“Jennie!”

What a generic sounding Barbie doll name and if it wasn’t bad enough the damn detective gave me the worst sounding hick name ever created. Jennie Rae Thornton. Seriously?

Alright, so he was pissed that I insisted on using my real name as my new middle name, but I had to keep some part of my identity. I wasn’t losing freaking everything. My mother and sister were enough, not to mention my best friend Haley and all of the guys.

One guy in particular.

Detective Sims and I argued for hours over whether I could use Rae, but in the end, I won.

Kind of.

Look at my name. The victory was short lived.

Bastard.

“Jennie, don’t you hear me calling you?”

“Yeah Kat,” I answered with a fake plastic smile, turning away from the television that scrolled local news across the bottom, bored with the headlines and not bothering to read, “I’m sorry, just a bit tired tonight.”

I was tired all right but it had nothing to do with work and everything to do with my sorry ass name, my pathetic job, and my new life – none of which existed five years ago.

A small sigh escaped my lips.

All of this shit was getting old.

“If you want to head on home I’m nearly done cleaning up the last of the tables.”

“You sure? It’s pretty late to leave alone.”

“Yeah, Kip will be here soon.”

Her boyfriend’s name reminded me of a brand of dog food. I know that sounded mean, but he was nice enough, just so boring. Not to mention their names together as a couple was nauseating – Kip and Kat.

I wanted to gag.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I promised, knowing I’d be back for another closing shift.

I left the bar with one of the bouncers as an escort. Boomer and Dodge kept the peace at our little bar – Billiards & Buds – and the club across the street. I could see the neon signs for Forever 21 glittering like diamonds in the dark cloudless night.

Boomer left me once I was behind the wheel of my car and I drove home in silence, not bothering to switch on the radio. I don’t listen to music often. Song lyrics have a way of reminding me of my past.

I hate it.

My past and music, just to clarify.

The dark garage was empty when I pulled inside and parked next to my apartment building. Walking quickly to the elevator, I scanned my surroundings, holding my pepper spray in one hand and my keys spread out through my fingers in the other. If anyone tried to jump or hurt me, I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I slipped inside my apartment and dropped my purse on the coffee table without incident. You never know who could be lurking in the dark and I’ve learned not to take any chances. Before I could get comfortable my doorbell rang. What the hell? Who was coming over this late?

I peeked through the little peephole of my apartment door and opened it, crossing my arms over my chest. “What do you want Sims?” I never called him detective. He was always super annoyed with that, but I didn’t care. I got stuck with my stupid hick name, and he ended up on the other end of my sarcastic disrespect.

Win, win.

“Can I come in?”

I shrugged and stepped aside, noticing he took off his jacket and shoes by the front door. He must be planning to stay awhile which meant something was up.

“Have you watched the news tonight?”

“A little. Why?”

His long strides made quick work of my living room as he crossed to the kitchen, “Can I make a pot of coffee?”

I nodded, staring at him in confusion, “What happened?”

“Bryce Hutchinson was stabbed and is in critical condition at Juniper East Hospital.”

“What?” I sank into a nearby chair in surprise.

“And shot too actually,” he admitted, pouring two cups of coffee and setting one in front of me with the pint of half and half and my chipped sugar bowl. He always drank his black.

“How? By whom?”

“Well, we have our suspicions, but nothing is confirmed yet.”

“Meaning you know who it is but you aren’t ready to release it to the public,” I answered, slightly annoyed. Honestly, I was shocked he was here telling me anything. “Why are you here?”

Sims leaned back in his seat and sighed, the front legs of the chair rising up off the floor, “I’m concerned for your safety.”

“Because?”

“We both know you aren’t far enough from Providence.”

“Bryce is an Outlaw so you must think the RRMC has something to do with it.”

“Perhaps, but I . . . we can’t be too careful. If it became common knowledge you were this close, only a few towns away, there might be retribution.”

“Since I’m an informant,” I replied bitterly. A reluctant one forced into supplying information by the way, but why go there now? That was the past. I was still angry that he didn’t tell me Leah died for months afterward. That false hope had killed me and the news left me empty for a long time afterward. “Thanks for coming but I can take care of myself.”

He frowned, leaning forward as the front feet of the chair smacked the cool tiles, “That’s not the point Rae.”

“Don’t you mean Jennie?” I asked sarcastically, turning my head before he witnessed my frustrated tears. Hearing my name always sent them stinging to my eyes as my throat tightened with the surging emotion.

“Listen, I know how hard this has been for you. I’ve been around the whole time, remember?” his fingers closed around my hand from across the table and squeezed.

Sims was a good looking guy, blonde and tall with broad shoulders, smart and charming when he wasn’t being an overbearing and protective ass – like right now – but we’ve had this conversation before. I wasn’t interested in dating or finding my next mistake with a guy. Been there, done that.

And it sucked.

My heart was still broken beyond repair.

Sims rose from the table and crossed to me. His tall, lanky frame clothed in a pair of dark slacks and a sports jacket as he pulled me up and into his embrace, “I know you’re still hurting and heartbroken so I won’t push it and talk about what’s between us again tonight but . . . Rae, honey, sooner or later you’re going to have to let go and move on. It’s been five years,” he added, “and besides, it’s your birthday.”

I looked up at his face in surprise. He remembered. No one else had today.

“Happy birthday Rae,” he whispered, leaning down and kissing me softly on the lips. “I’ve got a little something for you.”

A small package was placed in my hands before he turned toward the door, scooping up his coat and slipping his feet into his dress shoes. With a wink and a small smile, he ticked his head in the direction of my front window, “I’ll be in the patrol car all night, just in case. If you need me you know my number. Call.”

I nodded. This wasn’t the first time he sat outside and watched over my apartment or issued the proposition for me to invite him in. Sometimes I wondered if I was a fool for turning down a perfectly great guy who cared about me, but I didn’t possess a heart to be given away anymore. I’d already handed it over to Peter Harding, long ago.

And alive or dead, happy or miserable, I could never ask for it back.

“Thank you Detective Sims,” I answered softly as our eyes met. Yeah, just this once, I could be nice.

He took a step in my direction and then paused, raking his hand through his hair, “Just Paul is fine.”

“Thank you, Paul.”

His regard was intense and I knew he fought the urge to come closer and kiss me again.

That’s why I had to usher him out the door.

We’ve done this song and dance a few times, and it’s not fair to either of us.

Once he was gone I locked the deadbolt and walked to my front window. As I expected, he was waiting for me. I’ve come a long way from that frightened and lonely girl who witnessed so much death and carnage five years ago, but some habits die hard. I waved at Paul and closed the curtains, the same as I had every time I saw him over the last five years.

Curling up on the couch with a thin blanket my mind wandered back to the night I last saw Peter. It was when my mother and sister were killed, and the Outlaws tried to murder me too. At least that son of a bitch Charles died that night and couldn’t terrorize anyone else. Only a couple of the other Outlaws were killed. A handful were arrested, but most of them were already out of prison and mingling in society.

Devlin was one of them. The day he was released I spent the whole afternoon in my apartment, scared and upset, and even Paul wasn’t able to calm me down for long. That was six months ago. I fully expected his sorry ass to end up back in the clink but nothing so far. Devlin was a dangerous asshole. Someday he would try to find where I was living. I didn’t think for one minute he’d let the past go or drop his vendetta against Pete, the RRMC, or me.

Those thoughts led me right back to the love of my life.

All I could think of were those last few minutes with Peter and climbing into that black sedan, my entire life changing in an instant, and not for the better. How in the hell was witness protection supposed to help? I was the victim, and yet the bastards who killed my family roamed free in the streets as I hid away from society.

How the fuck was that fair?

Tears fell down my cheeks and I didn’t bother wiping them away. I lost so much. I’ve had to live without everyone I loved for the last five years and it sucked. Why didn’t I get a choice in my future? Why couldn’t I have stayed in touch with Hayley?

With Peter?

Why didn’t he come for me or try to find me?

He promised.

But he never showed up, not once.

I haven’t seen or heard from him except for that night a year ago. Kat begged me and several other girls from work to celebrate her recent break-up. She was newly single and looking to hook up. Whatever. She was crazy.

I hadn’t been working at the bar as a waitress for long, maybe six months. When Kat suggested a girl’s night out and a few drinks, I jumped at the chance to experience a normal night of fun like other college students my age.

I didn’t know where we were going and didn’t pay attention until I saw the bright neon sign for Crazy Eights and the Harley’s lined up in front of the bar.

Panic filled my chest and I tried to suggest somewhere else but everyone was happy to stop there first. As we entered the familiar hub of excitement filled my veins along with the smell of licorice and fried food, the haze of cigarette smoke, and the consistent thrum of heavy guitars coming from the jukebox.

The place was packed without any open pool tables, so we decided to head toward the bar. That’s when I noticed the fight breaking out and the distinctive emblems of both the RRMC and Satan’s Outlaws MC on their leather jackets. The brawl quickly turned dangerous.

Everything happened so fast.

My eyes met Peter’s and widened in shock moments before I recognized Bryce. He ran for me but never made it close enough before Pete tackled him to the ground. I screamed when another SOMC member grabbed me and held a knife to my neck, threatening to kill me in front of Pete.

I froze, memories of four years ago and losing my family assaulting my senses.

The terror never fully left me.

I blinked, and in that instant Peter changed. A feral snarl ripped from his lips as he ran through the fighting bodies and managed to reach us in record time. I screamed, terrified, as I watched Peter yank the biker from me and throw him to the ground, beating the hell out of the guy, blood gushing from his nose and mouth. Pete didn’t stop even when the man was unconscious.

R.J. and Jake pulled him off the Outlaws member as Peter’s growl launched from his throat. He stepped toward me when the front doors of the bar burst wide open and police flooded the area. All of the MC members were arrested along with half the bar. It was total chaos.

I lost Peter until he was being shoved into a patrol car.

Flashing red and blue lights stood out in the misty cool night as a steady drizzling rain fell from the angry sky. One of the officers gave me a blanket and tried to convince me to see a doctor and leave in one of the ambulances. I refused.

As our eyes met, Pete whispered my name and I looked away, scared and overwhelmed with the disastrous night. I wished I had never set foot back in Providence.

When I finally was able to look back, the patrol car was gone.

Sighing, I asked Kat to take me home. Everyone was quiet as we drove back to Juniper Hills.

She’s never asked me to go out since. Fine by me.

Sipping my tea, I closed my eyes and sighed. I never told Paul I was there that night.

He never mentioned it, but I saw the tightness of his jaw and the anger in his eyes the next morning when we met for our weekly Sunday follow up. We argued over something small and insignificant that day but what I remember was his declaration of feelings and the gentle kiss he placed on my forehead, promising he would keep me safe.

Since then it’s been different with him and I never quite know where I stand.

Sort of with everything else in my life.

I felt abandoned and alone, lonely and heartbroken, sad and anxious, even in a crowded room. No matter what I did or who I was with, that feeling never went away. Not in five long, painful years.

I don’t think it ever will.