Monk by Ivy Black
Chapter Nineteen
Kasey
The sound of a phone ringing pulls me out of sleep. Sitting up, I feel a jolt of adrenaline when I don’t recognize my surroundings at first. But then, I see Jacob climbing out of the bed and I take a moment to look at him in all of his naked splendor. The sunlight peering through the windows seems to warm his skin, making it glow.
He gives me an apologetic expression as he picks up his phone and connects the call, pressing the phone to his ear.
“Yeah,” he answers.
He listens for a moment before holding up a finger to me, telling me to stay put, and then walks out of the room. The floorboards outside creak beneath him as he retreats down the hall, leaving me alone in the bed.
Slowly, the memory of what I did last night—with Jacob—all comes back to me. And as if to reinforce the point, my body vibrates with the delicious aches and pains in my body from a night of vigorous sex. It’s not as hard and rough as we used to get up to—I got the feeling he was holding back a bit—but it was still very good. Honestly, the last time I felt that good or that satisfied was probably the last time I was with him.
Spencer and I hadn’t had much of a sex life to speak of, even in the best of times. I long suspected that he had a string of girlfriends, and I was more just there for the aesthetics when he needed a plus one for social functions. But when we did have sex, it was never very good. Spencer isn’t whom you’ll consider a generous—or even thoughtful—lover, really. It’s always all about him getting his, and he doesn’t care if he gets me off or not.
But Jacob has proven to be the generous lover he’s always been, and he makes sure that I am well pleased. It isn’t just about him getting off. He seems to enjoy it more when I get off. That is the way it’s always been with him.
As I sit there, the reality of the situation seeps into my brain, and along with it, a wave of—not exactly regret—but something else. Disbelief. The fact that I slept with Jacob, given our history and all of the emotion involved with it, makes me want to slap myself upside the head. What in the hell was I thinking?
It was just that standing in the entryway last night, looking into his eyes, stirred something in me. It awakened something in me that had been dormant for so long that I couldn’t help myself. The passion and lust I feel for Jacob—have always felt for him—came rushing back to the surface and I felt helpless to do anything but give in to it.
Slipping out of bed, I find my clothes sitting on a chair in the corner. At some point in the night, he must have gone out to the entryway where we’d hastily disrobed and collected them for me. It’s a thoughtful gesture that only adds another layer to the confusion already rampaging through my mind.
I start to dress quickly when I hear Jacob’s voice echoing down the hallway. I know it’s wrong to eavesdrop, but I pause what I’m doing and stand completely still, listening on his end of the conversation.
“We gotta do it today?” he asks.
There’s a pause as he listens to the answer.
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll be there,” he says, then pauses again before he speaks. “The old mill. Yeah, I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
The old mill is an artifact from another era. Way back in the day, Blue Rock Bay was a lumber town. Eventually, the industry died out when the sequoia trees were put under the protection of the federal government—if I remember my history correctly—sometime in the late nineteenth century. The old mill passed through a few hands since then, as people tried to find another use for it, but about fifty years ago or so, the last owners gave up on it and abandoned it altogether.
It has stood empty ever since and is more frequently used as a hangout for people looking for a quiet place to get drunk or high, or for horny teenagers looking for a secluded place to screw their brains out. Jacob and I spent our fair share of nights out there. It’s a thought that brings a smile to my face, but I quickly wipe it away. This is not the time for a trip down memory lane. This is a time for me to figure out what in the hell I’m doing.
Jacob comes back into the room and gives me an awkward smile. He finds a pair of boxers and quickly slips them on. We both stand in silence for a moment, looking at each other, neither of us seeming to know what to say.
“Everything all right?” I ask, just to break the silence.
“Yeah. Just business,” he replies.
“Guess you have to go, huh?”
He nods. “Yeah. Got some work to do.”
He stands a bit rigidly. And when he looks at me, I can see that he seems… guarded. Maybe that’s not the right word, but he most definitely doesn’t seem as open as he did last night.
“Club business?” I ask.
Jacob quirks an awkward half smile at me. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Can I ask what sort of business your club is into?”
“I told you last night.”
“Actually, you ducked the question and I let it go.”
“I told you that we’re not into the things your dad accuses us of being into, Kasey. We’re not slingin’ meth or heroin out there. We’re not trafficking women…”
His voice trails off and his face clouds over. Jacob looks frustrated and he’s more defensive than he needs to be. It’s not like I’m giving him the third degree or anything. They’re just simple questions.
“We’re not the monsters your dad or anybody else in this fucking town thinks we are,” he states.
And with that answer, I know I’m not going to get a straight answer out of him, which of course, brings everything my dad said to mind again, as well as the fact that he dodged the question when I asked him last night. I want to believe it otherwise. That he will not knowingly get himself mixed up with trafficking drugs or people.
It’s just one more reason I need to force myself to take a step back and really think about this. Really think about what I’m doing before I let my heart get involved. I can possibly write last night off as just a case of hormonal overload. It had been so long since I was touched by a man that when I knew Jacob wouldn’t that deny from me, I simply went for it, needing to feel something. Needing to feel wanted. Needing to feel sexual again. Things I haven’t felt in longer than I can remember.
I clear my throat and look at him. “So, listen, about last night—”
“It’s okay, Kasey. I get it.”
“Get what?”
“That this was a one-time thing. That you think you made a mistake and regret it. I understand.”
“Jacob, it’s not—”
He shakes his head. “I understand and it’s all right. I don’t blame you. You deserve better than I can ever give you anyway.”
I shake my head, my confusion getting so thick and deep, I feel like I’m drowning in it. All of that is what I’ve been thinking, of course. But hearing it coming out of Jacob’s mouth, hearing my thoughts spoken aloud, makes me realize what an asshole I am.
I open my mouth to speak and refute his points, but I can’t seem to find the words. Jacob is looking at me like he’s wanting to hear those words, hear me say that he’s wrong and that I do want him, but when I can’t get the right words out, I see the look in his eyes—a sad sense of resignation.
But then, he nods as if he isn’t expecting any less, and the emotion in his eyes is extinguished. As he looks at me, he slips that mask of cool neutrality on his face once more.
“Anyway, I should get going. I need to shower before I head out. You can see yourself out?” he asks.
He doesn’t wait for my answer, but turns around and disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him. I want to go to him. Want to open the door and look him in the eye to tell him he’s wrong. I want to tell him that it’s not a matter of me deserving better. It’s simply a matter or not knowing what I deserve. That it’s a simple matter of everything in my life crashing down around me right now and not knowing what it is I want. Or need.
It’s such a trite, bullshit saying, but in this case, it’s genuinely true: It’s not him, it’s me.
But I will admit, the questions I have about him and his—business activities—gives me pause. Everything my dad has told me so far, along with his artful dodging, has coalesced into a cesspool of suspicion and doubt in my mind. I want to believe he will never get involved with anything like that. But the truth is, I just don’t know. He’s so different than he was back in the day, and I don’t know what he’s willing to do, or capable of doing anymore.
But I know of a way to find out. And maybe, just maybe, it will settle the questions in my own mind, leading me one way or the other.
***
It’s amazing to me that after all this time, I still know all of the back paths and shortcuts through the forest. I can still navigate my way through the woods and to the old mill practically blindfolded.
It is only a twenty-minute drive from Jacob’s place, so I beat him and whoever he’s meeting out here, by a comfortable margin. Enough time to find a good place to hide that will still give me a good view of the surroundings.
There’s a large dirt parking lot of sorts in front of the mill where I assume this meeting is going to take place. The forestry service clears the road in and out of the mill even though it’s abandoned. It serves as a fire road for them, and, as I remember, a rally point in case of a major fire. This is where they’ll establish their command post, or at least it’s what they have done in the past.
Not wanting to trap myself inside the mill, I find a thicket of bushes between a pair of giant sequoia trunks. I run down to the parking lot, which is maybe thirty yards away, and look up the gradual grade of the hill where my blind is sitting. I can’t see through the thick bushes, so I feel relatively safe. I’ll have good cover.
I head back up the hill and hunker down behind the bushes, sitting down on my butt to wait. Ten minutes go by before I hear the throaty rumble of the Harleys coming down the access road. A couple of moments later, I see four men on bikes—two guys riding side by side—one duo in front of the other with a black panel van behind them.
The small procession pulls into the lot and parks. The roar of their engines fades away and I watch as the men climb off their bikes, while two other men get out of the van. Even from where I am, I can see they all look tense. Tight. They look like they’re expecting a fight. My stomach tightens and my heart picks up the pace. The last thing I want is to get caught up in a shootout or something, so I try to make myself as small as possible.
A few minutes later, I see four men on bikes, as well as a white panel van, pull into the lot—and judging by their kuttes, they’re a different motorcycle club. The men all greet each other. It’s cordial, though not exceptionally warm or friendly.
My eyes are locked onto Jacob, and he looks especially tense and unhappy to be there. There’s some silly part of my mind that wants to believe it’s because he prefers to be rather back home in bed with me. Though I think the more likely reason is that he either doesn’t like what he’s doing, or he just doesn’t like who he’s doing this business with.
As I watch the scene in the lot below me play out, I feel a quiver of fear ripple through my stomach. As I look at the vans, I realize they may have people hidden inside. It may very well be a handoff of prisoners from one club to the next, and that they are, in fact, human traffickers.
A Mexican man approaches Jacob along with the other man he’s with. They speak in low tones and unfortunately, I can’t make out a lot of they’re saying. Wanting to hear what they’re talking about, I look around, wondering if there’s a bush closer to them that I can sneak to.
I feel a presence behind me a split second before I hear the sound of a soft footstep in the undergrowth behind me. I spin around, my heart slamming against my ribs and my eyes widening—and find myself staring into the wide, gaping barrel of a handgun that looks ten times bigger than it probably is.
The man behind the gun is tall. He’s got dusky colored skin, dark hair cut short close to the skull, and eyes that are blacker than deep space. He’s lean but fit and has arms that are taut with muscle, a broad chest, and wide shoulders. The patch on the breast of his battered leather kutte says “Bala”, right below the one that reads “Montezuma’s Warriors”. He’s got a dozen other patches, but my eyes keep drifting back to that wide, dark hole pointed at my left eye.
“Who the fuck are you?” he demands, his voice thick with a Spanish accent. “You a fuckin’ cop?”
I shake my head. “N-no. I’m not a cop. I swear it.”
He looks at me for a long moment as if he’s trying to judge the veracity of my statement. Finally, he gestures with his weapon.
“Up. On your feet,” he says.
Holding my hands up, I do as he says and get to my feet. My heart is beating a wild, staccato rhythm in my chest. Waves of fear-induced nausea wash over me, and I have to physically keep myself from vomiting.
“Now, walk. Down to the lot,” he orders.
Stepping out from behind the thick screen of bushes, I feel all eyes down below fall on me. I cut a glance at Jacob and see his eyes widen, see the fear darken his features. Bala keeps his gun trained on my back as he leads me down the hill. He guides me over to where Jacob is standing with the other two men, and I feel their eyes on me. They stare at me in both disbelief and anger. Jacob looks down at the ground and I see the turmoil on his face.
“Found this one lurkin’ in the bushes up there,” Bala said. “I think she’s a fuckin’ cop.”
“I’m not a cop. I told you. I swear I’m not a cop,” I say.
“Who the fuck are you then, señorita?” says the other Mexican man.
“I-I’m Kasey.”
The two Mexican men exchange a look, and the man standing with Jacob looks at me and I see that he recognizes me, but the questions I see in his eyes tell me he’s not sure from where.
“I think we should kill her,” Bala says. “We don’t know what she saw or heard.”
I feel my face pale as my body hums with a nervous energy. I look to Jacob, waiting for him to say something—anything—to stop this. But he doesn’t say anything. All he does is stare at the ground.
The first Mexican man nods. “Yeah, I think so, too.”
“I’m telling you, I’m not a cop and I haven’t seen anything,” I plead. “Jacob, tell them.”
All three men turn their eyes to Jacob who stands up straight, his eyes on me. For a long, agonizing moment, I fear he’s going to disavow me. Going to tell them he doesn’t know me and that they can do with me as they please. My vision blurs and my eyes grow hot as they well with tears.
“Take her into the mill and put two in her head,” the first Mexican man tells Bala.
His large hand falls on my shoulder, gripping me with hand like iron. A choked gasp bursts from my mouth and I look to Jacob, begging with my eyes for him to stop this madness.
“Come on,” says Bala. “Don’t make this harder than it’s gotta be.”
“Take your hand off her,” Jacob finally says. “She’s with me.”
All eyes turn to him again, but Jacob raises his chin in defiance. The man who’s standing with him looks from Jacob to me, then back again. Then, he bursts into laughter. He goes on like it’s the funniest thing ever and his voice echoes through the forest around us all. Everybody looks at him like he’s lost his damn mind—me included.
The man finally gets himself under control, and it’s then I belatedly notice that the patch on his kutte says his name is Cosmo. I recall Jacob mentioning him before, saying he’s a good friend. Even still, I have no idea what he’s borderline hysterical about.
Eventually, he gets himself under control, wiping his eyes from the tears of mirth that have been rolling down outer corners of his eyes. He finally gathers himself and turns to the two Mexican men standing across from him.
“She’s with him. They’re not lying,” Cosmo says.
“Why are you laughin’ so hard, ese,” the first Mexican man, Tarantula according to his patch, says.
“I was just remembering the first time I ever saw her—it was when she did her best Floyd Mayweather impression and popped him in the face. Funniest shit I’ve ever seen,” he says, then turns to Jacob. “This is her, huh? The girl you ghosted all those years ago?”
Jacob shifts on his feet uneasily, cutting his eyes to me, and then away. He nods, a strange expression crossing his face.
“Yeah. This is Kasey.”
The two Mexican men look from Jacob to me, and back to Jacob. They, too, start to laugh hysterically. But the man named Bala, still laughing hard, gives me a thumbs up. The only people not laughing are Jacob and me. In his eyes, I see a smoldering anger as he looks at me. I’m sure if I get out of here alive, I’m going to have some questions that need answers. Which is fine. I’ll answer them myself. As long as I get out of here alive.
“Man, what I wouldn’t give to have seen that,” Bala says.
“Why don’t I give you a demonstration?” Jacob says.
“Easy, kid,” Cosmo says.
“Yeah, put a leash on your boy,” Bala fires back.
“Shut your mouth, ese. Don’t be a fuckin’ moron or I’ll put you in your place. You feel me, homie?” the first Mexican man says to Bala, who falls silent immediately.
Bala nods. “Yeah. I feel you.”
I let out a small breath of relief. If they’re laughing and think this is all a big joke, that means they’re not shooting me. And the longer I can manage to stay alive, the better my chances are for getting out of here.
Cosmo is still looking at me with a smirk on his face, but Jacob is looking right through me. His eyes seem to be fixed on some point in the distance. I must be lying if I say that doesn’t hurt.
“Hey, I heard you guys found a rat with the Bastards. FBI or some shit?” Tarantula notes.
“Yeah, thanks to the kid here,” Cosmo claps him on the shoulder and Jacob looks distinctly uncomfortable.
“I don’t wanna talk out of turn or anythin’ like that, but I hear they tuned him up real good,” Tarantula says.
“Yeah? Hadn’t heard that,” Cosmo says.
“Doubt they’ll find the pieces of that rat fuck anytime soon. Fucker got what he deserved,” Bala says.
Jacob shifts on his feet, that look of discomfort on his face growing. He meets my eyes for a brief moment, but I can’t interpret what I see. Something is bothering him pretty deeply.
“Anyway, let’s do some business,” Cosmo says.
“Sounds good,” Tarantula says.
“Kid, keep an eye on her while we transfer all the goods,” Cosmo instructs.
Jacob nods and leads me to the side of the small parking lot. He stands silently to my right and behind me, sending a cold chill through me. It feels like a shark circling its prey. I watch as large, wrapped bundles are transferred from one van to the other. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happening.
“Is it meth? Coke?” I ask.
“It’s neither,” he says after a long pause. “It’s weed.”
I look over at him. “You’re running weed?” I ask.
Ne nods. “Yeah. And a few guns on the side as well.”
One of the men in Jacob’s club is carrying a box over to the other vans. Bala opens up the box and pulls out a large handgun. He quickly examines it, sighting down the barrel, and hefts it in his hand as if he’s testing the weight. Finally, he replaces the gun and puts the lid back on. His men load it into their van.
A little closer to where I am, I see Tarantula hand Cosmo a duffel bag. He unzips it far enough that I see the stacks of cash inside. I immediately flash back to Spencer and the bag of cash I stole. It sends a nervous fluttering through me as well as sets a pang of sadness in my heart seeing that Jacob isn’t that much different from Spencer after all.
Cosmo walks over to us and gives me a long look. I guess the novelty of me slapping Jacob has evaporated as thoroughly as his laughter.
“The prospect is gonna take her car back to the clubhouse,” Cosmo says. “She’s gonna ride back in the van with Tony.”
“The hell I am,” I object.
“Afraid you are, Ms. Singer,” Cosmo tells me. “We need to have a talk.”
I glare at Jacob, the fury I feel that he’s done nothing to stop this or help me belatedly rushing in. In case he has noticed, he doesn’t give any sign.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I spit.
Jacob looks at me, his face darkening. “It’s either that or we turn you over to Bala. You’re leaving here with one of us. So, it’s your call.”
I feel like Jacob has just dumped a bucket of cold water on me and at the same time slapped me across the face. I recoil from him, not believing how fucking cold he’s being right now. It’s like last night has never happened and I’m nothing more than a stranger to him. I’m expecting the rage to consume me, but it’s actually hurt and pain that are predominant in me right now.
“Good. Get her loaded up,” Cosmo says, then turns and walks back to Tarantula.
I turn back to Jacob and look into his eyes, searching for something. For some spark of humanity, or some shred of feeling for me. But there’s nothing in those eyes of his. He’s got that thousand-mile stare down again.
Jacob puts his hand on my arm, his touch gentle as he guides me toward the van. He holds the door open for me and knowing I have no other choice, I climb in. I sit in the seat looking down at him, and for the first time, I see a flicker of emotion in his eyes. It’s brief—he has it ruthlessly extinguished in the blink of an eye, but it is there all the same. I see it.
And the emotion I see in his eyes is shame.
He clears his throat. “Well… if nothing else, at least you know what I am now.”
Before I can say anything, he closes the door of the van and heads over to his bike, leaving me sitting there, staring after him through the windshield, unable to say anything even if I want to.
Right now, I don’t even know what to think about any of this.
