Page 2 of Digg

“Getting sentenced tomorrow. Met with my public defender this morning. She said the pre-sentence investigation don’t look too good. Says I’m looking at three to five, most likely.” There’s no emotion in his tone. Almost as if he’s talking about someone else’s future and not his own.

“Fuck, man. That means…” I don’t say it. We both know. Jail terms shorter than a year are served here at the county lockup. But more than twelve months of hard time? Those guys are punted out to the department of corrections for housing at the state penitentiary. It’s a couple hours from here, and that shithole makes this place look like a luxury resort.

“Exactly. Look, I know we ain’t friends—” We aren’t, but he’s not a bad guy. In another life, maybe we would have been. “I need a favor.”

“I’m out in two days, man. Whatever unfinished business you got, I don’t want any part of it.”

“Not asking you to handle anything inside. I’m not stupid. This is for later. And it ain’t for me, anyhow. It’s my sister. That fucking ex of hers is hassling her now that he’s walking again. Shoulda killed the fucker. At least then, it wouldn’t matter that I’m getting sent up state.”

“What are you asking? Be specific.” I’m not averse to killing. Certainly not men who beat women and deserve it. I’m also not a weapon he can aim to handle shit he should have finished when he had the chance.

“I’m askin’ you to take care of my sister. She’s all I got in this world, and that fucker’s coming around again.” His whisper’s gone up octaves as emotions steal his control. “Frankie’s scared to death on account of him tellin’ her he’s got plans for that baby he knocked her up with. Says he knows people who will take it off his hands. Who the fuck says that shit, man?”

Well, that’s an interesting development. Both the ex’s plans for her unborn kid, and Hyram’s request that I look out for his sister.

“Why would you trust me with your sister’s life? We’re not friends. I owe you nothing.” Harsh, but true. Cameron would be proud of me for not allowing my cellmate’s sob story to affect me.

Of all my club brothers, Cameron’s the toughest nut to crack. Jax looks like the hardest, at least from the outside looking in. An ex-con with anger issues and, until recently when he met Blakely, a twisted fuck who paid sex workers to let him vent his aggressions on them, Jax has no cares to give. At least, not to anyone beyond our circle.

Cameron, though? He’s nearly malevolent in the way he gleefully slots strangers into position to benefit his plans. Like chess, only one sadistic player is orchestrating all the moves. As far as Cam’s concerned, the rest of the world exists only to further his agenda.

“Got nobody else to trust. Besides, I know how you feel about females. She’ll be safe with you.”

Hyram has no clue how I feel about women. Not one damn clue.

Because it’s complicated. I love women. Their slopes and curves. The way currents of air move around them and carry the sweet scent of them. The lilting exhales and sighs that create artless melody. I love everything that encompasses womanhood.

I also know, firsthand, the high cost of that exquisite femininity in my life. The subjugation and degrading mistrust of me because I was born male. My mother loathed me. Before she went to prison for life, the only reason she tolerated having a son at all was the boost in state benefits she qualified for as a mother.

Looking at my mother, a person would have seen everything the world expected of a high-end prostitute. Beauty. Elegance. Charm. But it was all a sham, and her insides were pure hateful evilness. When she got locked up, it didn’t break my heart even a little. Still, the lessons of childhood, the distrust and unease, those stuck.

My conflicted feelings about women are the reason I look, but never touch. Listen but never solicit those sounds I love so much. Women are an enigma. Riddles I’m only recently starting to think worthy of solving. Three of my brothers have found women who prove my mother and the other cunning users like her aren’t the standard.

Watching Jax with Blakely, Cameron with his cop, Abbie, and even Konrad and his boy, Grey, with their girl, Blu, I know there are good women out there. Jury’s still out on Amaliya, but the Pakhan’s daughter is at least amusing when she’s making Shaw lose his shit.

Do I want to take on the responsibility of a female for myself? Fuck, no, I do not. Refusal is on the tip of my tongue when Hyram spits a nail into my coffin.

“I think he’s talkin’ about selling the baby, man. Heard there’s a people-for-sale ring, right here in town. Please, I’m begging for your help. I know you got an MC. You got people. You can hide my sister and keep her safe ‘til I get out. Please.”

Just like that, opportunity drops into my lap, and the sacrifice it demands is unavoidable. My brothers are already furious with me for getting locked up. How much more pissed can they be if I dump another girl on them to protect the way they’re safeguarding the Pakhan’s princess?

“Fine. I’ll pick her up after I’m released and take her to the compound. She can stay there, and we’ll give her protection. But you’ll owe Ghost Born and me. Clear?” I’m not doing shit for free. Not even for a guy I can almost respect. At least, as much as I respect anyone outside the club.

My sigh puts sound to my feelings about the matter. Who would imagine staying in jail would look better than being free? Being saddled with a pregnant woman I’ve never met is a fuck of a burden. This will suck.

Chapter

Three

FRANCESCA (FRANKIE) HOLT

There’s someone in my house. My first waking thought is also the scariest thought a woman living alone can have. Since my brother, Hyram, got sentenced for the beat down he gave my asshole ex, I’ve been on edge. I can’t be positive, but I’m pretty sure Mark, said asshole ex, has been following me. I’m also pretty sure he’s been messing with stuff just enough for me to know he’s around, but not so much I won’t sound ridiculous if I tell anyone.

Oddly enough, it’s the smell of bacon frying that settles my racing heart. Mark refused to set foot in the kitchen throughout our two years together, insisting it’s women’s work. As if it wasn’t a new millennium. The memory of how hard he longed for the good old days startles a huff of annoyance right out of me. Not that he was even alive all those decades ago. Mark never let that stop him from insisting things were so much better back when women knew their place. Of course, he didn’t like hearing men provided for their family’s every need, so women could be homemakers, in those days. Nope, he didn’t like that idea at all, and I got the split lip to prove it.

So whoever is cooking bacon in my apartment at… I squint an eye to read the alarm clock on the nightstand. Whoever it is at six-thirty in the morning isn’t Mark. It’s sad that I’m so relieved the person who’s broken into my place isn’t the boyfriend who knocked me up and then tried beating the baby out of me when he got tired of my morning sickness, but that’s the truth of things.

If whoever is in my kitchen wanted to hurt me, they had plenty of time while I was lying in my bed sleeping. Ergo, I convince myself this must be someone who means me no harm. As foolish as trusting the unknown is, what other choice do I have? Call the cops? Yeah. Right. Not only is Mark Bensen a cop, which definitely went against Hyrum when it was time for sentencing, but so is Mark’s dad, his brother, and his uncle. His sister’s even an emergency dispatcher. With my luck, I’d call 911, and she’d hang up on me.

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