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“Told you. Still weird as fuck. But he did say if I was looking for her, I should check under Jazmine Barnes. Apparently, her sperm donor’s last name was Barnes.”

  “How did we not know that?”

  Acer lifted a shoulder. “It’s not on her birth certificate. Not anywhere on paper. I’d have found it if it was.”

  “Huh,” Gumby said, staring back down at the scrap of paper. Went to show how much he’d still had to learn about her before she left town.

  “You gonna call her?”

  It was Gumby’s turn to shrug. Resting his forearms on his knees, he let the scribbled note dangle between his legs. “Don’t know.”

  “Seriously? You’ve had me looking for her for over a year and now that I finally found her, you don’t know if you want to call her.”

  “Clearly, she doesn’t want to talk to any of us.”

  “Well, you got a point there.”

  They fell silent until Acer walked over, clapped him on the shoulder then said, “I’ll leave you to it, brother.”

  Gumby nodded but didn’t bother to glance up as his brother walked out of the garage. Instead he stayed where he was in the quiet garage, staring at the paper as guilt and uncertainty pricked his skin.

  It’d been this way for more than a year. This unexplainable feeling that somehow Jazz’s leaving had been his fault. His brother’s wife, Marcie, had rolled her eyes and called him egocentric when he’d voiced the concern to her, but still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d somehow been responsible for her fleeing Arizona.

  Maybe because she’d vanished the day after they were supposed to go on a date. The day after he’d canceled their date last minute.

  But she’d understood, or so she’d claimed. Canceling the date had been unavoidable. Club business interfered, and he was required to put his MC first. Jazz knew that. Jazz understood that. Hell, she’d been working as the receptionist in the garage owned by the club for years.

  Why then, had she vanished without a trace the following morning?

  The club had been stumped and fucking worried as shit. Hell, when she hadn’t shown for work, his prez, Shiv, had been ready to send out a fucking search party. And then Lila, his VP’s ol’ lady, had finally admitted to receiving a text from Jazz. Three fucking sentences that had everyone scratching their heads but calling off the blood hounds.

  Everyone except Gumby, who couldn’t let it go.

  I needed to leave. I’m fine. Please, please, do not let them look for me.

  They hadn’t been a thing. Hadn’t so much as kissed. But he’d liked her. And she’d liked him, or so she’d said when she agreed to a date. Every time he’d laid eyes on her, his dick hardened to the point of painful. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d spilled on his shower floor with her name rushing from his lips. Jazz was fun, edgy, kind, spunky, sexy…

  Okay, maybe it was more than like on his part. He’d been pretty much infatuated with her for a while but had never taken any steps to make her his.

  There were things about him she didn’t know. Things very few knew, and he feared no woman would understand. Hell, he didn’t understand it.

  So he hadn’t made a move.

  Not until the day he walked into the lobby of the garage and found some forty-five-year-old accountant drooling all over her.

  That was the day he’d lost his mind and practically ordered her on a date. He’d never forget the look on her face that day. Her short hair had been studded with pink highlights that matched the pink on her lips. God, they’d looked so fucking delicious. To this day, he got hard recalling the way they’d quirked up into a smirk. Then there was that mesmerizing sparkle in her dark eyes. She’d been on to him. Known he’d finally asked her on a date because of the asshole leaving a puddle of slobber on her desk.

  They’d been planning to keep it casual. Dinner, drinks at a local bar, maybe some dancing, and if he was lucky, headboard-banging sex to top off the night.

  But fucking club business had derailed the plans. And no one from the MC had seen Jazz since.

  Finally, after more than a year, he had a way to contact her. She’d changed her cell number and her email addresses as well. The few messages he’d sent were kicked back immediately. Would she speak to him if he called her at this diner or would she slam the phone down?

  Had her feelings for him been stronger than he realized?

  Did his canceling the date hurt her that much?

  Was he the catalyst that made her run from Crystal Rock? From her friends, from her family?

  His stomach churned as his most pressing fear pushed its way to the forefront of his mind.

  Had she discovered his secret and been crushed? Shocked? Revolted?

  There was only one way to find out and a phone call wouldn’t cut it.

  With a sigh, Gumby pulled out his cell and swiped the screen, ignoring the streak of grease he spread across the surface. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d gunked up the thing.

  Three minutes later, he was booked on a flight that would have him in Tennessee by six o’clock in the evening in less than one week.

  Jazz very well might throw him out on his ass the second she laid eyes on him, but he wouldn’t be leaving until he got some answers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JAZMINE – 2001 - ARIZONA

  “Jazzy, I’m going to work. Your dad will be home in an hour. You sure you’re okay here by yourself?” Jazz’s mother called from near the front door.

  Jazz rolled her eyes. She was thirteen, not three. “Yes, mom,” she yelled back. “Pretty sure I can survive by myself for a whole sixty minutes.” Especially when all she was doing was the stupid essay, she’d put off for the past few days. Three pages on Greek mythology.

  Yuck.

  “Watch that sass, missy.”

  She rolled her eyes again.

  “You know not to open the door for anyone, right?”

  “I know.” Jazz set her pen down and stared at the open door to her room, waiting for the next order. Always the same.

  “No friends over.”

  “I know.”

  “Especially not boys.”

  Jazz giggled as her gaze shifted to her favorite poster. The five guys in the popular boy band beamed at her with their perfect hair, white teeth, and adorable faces. “I know!”

  After shouting a final goodbye, Jazz turned on her music app full blast. Pop music filled her room, shaking the walls and drowning out the usual house noises that seemed so much louder when she was home alone. She’d never admit it to her mother, but being home by herself freaked her out. Every creek and rumble of pipes made her jump out of her skin. On the flip side, having no one around to yell at her over her loud music was always a great thing.

  Half an hour later, she’d actually made significant progress on her paper. Tapping her pencil against her desk in time with the music, Jazz scanned her textbook. All she needed was a solid conclusion and this paper was done.

  As the verse ended and the chorus kicked up, Jazz belted out the lyrics alongside Taylor Swift. Just as she opened her mouth to sing her favorite part, the music cut, plunging her room into immediate silence. With a loud shriek, she spun around.

  “God, Paul, you scared the crap out of me.” With her hand over her chest, she tried to keep her heart from bursting through her rib cage. “I, uh, didn’t know you were coming here. Your dad will be back in a little bit.”

  Her words didn’t seem to click with her wide-eyed stepbrother. He scanned her room with frantic jerks of his head as though expecting the boogey man to appear at any time. A ten-year age gap wasn’t the only thing that kept them from being close step-siblings. Something was off with Paul. He was twitchy, always rubbing at his arms and legs with his eyes darting around. And he stared at her. A lot. A few times, she even caught him rummaging in her room. He seemed to have some fixation with her she’d noticed shortly after meeting him three years ago, and no amount of denial from his father or her mother would change her mind. />
  The guy gave her the major creeps. Luckily, he’d never lived in the same house as her, and didn’t come around often, but when he did, he hardly left her alone. At least she didn’t have to worry about him hitting on her. Paul was gay, despite his father’s many attempts at changing that situation. Supposedly, he’d sent Paul to one of those horrifying conversion camps when he was a teenager. At least that’s what her mom claimed.

  Poor guy. Must have been awful. And it probably explained why he spouted so much religious talk.

  “Paul?” she asked as his haggard appearance finally registered. “You okay?”

  His hair was a rat’s nest of unkempt brown curls, sticking out in all directions as though he’d slept on it wet and hadn’t bothered to tame it when he woke up. A wrinkled T-shirt and baggy jeans covered his slight frame. The look didn’t appear to be a style choice, but just clothes that were too big. He’d always been a slim guy, but now he was practically skin and bones.

  Wide eyes met her gaze. “Huh?” he asked, then was back to scanning all around her room. “I’m not here to see my dad. I’m here for you.”

  The hairs on Jazz’s arms stood straight on end. In the years she’d known him, they’d hardly spent any time alone. She made a point of it. “What?” she squeaked. “Me?”

  “I’m here to save you. He’s coming. He might be here already.”

  Okay, this was weird even for Paul. Sure, she’d caught him talking to himself a few times and he always seemed to be spouting one conspiracy or another, usually religiously based, but someone coming for her? “Uh, who, Paul? Who’s coming? Your dad is on his way home, but he’s the only one coming here.”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “The Devil.” Were this any other time, Jazz would have laughed and rolled her eyes, but a frigid shiver ran down her spine instead. Paul’s gaze portrayed just how much he believed the two words that just fell from his lips.

  His head jerked to the right as though he’d heard something coming from near her bed, then he took three steps toward it which finally moved him from her doorway. Keeping one eye on him, Jazz tip-toed toward the door.

  Paul lifted her pillow, peeking under it as though Satan might actually be hiding there.

  Blood rushing in her ears, she took another soundless step toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” he shouted like she was across the house instead of five feet away.

  She froze, then looked over her shoulder. His bloodshot eyes were wide as saucers, staring at her with true panic. Was he on something? “Um, maybe we should go out into the living room and wait for your dad. He should be here very soon.”

  Paul’s body went still, but his eyes still scanned the room. “He’s already here.”

  “Your dad?” She hadn’t heard his motorcycle pull in and that thing usually rattled the windows.

  “No,” he said, voice taking on a chilling note. “The Devil.”

  Jazz’s hands began to shake the longer Paul stared at her. “Uh, m-maybe, maybe uh, we should just like um, go ch-check, uh check for, for your dad.” She started for the door again resisting the urge to break into a sprint.

  “No!”

  The command was so sharply issued, Jazz stopped on instinct.

  Paul grabbed her upper arm. “He’s here and he wants you. We need to keep you safe,” he said as he dragged her back from the door with a rough yank.

  “Ow! Paul, stop. There’s no one here.” She twisted, trying to free herself from his surprising strength. Beneath his bruising grip, the skin of her arm pulled and burned like his hands were made of fire. “Please, Paul, stop.”

  “Shh.” He threw her against the wall, holding her there with a hand on her chest. “I know where he is.” His sunken face leaned in so close she could smell the smoke on his breath.

  “P-Paul, listen to me, please.”

  “I know where he is.”

  This wasn’t working. She needed a new plan. Maybe… “W-where, Paul? Where is he?” Maybe by playing along she could steer him out of the room.

  He looked into her eyes and she swallowed as dread filled her. “He’s in you.”

  Jazz’s knees buckled at the cold look in his eyes and had he not drawn her in for a bone-crushing hug, she’d have fallen to the floor.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered as he squeezed her. “I know what to do. I have to get him out.”

  “W-wh, uh, like an exorcism?” She asked, voice trembling. “O-okay.” The room began to spin.

  Breathe, Jazz. Stall him.

  “L-let’s do that in the l-living room.” Hopefully that would give her some chance to escape. His father should be home within the next ten minutes. She could do this.

  She could keep him going until his father got home. She had too. No matter how scared she was, no matter what he did to her, no matter how hard it was to breathe. She couldn’t panic. She could do it.

  “No. I have a better idea.”

  Or maybe not.

  Paul released her then shoved her against the wall once again. Her back hit hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. As she sucked in a painful gulp of air, a clicking sound made her focus on Paul’s hand. Her heart slammed against her chest. “No!” she shouted but it came out in a harsh cough. “No! Paul, no!”

  He held an open switchblade way too close to her shoulder. His mouth turned down in a frown and she could have sworn those were tears forming in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Jazzy,” he said. “It’s the only way.”

  She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only see that sharp blade as it moved closer and closer to her skin.

  “No. No, no, no, no, no!” she screamed again and again, finally finding air. Jazz thrashed, flailing her limbs and using every ounce of her strength to break his hold. “Please, Paul, let me go. Please don’t do this. The devil isn’t here. It’s just me. Jazz. Your sister. Please.” Tears fell from her eyes in giant drops.

  “It’s not her,” he whispered to himself as he used his entire body weight to keep her anchored against the wall. “It’s not her. You have to save her. He’ll kill her.”

  Bucking against the wall, Jazz sobbed. “Please. I’m just Jazz.” She’d be covered in bruises tomorrow from where her elbows, spine, and head banged into the wall repeatedly. None of it mattered. “Please!” She continued to struggle even as she ran out of steam and her body fatigued.

  “It’s all right, Jazz. I know it will hurt, but you’ll be saved. I won’t let him have you.” He said.

  He placed the tip of the knife against the pale skin covering her shoulder. Jazz shrieked. “No! Don’t! Please!”

  And when the first sharp slice tore through her flesh, she screamed.

  And screamed. And screamed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I NEED TO start having the prospect warm up my car before I leave,” Jazz grumbled as a full-body shiver ran through her. Though this was her second winter out of the toasty Arizona desert, she hadn’t gotten used to the cold.

  At all.

  And the seven-minute drive from work to home wasn’t enough time for her car to warm up. At least not when the day’s high never made it out of the thirties. Even with a hat, scarf, gloves, puffy down jacket, and wooly socks, she felt the chill. And not in a brisk, refreshing sort of way, but in an I’m-buried-under-an-avalanche-and-about-to-freeze-to-death way.

  When it came to the cold, Jazz was a complete and utter wuss.

  The good news was she only had half a mile left until she reached her home. The bad news was that it had snowed a good three inches while she’d been at work, so she now had to shovel the driveway, a task she loathed. Shell and Toni had laughed when she’d whined, telling her to make the prospect do it, but that felt all wrong. The poor guy was stuck watching her boring ass all day when she wasn’t even someone’s ol’ lady. How could she ask him to do manual labor on top of it? No, she’d suck it up and shovel her own driveway like the big girl she was. And if the prospect jumped in to help, well…she wouldn’t tu
rn him away.

  She wasn’t stupid.

  As she turned onto her street, a smile lit her face. There in the driveway of her little rented house stood her next-door neighbor, Jeremy, using his snow blower to rid her driveway of her white nemesis.

  What an angel.

  She pulled into the snow-free driveway just as Jeremy was powering down his snow blower. After giving a little wave to the prospect as he parked next to a mound of plowed snow, she exited the car. “Seriously, Jeremy, you are the best. How has some lucky girl not snapped you up yet?”

  He snorted as he set down the blower. Dressed in a leather jacket, biker boots, and black jeans, he looked like he’d fit right in at the Hell’s Handler’s clubhouse, but for some reason unknown to her, he’d been denied the opportunity to prospect.

  “Been waiting on you, Jazzy, you know that.” He winked, then walked her way. “But you keep breaking my heart at every turn.” The words were spoken with a lightness to them, but the gaze that held hers conveyed a sincerity that had her face heating.

  Thankfully, her cheeks had already reddened from the cold. Otherwise her blush would be obvious, and she’d hate to give the guy the wrong idea. Even if she’d been interested in Jeremy, dating him would have proven way too awkward, considering how close she was to the men of the MC. Supposedly, he’d attempted to prospect more than once and hadn’t made it through the door. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said with a wave of her gloved hand and an airy chuckle. “But I see the parade of chicas you’ve got coming and going from your bachelor pad over there. Pretty sure you’re loving your freedom.”

  That made him smile. Teeth, a little on the yellow side gleamed at her. Overall, he wasn’t bad looking. Somewhat attractive, with buzzed brownish hair, a smooth-shaven jaw, and eyes on the greener side of hazel. His muscles were real as was his passion for motorcycles and desire to join the Handlers. The problem with Jeremy was how he always seemed to be trying just a little too hard, which often came off as needy. At least in Jazz’s opinion. She’d never say it aloud, but Jeremy was a beta male and Jazz was the kinda girl whose head only seemed to turn for alphas. Was it a good thing? Perhaps not considering she was twenty-nine and pathologically single.