Chapter 5 – Betsy #2
As we walk into the bar area, three women are sat waiting—Clare, our resident doctor, Isabella Sparks, and a woman called Quinn—our three new Savage Sisters inductees.
They all stand as we approach, and Mor gestures for them to take a seat. We sit on the opposite couch while Bernie goes to make coffee. “Clare, you sure you want to do this?” Mor asks, knowing that if she takes the pledge to join us, she risks never getting her doctor’s career back.
Clare runs her fingers through her vibrant pink and purple hair. “I’d rather put my use towards helping women that need it than work for a sexist prick ever again,” she states sharply. “Plus, we learn how to kick their asses, right?” she asks with an excited smile.
“Defence training is a must.” Eden nods as she pulls out her tablet.
“Okay, so out of everyone, you three aced our checks,” Eden states.
“Like male MC’s, you will be expected to prospect for us and prove your loyalty to the club, but unlike the men, we won’t make you do nasty shit.
It just means you won’t be privy to everything that is going on,” Eden explains.
I look at each of them. Isabella is sat firm, and I can see that the weak little rich girl that came to us about her father is long gone.
Now there’s a darkness in her eyes and the haunted look, and that’s one look we all carry.
I look at Quinn, specifically at her thick blonde curly hair and her wrists full of silver bangles.
There are scars on the inside of her forearms, and as I look up and meet her rich hazel eyes, she gives me a small smile.
“We will get you to sign an NDA, and you will be given a Cutt with your name on it. If you get stopped riding, you say that you are part of a women’s biker enthusiast club. No men will question it. They’ll probably just mock you,” Mor informs them.
“So, you’ve learnt to ride, Clare?” I ask, remembering that she hadn’t ridden before.
She gives me a grin full of pride. “I sure did. Got myself a Honda Rebel, sprayed in deep rich purple. She’s a beauty.”
“Nice.” I smile.
Eden gets them to sign the NDA on her tablet and then stands. “Okay, if you could stand and place your left hand over your heart,” she instructs. The three of them follow her order. “Okay, repeat these words after me. ‘For women we stand, for injustice we fight.’”
“For women we stand, for injustice we fight,” they repeat.
“Okay, that’s it.” Eden nods and grins at them.
“That’s it? No pledge to the club to serve and blah, blah, blah?” Clare asks.
Mor shakes her head. “This is a woman’s club. We are only here to help other women. We don’t expect you to pledge your life to us. All we ask is for your loyalty.”
“That I can do,” Isabella says. “Also, I should state I’ve changed my name to Lana,” she says awkwardly.
“That’s no problem,” Eden says, tapping on her tablet.
“Welcome to the club. Any questions, just ask one of us,” Mor states.
“Are the lap dogs available to all, or after we are fully patched in?” Clare asks, eying one of them as they bring over a tray of drinks.
“After you’re patched in,” Eden blurts out possessively. Mor and I give her a side look, not expecting that response. “Sorry.” She winces.
“No apology needed. It just makes being a fully patched-in member all the more worth it,” Clare says with a grin.
“So, rooms. You will each have your own room. You can choose to stay here or at your own residence, but when you are called to come in, or if you are needed, you are expected to stop whatever it is you are doing and serve the club. Sometimes there are issues that may end a little messy, and backup would be needed,” Mor states firmly.
This is the first time I’ve heard her talk in a leader’s tone.
With us she is normally joking around, but this is the first time we have added new members for a long time.
She’s going to have to take that role of boss lady more seriously now.
Nyx walks in, his eyes looking over to us, and he gives us a quick nod before turning back around and walking out.
“Damn, that boy knows his place in this club,” Eden mutters.
Mor grins with pride at her man. No doubt she will reward him later.
“Okay, back to business. You will get a cut of the money made, and that will increase when you are a fully patched-in member,” Eden states, clearly scrolling through her notes of what needs to be discussed. “Oh, Harley and Lana. What bikes will you be riding?” Eden asks, looking up from her tablet.
Isabella, I mean Lana, answers first. “Victory gunner, in red.”
“Nice, and you, Quinn?” Eden asks, looking at Quinn who has been quiet.
She clears her throat and looks among us. “Triumph Daytona, in electric blue,” she answers.
“I love how we have a mix of sport and cruisers,” Bernie says, coming in with a tray of pastries, which she places down next to the drinks. “I ride a trike. It’s easier on the old joints,” she adds.
“Okay, final question for you all, and then I promise Bernie here will show you to your rooms and give you a tour,” Eden states.
She looks at each of them, and even though we know Clare from being our doctor, I know she will be assessing her just as much as the others.
“Why did you want to join the Savage Sisters?” Eden asks.
Clare sits forward. “You know my story, and I’ve been a doctor here helping out when I’m needed.
I refuse to go back to the life I had before.
I need more meaning, and I want to help more people.
The only way I can do that is by joining the Savage Sisters.
I need purpose, and I need to help fight back,” Clare states firmly.
Eden gives her a soft smile and a nod before she looks to Lana. “You know all there is to know about me. You helped me, and now it’s my turn to help others,” she says simply. Eden nods, her eyes softening a little in understanding.
Quinn shifts in her seat. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly as she picks at her nails.
“I guess, like Clare, I need my life to make sense, for something to give me purpose,” she finishes, her voice sounding broken.
I’m not sure why, but I reach across the table and give her hand a gentle squeeze.
Her smile wobbles as she fights back some deep emotions she’s clearly feeling.
“Okay, Bernie. Could you give these ladies a tour and show them to their rooms?” Eden says cheerfully. I release Quinn’s hand from mine as she takes in a steadying breath to regain her composure.
“Sure thing, come on.” Bernie gestures for them to stand. They get up and follow her, and I wait until they are out of the room before speaking.
“Whatever happened to Quinn, it’s raw,” I state.
“She was at the refuge and had been there six months. She helped and ran talks for other women, but you’re right. There is something there. I just hope whoever it was got what they deserved,” Mor grits out.
Eden turns her attention to Mor. “You going to show us this photo then or what?” she asks.
Mor lets out an exasperated sigh and stands. “I’m calling kitchen,” she says in a mock demanding voice.
Eden and I stand. “God, our President is such a tyrant,” I mock.
“Fucking right I am. Come on, let’s get this shit over with,” Mor says as she walks through a pair of large wooden doors.
She holds one open for us and gestures for us to sit down.
We make our way to our seats at the huge table.
Mor walks to the head of the table and places down the file, tapping her finger on it.
“I know I’ve openly talked about what I did, but there is a big difference in telling you and seeing it,” she states.
“Wait,” I interrupt. “It’s a picture of you doing it?” I ask.
She gives a gentle nod and swallows. “Yeah.”
“Well then, that should be simple. How many people were in the room with you when you did it?” Eden asks, and my mind is already whirling with possible suspects.
“I don’t remember. I was so enraged, so blinded by my pain.
I barely acknowledged anything, and it doesn’t matter because everyone is dead.
There are no offspring. Nothing.” She sighs, quickly flipping over the cover of the folder as if she’s ripping off a bandaid.
She slides the picture out on the table before us.
Lowering my gaze to look at the image, the first thing I notice is that it’s grainy, like it’s been taken from an older camera.
The image is of the back of a man sitting restrained in a chair, and Mor is standing in front of him, blood splattered over her face and the blade in her hand.
The very blade she still carries with her now.
You can’t see the features of the man before her. Even Mor’s are a little blurred.
“No one can tell that’s him, and your image is grainy. This picture isn’t proof,” I point out.
Mor points to the man’s hand, where there is clearly a tattoo visible. “That’s his tattoo,” she states.
I bite down on my bottom lip. Something doesn’t seem right. The angle of the image—surely even in her rage state—Mor would notice someone taking a picture of her that close by. It would be right in her eyeline.
“Let me look over this picture and get Bernie to give me a full list of names of everyone that was present that day. I will do a deep dive and see if anything comes up,” I tell her.
“See? We will find out whoever this is. Was there a postage stamp on the envelope?” Eden asks.
Mor pulls out the envelope. There is a blurry stamp mark on it that clearly has been smudged by the rain. “It’s hard to tell with it smudged like that,” Mor sighs.
I lift it up and look at it. “Let me take this, too. I will find out,” I state firmly, knowing I can run print checks; even the ink can be used to narrow it down.
Mor exhales. “I don’t want any of this coming back on either of you or the club.”
“It won’t, and you know that we won’t let you face this alone. We will find out who is behind it, and we can then recreate this photo.” Eden snorts.
I grin. I’m the least violent out of the three of us, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill anyone that hurts my family.
The door suddenly swings open, slamming into the wall. Nyx storms in, his eyes wide with fear. “Fuck,” he breathes.
“What the hell?” Eden snaps, her hand over her heart from where he made her jump.
“In here, Bernie!” he yells over his shoulder before stalking toward Mor. His gaze is intense as he looks Mor over. He stops and spins her around, grabbing her face and kissing her passionately.
“Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” I snap, my annoyance growing.
Bernie walks in and sighs in relief. “Seriously, we’ve been here all of twenty minutes at most.” Eden tuts.
Mor and Nyx break their kiss. “She’s right.
What the hell is going on?” Mor asks in confusion.
The way Nyx stormed in and the way Bernie is behaving is like Mor has just come back from battle.
Bernie walks in and tosses a photo on the table.
It slides down to us, and all the blood drains from my face when I see it.
“Holy fuck!” Mor gasps, her face paling, too.
The photo is of Mor dead. She’s wearing the same clothes as she’s wearing today, and her body is laid down on the floor, her lifeless eyes open. Her neck is brutally sliced open with a pool of blood surrounding her. I flip the photo over, reading the back.
A life for a life is the only way to make me go away.
“It’s AI,” I state. “A deep fake.” I grab the other photo and compare the two. “They are both deep fakes. Look,” I say, pointing to Mor’s left eye.
“It’s slightly wonky,” Eden says, squinting.
I nod. “Let me take this home, and I will work on finding out who the fuck is behind this,” I state, feeling raw determination gnawing in my gut.
“You think it’s wise to let her go out there alone?” Bernie asks.
“It’s Mor they want, not me,” I argue. “This is what I’m good at. This is what I do.”
“Why can’t you do it here? Just to be on the safe side,” Eden suggests.
“Because all of you need to keep things as normal as possible for the prospects, not coming to me every five minutes asking if I have found anything. This way, I can work from home and trace them down, and I will come in once I’ve got intel.
Also, it’s really important that you both train the prospects.
If this is a real threat, if whoever is behind this means what they have written on the back of this photo,” I point, tapping at the message. “Then we will need to be war-ready.”
“She makes a good point,” Nyx states. “Even though no one will be getting hold of these fuckers apart from me. I will kill them with my bare fucking hands,” he growls.
“Aww, are you going all alpha-hole on me?” Mor coos, kissing his cheek. “Just to remind you, if there is any killing, it will be done by me. You can use those hands of yours for other things,” she says, wiggling her brows at him.
Nyx lifts his hand, grabbing Mor by the throat, and leans in. “When it comes to you, I will be the one doing the fucking killing. Do I make myself clear?” he growls in warning.
Mor’s eyes alight, a seductive smile playing across her lips. “I may need you to make it clearer in my room, or maybe on this table,” she suggests.
“For fuck’s sake, Mor. At least wait until we are out of the fucking room!” Eden protests.
Nyx releases his hold of Mor as she turns her attention back to the matter at hand.
“Fine. Betsy, go home and do what you’ve got to do, but there will be a lap dog outside your house at all times, and I want daily check-ins.
If your prick of a neighbour even looks at you funny, we are coming to get you,” Mor orders.
I nod. There is no point in arguing, and as much as I am refusing to admit it, I’m glad there will be a lap dog there.
Mor turns her attention to Eden. “Go start the prospects’ training, and I will be there in ten—”
“Make it twenty,” Nyx interrupts as he glides Mor’s hair away from her neck and proceeds to kiss her.
“Okay, twenty,” she eagerly agrees.