Page 23 of The Echo of Violence

“Just over on Fern.”

He frowns as I lead him to my rental car.

“Isn’t that on the same street as the police station?”

I laugh. “Next street over.”

“I’ll follow you on my bike.”

I shrug and agree. “No problem. Just don’t be too long. I’m feeling all hot and needy,” I whisper the last part to him before biting my lower lip and climbing into the car.

“Thank god I have good control over my gag reflex,” I mutter to myself once I’m inside and start the engine.

I hit the Bluetooth dial and wait for Nico to answer. “We’re on our way. He’s following behind me on his bike, so I’ll have him swing around the back where you can grab him.”

“We’re ready. Any issues?”

“No. But my faith in bikers is the same as it’s always been. They’re pretty to look at, but like an unneutered dog, they hump anything in sight.”

I disconnect the call to the sound of his laughter.

Pulling out, I make sure the prospect is behind me before leading him to one of the rental houses we use for plays like this one. It’s empty right now but fully furnished so that it won’t look suspicious. The last thing I want to be doing is leading anyone back to my actual digs.

Turning onto the road, I swing around the back of the house and park. I climb out and lock up just as he pulls in. I wait for him to stop and remove his helmet before he stalks toward me. Sliding my hair back from my face, he dips his head and kisses me.

It’s not a bad one. And though the man isn’t my type, there’s no denying he knows how to kiss. I pull away and take his hand, tugging him along behind me. I clock movement in the shadows near the shed door, so I drop his hand and pretend I’m grabbing my keys from my pocket when I hear a scuffle. I don’t turn around, playing dumb just in case I need to use this persona again.

A cough brings my head up, letting me know the coast is clear. “Sorry about this. I swear I had them a minute ago,” I call out with a smirk.

I turn and adopt a confused look. “Scooter? Where are you?” I yell, knowing he’s behind the shed with Nico’s hand around his throat and Rex standing over him with a gun.

“Scooter? Come on, this isn’t funny.”

I check my nails and see the pinky is chipped. I make a note to file it later before I stomp my foot, the impact jarring me.

“Fine. Fuck you, asshole.”

I open the already unlocked door, step inside, and slam it closed behind me for dramatic effect. I peer out the blinds and watch with amusement as Rex and Nico drag a protesting Scooter to their car before shoving him inside.

They usually do the handover. Not that I’m opposed to it, I’d just rather do the chasing than the paperwork. This time, though, we made a conscious effort to keep my true intentions hidden because something tells me I’ll end up back at Chaos at some point.

Once the SUV pulls away, I leave, locking the door behind me. I return the car to the rental place after grabbing my backpack from the front seat, then start walking the block to where I parked my bike. Pulling my leather jacket from my bag, I slip it on and zip it up before taking the small key on my keychain and unlocking the chain I used to attach my helmet to the bike handle. The chain goes in my backpack before I put it on and strap the helmet on my head, tucking my hair behind my ears.

Climbing on, I decide to open her up and ride for a little while to clear my head. Riding was something I always loved as a kid, pressed up behind my dad, my fingers wrapped tightly in his cut, as he pushed the limits of what his bike could do, regardless of his tiny passenger.

When I lost my legs, I thought my riding days were over. But even on my darkest days, I couldn’t erase the stubborn streak I’d inherited from my father. Riding a bike solo was not something I’d ever done before my injury, but it was something I was determined to do afterward. It was my one connection with my dad that the bastards couldn’t rob from me like they had everything else.

Being in a clubhouse today was surreal. It was like stepping back in time. The club and location might be different, but the bones of what makes an MC an MC are still the same. I was struck with a wave of nostalgia that almost brought me to my knees before a much-needed dose of reality washed over me.

The woman I am now would have no place in an MC. I would make an awful old lady. Too many things have happened, too much to be able to go back to the MC princess I once was. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss the family aspect of it. I’ll always be eternally grateful to the powers that be for Rex and Nico, but that doesn’t mean that some days I don’t ache for all that I lost.

I ride for a couple of hours until I know I’ve pushed my body past its limits. Heading home, I take my time, slowing down before pulling into my driveway. Rex is leaning against the SUV, smoking, which he only does when he’s worried about me. He tosses the butt to the ground and stomps on it as I turn the bike off. Staying seated, I wait.

He walks over, unstraps my helmet, and pulls it off my head before taking in my face. “Now tell me the truth. Are you okay?”

I nod and lean my forehead against him. “I miss them, but sometimes I wonder if they would even like the woman I’ve become.”

“They’d be proud of you, Jinx. So fucking proud. And if they weren’t, fuck them. I’m in awe of you and everything you’ve survived.” Rex knows exactly who I’m talking about.

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