Page 72 of The Kings of Kearny

Chapter Eighteen

Kearny was an old-schoolkind of town, bisected by railroad tracks that split it into two sides, one good and one bad. The bags in the back of the minivan rattled as we passed over those tracks and headed into the bad side where incomes were lower, homes were smaller, and nothing happened without the Kings knowing about it.

My mind worked on overdrive as Jakob took us deeper into club territory. Daniel or Liam? Liam or Daniel? Or someone else entirely? I’d been wrong about Liam once already. What if I was wrong again? About both of them?

I rubbed at the back of my neck, trying to stave off the headache that threatened. I felt like I didn’t know up from down anymore. Too much had happened in the past few days, and I was struggling to process it all. It didn’t help that this felt like trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. Fricking Jakob and his refusal to tell me what was really going on. Even if he hadn’t intentionally seduced me just to get into Magnolia, I had a lot to be angry with him about. Like the fact that he’d kept so much from me. Things that only further endangered me.

Here, Krista, come play in my world. Oh, you want to know the rules of the game? Too bad!

I would never have been so at ease around Liam if I’d known that Jakob suspected him.

Oh, holy hell. What if that’sexactlywhy Jakob had kept me in the dark? We’d only really known each other for a few days. How could he trust that I’d keep my trap shut about his suspicions? Or be convincing enough to fool Liam into thinking I was comfortable around him?

The more I thought about it, the more I thought I understood Jakob’s behavior. Agoodman, adecentman, would have told me everything up front and let me decide for myself how involved I wanted to be. Jakob already confirmed that he was neither of those things. And if our roles were reversed, would I have trusted a strange man with all that? I thought about it for less than a minute before I had to admit the answer was a resounding nope.

Was I still angry at Jakob? Yes. But I thought I understood his motivations, which made everything that much more complicated.

Ugh.

A few minutes later, Jakob eased the van to a stop in front of a grimy-looking tattoo parlor. Several motorcycles were parked at the curb, the Kings patch stamped proudly on the side of each gas tank. The windows of the shop were caked in dust. A few letters in the neon sign were out, and now instead of Brad’s Ink, it read Bad Ink. Fitting. This looked like a great place to contract Hepatitis C.

I glanced sideways at Jakob. “Please tell me you’ve never gotten a tattoo here.”

He took off his shades and shot me a piercing look. “No one gets tattoos here.”

I frowned and turned to the row of bikes beside us. If their owners weren’t inside getting tattoos, what were they doing here? Was Jakob being a smartass, or was he serious? Was this shop nothing but a cover for other, more nefarious Kings business?

I glanced back at the dirty windows and general neglect of the storefront. I wouldn’t want to get a tattoo here, and maybe that’s what the Kings were banking on. Maybe the dirt and decay weren’t from neglect but were intentional.

Before I could question Jakob about it, a large Latino man about my age strolled out the front door and headed toward us. He wore a skintight black T-shirt with a sleeveless leather vest over it that had the Kings emblem on the right breast, similar to the one Jakob donned the other day. His head was shaved. Tattoos snaked up his arms. The brows that shaded his dark eyes were heavy, lending him a hard expression that was somewhat softened by his full lips. I’d never seen him before.

“Stay here,” Jakob said as he climbed out of the van.

Fine by me. I didn’t want any part of whatever exchange was about to happen. It was bad enough that I was already caught up in Kings business; no need to add accomplice to gunrunning to my list of crimes.

Jakob exchanged a few words with the other biker that were thankfully lost beneath the low hum of the van’s engine. With a curt nod at Jakob, the Latino man turned and motioned toward the shop front. The door swung open, and three more men poured out. I didn’t recognize any of them even though they wore the club’s leathers. It wasn’t unusual. Not all the Kings frequented Charley’s, and the club had over two hundred members at last count.

With swift efficiency, they unloaded the bags from the back of the van. I kept my eyes forward and did my best to look like a woman minding her own business. Afterward, they headed back inside, the Latino man digging in his pocket and handing something to Jakob before they parted ways.

Jakob came back and opened the driver’s side door. He cut the engine and motioned for me to get out. I climbed down and went around to join him, and he led me toward the back of the shop. We were several hundred feet from the van before he spoke.

“We’re taking another car.”

I only nodded. I didn’t know how sensitive Liam’s bugging system was, and I didn’t want to say anything he might hear. With the van behind us, the spot between my shoulder blades itched like it was a sentient creature under Liam’s command, watching us even at this distance.

Jakob hit a button on the key fob his biker buddy had given him, and a chirping sound erupted from a flashy red BMW parked within the shadow of the building. Gunrunning must pay well.

I climbed into the passenger side and buckled myself in. “Is it safe to talk here?” I asked as Jakob slid in beside me.

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