming from the front room.

For a man who dealt with stealing money from others, he lived a depressing life. A box television sat on the floor, and the two recliners came right out of the seventies.

Jett walked over to the tin T.V. stand and picked up the stack of cash. The guy hadn't even had time to put Sydney's work for the night away in a safe place. He shoved the wad of bills in his back pocket.

Taking the afghan off the back of the chair, he walked over to the front door, towing Sydney behind him. He used the blanket to keep his fingerprints off the handle and then tossed it to the side.

"We're going to walk out, turn right, and stroll down the block holding hands. My Harley is parked at the AM/PM. Don't throw a fit or I'll toss you back with your boss." He stepped out and shut the door with his elbow.

They walked to his motorcycle in silence, giving him time to think. At any time, he could've dumped Sydney. Young and scared, she'd probably disappear into another section of Tacoma where she could make money to survive. He held on to her hand, forcing her to keep up with his longer stride. But the unhidden face, perfection underneath the makeup, appealed to him.

He had two younger sisters. One five years old and another one only an infant. He'd want someone taking care of them if they ever found themselves in trouble.

Tomorrow, he'd find out her story, test her on how quiet she would be about what went down tonight, and then help her be on her way.