Page 50 of Jacob

Dash laughed with the cigarette bobbing on his lip. “I hope not.”

Beside one another, the two sat in the room, finishing their cigarettes in silence. They took turns ashing into the Styrofoam container. Delaying the trip home could only go unnoticed for a day or so. The distance between Montana and Ohio allowed for frequent breaks for gas and rest, which extended travel time. An iron ass run back would suck, but it would give him one last shot to…

Fuck.

Twisting the cherry off his butt, he flicked it into their make-shift ashtray and dropped his head into his hands. One last shot to dowhatexactly?Win her over? And do what exactly? What thehellwas the next step?

She lived in Ohio. From the looks of it, she didn’t have any plans on changing that. If anything, she sprouted goddamn roots. They were even taking hold of the soil.

When he lifted his head, he scrubbed his hands down his face. The reality of not having thought any of this through slapped him, leaving him staring dumbfounded.

“If we’re kicking it here another night…” Dash stood. “I’m ditching the leather.” He reached to unlace his chaps as he headed toward his side of the bed. “As much as I like it, it’s hot as fuck.”

Another night. Another two nights. How many nights did Jacob need to spend in Ohio to figure out what to do next? What did he want from Sparrow? To not let her go? But what the hell did that mean? Raking his fingers through his hair, he jumped to his feet, unable to just sit anymore.

His arms tingled, his legs burned. He needed to move. He needed to run. He needed to fight. He needed to do something. He glanced at the door and then over his shoulder, spotting his duffle. “Don’t take your shit off,” he suggested to his club brother.

Peering up from the lacing at his crotch, his bald sponsor arched a brow in response.

“I need a long ass ride, you up for it?”

A grin splayed on his club brother’s face in agreement. That was the thing about bikers, if he ever needed a ride buddy, he always had one. Loyalty. Someone always had his back when he was with someone in his club.

Fury forever. Forever Fury.

Now, if he could just figure out how that translated to Sparrow.

Chapter 29

Sparrow

Athick arm looped around her middle and dragged her back against a soft wall smelling of beer. “Careful,cher,” the masculine voice rasped in her ear. Immediately, Sparrow knew she’d been pulled away by Cajun, one of the club’s more obscure members. All she knew about him was that he came from Louisiana, but anyone could tell that from his Gambit sounding accent.

Pressing her palms down against his forearms, she did her best to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go,” she demanded. “I have to—”

“You ain’t gotta do nuthin,” he challenged. “Men business.” He jerked his head. “Tut made his bed, let ya man step to it.”

Fights happened at the clubhouse often. Inevitable with that combination of testosterone, liquor, and whatever else they were smoking or snorting. Glancing around the crowd, which had formed a circle around Tut and Pipes, her stomach knotted hearing the shouts for bets. She couldn’t miss the glittering of blood lust in their eyes.

“He can’t fight a patch.” She shook her head as though Cajun were unaware of the ramifications.

A throaty chuckle exploded behind her. “Bit late for that,cher.”

Tut, the doughy man who hadn’t seen the inside of a gym a day in his life, held up his hands as though he were mimicking aRockymovie he saw when he was twelve. With a line of blood dripping down his face from his nose, he squinted, sizing up the man who’d hit him. Pipes, who often fought for the club during their boxing nights, bounced and brought his fists up to guard his face.

Shit.

He’d lost his fucking mind. She squirmed more. Cajun had to let her go. She had to talk sense into her boyfriend. He’d lose it all. They’d never let him in if he knocked out his sponsor. Especially, considering his sponsor was the son of a long-time member and retired officer.

This was fucking bad.

“Ain’t nothin’ you can do for him, girlie.” Her captor tightened his grip. “Let ’em go.”

“Pipes!” she hollered over the crowd cheering and calling for blood. “Think about this!”

If only she could get his attention, make him to see how wrong this was—she chewed on her bottom lip as she watched the two men sizing one another up.

With a lunge, Tut’s fist lurched forward, his entire body following behind it. Pipes, the leaner of the two, easily dodged the meaty paw, only to counter with an uppercut to his sponsor’s unguarded gut.

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