Chapter One #2
“I managed to salvage these.” I gestured to the documents on the table. “She kept backups in a safety deposit box. But it’s not everything. There are references to evidence she had that I can’t find.”
The President leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “And what exactly do you expect us to do about this, Ms. Treemont?”
“I’ve tried the legal route,” I said. “I’ve been to the police, the FBI, even a private investigator.
No one will touch it. The case is closed.
” I swallowed hard. “My uncle -- Bats -- once told my mother that if she ever needed help, real help, she should come to his brothers. That you take care of your own.”
“Bats said that?” The VP’s eyebrows raised.
“He did,” I confirmed. “And with him gone, you’re all I have left.”
The President’s eyes were unreadable as he studied my face. “You understand what you’re asking? If what you’re saying is true, you’re talking about going up against powerful people. The kind that can make a car accident happen.”
“I know.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “But they killed my parents. They’ve been watching me too. Cars following me home. Strange calls. Last week someone broke into my apartment.” I pulled up my sleeve, revealing a jagged raw wound on my forearm. “I surprised him. He had a knife.”
That drew a low curse from one of the men who hadn’t spoken yet.
“Before she died, my mother dug into something dangerous -- something big enough to get her killed. These bastards still tried to bury it, but I swore I’d drag the truth into the light and make them pay.
” My gaze cut across the table, meeting each man’s eyes in turn.
“Justice for my parents is the only thing that matters.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant sounds of the main room beyond the door.
Finally, the President gathered up my mother’s papers, tapping them into a neat stack. “Wait outside.”
The doorman stepped forward, opening the door for me. I hesitated, reluctant to leave my mother’s research behind.
“We’ll return these,” the President said, seeing my hesitation. “Go on now.”
I had no choice but to comply. The doorman escorted me back to the main room, indicating a worn leather couch against the wall. “Sit tight.”
I perched on the edge of the couch, feeling the weight of curious stares from the men scattered around the room. No one approached me, but I could hear the whispers.
“… Bats’ niece…”
“… Mary-Jane’s kid…”
“… looks just like her mother…”
That last comment made me look up sharply, trying to identify who had spoken.
An older member nodded at me from the bar, raising his beer bottle slightly.
“Knew your mama when she was younger than you. Bats always said she was the smart one in the family. Said she could sniff out a lie from a mile away.”
A lump formed in my throat. I’d never heard anyone talk about my mother like that, like they’d known her personally. “Did you know her well?”
The man shrugged. “Well enough. Your uncle always spoke highly of her investigative skills. Said she could’ve been FBI if she hadn’t been so damn stubborn about working outside the system.”
That sounded like my mother. And it sounded like something Uncle Bats would say.
I sat straighter, hope kindling in my chest for the first time since I’d arrived.
Maybe they would help me after all. Maybe I’d finally get the answers I’d been seeking for weeks.
I just had to convince them I was worth the risk.
I counted the seconds that stretched into minutes.
The leather couch beneath me had seen better days, cracked and worn by years of men larger than me shifting their weight.
Around the room, bikers pretended not to watch me while doing exactly that.
I wondered if Uncle Bats had sat here, on this very couch, planning runs or celebrating victories I’d never know about.
My gaze drifted to a wall of photos near the bar -- men in Dixie Reapers cuts, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, grins splitting their bearded faces. I rose slowly, drawn to search for my uncle’s face among them. A few members tensed as I moved, but none stopped me.
There he was. Younger, with fewer lines around his eyes, his arm thrown around another member, looking more relaxed than I’d ever seen him during his rare visits to our home. He’d always been on edge around us, as if expecting trouble to follow him through our door. Now I understood why.
“He was a good man,” said a voice behind me.
I turned to find the older member who’d spoken to me earlier, the one who’d known my mother.
“One of our best,” he continued. “Loyal to the bone.”
“But not loyal enough to tell you about his family,” I said softly.
The old biker’s mouth quirked in a half-smile. “That was his loyalty to you, girl. Keeping you separate. Safe.” He nodded toward the back room. “Not many of us manage that trick.”
Before I could respond, the door to the back room opened. The President emerged, followed by the others. The room fell silent as they approached.
“Ms. Treemont,” the President said, his voice carrying across the now-quiet clubhouse. “We’ve discussed your situation.”
I returned to the couch, perching on its edge, hands folded in my lap to hide their trembling. “And?”
“Bats was our brother.” The President spoke in a measured voice, choosing each word with care. “That carries weight. But what you’re asking involves the club in what appears to be a personal vendetta against powerful people, based on circumstantial evidence.”
My heart sank. “It’s not just --”
He held up a hand, cutting me off. “I didn’t say we wouldn’t help. I said you’re asking a lot.”
Hope flickered back to life in my chest.
“We’ll hear you out,” he continued. “Review what you’ve brought us. But I can’t promise involvement beyond that. Understand?”
I nodded quickly. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” His expression remained stern. “This isn’t a democracy. I make decisions based on what’s best for the club, not for outsiders -- even ones with Bats’ blood.”
He gestured to a man standing slightly behind him. “This is Doc. Dr. Winston Thorvald. Despite the leather cut, he’s an actual medical doctor.”
I blinked at the name -- Winston -- before focusing on the man himself.
Unlike most of the members, with their beards and weathered faces, Doc was younger, maybe thirty, with dark hair and a clean-shaven face that made him look oddly out of place despite the cut he wore.
His build was athletic rather than bulky, suggesting speed over raw power.
“Doc transferred in about eight months ago,” the President continued. “He’ll be keeping an eye on you during your stay.”
Doc stepped forward, his movements precise and controlled. There was something clinical in the way his gaze assessed me, as if I were a patient rather than a person.
“Miss Treemont,” he said formally, extending his hand.
I stood, meeting his gaze directly as I took his hand. His grip was firm but careful, as if concerned about crushing my smaller fingers. “Dr. Thorvald.”
Something flickered across his face -- surprise, perhaps, at my formal address -- before his professional mask returned. “You can call me Doc. Everyone does.”
“And you can call me Nova.” The tension between us was immediate and unexpected. He clearly saw me as an unwelcome responsibility, while I resented needing a babysitter at all.
“Doc will show you where you’ll be staying,” the President said. “We have some apartments near the clubhouse for guests and Prospects.”
“And to be clear,” Doc added, his tone making the words sound like they came from a medical textbook rather than a man in a motorcycle club, “you’ll need to stay on club property while we look into your claims. For security purposes.”
“You mean so I don’t run to the cops,” I translated, raising an eyebrow.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “I mean exactly what I said, Miss Treemont. Your safety is now the club’s responsibility. If what you believe is true, you’ve made yourself an even bigger target by coming here. Keeping you close is as much for your protection as ours.”
I hadn’t expected that. My mother’s research had made me paranoid, jumping at shadows for weeks. The thought of being somewhere secure, with people who could actually protect me, was more appealing than I wanted to admit.
“I understand,” I said, softer now.
Doc nodded curtly. “Good. Bring your bag. You did pack one, right? I’ll show you to your room.”
“My notes --” I began.
“Will be returned to you,” the President assured me. “After we’ve had a chance to review them thoroughly.”
“We’ll make copies,” Doc said, seeming to understand my concern. “You’ll get the originals back.”
That would have to do. I nodded and followed Doc to the door. His posture stiff, and I could feel the eyes of every member on us as we crossed the main room, their gazes a physical weight between my shoulder blades.
“They don’t trust me,” I murmured as we reached the door.
“They don’t know you,” Doc corrected without looking back. “Trust is earned here, not given.”
“And how am I supposed to earn it when I’m confined to the club grounds under your supervision?”
That made him pause halfway out the door, turning to look down at me. For a moment, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch toward a smile, though it disappeared so quickly I might have imagined it.
“You’re Bats’ niece. That gets you through the door. What happens next is up to you.” He continued outside without waiting for my response.
I followed, my smaller legs working harder to keep up with his longer strides. As we reached the corner of the clubhouse, I saw another set of buildings that looked like one-story apartments.
“Last door on the left.” Doc nodded toward the units. “It’s small, but it’s clean. Bathroom should be stocked. I’ll have someone deliver some groceries to stock the kitchen. “
“Can I get my things?” I asked, pointing to my car behind us.
He nodded and I went to grab the bag I’d quickly packed before coming here. Then I headed to the units. I opened the door and peeked inside. I found a small living area, saw a kitchen to the left and a short hall with three doors off it. Bedrooms and a bathroom, I assumed.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Thank you.”
Doc hovered in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable with the situation but doing his best to maintain his professional demeanor. “The President will want to speak with you again tomorrow. I suggest you get some rest.”
I set my bag on the floor, suddenly aware of how exhausted I was. The adrenaline that had carried me through until now was fading, leaving me hollow.
“Doc,” I called as he turned to leave. “Why did the President assign you to watch me? Why not one of the others?”
He paused, considering his answer. “I’m the newest patch.
And I have medical training if you need it.
” His gaze met mine, and for the first time, I saw something beyond the clinical detachment.
“Also, I knew Bats. Not as long as the others, but… he helped me a while back and he’s the reason I came here.
Although, by the time I joined, he’d already died. ”
With that, he closed the door, leaving me alone in the small apartment in the midst of a motorcycle club I’d never imagined entering, surrounded by men my uncle had called brothers while keeping them away from his blood family.
I perched on the edge of the couch. “I’m here, Mom,” I whispered into the quiet. “I’ll find out what happened to you and Dad. That’s a promise.”
Outside, I heard Doc’s footsteps retreating, steady and measured, like everything else about him. My assigned guardian, whether or not either of us liked it.
* * *
Doc
I went back to the clubhouse and found Savior and the other officers looking over the things Nova had left with them.
Despite the way the Pres had handled the situation, if there was trafficking happening in our own backyard, I knew he wouldn’t let it stand.
Even if the Dixie Reapers hadn’t tackled anything like that since I’d joined them, I knew about past instances when they had.
“What’s the verdict?” I asked.
“We have a problem on our hands,” Saint said. “Just not sure yet how we’re going to handle this.”
Savior flipped a page. “One thing is certain. That girl doesn’t need to be here. I get that they came after her once, but if they followed her here, then hopefully they’ll focus on us instead.”
I wanted to ask if that’s how they’d done things in the past but decided I should hold my tongue.
I was already pushing my luck with the Pres.
Just the same, I felt this was entirely unfair to Nova, and there was no guarantee she’d be safe if she left this place.
Hell, from what I’d heard, the women running from trouble in the past got to stay if someone claimed them.
At this point, I’d volunteer if that meant she could stay.
But it hadn’t been offered by the Pres for some reason.
Maybe because Bats hadn’t wanted this life for his sister and niece.
“And all that bluster before about it not being our issue?” I asked.
Savior waved a hand. “She may be Bats’ niece, but that girl doesn’t know shit about this club or how to be part of one. It’s better to run her out of here, even if that means we ice her out.”
I sighed and tipped my head back. I didn’t like the way they were handling this, but saying as much wouldn’t do me any good.
“We’ll copy everything,” Tempest said. “But we also aren’t going off half-cocked. We need to research, figure out exactly who is corrupt and who isn’t.”
“Yeah, and hope like hell it’s not anyone here,” Saint muttered. “Wouldn’t be the first time a Reaper turned traitor.”
Savior let out a low growl. “I will end a motherfucker if they’re involved in this. Women and children are off-limits. Everyone here knows that. If they hurt an innocent, they’ll deal with me.”
Wasn’t Nova an innocent? It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but something told me Savior would knock me on my ass if I did. I didn’t know why he was so against her being here.
“And what do I tell her in the meantime?” I asked.
“Keep things vague. Make it seem like we aren’t interested. Whatever it takes to get that girl gone.” Savior held my gaze. “Think you can handle that?”
Not really, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Nova had already gotten under my skin. She’d come here for help, and the Pres wanted to run her off? I didn’t like it. Not even a little.
“Got it.” I turned to walk away but paused. “If she’s anything like Bats, she’s not going to let this go.”
Savior grunted. “Then let’s hope they aren’t anything alike.”
I walked out, having this sinking feeling things weren’t going to go his way.