Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bama

The engine growls beneath us as I steer the truck down the lonely stretch of highway back to the clubhouse.

The Montana sky is a mix of bruised purples and fading golds, the kind that makes you feel small but alive.

Jordyn sits beside me, her presence a steady anchor after all the chaos we've dealt with over the past few weeks.

"How's your leg feeling today?" I ask, my voice rough from too many cigarettes and not enough sleep as of late.

Her left leg is where a lot of the very deep shards went through her.

"A little better," she says, her voice soft but strong. "Still sore as hell, though."

"I'm glad it's getting a little better," I place my hand on her inner thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her jeans.

It's like touching life itself, something raw and real.

She places her hand over mine, squeezing gently.

That simple act sends a jolt of electricity through me, grounding me in the moment.

"Thanks for coming so fast after the attack. I'd probably be dead if you guys didn't come that fast." she murmurs, her eyes fixed on the road ahead but her thoughts clearly somewhere else.

"We weren't gonna let anythin' happen to you, babe." I reply, tightening my grip on the wheel.

The road blurs slightly as I focus on the sensation of her touch.

It's been a hell of a week, and this—her—is the first thing that's felt right.

"It feels good to be out of there," she admits, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.

"Yeah. No one likes to be in the damn hospital." I say, my mind flashing back to the sterile walls and the smell of antiseptic. "Bein' back home will be so much better for ya."

"Hope so," she says, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Trust me," I tell her, trying to inject confidence into my words. "You'll be happier at home."

She shifts in her seat, her body language easing up a bit. "It's weird, you know? Being in the hospital, feeling like you're stuck on pause while everyone else keeps moving. I hate not being able to do anything, and being told I need to sit down and heal is just damn frustrating."

"Yeah, I get that," I say, glancing at her. Her chocolate brown hair spills over her shoulders, catching the last light of the day. "But you're out now. Everything is going to get back to normal soon enough, I promise."

"Yeah, I really hope so." she echoes, a small smile playing on her lips.

We drive in comfortable silence for a few more miles, the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the tires on asphalt our only soundtrack.

Her hand stays on mine, a silent promise that we're in this mess side by side.

"You're excited to be comin' home though, right?" I ask, breaking the silence as we turn onto the dirt road leading to the clubhouse.

The headlights carve through the dusk, illuminating the path ahead.

"Yeah, but . . . things feel off," Jordyn says, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers tighten around mine. "If I'm being completely honest, I'm afraid Blake's gonna pop back up at Tart whenever I start working again."

God, I can only imagine how afraid she is.

"Blake's not gonna get near you, babe," I assure her, gripping the wheel tighter with my free hand. "The club's got your back. We're making sure there's always someone there with you now. Not just Tara anymore. After what happened to her—" My jaw clenches at the thought of Boomer trying to kill Tara.

"That makes me feel a little bit better," Jordyn admits, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Having someone there all the time will calm me down a bit."

"I figured," I say, glancing at her. "You're gonna feel safe as hell, babe."

Her eyes meet mine, filled with a mix of gratitude and lingering fear. "Thank you."

"No need to thank me for jack shit, babe." I reply, squeezing her hand gently.

"Jordyn, I'm curious," I start, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. "Ever think about what you wanna do? Like, for real? With your life? You wanna work at Tart full time, or is there somethin' else you'd rather do?"

She shifts beside me, her grip tightening slightly. "I don't know, Bama. Tart's just . . . always been there. I think I feel safe there, it's comfortable, all of that," Her voice is soft, uncertain. She shrugs, like she's trying to shake off the weight of expectations. "Part of me thinks I'm too comfortable there. Didn't really think I had much of a choice either."

"Everyone's got choices," I say, though my words sound hollow even to me. Life in the club isn't exactly a buffet of options. "Just gotta figure out what you want."

"Yeah, I do. At least I'm not in a rush." she turns to look out the window, the reflection of passing trees casting shadows across her face.

Silence settles between us again, heavy but not uncomfortable.

We're both lost in our own thoughts, the rumble of the truck the only constant.

"Jordyn," I say, breaking the quiet like a fist through glass, "you know, a lot of people don't know what they wanna do. Hell, half the guys in the club are just wingin' it."

"Guess that makes me normal then," she mutters, her voice barely louder than the hum of the engine.

"I wouldn't say you're normal at all, babe,"I chuckle, gripping the wheel tighter, feeling the leather bite into my palms. "You're extraordinary."

Jordyn rolls her eyes playfully and laughs lightly. She was telling me earlier today that if she laughs too hard it still hurts.

We pull up to the clubhouse, its neon lights flickering in the dark, casting eerie shadows on the gravel.

I kill the engine and hop out, rushing around to her side. She's already pushing the door open, stubborn as always.

"Take it easy," I chide, offering my hand.

Her fingers slip into mine, a lifeline I can't afford to lose.

"Thanks," she mumbles, her steps unsteady but determined.

We make our way to the double doors, each step echoing the beat of my heart. The night air's cool, biting, a reminder of just how fragile all this is.

"Ready?" I ask, pushing one of the heavy doors open.

"As ready as I'm gonna be." she replies, her eyes scanning the room the second we step inside.

The familiar scent of booze and smoke hits us like a wave.

Jordyn doesn't waste a second—she beelines for the bar, determination etched in every line of her body.

"Hey!" I call after her, but she's already too far gone, focused on her destination.

I follow, my gut twisting with an uneasy feeling. I'm not sure why, but it might be because we haven't nailed down where Blake is yet.

Part of me thinks The Commander is hiding his dumb ass.

As she reaches the bar, I hang back, watching her like a hawk.

This place, this life—it's all she's ever known.

I obviously want to be in the club, but I wonder what kind of life we can create together.

"One step at a time," I whisper to myself, hoping the words can bridge the gap between what is and what could be.

Poison's behind the bar, her bleach blonde hair catching the dim light.

Curves in all the right places, she's a sight that could make any man's head turn. But, she's not my type.

Honestly, I'm surprised none of the brothers have slept with her yet. I've been wondering who would be the one she'd go for, but the woman doesn't seem interested in the least bit.

Jordyn doesn't waste a second.

"Need a Smirnoff Raspberry seltzers, stat," she says, voice tight but strong.

Poison's lips curl into a smile, and she nods. "Comin' right up."

I watch as Poison moves with practiced ease, grabbing a can from the cooler.

She pops it open, her eyes flicking to me with a knowing look.

"Here you go, darling," she says, sliding the seltzer across the bar to Jordyn.

"Thanks," Jordyn mutters, grabbing the can like it's a lifeline.

She takes a long sip, her eyes closing for just a moment as if the cold fizz is washing away the weight of the world.

I'm still hanging back, hands shoved in my pockets, feeling like an intruder even though I have every right to be here.

It's not that I don't belong here—I'm just walking on eggshells trying to see how things are going to be since Jordyn's just gotten home.

"Poison," I nod in greeting, trying to keep things casual.

"Hey, Bama," she replies, her smile softening as she looks between me and Jordyn. "You guys need anything else?"

"Go ahead and get me another seltzer while you're at it." Jordyn says, her voice a touch steadier now.

She gives me a small, forced smile, and I hate how much pain I see there.

The clubhouse should be a sanctuary, but right now, it's just something else Jordyn has to deal with.

Nova's arms wrap around Jordyn from behind, catching her off guard.

Jordyn stiffens and grimaces, letting out a pain filled groan. "Fuck,"

"I'm so excited you're back!" Nova exclaims, squeezing her tight. "It's felt so weird with you being in the hospital."

"First of all, don't grab me like that. I'm still in a lot of pain," Jordyn pulls away, eyes narrowing. "Secondly, why didn't you come see me in the hospital, Nova? I thought both of my sisters would come see how I was doing."

The air crackles with tension. I can tell Jordyn's pissed, and Nova's about to get the brunt of it.

"Jordy, I—" Nova starts, but Jordyn cuts her off.

"Kat flew all the way up from Vegas to check on me," she snaps. "You couldn't even come a few miles. Tell me how fucked up that is."

"Listen, it's not that simple," Nova pleads, her face contorting with frustration. "You know how things are?—"

"Fuck off, Nova,." Jordyn's voice is ice cold.

She turns back to her seltzer, ignoring her sister completely.

Nova stands there, looking like she's been punched in the gut.

She opens her mouth to say something, then thinks better of it and walks away, shoulders slumped.

I glance at Jordyn, who's gripping her drink like it's the only thing keeping her grounded.

Damn, I've never seen her this angry.

"Everything okay?" I ask, knowing full well it's not.

She doesn't answer, just takes another long sip of her seltzer, staring into the distance like she's trying to hold herself together.

"Guess not," I mutter to myself, feeling the weight of whatever the hell is going on inside her.

I watch Jordyn's fingers tremble as she lifts the Smirnoff seltzer to her lips.

Her eyes dart around the room, avoiding mine. Finally, I muster up the courage to speak up. She's been too quiet the last few minutes.

"Jordyn," I say, my voice low but insistent. "Are you good?"

She takes a deep breath, and I can see the struggle in her eyes.

She swallows hard, setting the seltzer down with a clink that sounds louder than it should in the crowded clubhouse.

"Before I passed out," she begins, her voice barely above a whisper, "Blake told me to ask you about slitting wrists."

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

My heart drops into my stomach, cold and heavy.

How the fuck does Blake know about that?

"Babe," I manage to choke out, but my mind is already spinning, replaying memories I'd buried deep.

"What did he mean by that?" she asks, eyes wide and searching, pleading for something I can't give her. "Bama, I keep thinking about it and I need to know."

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair, the world narrowing down to just the two of us. "It's really complicated, babe,"

"Complicated?" Her voice rises, anger and fear mixing in her tone. "I'm sure it will be a hell of a lot easier if you just explain yourself."

I glance around the room, seeing familiar faces lost in their own worlds, unaware of the tense situation Jordyn and I are having.

I grab her hand, pulling her closer so our conversation stays private.

"Listen," I say, keeping my voice low, "there are things you don't know about. Things I've done to survive."

"Okay, we all have," she snaps, yanking her hand back. "What could be so bad?"

"Things I'm not proud of," I admit, feeling the weight of those words settle on my shoulders. "But everything I did was warranted. I promise."

"Really?" she repeats, incredulous. "How the hell am I supposed to believe that?"