Jerk: Delinquent Rebels MC (19 page)

It wasn’t that easy where he was now, unfortunately. He’d had to write down all the key numbers on a slip of paper, which he tucked under his shower gear on the little bookshelf in his bunk. He’d wanted to carry it with him at first, but there were random pat-downs at any time by any number of the guards patrolling the facility, and he didn’t want any of them to take it away, thinking it might have been some bullshit code for something illegal.

April’s cell phone had been the first number on the list. He got it off her mom when she and his dad stopped by for a visit at the end of September. Both were incredibly tanned, having just come back from their extended honeymoon in the Caribbean, and they seemed oblivious to the fact that Van was sporting a few new bruises and a split lip.

“Just the hazards of being behind bars,” his dad had laughed, brushing off the incidents with a toss of his head. “Things will settle down. Boys just need to sort themselves out in the pecking order.”

That particular comment had stung him, considering Van thought someone had put a hit out on him. After the bunk incident, he’d been jumped a few times more: in the bathrooms, coming out of the cafeteria, on the track field, and in the library. Most of the time, fellow prisoners were the ones to break everything up. Nobody wanted to be punished because a couple of guys were caught fighting. Minimum security was cushy compared to what a lot of these men had been through in their life, and despite the tensions between certain groups, most wanted to keep things the way they were.

Van, meanwhile, just wanted to make it out alive. He had no interest in a trip to the hospital wearing handcuffs, and healing a broken bone in a place like this was not appealing in the slightest. He needed to get out—and he wasn’t above taking illegal measures to do it.

He’d been set up. Van knew that. Hell, the police probably knew it, too. He needed to find out who set him up to clear his name, and he didn’t trust anyone else to do that for him while he was locked away. He did trust someone to get him
out
of prison, however, and to get that particular person here, he’d need someone dedicated to his cause.

Someone who loved him—and who he loved, too. April hadn’t taken a single one of his calls since he was transferred to this facility, obviously rejecting the call after the operator explained who was calling. So, for now, Van knew he had to stop trying. April needed someone to look her in the eye and tell her that this hadn’t been his fault, that he was still a reformed bad boy who wanted to be with her.

Holding the payphone to his ear with his shoulder, Van tried not to think of how many other sweaty guys had done the same thing so far today. The standard guard was pacing in the doorway, both paying attention to the three prisoners using the phone and not at the same time. If he could carry his phone, he’d probably be texting. Clearing his throat, Van turned away and opened the folded slip of paper with all his important numbers on it, then dialed the last on the list.

As it rung, he tried not to listen to the guy behind him berate whoever was on the other end of the phone. After a few rings, the line went silent for a moment, and then a gruff voice answered.

“Hello?”

“Mike,” Van said quickly, smiling at the sound of a familiar voice that didn’t belong to his dad. “How’s it going, man?”

“Good, good,” Mike replied. “I heard you got locked up, kid. What’d you do that your dad didn’t?”

He grinned. Mike belonged to the faction of bikers who rode in parades, took pictures with kids, and rescued abused puppies. He was close to sixty, liked to drink wine and play golf, and had one of the prettiest bikes Van had ever seen. He’d been in the club ever since Van was a kid, and he’d taken on the position of friendly uncle who refused to spoil Van, even if the other old-timers did.

“Listen, I don’t have a lot of time on the phone,” Van said, knowing that they were usually kicked off after five minutes. “I need you to get a message to someone out there—“

“I’m not getting involved in your dad’s crap, kid.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Van insisted. “It’s to a woman. April O’Hara. She… I need her help, but she’s not, uh, exactly in a receptive mood to talk.”

And that made him suspicious. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was keeping April away from him, but there were too many other issues for him to worry about.

“Right. What do you want me to tell her?”

Van bit his lower lip, thinking it over, and then said, “You know what? This would be easier if we talked in person. Can you come down this weekend? I’ll get you added to my visitor’s list.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy sigh. “Only for you, kid. If it was anyone else, I would’ve hung up by now.”

He grinned. As much as he wanted to tell Mike that he was being pummeled repeatedly by druggies and skinheads who seemed like they were set on killing him, he realized it probably wasn’t smart to do it over the phone. They listened to everything here, recorded everything. However, he had to get a message to April, soon, because he knew she’d fight for him.

She was the only chance he had to get out alive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Well she was being a huge cunt!”

“Wow, okay, uhm…” April held back a bout of laughter threatening to surface based on the look on Carey’s face. Her sales associate, one of the newer hires, had gotten into a bit of a tiff with a customer that evening, which prompted April to have to sweep in and smooth things over so they could still get the sale. Carey, to her credit, wasn’t exactly wrong. The woman had been totally obnoxious and came across as one of those people who thought anyone working in sales or retail was below her.

To be fair, the boutique she worked at sold high-end makeup to wealthy clientele, and many, many of the regulars were huge snobs. Some had a particular shop associate they wanted to work with, while others would only take advice from management—or April if they
really
had to, but they were even snooty with her. Apparently, the “assistant” title on her silver magnetic name tag meant she was a few degrees below them socially. She could understand the wrath of each and every associate who worked in the store. Retail was seldom ever fun, and there were very few people who were cut out to love the job. Still, most of these girls were in college, and they loved the discount on high-end makeup, so they put up with it. Plus, in April’s opinion, they earned a pretty fair wage.

Only fifty cents less than April did, which was saying something.

“I know I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” Carey went on, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. April let out a small sigh; Carey hadn’t worked at the boutique long enough for her to know if the waterworks were real or not, but it was still difficult to watch one of her workers cry. “She was just being so awful, and she kept muttering things under her breath about me like I was some deaf idiot, and I just… I snapped!”

April nodded, knowing the feeling well. “I get it.”

She really did. She’d had a few trying customers that day too, and now that the boutique was in the midst of its closing routine, she finally felt like it was the right time to take Carey aside and let her blow off some steam. One of the other associates was still in the store, irritably doing all the closing jobs on her own so that they could all get out of there on time. Well, not April. April would be there an hour after the sales associates left, balancing the books, putting the day’s earnings in the safe, and doing sweeps of all the areas herself before finally locking up.

What a thrilling life she led away from Cascade Falls. Sometimes she missed lounging on her mom’s couch and watching TV all night, but her bank account was happy to be making a living again.

“Am I going to get written up?”

April took in Carey’s flushed expression, her teary eyes, and her quivering lower lip, and then decided that the girl was genuinely upset over what had happened. Sighing, she shook her head.

“No,” she replied. Carey’s shoulders slumped forward, her face relaxing. “No, I just wanted to get the full story, in case she comes back and tries to complain to Grace or Harriet. It’s fine. Just… try to keep it together until the customer leaves next time. If you need to, go scream by the garbage cans out back or something.”

“I’d like that,” the girl said, after giving a strangled laugh. Pleased they’d seen eye-to-eye in the end, April sent her out to help her co-worker close for the night, then she got started on all her duties. Sure enough, an hour after she checked both purses of the associates working before they left for the night, April was finally locking the doors and heading for home. Her feet ached after wearing her little kitten heels all day, and all she wanted to do was chug back a glass of wine in a hot bath. As much as she disliked her job, it was usually busy enough to keep her mind off Van.

Her dreams, however, were never safe territory. Just last night she’d dreamt that they were together again, and she woke up just as he started fucking her over a table at his bar while everyone watched.

Bit of a risqué place her mind went sometimes, but she chalked it up to being totally celibate since she’d broken things off with Van. 

Wrapped up in a few layers to combat the evening chill, April gave the doors to the boutique a few good shakes before stepping away. Everything was locked. All the lights but one were off. Nodding, she stuffed her keys in her purse and turned away from the building. Just two days off until she was back here again, and she wasn’t sure what she was going to do with her time off. She’d been working eight-hour shifts for the last ten days, and it was time to take a retail breather.

As soon as her foot stepped off the curb and touched down on the parking lot pavement, a chill ran down her spine. It affected her so much that she froze, her hands tightening around her purse strap, and she did a full sweep of the semi-empty parking lot. The boutique, for all its fabulousness, was located in a little strip mall with a bunch of other business, and usually there were a few people around by the time she headed for home. There were still a few cars in the parking lot, but they weren’t what caught April’s attention. No, it was the stocky man sitting on a motorcycle in the wheelchair spot in front of her store that snagged her stare.

He pushed his visor off, as she tried to shuffle over to her car without making eye contact, and she heard him say, “You April?”

Fuck
. Not looking back, she did a little half-jog to her car, and all but threw herself in the front seat. Without bothering to check her mirrors or any of the usual things she did once she got in the car, April shoved the key in the ignition and then whizzed out of the parking lot faster than she was legally allowed to go.

James swore he’d leave her alone. He said that if she broke up with Van and kept all his awful threats to herself, he wouldn’t bother her. Yet, there was a man sitting in the parking lot. On a motorcycle. Who knew her name.

And was currently following her. A single light reflected in her rear-view mirror, and April’s grip on the steering wheel tightened to the point of white knuckles when she clued in that he followed her. The telltale roar of a bike sounded behind her, a sound she felt in her bones. Of course he’d follow her. He’d said her name. There weren’t many cars on the road at this hour, and her little blue hatchback wasn’t difficult to spot in a crowd.

Biting her lower lip, she tried to take a few alternative routes home, turning sharply here and running red lights there. By the time she reached her apartment, she was in a full-tilt panic. Pulling into her usual spot in the underground parking garage, she turned off the car and let out a long sigh. Thus far, it seemed that he hadn’t followed her there—maybe all the security cameras would throw him off. Grabbing her purse with a trembling hand, she hopped out of the car and made a beeline for the elevator doors—only to find she hadn’t lost her pursuer after all. He was there. Waiting for her in a different parking spot, still seated on his bike with both legs on the ground.

“I have pepper spray!” she shrieked, digging through her purse for the little canister as he raised his helmet’s visor again. He held up his hands defensively, as she pulled out a little black can, which was actually hair spray disguised as pepper spray, the label colored over with black marker.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, stepping off the bike and removing his helmet. “Van Palmer sent me.”

Her arm fell to her side, which caused her purse strap to slide off her shoulder. It landed noisily on the ground by her feet, and she suddenly felt as though her tongue had lost its ability to move. Van had sent a ruffian after her?

Well, he wasn’t exactly a ruffian. Now that her brain wasn’t in complete panic mode, April took a second to notice that his bike practically sparkled in the awful overhead lighting, and while his thick gray hair made him look sloppy, he wore a sharp pair of dark jeans and polished leather boots—and his jacket had the emblem of the motorcycle club on the arm.

“Van said to tell you I’m the… the kind of guy who does parades and poses with puppies,” he said slowly, setting his helmet on his bike seat, but he stopped his slow advance on her when she raised her hand again, finger on the trigger. “My name’s Mike.”

“Well good for you,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing a little as she held his stare. “How do I know you’re from Van and not from…?”

The other one.
She pressed her lips together, worried she might give too much away by finishing the question. Mike let out a long sigh.

“The parades and puppies comment didn’t do it for you?”

April shook her head. Even though she remembered Van saying something along those lines, she wasn’t going to drop her guard to this total stranger and let him in.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, eyes flickering up to the security camera nearby. If someone was watching, surely the scene looked a little suspicious.

“I’d rather do it inside.”

“You’re not coming inside,” April told him swiftly with a shake of her head. “Whether Van sent you or not… You aren’t coming into my home.”
 

That much she was firm on. Mike nodded. “Fair enough.”

He then turned and started locking up his bike.

“Is there a coffee shop around here somewhere?” Mike asked once he was finished, straightening up and running a hand through his thick gray hair. “I could use a cappuccino. Driving to my daughter’s place after this in Mellville.”

April slowly set the fake pepper spray canister back in her purse, keeping her distance as he stepped around the bike. “How old’s your daughter?”

“About your age, I guess,” he replied, and slowly they made their way toward the exit of the parking garage. There was, in fact, a nice little coffee shop just one street over from her place, and April took him there under the assumption that it would be good to do this in a public place. She’d forked out a lot of money in coffee shops since she’d returned from Cascade Falls, using them as her place to meet up with June and her other friends—and as an excuse to get out of her apartment.

“Look, he told me you two ended things before he was sentenced,” Mike told her once they’d received their orders and taken a seat at a small table by the window. They had about an hour before the shop closed, and April hoped to be home—alone—in half that time. Mike was a much smaller man without his leather jacket and bike, and now that they were in better lighting, he definitely looked like the dad-type in his polo t-shirt and jeans.

“We did,” she remarked, tensing. Some people thought she had been a little harsh on Van, what with leaving him as soon as he got arrested, but they didn’t know the whole story. Besides, it wasn’t like he was sick; he was locked up. If they’d found cancer and she broke up with him, then they had the right to call her a bitch. Thankfully, there was no resentment in Mike’s tone.

“He gets that,” the man continued, slowly stirring his drink with a little wooden stick. “He really does. He’s not trying to hound you or suck you back into whatever you guys had. He needs your help.”

“Not really sure what I can do out here,” she muttered, breaking off a piece of her lemon-raspberry cake and stuffing it in her mouth. She chewed for a few moments, not really tasting much and then cleared her throat. “I have a business degree, not a law degree. I can’t fight his case for him.”

She couldn’t do anything for him—not publically, anyway. Not with James looming over her shoulder, ready to dive in at any second and remind her that he had the power.

“Hey, I get that,” Mike said, holding his hands up again, “but April… He’s gonna die in there if we don’t do anything.”

Her heart stopped for a split second, and she was seeing stars. Blinking them away, she let her hands fall limply into her lap. “W-What?”

“He’s getting jumped by some guys on a pretty regular basis,” Mike explained, his expression darkening. “I’ve known Van since he was a kid. His dad’s a piece of shit, sure, but Van’s one of the good ones. Got a solid head on his shoulders and all that. But while he’s in there, all of James’s enemies are taking out whatever anger and aggression they have on Van, and I’m pretty sure he’ll be dead by Christmas.”

She fell back in her chair, stunned. Did her mom know any of this? Did James? When she vocalized her thoughts, Mike just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

“Wouldn’t count on James to do much, anyway,” he muttered. “He’s more focused on getting his bank accounts back in order.”