Chapter Thirteen
Janelle
A fter our talk three nights ago, I haven’t seen Wolf. Tank has been here and told me she was sent on a run but would be back soon. She has managed to send me a few messages but mentioned that communication may be limited for her. I’m not worried about the status of her and I, but more about her safety.
I’ve been trying not to overthink it. I have. But every time my phone buzzes, my heart leaps into my throat. I know it’s ridiculous, and she told me she’d be back soon and she was safe, so I believe her. Still, the days feel longer without her around. Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by Abel yelling.
“Mom! Chloe’s trying to flush her Barbies down the toilet again!” Abel’s voice echoes through the apartment like a fire alarm.
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Coming!” I shout back, already bracing myself for whatever chaos awaits me in the bathroom.
When I arrive, Chloe proudly stands on her tiptoes, with Barbie in one hand and the toilet lid in the other. Abel is hovering nearby, looking equally annoyed and smug because he gets to play the role of tattletale hero. Dillon is leaning against the doorframe, munching on an apple like this is some kind of spectator sport.
“Chloe Grace Pierce,” I say, using my best mom voice. “What are you doing?”
“She wanted to go swimming,” Chloe says matter-of-factly, holding up Barbie like she’s about to give a TED Talk on aquatic toys.
“Swimming?” I repeat, crossing my arms. “In the toilet?”
Chloe nods enthusiastically. “She said she’s a mermaid princess, and mermaids need water!”
I sigh, trying not to laugh because I know that will only encourage her. “Sweetheart, the toilet is not a swimming pool. If Barbie wants to swim, we’ll set up the bathtub later, okay?”
Chloe pouts, her big brown eyes staring at me with the innocence only a five-year-old can pull off. “But the toilet’s right here.”
“And it’s also where germs live,” I say firmly, taking Barbie from her little hand and closing the toilet lid with finality. “No more toilet swimming, got it?”
“Fine,” she says dramatically, stomping toward her room as if I’ve ruined her entire day.
Abel smirks and gives me a thumbs-up. “Good save, Mom.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I reply dryly, ruffling his hair as he ducks away. “You okay, Dilly?” I ask, leaning against the door frame now that the Barbie crisis seems to be resolved.
He shrugs and says, “Yeah. Just waiting for the next episode. Chloe’s kinda funny.”
I laugh despite myself. “She is. But let’s try not to encourage her toilet antics, okay?”
“Deal,” Dillon says, holding up his pinky for a pinky promise. I loop mine around his and shake it before sending him off to his bedroom.
As I walk down the stairs, suddenly the front door opens, and Tank is standing there with a murderous look.
“Tank?” I ask, my voice cautious as I step closer. “What’s going on? Is it Onyx?”
He shakes his head, his jaw tight and fists clenched. “No, Wolf’s fine,” he says gruffly, but an edge to his tone makes my stomach knot. “It’s your damn ex.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “What did he do now?”
Tank reaches into the pocket of his leather vest and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. He hands it to me without a word, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury.
I unfold it with shaking hands, only to find a crude drawing—a stick figure family labeled with our names: me, Abel, Dillon, Chloe. But there’s another figure looming over us, holding what looks like a knife. It’s labeled simply “Daddy.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe, my knees threatening to give out.
Tank catches me by the elbow before I can collapse and steadies me with a firm grip. “You need to sit down,” he says, his voice softer now but still carrying that unyielding edge of protectiveness.
“I’m fine,” I manage to choke out, though I know I’m far from it. My hands tremble as I clutch the paper, my mind racing. “He—he’s escalating, isn’t he?”
Tank nods grimly. “Looks that way. Wolf’s not gonna like this when she hears.”
I blink up at him, my throat tightening. “Don’t tell her yet. I don’t know what she is doing, and if she is distracted, will she be in danger?”
“Are you kidding me?” Tank growls, his massive form towering over me like a human shield. “We’re telling her. This isn’t something you keep quiet about, Janelle. Wolf would kill me if she found out I didn’t let her know.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes silences me. He’s serious, and I know he’s right. Wolf would want to know—no, she needs to know. But the thought of adding more weight to her plate makes my chest ache.
“Okay,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t tell her until she’s back. I don’t want her distracted while she’s out there.”
Tank doesn’t look thrilled with my compromise, but he nods reluctantly. “Fine. But the second she gets back, she’s gonna hear about this, and until then, I let Pres know.”
I nod, my eyes still glued to the drawing in my hands. The crude lines feel like they’re burning into my skin, a constant reminder of the man who refuses to let me go.
Tank hesitates momentarily, then places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “He is sending Hatchet and Rumble here. Don’t worry, we’ll handle this,” he says firmly. “You’re not alone in this fight, Janelle.”
His words are meant to comfort me, and maybe they do, but the weight of the situation still presses down on me like a heavy stone. Even though my chest feels tight, I nod and force myself to meet Tank’s gaze. "Thanks," I murmur. "Really."
Tank gives me a curt nod, his hand squeezing my shoulder briefly before he steps back toward the door. "They’ll be here soon. Just keep the kids busy and stay in the house and away from the windows until Hatchet and Rumble show up," he says, his voice all business now.
"Got it," I reply, clutching the paper so tightly that it crinkles under my fingers. As Tank leaves, shutting the door behind him, I lean against it for support, closing my eyes for a moment to steady myself.
"Mom?" Abel’s voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. He’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, his face twisted with concern as he looks at me. "Are you okay?"
I force a smile, pushing the fear deep down where it can't reach him. "Yeah, buddy, I’m okay," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Just grown-up stuff. Nothing to worry about."
He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push either. Abel’s always been the most perceptive of the three, but he is sometimes too mature for his age. "Okay," he says slowly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Do you need help with anything?"
I walk over and ruffle his hair again, needing the normalcy of the small gesture. "Nope. I just need you, your brother, and your sister to play in your rooms please."
"Sure," he says, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—worry, maybe? I hate that they’ve had to grow up with this shadow hanging over them.
Once he disappears back up the stairs, I exhale deeply, letting myself sink against the door momentarily. My heart is still hammering like an offbeat drum in my chest, but I don’t have time to fall apart. Not now. Not when the kids are upstairs and expecting me to hold it together.
The sound of a motorcycle roaring outside snaps me out of it. My head jerks toward the window, and I peek through the curtain. Hatchet’s already pulling his bike into the driveway, his massive frame unmistakable even with his helmet on. Rumble isn’t far behind him, parking next to him with a smirk that somehow manages to be reassuring and unnerving.
I brace myself as they approach the door, not bothering to knock before stepping inside—because they wouldn’t. This is their territory now as much as it is mine.
“Evening,” Hatchet grunts, nodding at me as he shuts the door behind him. His eyes sweep over me, assessing like he’s trying to figure out if I’m about to crumble into a million pieces. “You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks,” I shoot back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Always nice to get compliments.”
Rumble snorts, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “We aim to please.”
“Cut the crap,” Hatchet growls, his gaze flicking toward the stairs before settling back on me. “Tank filled us in. Where’s the paper?”
I don’t hesitate to hand it over, and Hatchet takes it with a grim expression, unfolding it like it might bite him. His jaw tightens as his eyes scan the crude drawing.
“This guy’s a real piece of work,” Rumble mutters, craning his neck to peek at the paper. “Stick figures? Really? What is he, five?”
“Yeah, well, five-year-olds don’t usually draw themselves holding knives,” I point out flatly, my voice sharper than I intended. “And they don’t stalk their exes either.”
Rumble shrugs, unfazed. "Fair point." He tilts his head toward Hatchet. "You think he’s close, or is this just another one of his little mind games?"
Hatchet folds the paper back up and stuffs it into his pocket. His face is like granite—hard and unreadable. “Doesn’t matter. Close or not, we treat him the same way. Like a threat.”
I swallow hard, and my mouth suddenly dried. “So what’s the plan?”
“The plan?” Hatchet echoes, arching an eyebrow at me like I just asked if the sky was blue. “The plan is to keep you and the kids safe while we track this asshole down and make sure he gets the message loud and clear.”
“And by ‘message,’ he means breaking a few bones,” Rumble adds cheerfully. “Maybe more than a few.”
Hatchet looks practically murderous, “If it was up to me, I would rip his spine out through his asshole and then shove his dick deep down his throat. Hurting a woman and babies like that deserves a death that echoes a thousand times in the fiery pits of hell.”
I blink at Hatchet, my eyebrows shooting up. “Wow,” I say slowly. “That’s vivid.”
Rumble gives a low whistle, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “Remind me never to piss you off, man.”
Hatchet grunts, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s daring me to argue with him. “I mean every word,” he says flatly. “Scum like him don’t deserve a slap on the wrist or a ‘stern talking to.’ They deserve pain. Fear. And to know that they’ll never mess with someone again.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. What’s there to say? He might be crude—okay, really crude—but he’s not wrong. My ex has done nothing but haunt me and terrorize my family for far too long.
“Look,” I say after a moment, trying to keep my voice steady as I meet Hatchet’s hard gaze. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but let’s not go straight to medieval torture, okay? I just want him out of my life. Permanently.”
Hatchet narrows his eyes at me, “Permanently means ensuring he can’t return. Ever.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rumble interjects with a lazy wave of his hand. “We get it, Hatchet. You’re the king of overkill. Let’s focus on step one before you start planning the guy’s funeral.”
Hatchet scowls but doesn’t argue, which is probably as close to agreement as I will get from him.
“All right,” I say, pushing off the door and straightening my shoulders. “What’s step one?”
“Step one,” Hatchet says, his voice all business now, “is making sure this place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. No windows open, no doors unlocked. If you hear so much as a squirrel fart outside, you call us. Got it?”
I nod, but Rumble pipes up with a grin before I can say anything. “Squirrel farts are surprisingly loud, you know. Especially the big ones. Like… mutant ninja squirrels.”
I stare at him for a beat, unsure whether to laugh or groan. “Are you serious right now?”
“Dead serious,” he replies, his face completely straight. “You ever hear one of those things? Sounds like a mini leaf blower.”
Hatchet pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s reconsidering all his life choices that led him to this moment. “Rumble,” he growls, his tone warning.
“What?” Rumble shrugs innocently. “I’m just saying she should be prepared for all scenarios.”
“Right,” I interject before Hatchet can explode. “I’ll keep an ear out for suspicious squirrel activity. Anything else?”
Hatchet grunts again—apparently his favorite form of communication—and starts pacing the length of the living room. “We’ll do a perimeter sweep,” he says, ignoring Rumble’s comment. “Check for anything out of place. You stay here with the kids and keep them occupied.”
“Occupied,” I echo with a dry chuckle. “Sure. I’ll just whip out my ‘Distract Your Kids While Their Mom Deals with a Deranged Ex’ handbook.”
Rumble grins, clearly enjoying my attempt at humor despite the tension in the room. “I like her,” he says to Hatchet, jerking his thumb in my direction. “She’s got spunk.”
Rumble snickers, but Hatchet just levels me with a stare that could freeze lava. “Spunk doesn’t keep people alive,” he says bluntly. “Focus on what matters.”
“Geez, Hatchet,” I mutter, throwing my hands up. “I’ll make sure the kids don’t start a circus act while you’re out there playing Navy SEAL.”
Rumble doubles over, laughing, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, she’s good! Are you sure you don’t want her in the club full-time? I’d pay to see you two bicker like an old married couple.”
Hatchet shoots him a look that could probably kill a lesser man. “You done?”
“Never,” Rumble wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye.
I glance toward the stairs, and my ears perked for any signs that the kids might’ve overheard our conversation. But all I hear is the faint sound of some cartoon theme song blaring from the TV in Abel’s room. Good.
I heard a motorcycle pull up as I was about to turn back to say something to Hatchet. I go to see who it is, and I am stopped by Hatchet’s arm shooting out like a steel bar across my path. His expression tightens, his jaw flexing as he tilts his head toward Rumble.
“Rumble, check it out,” Hatchet orders, his voice low but commanding.
Rumble doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already halfway to the front door, his playful grin replaced with a sharp focus that reminds me these guys aren’t all jokes and mutant squirrel farts. They’re dangerous when they need to be—and right now, I’m grateful for it.
I peer around Hatchet’s solid frame, my pulse quickening as the rumble of the motorcycle engine dies. The next sound is boots hitting gravel, deliberate and heavy. Whoever it is doesn’t seem in a hurry—or worried about being noticed.
“It’s Wolf.” Rumble calls back. “And she looks like she is as mad as a hornet in a tin can.”
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly at the mention of Wolf’s name, but it doesn’t dissipate entirely. I step around Hatchet, ignoring his muttered protest, and reach the door just as Wolf pushes it open without knocking.
Her blue eyes are blazing, her dark hair disheveled like she’s ridden through a storm—and judging by how her leather jacket hangs off one shoulder, she probably has. She looks like chaos incarnate, but she still takes my breath away.
“Wolf,” I start, but she cuts me off with a sharp wave.
“Don’t,” she snaps, her voice low and taut with anger. “Don’t even try to tell me to calm down.”
I blink, caught off guard by the fire in her tone. “I wasn’t—”
“He left another ‘gift,’ didn’t he?” she interrupts, her jaw clenching as she scans the room like she’s ready to take on an army single-handedly. Her gaze lands on me, piercing and unrelenting. “Where is it? What did he leave this time?”
“Wolf,” I say softly, trying to ground her before she combusts. “I was going to tell you when you came back, I didn’t want to distract you when you were gone.”
Her eyes narrow, and she might lose her temper. But instead, she takes a deep breath, although it doesn't seem to calm her down. "Distract me?" she repeats, her voice thick with disbelief. "Janelle, do you realize how I felt when I arrived at the clubhouse to clean up before coming here and found out from the Battle Axe what was happening?"
I swallowed hard, and my throat suddenly dried. "I... I didn’t want to worry you." My voice sounds small even to my ears, and I hate it.
Wolf steps closer, her boots thudding against the hardwood floor like warning shots. "Worry me? Janelle, worrying about you is my full-time job now! You and those kids are all I think about, day and night." Her voice cracks slightly on the last word, making my chest ache.
Then suddenly, Wolf brings her hands to my face; her calloused hands cup my cheeks with a gentleness that seems at odds with the storm raging in her eyes. “Janelle,” she says, her voice softer now but no less intense. “You don’t get to decide for me what I can or can’t handle. Not when it comes to you. Not when it comes to this.”
I blink rapidly, her words sinking as my heart does a weird flip-flop. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” she interrupts again, but there’s no anger in her tone this time. It's just raw emotion that makes me want to crumble right there in her arms. “But you’ve got to trust me, all right? I’m not going anywhere. Not until this bastard is six feet under, and you’re safe.” Then she leans in and places her lips on mine with a tenderness that catches me completely off guard. Her soft, deliberate kiss speaks volumes more than her words ever could. It’s not rushed or desperate, despite the chaos swirling around us—grounding, an anchor in the middle of the storm.
For a moment, I forget where we are. Forget about the looming threat outside and the weight of everything pressing on my shoulders. It’s just her and me, and this moment feels like it was carved out of time just for us.
When she pulls back, her forehead rests against mine, and I can feel her warm breath on my lips. Her blue eyes search mine, her expression softer now but still filled with determination. "You’re not alone in this," she whispers. "Not anymore."
I want to say something—anything—but my throat feels tight, and my eyes sting with the threat of tears. Instead, I just nod, hoping she can see the gratitude and relief written all over my face.
“Well,” Rumble pipes up from behind us, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife through butter, “that’s one way to declare your undying devotion.”
Wolf doesn’t even flinch. She turns her head just enough to shoot Rumble a glare so sharp I half expect him to start bleeding. “You got something to say, Rumble?” she growls.
He raises his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not a thing, Wolf. Just enjoying the show.”
Wolf rolls her eyes and turns back to me, her hands still on my face. Her thumbs brush lightly against my cheeks, and for a moment, the room feels like it’s holding its breath. “Ignore him,” she murmurs. “He’s an idiot.”
“Hey!” Rumble protests from behind her.
I let out a shaky laugh despite myself, the tension in my chest easing just a fraction. “I noticed,” I say softly.
Wolf’s lips twitch, almost forming a smile, but the weight of the situation quickly pulls her back to reality. She drops her hands from my face but doesn’t stop, and she turns her head slightly, just enough to look at Rumble. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asks him.
Rumble raises his hands in mock surrender with a cheeky grin. “All right, all right, I’m leaving. But you two lovebirds might want to save the smooching for after we figure out how to keep Prince Charming from dropping more ‘gifts.’” He winks at me before retreating toward the front door, Hatchet following close behind with an exasperated shake.
The door shuts behind them, leaving just Wolf and me standing there in the quiet tension of the room. Her hands are still on my face, her touch grounding despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. I’ve never seen her like this—so raw, so protective.
“Wolf,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just... I didn’t want to feel like a burden.”
Her blue eyes darken, and for a second, she might growl. “A burden? Janelle, you’re not a damn burden. You and those kids—” She pauses, struggling to find the words. “You’re everything.”
Wolf steps back, finally letting her hands fall to her sides, but her eyes don’t leave mine. “What was it this time?” she asks, her voice steady but low like she’s bracing herself for the answer.
I point to the kitchen table where the drawing he left is there. Wolf strides over to the table, her movements sharp and deliberate. She stops in front of the drawing, her hand hovering above it like she’s afraid touching it might make it worse somehow.
Wolf’s jaw tightens as she flips the paper over and sees the drawing of the ‘Daddy’ stick figure with a knife over his family lying on the ground. Her knuckles go white as she grips the table's edge, her breathing shallow and almost primal.
She doesn’t say anything at first; the silence is more unnerving than if she’d started yelling. Her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, and I can see the tension rippling through her body like a live wire ready to snap.
“Wolf,” I say softly, taking a cautious step toward her. “It’s just another scare tactic. He’s trying to mess with me—with us.”
She doesn’t look at me, her eyes locked on the crude stick figure drawing like it’s a personal insult. “This isn’t just messing with you,” she says, low and taut. “This is him saying he’s not done. That he’s still out there, watching, waiting.” She finally turns to face me, and the fire in her blue eyes makes my stomach flip. “And that is not something I’m going to let slide.”
I take another step closer, reaching out to touch her arm. “We don’t even know for sure it was him,” I say, though the words feel hollow as they leave my mouth. We both know who it was. We’ve known all along. But admitting it out loud feels like giving him more power than he already has.
Wolf’s gaze snaps to mine, sharp and unyielding. “Come on, Janelle. You honestly think some random creep just happened to leave this?” She gestures to the stick figure drawing with a flick of her hand, her voice dripping with frustration. “It’s him. It’s always been him.”
I bite my lip, struggling to hold back tears. “I just don’t want to believe he’s still out there… still watching us.” I swallow hard, my heart pounding at the barely restrained fury radiating off her. “What do we do?” My voice wavers despite my best effort to sound strong.
Wolf straightens up, her jaw set like granite as she turns back to me. “We fight back,” she says simply, her tone leaving no room for argument. “But first, you and the kids need to be somewhere safe. Somewhere, he can’t get to you.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “You’re not sending us away,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “I’m not running. Not again.”
“It’s not running,” she counters, her voice firm but not unkind. “It’s regrouping. No more staying in this house. I’ve got a place—secure, off the grid. He won’t find you there. Do you think I’m gonna let this guy get anywhere near you or those kids? Over my dead body.”
My chest tightens, and I feel the sting of tears I refuse to let fall. “And what about you, huh? What happens to you while we’re ‘regrouping’? You’re just gonna stay here and face him alone?”
Wolf steps closer, her hands finding my shoulders, grounding me with her presence. “Listen to me,” she says softly, her thumbs lightly brushing against my arms. “I’ve dealt with worse than this guy. He’s nothing but a coward hiding behind his little games, and I’m not about to let him think he’s got the upper hand.” She leans in slightly, her voice dropping even lower, her eyes locking onto mine like a lifeline. “Janelle, I know you’re strong. You’ve been through hell and back, and you protected those babies to get to us for help. I need you to trust me on this, Janelle. I need to know you and the kids are safe so I can do what needs to be done.”
Her shoulders relax just a fraction, but the intensity doesn’t fade. “Good,” she says firmly. “Pack what you need for you and the kids—just the essentials. We’ll head out tonight.”
“Tonight?” My voice comes out higher-pitched than I intended as panic starts to bubble up again. “You mean right now?”
Wolf nods, already moving toward the kids’ rooms' hallway. “Yeah, right now. The longer we stay here, the more chances he has to make another move. We’re not giving him that opportunity.”
I follow her as she strides toward the living room, her biker boots thudding against the hardwood floors with purpose. “But what about the kids? They’ll know something’s wrong if we just disappear overnight.”
Wolf stops and turns back to me, her expression softening as she places her hands on my shoulders again. “Janelle, I promise you, this is temporary. Just until I can figure out how to stop this guy for good. The kids will adjust—and so will you. But the most important thing right now is keeping all of you safe.”
I nod reluctantly, knowing deep down that she’s right but hating every second. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll start packing.”
Wolf enters Abel and Dillion's room with a small, reassuring smile in my direction. I can only hope that all this chaos will end soon and we can finally taste normalcy, or at least something close to it.