Penance Page 8

  Her smile fell, and her eyes grew wary. “Like what?”

  How you got those scars. Why you’re messed up in motorcycle clubs. Where you’re from. What you want out of life.

  Can I take you to dinner sometime?

  “Like…what’s your favorite color?”

  “Orange.” She gave me a sourpuss sort of look. “That one was too easy.”

  It was. Intentionally so. I had a feeling if I went for anything deeper, she might shut down. I couldn’t have that. “True, but I want to circle back to your answer for a minute. You really like orange? No one likes orange.”

  “That’s a second question. I don’t have to answer you.”

  Trickster. “You asked about prison. I should get at least ten easy ones for that mammoth discussion.”

  “Five.”

  “Eight.”

  “Deal. And yes, orange. I like orange. It’s…happy.”

  “Yellow is the color of happy.”

  “Ugh.” She recoiled, her face twisted up as if something stunk. “No one looks good in yellow. Orange is way better.”

  I had no way to argue that one, so I didn’t even try. “Okay then. Let me see—question number two.”

  “Three.”

  “No, two. I asked your favorite color.”

  “True, but then you asked me to confirm my reply. That counts as a question. This is question number three.”

  “You cheat.”

  “At almost everything. Keep up.”

  Damn, this girl was fun. “Okay. Question three.” I traced a pattern down her arm toward her hand, nearly biting my lips as she flinched when I reached her wrist. She wasn’t ready to talk about those scars, the ones around her wrists or the ones stacked in lines along her inner arm. That was okay—I wanted to know more about her than that. “What is the meaning behind your favorite tattoo?”

  She stared at me for a long time, her breath evening out. Her eyes locked on mine as she held stock-still. And then she sighed. “My favorite is a promise to my mom.”

  That was it. Her only answer. And she didn’t move. “You’re not going to show me which one it is?”

  “That would be another question.”

  I pursed my lips and gave her a fake but hopefully effective glare. “Sneaky.”

  “No. Literal. You asked the reason behind my favorite tattoo, not which one was my favorite. You were the sneaky one thinking I’d show the tattoo to you and then explain it.”

  She had me. Fun and smart—I was a goner. “Fine. Question four. Would you punch me if I hugged you?”

  Her eyes widened, and a slow smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Probably not.”

  “Probably not. Okay.” I sat up, nodding. “I’ll take that.”

  “Now?” she asked, sounding almost panicked as she bolted upright.

  “Now what?” I rose to my feet, stretching as I did.

  She blinked and dragged her eyes up my torso. “Are you going to hug me now?”

  “Not unless you want me to.” Because I wanted her to want it, wanted her to ask for it. I wanted her to make that move. I’d been the one to reach for her hand tonight. Twice. She’d accepted the advances, but I didn’t want to push. This girl didn’t need me to take… She needed to make the call.

  But it seemed she wasn’t quite ready yet. “Then why did you ask me if I’d punch you?”

  “To be prepared in case you asked.”

  “So, you think I’d ask you to hug me then punch you for hugging me? What sort of women have you been hugging?”

  “None.”

  “None?”

  “None. Not since my mom died.”

  Her mouth fell open. “That’s…”

  “Don’t say sad.”

  “I wasn’t going to.” But she blushed. A definite tell that, yes, she thought my non-hugging state was sad.

  My groan nearly rumbled through the room. “Now you think I’m some loser.”

  “Mission accomplished.”

  “What?”

  “I said I would help you stop being so charming so you could be a loser again.” She grinned. “Mission. Accomplished.”

  This girl. “You’re cruel.”

  “Sometimes. What’s your next question for me?”

  Interested. Excited. She was both, and I wanted to keep her that way. Give her time to trust me a little more so she might actually answer a few tough questions. Not tonight, though. “You know, I think I’ll hang on to them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I headed for the door, smiling at her urgency. “Yeah, see—I have to be at work in a few hours, so I’ll just hang on to these last four questions until I have more time to get good answers from you.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  I nearly stumbled as my body came to a complete stop, and the words my mother had intoned so many times over her life that I heard them in her voice no matter who was speaking fell from my lips. “Life isn’t fair.”

  “Yeah. I get that,” Jinx said, oblivious to the pain I’d fallen into. The sense of loss drowning me. She didn’t know—couldn’t—how much the idea of anything deserving fairness bothered me. How much the very word lied.

  “Sun’s coming up. I’m going to head home,” I said, trying hard to pull myself back together. Working my thumbs against the tips of my fingers as my thoughts slipped to what I could carve tonight. What pieces I had in my workshop. What I could turn from a hunk of death into something pretty and new.

  Jinx wasn’t ready to let me go, though. “Hey, Fish?”

  “It’s Finn.”

  “I know. And someday I might actually stick to calling you by that name, but today is not that day.”

  Smartass. “Fine. What do you want, Jinx?”

  Her voice might not have been as strong as I would have liked, but her words were clear and her consent plain as day. “Will you hug me please?”

  Done. I had her in my arms before her question was all the way out, had her off the floor and pulled against me by the time she hit the last syllable. So soft and warm, this girl. So wonderful. And still such a mystery.

  I nearly let go when she gasped in what seemed like pain, though. “Jinx?”

  “Tighter,” she said, curling around me even more. “Just hold me tighter.”

  There was no saying no to her. I clutched her to me, listening to her breathing slow, feeling her heart thump against mine. Sharing heat with her. There was no greater feeling in the world, no higher high. The world could have stopped right then, and I’d have died the happiest man in it just because I had this woman in my arms. I never wanted to let her go.

  “Don’t think this means I won’t ask you tougher questions,” I said as I buried my face in her neck and just…held on. Breathing her in. “I’m taking it easy on you.”

  She chuckled, wiggling against me. “If this is easy, I’d hate to see you hard.”

  And that was the moment I almost dropped her as a laugh exploded out of me. Jinx laughed right along with me, keeping her forehead on my shoulder as I set her back on her own two feet. As we both cracked up at her innuendo.

  As I did my best to make sure she didn’t notice how hard I really was.

  “I should go,” I said once I’d caught my breath.

  “Yeah. Okay. I’m not on for another couple of hours, but I may pop over before then for something to eat.”

  “Let me know what you need. Or if there’s something special you want in the kitchen that we don’t serve—I can bring it in with me since you don’t have a car.”

  She stood staring at me, considering. Weighing her options, it seemed. Thankfully, she must have come to the conclusion that she could trust me enough to ask for something.

  “Green stuff,” she said, wringing her hands together. “I miss vegetables and things.”

  Green. I could do green. “Anything in particular?”

  She grinned, leaning out of her door and looking deliciously bright-eyed in the deep pink of the morning glow
coming over the eastern hills. “Surprise me.”

  Challenge accepted.

  Chapter Eight

  JINX

  There wasn’t much I couldn’t handle at that point in my life—I’d been kidnapped, held hostage, beaten, and far worse. But when a blond woman with a big slow cooker in her arms and a bigger smile on her face showed up at my motel room door, I’d have to admit I was stymied. I’d been hoping to see Finn… She definitely wasn’t him.

  “Can I help you?”

  Her grin faltered as her eyes took a quick trip from my hair to my tattoos to the scars on my arms before darting back up to mine. “I’m Shye Anderson. I heard we had a new resident in Justice and thought I would stop by.” She recovered well, that smile kicking back up, raising her arms as if offering me the small appliance. “I brought pot roast and homemade bread for sandwiches.”

  No way was I turning down that. “Come on in.”

  Shye moved past me to set up the pot on the chest of drawers. She then pulled a couple packets of silverware wrapped in napkins from the bag slung over her shoulder and started setting the little round table in the corner. The one I never used for anything more than storage. The one I was apparently about to have lunch on.

  “So,” I said, drawing out the word. Feeling useless as the woman bustled around my motel room, moving piles of stuff from one place to another to give us room to sit at a real table. “People are talking about me being here?”

  “What? No.” She frowned my way. “Why would you think that?”

  “You said you heard we had a new resident.”

  “From Alder.” She looked up, that smile back on her face. “He told me he brought you back with him from his…Vegas trip.”

  Vegas. Huh. So apparently that was the story he’d gone with. I guess I understood the need to lie—it wasn’t as if he could come right out and say, “I went to Boulder to murder your brother because he was a threat to you and happened upon him whipping another woman so, hey—meet Jinx.” That might be awkward. But by the way Shye had accented Vegas—had spoken the word with an inflection that made it stand out—I had a feeling she knew there was no Vegas.

  Didn’t matter—I’d back up his lie. The man had saved my life—I owed him at least that. “He and Deacon brought me back, yeah. They helped me out of a really bad situation.”

  “They’re good folk, these Kennard men. That includes Deacon and Gage as well. Have you met Gage yet?”

  “Unless he hangs out at the bar, I doubt it.”

  Shye snorted a quiet laugh. “There’s no way he’s been hanging out at the bar. He’s got himself a girl in town. Katie—she owns The Baker’s Cottage. You may have gotten food from there—it’s the only restaurant in town.”

  “Finn brought some soup in the other day and shared it with me. Maybe that?”

  Shye pulled soft, golden bread rolls from her bag and set them on a napkin in the middle of the table. “On Thursday.”

  I calculated back, remembering the smile on my face when he delivered the container of soup. The day after our crazy ice cream date. Just a few hours after he’d hugged me the way he had. So much warmth and strength. So much—

  Focus, Jinx. “How do you know it was Thursday?”

  “Because Thursday is always cream of chicken day, and that’s his favorite. You could set a watch off him picking up an order of that and some pie. He’s got a bit of a sweet tooth. And a memory issue—he never remembers to bring his wallet with him.”

  From the drugs—addiction transfer and memory issues were things that happened when you finally sobered up. Or so I’d read. My own mom had struggled with loss of cognitive function over the years of using, growing forgetful and confused whether high or not. It didn’t feel right to mention that, though. Seemed like Finn’s secret on his end, and mine on my mom’s.

  Still, I had to smile about one thing. “I noticed the sweet tooth.”

  She glanced up, looking almost confused. “You did?”

  “We went for ice cream in the middle of the night.”

  “Sounds like Finn.” She motioned to the chair nearest me. “Sit. I’ll just grab the meat, and we can start.”

  “Thanks.” I lowered myself onto the chair she’d indicated, suddenly unsure of protocol. Was I supposed to pretend as if I knew nothing going on in town? As if I didn’t know about the Soul Suckers. Did she? She had to, right? It was her brother Alder had killed in Boulder. What was I supposed to say and not say?

  “You look like a woman about to go into an interrogation.” Shye set a plate piled with chunks of roast in between us before taking the opposite seat. “You can relax. I swear, this is just a social visit.”

  Sure it was. “I’m not usually the most social person.”

  “Me neither, but Finn said you and I might have a few things in common.”

  Finn. Every ounce of my attention funneled her way even as I fought off showing it. “Finn told you about me?”

  “Just that you were new here, that you and I might have had a similar life growing up, and that I should stop by.” She smiled and shrugged. “I would have been here earlier this week, but Alder gets a little overprotective of me. He’s really busy with some big order at work, so I had to wait for a day when Alder’s brother Bishop was in town so I could have two babysitters.”

  “Alder isn’t with you?” That was surprising as all get-out. I’d taken from his own words and Deacon’s that Alder rarely left Shye’s side. These Justice men seemed a bit…territorial.

  “No, he was needed at the mill. Deacon and Bishop are outside keeping an eye on the motel, though.” She gave me a look, the kind that said “I know you’re up to something” without words. “Alder’s not stupid, you know. He’s sure something’s going on, but he’s letting Deacon and Parris handle it all since that’s the path it seems they’ve chosen.”

  And apparently, that look was accurate. “I can’t really talk about that.”

  Can’t. Won’t. Same difference.

  “Yeah, I figured. But it’s okay—so long as things are under control.” She darted a look my way, one that looked calm enough. But the sharpness of her eyes, the depth of that stare—she knew, and she was worried. “Are they under control?”

  I held her gaze, giving her the only answer I could. “As much as I think they can be.”

  Her lips tightened, but her smile never broke. We had a lifetime of conversation in that moment—words exchanged that could never be spoken. An understanding agreed upon that would never be known outside that room. Shye knew a lot more than she let on, as did I. We were two peas in a pod.

  Finally, she sighed. “That seems about as much as I could hope for. Alder would step in if he needed to, I think. But he could use a break from running the world of Justice for a bit.” Her smile grew, her eyes brightening. “We’ve got a lot of planning and stuff going on.”

  “You’re getting married, right?”

  She practically glowed as she said, “Yes, in just a couple of weeks.”

  “Congratulations,” I said before biting into my sandwich and moaning. “Oh Shye, this is amazing.”

  “Thanks. It’s one of Alder’s favorites.”

  I nearly died with my second bite. “How is this so good? There’s nothing here but meat and bread.”

  “Simplicity is key sometimes. You can fancy that sandwich up with all sorts of stuff—veggies, chutney, aioli, sauces made from ingredients you can’t even buy in Rock Falls—but in the end, good meat and fresh bread will knock it out of the park every time.”

  She wasn’t exaggerating. “Well, thank you for bringing this over. Simple or not—it’s amazing.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, that ever-present smile softening, almost falling a bit. “I don’t want to pry, and I especially don’t want to bring up any bad memories, but I have to ask.”

  Shit. “Ask what?”

  “How’s your back healing?”

  I nearly choked on my food, nearly emptied my stomach all over the che
ap little table she’d worked so hard to make into a place to eat. My hands shook as I set my sandwich down. “You know about my back?”

  “We have a few things in common, remember?” She kept her eyes on mine as she rolled her arm, showing me the small circles that matched the ones I’d been forced to endure. The burn scars from cigarettes being put out on our flesh. Then she turned slightly and pulled the back neckline of her top a little lower. Tugging it down until mottled flesh appeared. Long, deep scars.

  What my whip marks would become.

  I had to take a deep breath before I could even think of opening my mouth. “Those Soul Suckers have a particular repertoire, it seems.”

  “Not the whole club. Just one guy.” She cocked her head, that hard stare back. “My stepbrother.”

  Pistol. The man whom I’d been given to after the Soul Suckers won me in a card game. The man who’d stripped me naked and tied me up. Who’d laughed while he’d whipped me.

  Who’d also, apparently, whipped her. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s the one.”

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  How to answer that without giving anything away? Without breaking the secrets Alder and Deacon had trusted me with? “I’ll say this—he deserved what he got.”

  She nodded, looking toward the window with unfocused eyes. “He did, whatever it is that he got. Alder doesn’t want me to know specifics.”

  “But you do, don’t you? Want to know.”

  She met my gaze, not flinching as her voice hardened around every word. “I want to be sure he’s dead and gone.”

  Not who killed him or how, not the details. Just the surety. “He is. There’s no coming back from what happened. Even a zombie wouldn’t have made it through that.”

  “Good,” she said, nodding twice. “Now, how’s your back healing? Do you need anything for the pain?”

  “Mine doesn’t hurt much anymore, and it stopped weeping pretty quickly. The skin just…tugs sometimes.”

  “When you move in certain ways or stretch,” she said with a nod. “That’ll happen until the scar tissue forms over the lash marks.”