EPILOGUE #2
Still can’t believe not too long ago I was running from Glenn, terrified. I walked into a bar of a brooding biker bartender who refused to let me leave and vowed to keep me safe. Declan could’ve paid for me to stay at a cheap motel, wished me luck, and washed his hands of me.
Not Declan. He stepped outside his comfort zone and took me home.
We had the best conversation that night.
Leading up to our wedding we kept those conversations going by the fireplace.
Of course we don’t see eye to eye about everything.
Like Declan tracking water all over the floor after a shower. I chuckle inside at the thought.
When my mother met Declan she said I did good. That I found a man who truly loved me. Coming from my mom who had been through hell with my dad and finally found love years later too meant a lot.
The day Declan and I stood facing each other at the altar in that small chapel, my heart nearly burst. Seeing my six-foot-six man in a navy tuxedo, hair parted cleanly with a perfectly moussed comb-over and his beard trimmed sharp.
I almost didn’t recognize him. My biker—polished, refined, and impossibly gorgeous.
Fuck, he was sexy.
All I could think about was getting him alone, threading my fingers through that neat hair, and messing it up until he looked like mine again. But it was the way he looked at me that truly stole my breath—like I was his whole world, like nothing and no one else existed.
I’d never known love like this. Never believed I would.
I went from being Declan’s ole lady to his wife in a month. I can’t believe I’m a biker wife. I love it.
After lunch a customer rummages through a rack, smiling at her selections. A few other ladies attack the racks along the long wall.
Monica straightens the store while Tyson and Deanna cash out customers.
I have to let Emoni know her clothes distribution hookup is the best. Pays to have friends in the mafia. The mafia wives and I decided it would be best if they’d help celebrate my grand opening after the trouble, I’m in is resolved. This morning, they texted happy grand opening in the group chat.
I remember how much fun I had at my wedding reception because of the mafia wives. I never had friends like them. I’d had fake friends because my family was rich growing up. These ladies are the real deal.
My fingers toy with the wedding band beneath the massive diamond on my left hand, and a jolt of worry shoots through me all over again. I can still see Declan from early this morning—pacing in front of the window, Glock in hand, jaw clenched hard enough to crack.
I didn’t ask if trouble was coming. I didn’t have to. The air itself felt charged, thick with the kind of danger that moves fast and without mercy.
I know exactly who I married. A possessive, lethal biker who would burn the world to ash before letting anything touch me. I blink coming back from the memory.
“Can I start a dressing room for you?” I ask the woman sorting through a rack with an armful of clothes.
“Yes, please. I love the pieces in this boutique.” She beams.
She’s dressed in plum leggings and white sneakers, her cream long-sleeve top loose around her waist but fitted on her arms—effortless and expensive. Long, lush blonde curls spill over one shoulder, brushing against a sparkling diamond stud. She screams money. Exactly my kind of customer.
“Thank you,” I say. “If you’d like, I can add you to our preferred-customer database. We only call when we get pieces we know you’ll love.”
Her hand settles lightly on my arm. “That would be fantastic.”
“My name is Meridea.”
She flashes perfect white teeth. “I’m Laura Danaver.”
Her last name tugs at a memory, but I keep my face neutral. Maybe her father crossed paths with mine. She looks close to my age—did we go to the same high school?
“Nice to meet you. I’ll take those.” I lift the mountain of clothes from her arm and carry them toward one of the four dressing rooms.
The back door opens and shuts. Billie Rae who goes by Mia steps inside. My gaze flicks to her briefly.
“Good afternoon, Mia.”
Billie Rae was one of the young women rescued from the sex trafficking ring. I insisted that some of the women work in Blue Haven to give them a fresh start. The mafia wives took women under their wings also.
Samantha Latters, an assassin wife, insisted they all learn combat.
The assassin wives weren’t at my wedding but we’ve chatted on zoom calls.
The assassin wives and mafia wives get together every other year and go on a girls’ trip.
I heard they get into a lot of trouble. They said their next trip will be assassin, mob, and biker wives.
Has a nice ring to it. We’d be a force to be reckoned with.
I digress. Samantha said they might have to watch their backs for the rest of their lives.
At least they’d know how to defend themselves.
Mickey ‘Mack truck’ is working with Billie Rae.
I think he jumped at the chance to help because he likes her.
He wouldn’t admit it though. He’s just as brooding as Declan.
Only difference is he now splits his time between hacking and Billie Rae.
A small smile curves her mocha cheeks. “Good afternoon, Meridea. Let me help you.”
She takes half the stack from my arms. “Thanks.”
“How are you adjusting?” I ask.
“Blue Haven is a welcome change to my previous life. I love it here. I can’t thank you enough for taking me on.” Her voice carries that thick Tennessee drawl, warm enough to wrap around you. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could bellow out a tune.
“We’ve had a steady stream of customers today. Will you be okay with all the people in and out the shop?” I ask as we hang clothes on the hooks.
She glances over her shoulder before meeting my eyes. “Mickey said we’re facing danger.”
“Not you. Me,” I whisper.
Her brows gather, and she takes my hand. “Meridea, you gave me a second chance at life.” Her sweet Southern accent thickens with emotion. “I’ll go down swingin’ for you.”
I pull her into a hug. “We’ll stand together.” My Georgia drawl slips out.
She melts into me, nodding. “Yes, we will.”
We step apart, both sniffling. My chest warms. I absolutely love my new family.
“Let me just hang up my coat and I‘ll get to work.”
“Thanks, Mia.” I smile.
I see why Mickey's so protective of her. She’s a gorgeous woman. And after all she’s been through she’s still got fight in her.
Holding the fitting room door open, a grin lifts my cheeks. “Laura, let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” The fitting room door clicks closed behind her.
Thirty minutes later, I add Laura’s phone number to our data base.
“Is there any way I can leave my shopping bags here. Just for an hour. I’m meeting my boyfriend for dinner.” She beams.
She bought half my store. Of course she can leave her bags. “Laura absolutely.”
“Great, see you soon.”
I retrieve my phone from under the counter. Wish my pretty dress had pockets.
Me: Mickey, a customer Laura Danaver purchased a ton of clothes. But if she’s who I think she is money is nothing for her. Can you look into her please and send a picture with her info?
Mickey: Yeah, sure thing.
Five minutes later, my phone vibrates.
I read the text.
Mickey: Laura Danaver age twenty-five. Socialite. From Atlanta, Georgia. Her mother is Marjorie Danaver, a philanthropist. Father Clint Danaver, a criminal defense attorney.
I glance at her picture. Yup, that’s her. We never met but I heard of her.
Maybe it’s just a coincidence that we hung around the same people growing up and she’s shopping in the small-town Blue Haven.
My gaze moves around the store. “Tyson, Monica, and Mia, please get the store cleaned up and you guys can leave early.”
Monica’s brows furrow. “Boss, we can stay. You should leave early.”
“I agree,” Tyson adds.
“No, I want to enjoy this one night of locking up my store. You all will get your chance tomorrow.”
Monica and Tyson chuckle.
“Okay boss, we’ll pull the store together,” he says.
Mia stands near the dressing room, smirking.
She approaches the counter. “I’m not leaving you,” Mia whispers.
Her eyes dart to Monica and Tyson, then back at me. “You don’t want anything to happen to anyone around you. I get that. Since we don’t know who could walk through that door now that it’s dark I’ll stay with you.”
I open my mouth to protest.
Billie Rae raises her hands. “You won’t know I’m here. I’ll be in the back room.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
She gets to work straightening the racks.
∞
Night settles outside the windows, and with Monica and Tyson gone for the day, a familiar alertness crawls up my spine. Time to be vigilant.
I kneel behind the counter, press my fingers to the safe, and wait for the soft ding as it unlocks. I check the Glock’s magazine, flick the safety on, and slide it beneath the counter—close enough to grab in a heartbeat.
A burst of laughter drifts in as the bell above the door jingles.
“You’re back,” I say, straightening.
“Yes, I couldn’t leave my goodies,” Laura chirps.
I glance at the man standing next to her, black khakis, black Henley, and a navy pea coat. His hair is neatly combed, but the beard is definitely out of place. He’s completely unlike anyone from her polished circle.
She lightly touches his arm. “I brought my boyfriend to carry my bags.”
“Smart move,” I laugh.
He barely twitches a smile. The tiny hairs on my arms rise in warning.
I meet his dark brown eyes. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“That’s because I didn’t give it,” he snaps.
Laura gasps. “Excuse my boyfriend, Meridea. Midas isn’t a people person.”
“I know what it’s like to love a brooding man,” I bite out. “But my husband isn’t rude.”
She elbows him. “Don’t be rude. Our fathers go way back.”
A buried memory flickers—her father stepping into my dad’s office, heated voices behind the closed door. I didn’t listen to their conversation because Daddy always said it wasn’t nice to eavesdrop.
“You’re right, Laura. I’d forgotten about that.”
“How are your parents?” I ask.
“Wonderful. Daddy opened his own firm nine years ago—booming business. And Mom… well, she loves her charity galas. Raising money for the poor.” Her sugary Southern accent thickens.
My stomach knots. Did her father have anything to do with Dad’s death?
No. He couldn’t have. Could he?
She continues, voice sweet as poison. “I see you landed on your feet. Did Mrs. Spencer? Mother said she begged her for money. Claimed Father owed her.”
My hands go clammy. My breath stutters.
Mom swore drugs were behind Dad’s death. She refused to tell me more. Tried to protect me. But Laura’s words feel like a door cracking open. Now it’s time I pry.
“My mother said your father stole from mine,” I add lightly.
Next to her, Midas moves toward the door and locks it.
Fear slices through me.
Shit. I’m alone with them.
Laura’s eyes harden. “Your father was weak. He couldn’t see my father’s vision. So he had to go.”
Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I don’t let a single one fall.
She waves the past away like it’s dust. “I’m not here about Daddy. I’m here about my mother’s cousin, Abe.”
A bitter, maniacal laugh claws its way out of me. “Of course you are. Because your whole family is corrupt—and Abe is a pedo.”
Her manicured finger wags in my face. “Don’t disrespect my family. We are what this world is built on—capitalism. Your daddy couldn’t just launder the money. And your dumbass boyfriend Glenn shouldn’t have left that flash drive lying around. Abe says you know where the rest of them are.”
My blood runs cold. More flash drives?
Shit.
And worse, I think I know exactly where they are.
I edge closer to the counter, fingers inching toward my Glock.
Midas yanks a Glock from the small of his back and trains it on me. “Get the fuck from behind the counter.”
“You’re coming with us,” Laura adds, practically giddy. “The jet’s waiting on the tarmac. You’ll retrieve the drives. Abe wants them back. They’re his trophies.”
My lip curls. “You’re disgusting.”
“No, I’m not,” she laughs. “There’s so much money in the sex trade. Glenn was about to be a millionaire. But his moral girlfriend just couldn’t turn a blind eye.”
I drop to my knees and grab my Glock.
Gunshots explode through the boutique.