Jauhnna Chapter 3

"Diablo, you don't know him. He's evil. He's killed people—destroyed lives. You don't want him to target you. I thank you all for helping me. I appreciate it more than you know, but the best course of action is to let me go. I'll find a way to get my emergency stash and hide again. No matter how long it's been, I won't let my guard down this time."

I was terrified at the determination I saw on his face. He was serious about going head-to-head with Galway. No one in their right mind would ever do that. Why risk everything for a stranger? He didn't owe me anything. It was the reverse. I owed his club for saving my life. I didn't doubt if it wasn't for them, I would've died before someone found me. I needed to run before it was too late. If those men left me, they had to have thought I was already dead. It was the only explanation for not taking me with them. I gasped at the idea.

"Wait. Think about it. If they were ordered to capture me and take me to him and they left me, they must've thought I was dead. Why else leave me there?"

"I could see how they might think that. You were covered in so much blood and not moving. Hell, it was hard to see if you were breathing. If they saw you and were worried about being caught by a passerby, they might not have checked you thoroughly, assumed you were dead, and ran," Wolverine agreed.

"So that means there's no reason for you to do anything. Well, maybe one thing if you would. I'd appreciate it if you'd help me get to my stash of money and documents. I know it's a lot to ask, but I can pay you for your time and inconvenience once I get it. I'll just disappear again, except this time, I'll go further and remain vigilant," I explained as my mind began formulating my next steps.

"No, by God, you won't! You're staying here where you're safe. There's no need to run and hide. I'm getting Micro to work on this. You rest and do whatever Wolverine tells you," Diablo commanded.

Before I was able to argue, he turned and walked to the door, and then he was gone. My mouth fell open. It was Wolverine's chuckle that got me to look back at him. He smirked.

"What's so funny? Does he just throw out commands and expect people to comply?" I fumed. As I began to feel better, my normal personality was surfacing. The days of me being some man's property with no say in my life were over. Never again would I do that. It would be better to live my life alone or dead than submit to that kind of hell. Living it once was more than enough.

"Yeah, pretty much. He is the president. It's his job to command and control things. It's bred into him. It might irritate you, but he's right."

I gasped and glared at Wolverine. "Oh, really. Do you think it's okay for him to control someone like a puppet? For them to be expected just to shut up and do as they're told, like a good little slave. Take what is dished out, even if it hurts you, degrades you, or destroys your soul. Hell, no. I won't do it. It makes him the same as what I ran from. I appreciate your help, but I'm out of here." I tossed off the wet sheet.

I was too upset to be embarrassed that I was in nothing but damp underwear and a bra, which made them practically see-through. I threw my legs off the far side of the table and stood. Or I tried, but my legs wouldn't hold me, and I went down on my ass. A cry of shock burst forth as I fell.

I heard Wolverine swear, then the quick approach of his boots. At the same time, the door to the room flew open, banging into the wall, and Diablo charged in. He was scowling. Directly behind him was another man. Great, just my luck. Three hot, sexy bikers were witnesses to my humiliation of falling on my ass almost naked. Why couldn't the floor open up and swallow me?

Refusing to lie there and be humiliated further, I leaned to the side so I could use my arms to push myself up. I gave a small scream when I was lifted off the floor and held against a broad, hard chest. A chest I swear I'd felt before, although how, I had no idea. It must be the head injury. I kicked my legs and tried to squirm. It did no good. His arms were like steel bars, although he wasn't exactly hurting me.

"Put me down!" I demanded.

"Not until you stop fighting. What the fuck is going on in here?" Diablo thundered. Glancing up, I saw he was glaring at Wolverine. As for him, he was calmly looking back at Diablo.

"It seems she takes exception to being treated like a slave, and she's determined to leave. I was trying to explain that your dictating wasn't meant the way she took it, but boom, she tried to stand up and went down. I was coming to pick her up when you charged in."

"Slave? You're not a slave," he said incredulously. He was back to staring at me. I had to fight not to look away or fidget.

"Should I have used the word prisoner or puppet? Do you prefer those?" I snapped back. Probably not the smartest thing to do with men I didn't know or trust, but what was the worst they could do to me? Beat me? That wouldn't be new. Rape me? Ditto. Kill me? It would be a solution.

His face registered his surprise, which quickly morphed into anger. "It sounds like we need to clear some things up," he growled.

I shivered. Seeing it, he must've thought I was cold based on his frown. His expression made me recall I was practically naked in front of three guys, and my underclothing didn't cover much. He remembered it, too, because he barked out to Wolverine, "Give me a blanket."

Then he turned his attention to the other man. "Turn your goddamn head." The man did as he was told. Within moments, I was covered with a blanket but still in Diablo's arms.

"Would you mind putting me down?" I asked, knowing it wasn't wise to remain in his arms. I discovered I liked it more than I should, which wasn't like me. Having any man touch me wasn't something I allowed.

"I might if you promise to keep your sweet ass where I put it. No more trying to get up and leave. You were half dead less than an hour ago," he reminded me.

"I make no promises," was my snappy comeback.

As soon as I said it, I knew I should've agreed, even if it was a lie. What it earned me wasn't a slap or other punishment but him walking over to a chair and sitting down with me still in his arms.

"Put me on the table. There's no need to hold me. It's not like I could escape even if I tried. There's three of you and one of me. I can't win a fight."

"Christ, woman, why would there be a fight? We're not here to hurt you. We rescued you, remember?" Diablo muttered.

"Since when does that mean anything? You're a dictator. Maybe the reason you helped me was so you could use me for your gain. You mentioned human trafficking and how easy it is to ship to and from Florida. How do you know that? Are you in that business yourselves? Was your offer to help with Galway just a ploy to get me to drop my guard? I promise you, whether it's you, Galway, or someone else, I won't be a prisoner or slave. That isn't a life, and I refuse to live it again."

His face became redder. Here it comes.

"Pres, she mentioned being a slave to me and asked if you expected her to let you control her like one. She asked if she was expected to take it even if it hurt, degraded, or destroyed her and that if you did, it made you the same as what she ran from," Wolverine blabbed. He didn't appear happy.

Risking a glance at the unknown guy, he was watching us, and he wore a pissed look. Crap. You should've kept your mouth shut, Jauhnna.

"We're gonna clear the air about some things. I want you to sit here and listen. Don't interrupt. You'll get your chance to speak when I'm done. And yes, that's me dictating," Diablo commanded.

I folded my arms over my chest and raised a brow at him. I made no verbal promise. Let him think what he will. I'd come to understand I needed to play along until they felt they had me cowed enough to obey. My only chance was to get them to believe it and then wait for the opportunity to escape when they let their guard down. It would gall me to do it, but if it earned me my freedom, so be it. I'd endured worse.

The other man came closer and sat on the edge of the table I'd been on. Wolverine leaned against the wall nearby. The stranger was studying me closely. I lowered my eyes, pretending to be intimidated.

"This is Scorpion. He's the club's vice president and my right hand," Diablo said unexpectedly. I didn't look up. I just nodded. I was channeling the old me. It aggravated me that I had to.

"Hello, Jauhnna, it's nice to meet you. I want you to know we're here to help. Trust Diablo. Yeah, he's bossy as hell, but he has his heart in the right place."

His assurance did make me look up. He was smiling. I wasn't falling for his charm or words, but I had to admit, he was believable and damn good-looking. I gave him a faint smile in return. Hopefully, they'd see it as me softening toward them.

"I'm not bossy. I just know what needs to happen. Enough side chatting. I gave our guy Micro your name and where you lived. He's working to see what he can find. I want to know your husband's full name and where we can find him. I originally wanted it so we could determine if he was behind this. Now, after those comments, I don't care if he is or not. He's still getting paid a visit. Tell me a story." He paused.

I had no choice but to look at him. He was staring so intently at me that it felt like he saw inside my heart and soul. I fought back a quiver. "What story?"

"Tell me why you ran from him in the first place. Why do you trust no one and make the comments you have? Only someone who has been repeatedly hurt would say those things. Tell me what he did to you."

Instantly, I began to add more bricks to the wall inside of me. No way was I sharing anything with him. No one needed to know my horrors or shame. I'd said more than enough as it was. I pressed my lips together and shook my head. He gave me a disapproving look.

"Why don't we tell you a little about us and let you ask us questions first?" Scorpion suggested.

"Okay," was all I said back.

"I've been with the club since I was eighteen. I'm thirty-five. When I patched in, Diablo had just become president. The only other one here then, who still is, besides Diablo and me, is Butcher. He's our enforcer. The rest have come along over the years." He stopped after giving me that tidbit.

"I've been with them for six years. I came after I got out of the Navy. I was a corpsman while there. That's why I was the one working on you. I'm the club's medic. I'm twenty-eight," Wolverine added.

"I've been a part of this club since I was born. My dad was a member, and I joined when I got old enough. We've done a bunch of things over the years, and I won't lie and say they were all legal or what some may call moral, but there have been a few things we've never done. We've never been men who abuse or hurt innocent men, women, or children. That was never tolerated. If my dad had ever thought to do that, my mom would've not only left his ass, but she would've also beat it. They raised me to be the same. I don't know what you know or have heard about motorcycle clubs, but it's probably not good if you've watched TV or read books.

"Are we angels? No, but we're not evil, either. Some clubs are, I hate to admit. We don't associate with them. In fact, until a few years ago, we didn't truly associate with any other clubs. Since then, we've been very selective of who we've allowed into our lives. None of them tolerate hurting the innocent, either. In fact, they do a lot to help them, and we pitch in when needed," Diablo unexpectedly explained.

I knew it could all be lies, and likely there was a bunch they weren't telling me, but they sounded so sincere as they shared. I found myself half believing them.

"We've been known to help some of those in need in whatever way they require. Some need to escape, and others require more intensive help. We've done it all," Scorpion added.

"We're a smaller club of twelve members and two prospects at the moment, but that's more due to us being selective than not having guys wanting to join. We have a variety of businesses. I think that should give you an idea about us. You can ask questions if you want," Diablo offered.

I scrambled to think of what to ask. A few popped into my head as they talked. I organized them and then asked the first one. "You mentioned being patched in. What does that mean?"

"It means to get this cut with the club's name on it and our road name. My road name is Diablo," he said, pointing to the leather vest. I was glad because I had no clue it was called a cut. I didn't watch television shows or read books about motorcycle clubs.

"Those are chosen for us by someone in the club who's a member. In this one, I often come up with a road name, and the others agree. Sometimes, one of the other members suggests it. Other times, if the guy was in the military and had one, we adopted it. You're not automatically voted in. You have to prospect for a designated time. With us these days, it's two years," Diablo explained.

"What does prospecting include? How do they prove they should be in your club? Do they have to steal something or kill someone to prove it? If so, why so long to decide whether they get in? Or do they have to do those things repeatedly until you know they can keep doing them?" My frank questions earned me swearing from all three.

"Son of a bitch," Scorpion uttered.

"Fuck," came out of Wolverine.

"What the hell?" Diablo snapped.

I shrank back at the anger in them, only to jerk as I recalled I was still on Diablo's lap. "Can I please sit alone?"

He didn't answer me at first, then he stood, placed me in the chair we'd been sharing, and stepped back to stand beside me.

"Jauhnna, I've gotta ask. Why would you think we steal and kill to get into this club? Do we project that, or is it because of all the shit you've read and seen on television? Christ, it gets old that people think those things of every club," Scorpion muttered.

"I don't watch shows about motorcycle clubs, nor do I read about them. I assumed you did them because isn't that what most gangs require of their initiates? I didn't mean to offend you. No more questions," I hurried to assure them. The less I knew, the better.

"Honey, don't do that. If you have questions, we'd rather you ask them than assume you know the truth. We're not angry at you. We're upset that so many people think the same thing you do. First, let me be clear. We're not a gang. We're a club. Yes, there are things prospects do to get in, but we don't ask them to steal, beat, or kill innocent people. Most of the time, they're gophers who show they're willing and able to complete any task asked of them, not just for a short period of time. We take time to get to know them and let them know us. The last thing we want is to get someone who isn't a fit, or we can't trust. Even with all we do, a few have found a way in, and it causes nothing but grief." The way Diablo said it made me think it hadn't been a good experience.

I was hesitant to ask more, but they were piquing my interest. "You mentioned having businesses. What kind? If you can't say, that's okay," I tacked on the end.

"If that's your way of figuring out if they're illegal, the answer is they're not. In the past, when I was growing up and even in the early days of being a brother, we did deal in illegal stuff. It was how we made our money. But even then, there were things we never dealt in, such as prostitution, selling drugs, or people," Diablo added.

"These days, we're just regular Joes. I oversee our garage, which offers mobile mechanic services," Scorpion interjected.

"I oversee our fishing charter and bait shop business. We have others, too," Wolverine added.

"And you? What do you oversee?" I asked Diablo.

"I oversee the whole club, but as for a specific business, it's our Prep and Restore business. We do a lot of work on homes and businesses to prepare for or repair after hurricanes and tropical storms. On top of the three we just mentioned, we have a thrift shop, beach rental property, a repossession business, and a seafood restaurant. It helps that we catch much of our seafood with the fishing charters."

I wasn't expecting that. They all were ordinary businesses. Deciding to ask another question, I asked, "What does brother mean? You mentioned being a brother. Are you all related somehow?"

Wolverine chuckled. "Not by blood, but we consider each other brothers and refer to ourselves as such."

I smiled at the idea, but then it slid away. Being someone's brother didn't make them loving or your ally.

"Stop right there. Why did you smile and then let it melt away? You thought something to make it happen. What was it?" Diablo demanded.

The way he was studying me, I knew if I didn't answer him, he would continue to ask until I did. It wouldn't hurt for me to tell a partial truth. "I thought it was great to think of someone as your brother. Then I recalled that even blood siblings don't always support or love their brothers or sisters. It's good that you seem to be good ones who do."

"How did your brother betray or not support you? Or was it a sister?" Diablo pounced on my statement. Damn.

Ignoring him, I asked the last question I had. "You said a few years ago that you opened up to being allies or friends with other clubs. Why? What changed your minds?"

Bossman, the nickname that popped into my head for Diablo, raised an eyebrow at my evasion but didn't call me on it. Instead, he answered my question. "My daughter went to Tennessee to help out my brother-in-law, Sam, and sister, Julie. He broke his leg and wasn't able to work. While there, she met and fell for a biker in a club up there called the Archangel's Warriors. When I couldn't persuade her to leave his ass and come home, I found I had to let them into our world. In doing so, they brought others with them. They're all like-minded to us, so it's worked. If I don't have assurances that a club is, we don't associate with them."

"Daughter?" I asked, dumbfounded.

He didn't look old enough to have an adult daughter. What was he, twelve, when she was born? Chuckles made me realize I'd said the last part out loud. I blushed.

"No, darlin', I wasn't twelve, though thank you for the compliment. I was legal, I promise. Brooklyn is twenty-six. I'm forty-seven. I have two grandsons as well, Thane and Jai. Thane is two-and-a-half and Jai is seven months."

"You're a grandfather! He's joking, isn't he?" I asked the other two. I'd place him in his late thirties, not fifteen years older than myself.

They both chuckled and shook their heads. The next thing I knew, Diablo handed me his open wallet. Inside, I saw his driver's license. Right there, along with his real name, Victor Tate , his stats of brown hair , brown eyes , and height of six foot three was his birth date. A quick calculation told me he hadn't lied. He was forty-seven. I handed it back to him.

"Sorry, you just don't look your age. I thought you were closer to my age."

"Like I said, thank you. Yes, technically, I'm old enough to be your dad. Did you have any other questions?" he asked with a slight smirk. I pretended not to know how it made me feel. Nothing would come of finding him attractive and intriguing.

"Just one more. You said you tried to persuade her to leave him and couldn't. Why did you try? Is he mean to her, unloving, abusive? If so, the way you spoke of how your club doesn't like that, why would she stay with him? Or your club bother to associate with his club?"

"He's not a bit mean or abusive, or he'd be dead. He loves her to death. Torch adores her and their kids. That man protects her like I have. I never wanted her to be that far away from me. I've always wanted her near to ensure she was happy and safe. Despite the fact the bastard stole my daughter and has my grandkids hours away from me, Torch takes care of them," he grumbled.

His evident love for his daughter came through loud and clear. It made me wistful to experience that for once in my life. No one could say my father was loving while he was alive. The silence lasted a good minute or more before he began his interrogation. That was the only word for it. He showed me he was serious about getting answers, whether I wanted to give them or not.

"You said you've been hiding from your husband for three years. Why? What did he do to make you leave him? Why not just divorce him and be done with it? Where are you from originally? How did you meet him? Do you have children? Is there someone we should contact now about finding you so they know you're safe? What's your husband's name? Tell me about your birth family. Why didn't you go to them for help? Are they dead?"

He fired them out so fast I couldn't keep up with them. He made my head spin, which I suspected was his intention. He wanted me confused so I'd blurt out stuff.

"Did he cheat on you? Lie? Hurt you?" Scorpion fired off as soon as Diablo finished.

"You said you were taken while going to work. Where is that? Won't your friends and coworkers be worried? They'll call the cops, won't they?" Wolverine added.

I began to panic as I fought to keep everything they were asking straight and formulate answers. I was starting to feel hunted. It was triggering the fight-or-flight instinct within me. In the past, I would've run without a thought. These days, I usually would fight. My head was pounding, and the urge to vomit was increasing. What the hell? I'd conquered these tendencies. Why were they coming back?

"Jauhnna, we can't help you unless we know what we're protecting you from. You have to help us," Scorpion said softly.

"Come on, tell us," Wolverine cajoled.

A loud slamming sound made me jump. Diablo had brought his fist down onto the table. "What are you hiding? If you need help, why all this evasion? Or are you a liar, and this whole thing was a lie?" he snarled.

All the questions, his anger, and the rest all accumulated and peaked as I barely leaned over in time to vomit on the floor and not myself. I heard swearing, but I couldn't concentrate on it. My head was hurting worse, and there were spots in front of my eyes. I felt myself slump.

"Christ, what the fuck are we doing? She has a concussion, and we're badgering her like she's a criminal. Here, you need to lie down," a kind voice said. Vaguely, it registered it was Wolverine, but I didn't let his tone fool me. He was no better than Diablo. None of them were. When hands touched my arms, I slapped at them and tried to move away. My vision was gone.

"Don't touch me, any of you. You're all bastards," I mumbled. That was the last thing I remembered saying or doing.