Weakness: No Longer Weak Part 5

"What, you wanna join in on it too, pretty boy? Not really my type, but I could let you watch."

The man shrugged at the two of us then stumbled up the stairs.

"I'm kicking Abbot's f.u.c.king a.r.s.e when he arrives." Finnley popped his fingers.

Bart walked up to the two of us. We were completely out of place. I noticed that on the breast of his leather cut it said secretary. I looked up at him. "Relax. This is the safest place in Texas. Have some drinks and at least try to enjoy yourselves. You're in one of the safest places in Texas."

Finnley ran his fingers through his hair and gave me a look. He was p.i.s.sed. I could almost see the steam coming off him. We walked across the room, and everyone seemed to stop and stare as if we were lepers. I tried to ignore the eyes that tracked me, and followed him to the bar top. A woman with tattoos up and down her arms stood behind the countertop in cut-off shorts. Her hair was thrown into a sloppy ponytail, and though her body said thirty, her face told me she was much older than that.

"We've got hard liquor. Whatcha want?" She wasn't happy to see us there, and we weren't happy to be there, so it looked like the two of us had something in common at least.

"We've got whiskey, vodka, and rum. Take your pick." Sarcasm coated her voice as she moved her hand across the bottles as if she were presenting liquid gold.

Finnley looked at her, completely unamused. "Surprise me, then," he said.

She leaned over the bar, her lips only inches from his. "Good choice, bub. And I'm Rosie."

This woman had the confidence of an army, and the att.i.tude to back it. She slammed a rocks gla.s.s on the wooden bar top, pulled a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, and poured, and poured, and poured until the shot filled the entire gla.s.s. She gave him a smile, then turned around and placed the bottle back. Finnley picked up the whiskey, took it all in one gulp, and slammed the gla.s.s back down on the bar. Rosie gave him a side smirk, leaned back over the bar, and stared at him.

"You're harder than I thought," she said.

"You have no f.u.c.king clue."

I needed to keep my mind clear. Finnley asked about the restroom, then stood.

"Come with me."

I looked up at him. "No. I'm fine right here."

"You're coming with me. I'm not f.u.c.king leaving you here alone." Finnley grabbed my arm, and I stood and jerked it from him.

"Don't. The bathroom is right there. I'll be fine sitting here for two minutes. His nostrils flared, but he knew there was no way he was forcing me.

"Fine. Don't you f.u.c.king move. I'll be right back." He rushed off, and I watched the bathroom door close behind him. I knew wouldn't be gone for long.

"What about you, sugar?" Rosie asked.

"I'm good, thanks." I sat with my hands crossed in my lap.

A tall man with a mustache and chops walked behind the bar and began screaming at Rosie. "I ordered you to stay the f.u.c.k away tonight," he said.

"Bart said you'd have company and needed more protection. I thought I could help," she said.

"You don't know how to take instruction. That's your problem, Rosie. That's why you'll never be someone's old lady. You don't know how to f.u.c.king listen either," he said.

She went to open her mouth and speak, but he reared his hand back to slap her.

I stood up, pushing the bar stool out from under me. "Don't you f.u.c.king do it," I said. Anger raged inside me. They both tilted their heads at me and narrowed their eyes. Everything in the room seemed to stop and people quieted.

"Who tha f.u.c.k is this broad? Anyone? Anyone f.u.c.king know who is brave enough to interrupt my business?"

"Jennifer Downs, and I'm not a f.u.c.king broad."

He walked over to me, not taking his eyes off mine. His eyes were brown, the color of chestnuts. A single scar ran from the top of his eyelid down to his cheek, and he had one solitary smile wrinkle on his face; probably from the devilish side grin he instantly shot me when he leaned against the bar. I didn't stand down. Instead, I stood strong. No man would talk to a woman like that in front of me. I glanced at Rosie, then at the flag with the open-mouthed bone-white devil behind him. My eyes moved from one devil to the one that stood in front of me. My eyes focused on his leather cut with the word President neatly embroidered on the breast.

"You were saying?" he muttered.

"That I'm not a f.u.c.king broad."

Instantly, he started clapping his hands together and laughing. "Looks like we have a little firecracker here. One who doesn't know her d.a.m.n place," he said, inches from my face. These people wouldn't know the definition of personal s.p.a.ce if it hit them in the face. Right now, as I felt his breath sweep across my face, I realized we were both too stubborn to back down. Texans.

Finnley walked up and placed his arms on the counter, acting as a protective barrier. The man narrowed his eyes then took a step back.

"Carry on, everyone," the man said.

"Baxtor," Finnley said.

I shot him a smug look. Finnley actually knew this man?

"It's been awhile, Felton."

Of course Finnley knew him.

JENNIFER.

Ten.

"I should have known this little firecracker was yours," he said.

"Did you expect anything less?" Finn shot him a devilish grin, and pulled his arm from between Baxtor and I.

"Jennifer, this is Baxtor, president of the Southern Devils," Finnley said without any amus.e.m.e.nt or care in his tone. He pushed his gla.s.s forward and Rosie instantly filled Finnley's gla.s.s to the rim with whiskey. This time he took it slower.

"I love the way it burns going down," Finnley said. Looking at him, a person would see a clean-cut guy with an air of arrogance, but when he switched to bad boy, mmmmm, it was hot. He ran his fingers through his hair and took a small sip of whiskey.

"Been a while, old friend," Baxtor said again. His rough voice reminded me of a rumbling rally car engine. Slivers of grey shone through his dark brown hair and were magnified when the light struck them at just the right angle.

When Baxtor realized the conversation wouldn't go any further, and that Finnley had no desire to talk to him, he sauntered back to Rosie and jerked her chin until her eyes were forced to meet his. An unspoken warning pa.s.sed between them. When he pulled his hand away, I could see red marks from where his hard grip had touched her.

"What the f.u.c.k are you looking at?" she asked me.

"A bunch of bulls.h.i.t," I said.

Finnley ever so gently placed his hand on top of mine and moved his fingers across my skin. Even with a simple touch, he seemed to ignite a fire in me. Though the gesture was small and could have been easily missed by anyone watching, it was comforting and brought me back to my element.

"It's dangerous for you to run your mouth here. You need to learn your f.u.c.king place, because this one here"-she pointed at Finnley-"can't be able to stop Baxtor's wrath if you keep smarting off. Sorry, cookie, but learn to shut the f.u.c.k up. You don't know how this works, and you need to stop before you get yourself in too deep."

I sucked a deep breath in through my nose and released it through my mouth. My adrenaline spiked and my blood pumped through me at a high rate. Her words brought me to a point of a rage I hadn't visited in a long while, or maybe my pent up anger had finally freed itself.

Time seemed to stand still as we waited for Abbot to arrive at the compound. After a while, the music seemed to scream over the rowdy crowd. It was the witching hour for bikers, apparently. At least twenty-five members drank, laughed, and tried to talk over each other. As the night progressed and the alcohol flowed, it only got worst. Push did eventually lead to shove, and a few men in the corner broke out into a fight, but everyone just stood around and watched as if it were normal. Too much testosterone swarmed through the room.

As I sat there staring at the stark whiteness and detail in the devil's face sewn into the dark flag, I heard a familiar voice echo from my behind me. I turned around, and my eyes landed on Abbot, who was wearing a black t-shirt that hugged his body, dark blue jeans that sat low on his hips, and the type of rugged boots that people wore to kick someone's a.s.s. That man never dressed to impressed, complete opposite from Finnley on every front.

Abbot exchanged a few handshakes with the men as he entered, until his eyes landed on Finnley, and then finally shifted to me. Finnley didn't even turn to greet him, and I knew he'd heard Abbot, because I had. He was closed up and locked tight, not allowing anyone to interrupt his thoughts. I had seen him act like this once before, when I had picked up the picture of his late wife. The situation may have changed, but something was going on, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

After a few more hard handshakes, Abbot walked to the bar, stood next to Finnley, and waited with his arms crossed. When he realized he wasn't getting any sort of acknowledgement, Abbot spoke. "I'm not f.u.c.king apologizing, okay? I know how you feel about him, but it was either call in a favor or risk your d.a.m.n lives. I chose the favor route."

Finnley stood immediately. The bar stool fell to the ground, creating a loud crash, but no one even noticed. Finnley stared Abbot down. If looks could kill, one of them would be dead.

"You made the wrong choice," Finnley said. His voice was husky and barely over a whisper. Abbot didn't make a move, and neither did Finn. The tension was high and rising. I wasn't sure who would snap first, and I didn't want to find out.

We had the same goals, and this s.h.i.t had to stop. With a deep breath, I placed my body between them and faced Finnley. "Stop this, please," I said. Finnley kept his eyes on Abbot for a long moment, and when he turned his body, he shot the rest of the whiskey then slammed the gla.s.s down on the wooden bar.

"I'm tired. I want to go to bed," Finnley said.

Rosie pulled a set of keys from a hook beside the long mirror that ran the length of the bar, then handed them to Finn. "It goes to the spare bedroom upstairs," Rosie said.

He headed for the stairs and waited at the bottom step for me. Abbot lifted his hand and shooed Finnley away. Finn folded his arms. They exchanged a silent conversation before Finnley walked away. I turned and looked at Abbot. Rosie poured him a shot of whiskey, but Abbot looked at it and left it where she had placed it.

I narrowed my eyes at him and leaned my back against the bar so no one else could hear what I was saying. "Why didn't you drink the shot?"

Abbot narrowed his eyes back at me. "You don't miss much, do you?"

"I've learned to watch my surroundings. Why didn't you drink it?" I asked again.

"Did you have any?"

I shook my head.

"Precisely. I don't drink from bottles I don't buy. I don't trust many people, and I don't trust anything that comes from this place. When you're in this business, you have to work smarter, not harder."

"What about Finnley? He had two shots."

"He f.u.c.king knows better," Abbot said between gritted teeth and slammed his fist on the bar.

"Watch him. He starts acting strange, you find me."

I gave him a side hug and thanked him for coming, but his words kept echoing through me. I knew Finnley was p.i.s.sed at him, but he really did have our best interest in mind. I couldn't fault Abbot for that. I had to go upstairs and make sure Finn was okay. If he weren't, I wouldn't know what to do.

JENNIFER.

Eleven.

I walked away from Abbot, and before I went upstairs, I gave him once last glance. When I turned around, a strong hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me down the stairs. I tried with everything I had to pull my arm from Baxtor's death grip, but it was no use. His fingers dug into my flesh. They were strong and unwavering.

Work smarter, not harder.

"Hey, sweetheart." Baxtor's breath reeked of alcohol and cigarettes.

"I'm not you're f.u.c.king sweetheart."

"Ooowwwwww. I love that smart mouth." He chuckled then narrowed his eyes on me. "Now let me make this clear."

The mood became dark, serious, and I knew he was like a poisonous snake waiting to strike. I glanced over at Abbot, then at Rosie. Both watched with worry in their eyes. Abbot stood up straight and made his way toward me, ready to pounce at any moment.

Maybe I should have felt fear, but as Baxtor tightened his grip, the only emotions that flooded through me were hate and anger.

"The two of you aren't running f.u.c.king s.h.i.t here. I know your girl, Jesse. I know where she is, what she wants, and how much she'd pay to have the two of you right this moment. But she refuses to make a deal with the devil. Abbot's paid for your protection tonight, but it can be easily outbid, sweetheart. So watch your pretty little a.s.s, and keep your smart mouth to your f.u.c.king self. It's an embarra.s.sment." He let go of me, and my arm pounded like he had burned his fingerprints into my skin. My emotions were in overdrive. He knew Jesse, where she was, and what she wanted: me dead.

Abbot pulled me away from Baxtor. I stared the devil down, knowing that something had finally snapped inside me. We turned and began our trek up the stairs. "Oh, and Jennifer . . . " Baxter said.

I stopped walking but didn't turn around to acknowledge him.

"If you need a good f.u.c.k to straighten out that little att.i.tude of yours, just let me know, baby girl."

I rolled my eyes and kept walking. Abbot grabbed my arm, and we walked faster. When I got to the top of the stairs, I balled my hand into a fist and punched the wall. Pain instantly swept through me. It was almost an instant relief.

"Ha. Never imagined seeing that." He smiled at me. "Don't worry about that a.s.shole. We will be out of here in the morning." Abbot was convincing.

I turned my head and noticed the warm glow billowing from the doorway at the end of the hall. After I focused, I saw Finnley leaning against the entrance, watching Abbot and me. He wasn't supposed to see that moment of weakness, neither of them were. When I stepped inside, I turned and looked at Abbot, who had his arms crossed over his chest. Finnley and him exchanged looks again, then Finn slammed the door closed and locked it. He looked around the room, which seemed normal. A queen-sized bed with two pillows thrown on top of the blue comforter took up most of the s.p.a.ce. Pictures of motorcycles were randomly placed on the walls, and there was a single window facing the long dirt road that led to the house. Dark tiles spread across the floor, and a single dresser stood lonely in the corner. The room was nothing special. It was the definition of plain.

He roughly rubbed his hands across his face, mumbling something. In a blink, he reared his fist back and punched the wall, opening the drywall up to the insulation. My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open. What the h.e.l.l had come over him? Maybe it was the same anger that had jolted through me just a moment prior? I'd seen him angry before, but nothing like this.

He brought his hand down to his side, and when I looked at it, I saw blood.

"f.u.c.k," he yelled.

"What the h.e.l.l?" I understood being frustrated-h.e.l.l, I understood being angry-but I couldn't stand there and watch him completely unravel.

"I'm not going to ask again," I said, giving him every ounce of sternness I still had in me.

He moved toward the bed and sat, staring down at his b.l.o.o.d.y hand. "I didn't want this weekend to be like this. I've failed you," he said.

"What are you talking about? You haven't failed me. We're safe, aren't we? We're alive."

"Safe?" He laughed sarcastically. "Safe? That's a f.u.c.king joke."