Page 46 of Jasper
I nod, slowly accepting that this truly is the right call. “The car keys are on the hook near the front door. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
We stand there for a second, staring into each other’s eyes. His hands come out to rest on my hips. “It’s shit like that that made my old man call our club Sons of Rage,” he says. “Sometimes, shit gets thrown at you that you don’t deserve and didn’t ask for. People like you and me work hard, mind our own fucking business, and still get the short end of the stick. It’s enraging, ya know?”
This is when my backbone snaps into place. “Yeah, I do know how that feels. But that’s when people like you and me shine. We step up our game, move double fast to outsmart them, outmaneuver them, and get the jump on them. Grit is our super skill,” I tell him.
His angry expression is long gone, replaced by one of admiration. The big hands on my waist tug me closer. “Have I mentioned that I like it when you talk like a biker?”
“Your mom told me us meeting wasn’t an accident, that it was providence.”
“Sounds like something Ma would say. Let’s get you back to the clubhouse and then we’ll talk all this out.”
When I step back, his hands drop away.
“Double quick, darlin’. Remember to move double quick.”
I turn and sprint off without another word. Yeah, this man is more than I could have wished for when it comes to a father for my child.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing by the door with a duffel on my shoulder and Jasper following along behind me with two huge suitcases. The duffel bag is weighing me down, but he’s carrying those suitcases that I couldn’t even lift, like it’s nothing. My feet come to a stop at the door, and I turn to give my living room one last look. Jasper stripped it bare, taking the framed photographs off the walls, the photo albums from their resting places, quilts off the back of the sofa and chairs, and for some reason, all the toss cushions. I told him to take whatever looked like a keepsake, and he did a good job. I reach out and grab my favorite plant and say goodbye to the house I grew up in, praying it’ll still be standing when all this mess is behind us.
Jasper’s voice says my name, deep and urgent. “Tessa…”
I pull the door open and step onto the porch. He comes out behind me and locks the door. As we move down the steps, Jasper looks around suspiciously, clearly on the lookout for danger.
We move quickly around what’s left of his bike, and I see he’s already pulled my car out of the garage. The trunk is open and stuffed to the gills with stuff from my house. I stop short, and he murmurs, “We’ll have to put these bags in the back seat.”
It takes him only a few seconds to cram the suitcases and duffel into the back seat. Then he slams the trunk closedand opens the door for me. Truth be told, I’m just standing uncomfortably, trying to ignore my overly curious neighbors.
When he says my name again, I slide inside, clutching my purse between my knees. I’m about to close the door, and Jasper’s halfway to the back of the car when he freezes. I step back out of the car and glance around. He looks up towards the sky, his sharp eyes squinting slightly. His whole body goes rigid, and his hand reaches inside his vest. Jasper’s eyes scan the sky until they stop.
“What is it?” I ask.
Before he can answer, I hear it too. A soft mechanical whir. It sounds high-pitched and close.
“Drone to your right. It’s coming in fast,” he mutters. “They’re watching us.”
A chill runs down my spine.
His hand comes out of his vest and wraps around a .45 like he’s working off muscle memory. His hand is steady and there is no panic on his face.
“Jasper, get down.” I say, ducking while my heart pounds in my chest.
He doesn’t answer, nor does he duck. Instead, I watch him blade his body slightly, raise his gun into the air and empty the clip into the night sky.
The shots explode in flashes, lighting up the scowl on his handsome face. The drone wobbles, then jerks in midair, before spiraling and crashing into the sidewalk beside his twisted bike.
I gasp, bringing one hand up to cover my mouth, as I watch him walk over, pick up the damaged drone, and walk back to thecar. It almost doesn’t compute that he just shot a drone out of the sky, and he’s taking the damn thing home with him.
He slides the gun back into his cut, opens the back door, tosses the drone into the floorboard, and slams the door shut again. I scramble up and back into my seat as he climbs into the driver’s seat. The second I slam my door shut, he starts the car and pulls out without looking back.
***
We are both quiet as he navigates out of town. The moment we pull out onto the interstate, four bikes come out of nowhere, surrounding us. They’re all wearing Sons of Rage cuts.
“Did you call them?” I stammer, wondering when he would have had time to do that.
“Of course I did. The men who did this are unhinged, unpredictable fuckers. I’ve not given ‘em another opportunity to get to us tonight.”
I take a deep breath and try to relax, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into with this man. I knew he was a biker and took him at his word when he said that he and his club brothers weren’t outlaws. But some gang he’s made an enemy of just torched his bike in my driveway and was spying on my house with a damn drone.
