Make You Mine by K.T. Quinn

30

Charlotte

I stretched out on Jayce’s bed and listened to the rain pelting the roof of the barn, completely content with the world.

Completely happy.

I felt more secure than I’d felt in over a month. It was a paradoxical feeling since my life was in danger from a meth-transporting biker gang, but that was the effect of Jayce. Sleeping with him, and having him go back out in the rain to take care of the man who had attacked me at Flop’s, made me feel safe.

It was stereotypical, but there was something ridiculously hot about a man coming to a woman’s defense at a bar. The way Jayce had appeared in the doorway with the shotgun, ordering Carl to leave me alone, had turned me on in deep, primal way. I was still kind of shocked by it. I tried to imagine how Scott would have reacted to Carl bothering me in the bar. He had never been in a fight in his life.

I rolled over, stretched my arms over my head, and sighed. I could still smell Jayce on the pillow, and taste him on my lips. He was the opposite of the kind of guy I normally went for. Tattoos and a bike and sudden, unhesitating violence when he needed to protect someone. Momma would freak out if I took him home. Dad wouldn’t say it out loud, but I’d be able to see the judgement on his face. They would ask why I couldn’t date someone a little more polished, with a degree and a steady job and a pair of jeans that didn’t have holes in the knees.

But I didn’t care.

There was something about Jayce I couldn’t shake. He was more than just a rebound, I now realized. He was filling the hole in my chest left by Scott, but not as a replacement. As something better. Something that fit the way it was supposed to.

Now I just have to finish my community service and get out of this town alive.

I finally got out of bed and went to the bathroom to pee. I wondered how many hours of community service Jayce still had. He’d never actually told me. Probably a lot. And all of this was assuming the corrupt sheriff didn’t pin another random crime on him.

But he’s not staying just because of that, I thought. He wants revenge for his sister.

It was confusing having feelings for a man who expected to die, and was willing to die, to get revenge. I didn’t know how I felt about that. I didn’t know how I should feel about that.

The water of the shower was hot and relaxing compared to the rain pouring down outside. I examined his bottle of shampoo—a brand called Aussie, which came in a stout purple bottle—and decided to wash my own hair with it. The suds smelled like fruit and flowers.

Thunder shook the barn as I dried myself off with one of Jayce’s incredibly soft towels. That was something that made me smile: a hard biker on the outside, but soft towels and fruity shampoo in the privacy of his barn. Some men were more than what they appeared to be.

My clothes were still damp from the rain, so I hung them up on the closet door to dry. With one towel wrapped around my body and another around my hair, I decided to explore the barn Jayce called a home. The closet was a single rack of shirts and jackets, with a tall hamper for dirty clothes on the ground. The laminate floors weren’t cheap; they looked like real hardwood planks to the untrained eye. I loved the way he’d strung lights across the rafters above, filling the huge space with amber light without being too bright. I’d already seen the bathroom, so I walked past it into a room that was divided away from everything else by a sliding door.

It was a workshop area that smelled strongly of grease and acrid smoke. The floor was concrete instead of wood, and a steel workbench covered with tools took up one long wall. Cylindrical oxygen tanks were stacked horizontally on a rack underneath the workbench. Wall hooks held a welding mask, work gloves thicker than oven mitts, and a split-leather apron. A torch device on the end of a rubber hose was coiled next to that.

I was confused about what I was looking at until I turned to the other side of the workshop. Open-top barrels held long pieces of metal, like rebar without the ribbing. Each barrel held a different thickness of metal, some as thin as spaghetti and others as thick as baseball bats.

Next to the barrels was a piece of art made from the metal.

It was a humanoid figure, standing on two legs and with a trapezoidal torso. Its bony arms and spider-like fingers were clasped in front of it like a figure in prayer, and the metal face was tilted back to stare at the roof of the barn.

It was one of the pieces of art I’d seen around town!

“Well look who has some secrets,” I said to myself while running my fingers along the joints. Imagining Jayce as an artistic man, bent over his work like Michelangelo chiseling marble, made me giggle. I couldn’t wait to tease him about it later.

As if that wasn’t enough embarrassing ammunition, there was a framed certificate on the wall above one of the work benches:

Certificate of Membership

American Welding Society (AWS) Certifies that

JAYCE SIMONE HAWKINS

Is hereby designated an Affiliate Member

January 2013

“Jayce Simone Hawkins,” I read out loud, grinning to myself. I was going to give him so much crap for this.

In the other room, my phone rang. Thinking that it might be Jayce, I ran to get it. I was already thinking of a bunch of ways to tease him about his first name. But it wasn’t him.

“Hi, Momma,” I said. “Do you mind if I call you back? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Sweet pea!” she said over me. “I’ve got some good news. Your father talked to more of his old sheriff contacts.”

“Momma, he didn’t have to…”

“He found someone who might be able to talk to the Eastland judge and get the rest of your hours waved! Isn’t that amazing?”

I winced. After what I knew now, the last thing I wanted was my dad sticking his neck into this corrupt town.

“Charlotte? Are you there?”

“Is that a good idea?” I said carefully. “I don’t want Dad upsetting the wrong people on my account. It could be dangerous.”

“What do you mean, the wrong people? Your father’s a former sheriff. How would he be in danger?”

You don’t want to know, I thought.

“I just don’t know if it’s worth it at this point,” I tried instead. “I’ve only got seventy-two hours remaining. I might as well finish it out, you know?”

There was a pause on the other end. When she spoke, her tone was different. “Charlotte, I don’t understand. Last week you were adamant that we find a way to get you home. After talking to dozens of other sheriffs, your father might have found a way. What’s changed?”

I made myself sigh into my phone. “I guess I’ve just accepted my fate. I’ve been charged with a crime, and I need to do the work. Letting Dad pull strings feels like cheating, you know?”

There was another pause. I could feel Momma’s studious gaze through the phone, trying to decide whether or not to believe me. I always had a tough time lying to her. She saw right through me.

“We’re still gonna come visit you this weekend, like we talked about,” she said.

I cringed. “Ah, you don’t have to do that, Momma. It’s such a long trip…”

“It’s an easy drive,” she said dismissively. “You’ve been trapped there over a week without a real home-cooked meal.”

“The diner food is good!”

“I want to see my daughter,” she insisted. “Is something wrong, Charlotte?”

“No, Momma. Nothing’s wrong. But I’ll be picking up extra community service hours, just like last weekend.”

“Then we’ll take you out to dinner after. Some place nice.”

I needed to find a way to keep them from coming. If Dad realized there were meth dealers moving product through Eastland, and even running the town itself, he would probably do something stupid.

“I’m seeing Scott this weekend,” I blurted out.

“Oh?”

“I was embarrassed about it, so I didn’t want to tell you. We’re sitting down to go over the food truck business, how to split it up. It’s going to be emotional, so I’d rather deal with it by myself. Plus, I don’t want Dad threatening to lock Scott away in a jail cell.”

“Forget your father, I want a piece of that fool!” she said bitterly.

I laughed. “See what I mean?”

She sighed and said, “Yeah, I suppose I do. I’m glad you’re finally handling your problems. I thought for sure you’d avoid them until you came home. I don’t know what’s gotten into you to make you so proactive, but I like it.”

A man named Jayce. That’s what’s gotten into me.

I hung up and sat on the bed, still wearing only a towel. I hated lying to my parents, but it was for their own good. This was something I had to take care of myself.

Another peal of thunder sounded outside, farther away this time. It went on and on, like rolling thunder, until I realized that’s not what it was.

I ran to the barn door and peered out into the darkness. Through the rain and trees I saw half a dozen headlights driving down the road. They slowed, then turned toward the barn. Pulling down the driveway.

The Copperheads, I thought. They’re here.