Jake the Panty-Ripper (Book 1, the Phantoms MC Series)

one: in which she tries (and fails) to return to sender

"All that matters is where you lay your head" –Kölsch feat. Troels Abrahamsen, All That Matters

********************************

Three Years Later

There are two kinds of people in this world: The ones that can look like movie stars after a twelve-hour shift at any job, and the ones that look like roadkill on tarmac out in the sweltering sun.

I fell in the latter category, of course. A quick glance into my rearview mirror revealed that my waist-length black hair had rebelled, escaped from its braid, and the shorter strands were now flying haywire. Determined slate-grey eyes stared back at me, and there was a smudge of something I didn't want to analyze on my right cheek.

I looked demented, and who could blame me? The night shift at Rose Haven could be crazy – sleepwalking, night terrors, running stomachs – and if you threw in the anger I'd held on to the whole twelve hours, I was exhausted. I wasn't a confrontational person by nature but that sure as hell didn't mean I was a doormat.

This time – this time Jacob Ford had gone too far.

It was close to six-thirty when I pulled into the driveway of the Ford residence. The peaking sun was the only witness to the dramatic scene I made throwing open the door of my car and unceremoniously slipping on air, falling onto my knees on the gravel.

Gravity and I – we had a love-hate relationship – were not on the best of terms today.

I'd already fallen more times than I'd stood on my own two feet today and all I could blame it on was fatigue. Thankfully, I was done for the week.

I scrambled to my feet before someone caught me and wiped my hands on the front of my uniform as I marched to the front door. I knew from the few times I'd stopped by that Jake rarely locked his door. His neighborhood was full of young couples and children in split-level homes identical to his own; of course he didn't have to worry about security like I did. In my sketchy apartment building, welcome mats disappeared like friends who owed you money.

Pushing the large door open, I crept inside, blinking quickly to let my eyes adjust to the darkness that enveloped me the second I stepped into the spacious living room. Black curtains were drawn across all the windows and the entire house was eerily quiet. I hadn't been here since Ella.

"Jacob?" I called out, exiting the room and heading out into the passage, where I quickly headed up the two sets of stairs.

I knew from memory that there were four en-suite bedrooms and a toilet upstairs. The furthest one from the stairs belonged to Jake and I hesitated before knocking. It was early, after all.

But I was mad.

This just had to be dealt with as soon as possible.

 "Jacob? It's Maya." I knocked. Knocked again. And again.

Grimacing, I pushed open the door and went in. This was probably the first and only time I'd ever been in this man's bedroom. I instantly regretted it.

Two – no, three – bodies lay fast asleep in a tangled mess beneath the white sheets on a massive king-sized bed. I stood there for a minute, processing this. OK, the orange-haired woman kind of looked like Bree Mason who worked at the tattoo parlor Ghost owned. She was actually very nice, even though everyone called her all kinds of names behind her back because her hobby was seeing how many Phantoms she could sleep with before she turned thirty.