Chapter 12 Isabella
As I pace back and forth in Ice’s room, my stomach churns. With each passing minute, my anxiety spikes another notch. I can’t believe my brother had someone following me. Why? Did I say or do something that made him suspicious? And why hasn’t he called to check up on me? If he sent one of his men to watch me, he should know I’m missing. None of this makes any sense.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Ice has been gone too long. My mind can’t help but concoct a thousand terrible scenarios that might be keeping him. His club brothers didn’t look happy to see me when I arrived. Fang, the grumpy one with the silly t-shirt, kept studying me like a virus under a microscope. I get the sense Fang considers me to be potentially deadly. He’s not wrong, but I hate feeling so out of place.
I wasn’t ready for this—running, hiding, throwing my lot in with a motorcycle club whose members’ faces I’ve just begun to memorize. The thought of leaving behind the little life I’ve eked out sends a fresh wave of panic through me. My savings, meager as they are, lie hidden beneath a loose floorboard back at my cottage, a futile attempt at a safety net now left behind. If Juan truly thinks I’m working against him, then there’s no way I’ll be able to go home to get the money.
The door swings open and Ice appears. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Isabella.” His voice cuts through the silence as he closes the door behind him. He locks it and slides the flimsy security chain across it. As he steps deeper into the room, his silver-blue eyes search mine, as if he’s trying to assess my mood.
“What happened?” I ask.
Attempting to read his expression is pointless. He’s too good at keeping a neutral expression regardless of what’s happening. Well, unless I’m naked. In that case, he can’t keep the look of longing out of his eyes.
“Every man in the club is with us. Their loyalty isn’t in question. They’re committed to two things: getting those women and kids out of the cartel’s clutches and making sure you’re safe,” he says.
“Safe” feels like a foreign concept. But there’s comfort in his words, a reassurance that isn’t entirely hollow. Still, the problem of finding those kids looms large, an insurmountable wall blocking our path.
“I have no idea how we’ll ever find the warehouse where they’re holding the children.” A labyrinth of warehouses sprawls across the city. They could be in any one of them, but which one?
“Have you ever been to any other cartel locations besides the drug cutting place?” Ice probes, leaning against the worn dresser, arms crossed.
“Only the cutting warehouse,” I admit, feeling helpless. “Juan never involved me until he forced me to work there.”
Ice’s eyes narrow slightly. “But you must know something that can help us.”
“Nothing,” I insist, though a flicker of an idea sparks in my mind. It’s not much, but it’s all I have, a sliver of hope that I’m clutching onto with both hands.
“Think,” he says softly. “Can you remember him ever mentioning which part of the city he was going to?”
As I try to recall anything Juan may have let slip, I pace the length of the dimly lit motel room. I shove my hands into my jeans and try to calm my racing heart. Nothing comes to mind. I can’t think of a single instance where Juan mentioned going to another warehouse.
“I don’t know. He never told me where he was going when he left the compound.”
Ice watches me, silent and brooding, his presence a solid anchor in the storm of my thoughts. “Then we’ll have to find the location another way.”
“I’ve been thinking… staying with the MC isn’t a good idea,” I say, finally halting before him. My mind races with plans and possibilities, each more dangerous than the last. “I have an idea about what we should do next.”
“Lay it on me,” he says, his voice low and edged with skepticism.
“I go back to Juan,” I blurt out, my plan sounding reckless even to my own ears. “I tell him about tonight, about how an SUV was following me after work. That I drove to Jackson Square because I was scared, and some guy on a motorcycle saved me.”
Ice stares at me as if I’ve completely lost my mind. “And why would Juan believe this story?”
“Because I’ve never defied him before. In his eyes, I’m passive, compliant. It’s the perfect cover.” My hands clench into fists at my sides. “I can use that to our advantage. Once I convince him I’m still loyal, he’ll trust me enough to reveal where they’re holding the children.”
Ice’s face hardens and a shadow crosses his features like a gathering storm. “ I don’t like any part of your plan.” He steps forward, closing the distance between us. “Juan’s no fool. He’ll think you’re getting help from us, especially since I was the one who intervened tonight.”
“Your cut was covered,” I counter, desperation creeping into my voice. “The driver couldn’t have seen the MC patch.”
“And if you’re wrong? If Juan sees through your act?” Ice’s voice is sharp, cutting through my resolve. “He won’t hesitate to kill you.”
I swallow as the weight of the risk presses down on me. This plan seemed like a good idea when I was alone in the room, but now that he’s back, my idea sounds ridiculous.
“You’re right. It’s a bad idea,” I admit. “But we need to find those kids.”
Ice shakes his head, frustration etched in every line of his face. “It’s too risky. Here’s what we need to do—lay low, give Fang time to dig into the cartel’s property holdings. We can find the right warehouse by matching their properties to places that produce textiles. Juan said they were in a textile factory, right? Did he mention what they were producing specifically? Was it wool, denim, silk?”
“I don’t know…” I trail off, silently chastising myself for not prying more information from Juan when I had the chance. “He never specified what kind. Just ‘textile factories.’”
“Then we start broad and narrow it down,” Ice says, his tone resolute. “We will find those kids, just give us time.”
“How much time will we have once Juan realizes I’m with you?” I ask.
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll take care of anything he throws at us. He may be evil to the core, but we’ve dealt with monsters in the past. We know how to fight them.”
“If they’re so easy to battle, why is Juan still leading the cartel?” I ask. “Why didn’t you stop him yet?”
“Well, he is more intelligent than typical criminals, which makes it harder. Also, he’s creative in ways we don’t always recognize. It’s too bad he chose evil over good, because he could have been a great businessman.”
“Not all businessmen are good.”
“True.” Ice smirks.
“How long will it take Fang to check the warehouse records?”
“Not sure. A few days. A week. Maybe more.”
“I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“We have to be smart about this, Bella. Juan knows you’re with us now, so you can’t go back there. You’re staying with me until you’re safe. Don’t bother trying to argue. It’s done.” His voice is firm, so there’s no point in resisting.
A frustrated breath escapes me as I collapse onto the edge of the lone bed in the room. “Will I get my own room?”
“No.” He’s blunt, almost apologetic. “The boys have filled up the place. You’re bunking with me.”
My gaze flicks from Ice to the bed. The queen-sized space suddenly feels too small. Does he intend to share it with me? There isn’t a couch and there’s not much room on the floor.
Before I can ask him about it, he says, “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. It’s new, in a package under the sink. Also, toothpaste. Soap’s in the shower, and shampoo. No conditioner, though. Chicks don’t stay here, but I’ll have Blue bring you some.”
“Who’s Blue?” I ask, suddenly nervous. Maybe he’s got a girl I don’t know about stashed somewhere else already.
“Vapor’s wife. She’s going to bring some clothes in the morning. Until then, you can wear one of my shirts. I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”
“Can I shower first?” I’m desperate to scrub away the cocaine residue from the warehouse. Also, I need a minute to get my head together before I crawl into bed with him.
“Sure.” He nods, understanding etched across his face. “You’ll feel better.”
For a moment, we lock eyes, and everything else fades away—the danger, the cartel, the club. There’s just Ice and me, and the unspoken heat crackling between us. I want to ask if he’s thinking what I’m thinking, if he’s worried about sharing a bed. But I’m too weary to make a huge deal out of it. I’m too battle-worn to ignite what lies dormant between us. Maybe all he wants to do is sleep and I’m blowing everything up in my head.
“Here.” He breaks the silence, handing me an oversized T-shirt. “You can sleep in this. Blue will be here first thing tomorrow.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
My fingers brush against his as I take the shirt, and a thrum of desire rushes through me. All I’d have to do is close the distance between us and I have no doubt he’d respond by taking me to bed. And not to sleep. This is risky territory with a dangerous man.
“Go on now,” he whispers.
Grateful for the reprieve, I slip into the bathroom and lean against the door, letting out a sigh of relief. I turn on the shower and test the water with my hand. It’s freezing, so I twist the nob to the hottest setting and wait.
My reflection in the mirror depicts a woman on edge, a stranger with haunted eyes and hollow cheeks. I don’t feel like myself anymore. Before Juan forced me into the business, I had a pretty boring existence. I never really worried about much, other than my family, of course. But aside from that, daily life wasn’t anything dramatic. Now each day seems worse than the last. At least Ice and his club are protecting me now. That’s an improvement.
The water hisses in the background, steam curling around me like a ghostly embrace. I strip away my clothes before adjusting the temperature, so I won’t be scalded. Stepping under the warm cascade, I tip my head back and run my hands through my hair. Each droplet washes away the stress of the day.
My thoughts drift to the man beyond the bathroom door. They’re insistent, intrusive, hinting at desires that promise both solace and destruction. Would surrendering to the pull between us be such a bad thing? His tongue would be one hell of a distraction to ease the chaos, that’s for sure.
“Stop it,” I chastise myself.
Pressing my palms against the tiled wall, the water washes over me, cleansing my dirty thoughts. When the water turns cold and my resolve returns, I shut off the tap. I quickly wrap a towel around me and step out.
As soon as I’m dry, I slip his shirt over my head. The oversized t-shirt engulfs me, its hem brushing against my thighs. At least it’s modest enough. I don’t have spare panties to put on, which leaves me feeling naked and exposed, even though I’m fairly well covered. Hopefully, Blue brings a pack of underwear with her tomorrow.
After brushing my teeth, I step back into the bedroom. Ice is sprawled on his back, hands clasped behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He seems lost in thought. The soft glow of the room’s single lamp casts shadows across his muscles. His presence is commanding even in stillness.
I hover at the foot of the bed. As he turns to look at me, I feel every spot where the cotton fabric clings to my damp skin. His gaze cuts through the dimness and his pupils expand as he drinks in the sight of me. The intensity in his eyes sends a jolt straight through my core, a silent command that beckons me closer.
“Isabella,” he murmurs, a hint of gravel in his voice that scrapes against all my defenses.
“Hey,” I whisper. The air between us thickens with unspoken promises, and I’m drawn to him, helpless in the pull of his orbit.
I slide under the covers, the rustle of sheets the only sound in the room. Ice reaches over, flicking off the lamp beside the bed, and darkness wraps around us. Yet it’s not complete. The moon filters through the curtains, casting a pale light that outlines his form. His chest, bare and inviting, rises and falls in a hypnotic rhythm that lulls my racing heart. The sheets cover the rest of his body.
Is he wearing anything else?
My mind wanders down dangerous paths, imagination igniting with every subtle movement he makes. I’m rigid under the sheets, unable to relax for even a second. We’re not touching, but I’m aware of every delectable line of his body, mere inches away.
Restless, I toss and turn, each small motion bringing our bodies incrementally closer. The space between us is electric, charged with the energy of what’s yet to come. Finally, unable to resist, I face him, our breaths mingling in the narrow gap that separates us.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice is low, a soothing timbre that somehow ratchets up the tension.
“Too many thoughts,” I admit, my fingers inching toward him, as if being pulled by an unseen force.
“Let me help with that.” His hand finds mine, warm and reassuring, and he guides it to rest on his chest. His heartbeat thunders under my palm, syncing with the thrumming in my veins.
In one fluid movement, he rolls onto his side, closing the distance. We collide, a slow burn erupting into a wildfire. Our lips meet, tentative at first, as if exploring unspoken boundaries.
When I sigh and melt into the kiss, he takes it as a green light to move forward. Restraint gives way to urgency, and the kiss deepens, fueled by longing and the need to escape, if only for an hour or two.
He rolls me onto my back and slides between my thighs, stopping only to test that I’m ready for him. I’m more than a little wet, soaked, and all I want is to be filled by this man. So he does exactly that, pushing deep inside me, insistent in his need to possess me.
Our bodies move together in a dance as old as time. The scent of him surrounds me, a mix of leather and something uniquely him—something that feels like home. His hands roam over my skin, setting every nerve alight, worshiping me with a reverence that shatters any remaining barriers.
As we find our rhythm, the world outside fades away until there’s nothing but this moment—him and me, intertwined. The sensation builds into a crescendo that threatens to break me apart. When it does, it’s earth-shattering. We ride the waves of pleasure together, giving and taking in equal measure, until we collapse into each other’s arms, spent and satisfied.
“Go to sleep,” he whispers against my hair, his arms tightening around me.
“I’ll try,” I promise, snuggling closer, the dangers of our reality momentarily forgotten in the sanctuary of his embrace.
Minute after minute passes as I get increasingly frustrated. I can’t shut off my mind. Restlessness claws at my insides, while the aftermath of our union leaves me wanting him all over again. I’ve already given in to the passion between us once, but I can’t do it right now. After coming to my rescue today, Ice deserves some rest.
I roll onto my side, facing him, watching the rise and fall of his chest in the dim light. My mind races with the day’s events. I can’t stop obsessing about the danger we’re in.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice, husky from slumber, reaches out in the darkness.
“No,” I admit.
“Me either.”
“Tell me more about the MC. How did Underground Vengeance start?”
Ice shifts, turning to face me, the ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. “It began with Winchester, up in Montana, thirty years ago.”
“Interesting name.”
“Eddie Grady was his given name, but his club name was Winchester.”
“Like yours is Ice?”
“Yeah. A friend of his, Grant, needed help. His ex-wife married a predator who was after their son, Michael.”
“That’s terrible. Couldn’t the police do anything?”
“Pigs said they didn’t have enough evidence. Since they wouldn’t step in, Winchester and his friends took justice into their own hands.”
“Did they save the kid?”
“Yeah, Michael was just seven when they rescued him. He and his dad moved to Louisiana. Grant helped start this chapter and Michael took over when he got old enough.” There’s pride in Ice’s words, a reverence for the club’s legacy. “Michael ran the Louisiana chapter for a few years before stepping back to focus on family. But he’s still one of us.”
“Is the Montana chapter still around?” My curiosity piques as I imagine this network of bikers, rebels with causes, spread like veins across the country.
“Alive and kicking. They rode down to NOLA last year to help bust someone out of Lulu’s.” Ice’s tone is matter-of-fact, but I sense a heavy weight behind his words.
“I heard something about a bust at Lulu’s last year. It had to do with illegal prostitution and trafficked women.”
“Your brother used to run that place.”
“Disgusting,” I spit, shaking my head.
“We closed it down with the help of some Feds.”
“You work with the government?” I ask, surprised.
“Not usually. But one of the Montana guys was banging a Fed. Made her his old lady.”
“Old lady?”
“Wifed her.”
“Oh.” Before meeting Ice I didn’t know much about motorcycle clubs. I’m learning a ton, including some of their lingo. It’s fascinating. “Where else do you have chapters?”
“Every major city in the US. We’re in all fifty states.” His chest swells with pride. “We’ve even got ties overseas, for those who need to disappear completely.”
I let out a sigh, thinking of the world, rife with shadows and threats. “It’s tragic, isn’t it? How many bad people there are…”
“Maybe,” Ice acknowledges. “But don’t forget about the good ones. They just don’t make headlines. People aren’t interested in hearing about what went right. They only want to know what went wrong so they can figure out how to avoid the same fate.”
“True.”
“But ultimately, there are more good people than bad.”
“How do you keep believing in people after everything you’ve seen?” The question slips out, tinged with the weariness of a soul too familiar with cruelty.
“Simple,” Ice says. I feel his hand find mine, strong and warm. “As long as there are folks willing to fight for what’s right, I’ll never lose faith. You’re one of them, and I’m happy to be fighting alongside you.”
His words wrap around me like armor, steel woven with silk, banishing the chill of fear. In this room, in Ice’s embrace, I find solace, and for just a moment, I allow myself the luxury of hope.
“Anything else you want to know?” he asks.
“Well,” I venture, my voice softer than I intend, “how’d you get your name? Ice doesn’t exactly scream ‘approachable.’”
He tilts his head back, chuckling. The sound seems alien in the quiet of the room. His eyes catch mine, and there’s a glint of mischief there. “Believe it or not, it was mid-July, hotter than hell’s waiting room. The AC at the clubhouse had kicked the bucket, and everyone was sweating their asses off.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“Understatement of the year.” He laughs. “Years ago, Winchester gave Grant this old ice maker. A clunky, ancient thing. I managed to tinker with it until it sputtered back to life.” He pauses, a smirk playing on his lips. “Thing is, I got a little carried away. Cranked it too high. Before we knew it, the clubhouse floor was covered in ice—like a damn winter wonderland.”
Laughter bubbles up from within me, genuine and unbidden. I picture the scene—these tough bikers slipping and sliding, cursing up a storm—and I can’t help but giggle. “You iced out the MC?”
“Guilty as charged.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, and his laughter joins mine, filling the space with warmth.
As the laughter fades, I notice the tenderness that lingers in his eyes, and a realization dawns on me. Beneath the layers of leather and the hard lines carved by a life I’m only beginning to understand, there’s a kindness to Ice that’s disarmingly genuine.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and it feels like I’m peeling back a layer of my own defenses, “for being one of the good ones.” My gaze drops to my hands, now twisting in my lap. “I was starting to think they didn’t exist, not after everything I’ve seen my family do to this city.”
“Those days are numbered, Bella.” His hand reaches out, calloused fingers gently lifting my chin so our eyes meet. “You’re under UVMC’s protection now. We take care of our own. And I’ll take care of you.”
His promise wraps around me like a shield, and for the first time, I believe it. I’m no longer the cartel princess trapped in a gilded cage. With Ice, I’m someone worth protecting, someone worth believing in. And as I sink into the embrace he offers, I let myself feel a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve finally found my place in a world where even the coldest hearts can melt.