Chains by Kristine Allen
“Wolf Totem”—The HU (feat. Papa Roach)
Two years later…
“Jasmine, just put on some boots, grab your jacket, and let’s go,” I said as everyone filed out of the clubhouse.
Everyone was preparing to head to the hospital to see Voodoo’s new kid. It was a beautiful day, which was unusual for Iowa in the winter, so we were riding. Jasmine refused to go when Angel told her she wasn’t driving herself.
“I’m not riding on the back of your damn bike. Why don’t you have Cookie go with you?” she snidely replied. That comment sent my temper flaring, but I deserved it. Little did she know, chicks never rode on the back of my bike.
Since the day I’d been patched and she saw me tied to that fucking chair, she hadn’t come to the clubhouse unless she absolutely had to—like now. She was staying with us because her father was a piece of shit and put her in danger because of his fucking gambling debt.
Like a coward, I’d used that night and what Ghost had said as my excuse to stay away from her for the last couple of years. Every fucking day I told myself I was doing the right thing. The truth was, I knew goddamn good and well she deserved better than me. Didn’t mean I liked it.
“So now you’re telling me you don’t want to see the baby when five minutes ago, you were prepared to drive there. Do I have that right?” My arms folded over my chest as I cocked a brow, calling her on her shit.
“If it means I have to ride with you, then that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Her jaw ticked, and anger blazed in her eyes.
She hated me, and I shouldn’t be hurt, because I’d cultivated that hatred to keep her at arm’s length. Yet, her contempt for me cut me to the bone. Being without her was like severing one of my own limbs.
“Fine. Suit yourself,” I said before I stormed out of her room and down the hall. She could stay with her nephew and Lynda. The prospects were there to watch over her, and Kicker was watching TV on the couch. He wasn’t feeling good and didn’t want to be around the baby. So he was staying behind to watch over Lynda and Trace.
Shit quickly went downhill. At the hospital, Voodoo’s grandmother, who had come up with Jameson and Sadie, had a vision that had us all worried.
When Angel couldn’t get Lynda to answer, Angel, Korrie, Raptor, Goob, Ghost, and I headed back to the clubhouse to find Angel’s son, Jasmine, and Lynda gone. One prospect was dead, the other unconscious behind the bar.
As Angel slammed through the clubhouse, I went straight to Jasmine’s room. In my mind, Angel had to have missed her. She had to have hidden herself and the others.
“Jasmine?” I called as I peeked in the room and the bathroom. When I realized she wasn’t there, panic began to set in—I was a mess.
Angel passed me in the hall after he checked all the rooms. At that moment, the only room that had mattered to me was the empty one Jasmine had been using. In shock, I fell back against the wall.
Kicker walked in on utter turmoil. “What the fuck is going on?”
“They’re gone,” I said, my reply hollow.
The events that transpired after that day would scar Jasmine so deeply, I feared she’d never recover.
If it was the last thing I did, I would avenge her.
“Where Angels Fear to Tread”—Bryan Adams
Two months later…
“Jasmine!”
I startled, and my laptop fell to the couch beside me. Blinking rapidly to clear the horrible memories that played through my mind on repeat, I finally focused on my brother. Crouched in front of me, he pleaded with his worry-filled eyes for something I couldn’t grasp.
“I think we need to get you to a therapist,” he softly said.
Panic welled up within until it was nearly choking me. “No!”
“Jazzy, what you went through was—”
“Stop!” I cut him off. The trembling started at my head and worked down my body. It was bad enough that the memories wouldn’t get out of my head. The thought of having to voice what happened to me to a total stranger made nausea churn in my stomach.
Defeat made his shoulders slump, but on that I couldn’t give in. Somehow, I’d find a way to work through it myself.
Or I’d die trying.