Chapter 47
Mia
I tell Aiden everything. He listens intently, but I know he’s also reaching out to someone, probably Archer, as he texts one-handed on his phone. I tell him how Dagger cornered me, that he knows I’m Mason’s sister, and that he wants my help.
He pulls me up and draws me into his chest. “He’s a fucking walking corpse, Mia.” Aiden is seething. “He’s been in hiding since I threatened to kill him at Grant’s farm. We’ve been looking for him everywhere, and I have no fucking clue how he got in here, or how he knew you were alone, but I will.”
I shiver as Aiden holds me close. He kisses the top of my head and breathes me in. “He isn’t gonna hurt you. This isn’t about you. It’s a message for me.” He pushes wisps of hair that have escaped my braids off my face, and I sense he’s still hesitant about telling me club business.
“I’m a vault, Aiden, and I’m in this now too,” I remind him.
He takes a deep breath. “Wretched Souls isn’t happy with us right now. They want us to distribute to someone that I’m not interested in distributing to. They probably think that if I’m eliminated, they’ll be able to convince the next guy to do it.”
“Is that why he’s been in hiding?”
Aiden nods. “I think he’s trying to decide how to take me out.”
“The way he looks at me, Aiden, it’s like he knows me.” I look down but he tilts my chin back up.
“I’m gonna meet with my men. Dagger won’t survive the fucking week regardless. In the meantime, we’re leaving.” He grips my hand. “I want to show you something that might help you feel safer.”
I nod and sniff back tears. Had I left everything alone after Nic died, Dagger wouldn’t even know who I am, and Aiden wouldn’t be in danger.
The next worry rises quickly and settles deep in my blood as we leave the club. The one I have no idea how to handle. If that psychopath decides to go to my brother and tell him what he knows, Aiden’s biggest threat won’t be Dagger.
It will be Mason.
* * *
“No offense, but I’m kind of afraid of bats and rat—”
The words die on my lips as the overhead door to Aiden’s dilapidated garage opens. From the outside, it looks like one large gust of wind could take the whole thing down. But inside…it isn’t a garage at all. It’s a safe room that looks like something out of Mission: Impossible.
The entire west wall is deep gray and lined with floor-to-ceiling shelving, stocked with bins of freeze-dried food, canned goods, and other supplies.
“How much food is here?” I ask, crossing the threshold.
Aiden presses a button to close the door behind us, and it locks with an ominous-sounding click, followed by a beep. Like it’s armed.
“Enough for a good six months.”
There’s a bed, not unlike the one in his room, and a full bathroom.
A sitting area has a sofa and, surprisingly, a television.
A long L-shaped countertop, a hot plate, and a microwave make up the kitchen space.
At the back are windows that look out onto the river, and they are tinted so dark, you can’t see through them from the outside.
Guns hang in a perfect display on the east wall—handguns, rifles, shotguns.
And parked right in front of the garage bay door we entered through is a vintage Harley. It’s maybe 1960s or ’70s, and impeccably restored. It’s a beautiful robin’s-egg blue with black detailing, and it has eagle’s wings painted on the gas tank. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a more stunning bike.
I run my hand over the soft leather.
“Was this your dad’s?”
“My grandfather’s, actually.” I can hear the pride in his voice, and I wonder if he ever rides it.
The lighting in this space is soft, and the wall that houses the windows has a sleek black computer desk against it with three identical large monitors, a keyboard, and black mouse.
The desk chair is leather and high backed, and is comfortably worn in.
I can tell he’s spent many hours here. Beside the computer, the wall is covered in newspaper clippings about the war in Afghanistan.
A bookshelf holds plenty of books and photos of Aiden, his hair cut so short he’s barely recognizable. In one photo, he’s in gray and beige camouflage fatigues, holding a gun as big as the span of his arms. Medals grace another wall, as well as more clippings and trinkets.
This place is his space. That’s why I never found anything personal in the house. This is a completely safe space where he can keep belongings that matter to him.
I turn to face him and narrow my eyes, unsure why he’s brought me here.
As if reading my mind, he grabs my hand and says, “This is a place where you will always be safe, and where the cell service is solid. If something isn’t right and I’m not around, you leave and come here. It’s your space now, just like it’s mine.”
As he walks me through adding my fingerprint to the security pad, I reach out and touch his arm. “Thank you for trusting me with this.”
“It’s not just for you, Mia. Knowing this space is here for you gives me peace. It’s my job to protect you now.”
My chest tightens. For the first time, I feel like someone is taking care of me. It’s such a gift.
“This place is bulletproof, and despite its outward appearance, even a hurricane couldn’t take it down.”
I move slowly, touching things as I go. Looking at the pieces of him that I searched for in his house the first few days I was here. A photo of a woman holding him in her lap catches my eye. He looks to be maybe ten.
“Is this your mother?” I ask, already knowing the answer. They have the same hair color, the same steely blue eyes. My heart aches for the boy in the photo as I trace his smile with my finger.
He nods solemnly. “Yes.”
“How old were you when she died?” Something tells me he was young.
“Eleven.” Aiden sighs deeply.
“I’m so sorry, Aiden.” My heart aches with his grief.
“Wrong place, wrong time, and it was twenty years ago.” Aiden’s tone is gruff now, and I know that’s all he’s going to say on the subject.
“I know the risks of this life,” I assure him.
“After my dad died, my mom just checked out. She met Craig and started traveling with him. He’s a long-haul trucker.
But Nic and I needed her. Hell, even Mason needed her.
Instead, Mason just took over for my dad, patching into the club. He never looked back.”
I move across to the food shelves as we talk, checking out the selection. Freeze-dried fruit and veggies, potato slices, emergency ration bars, coffee, sugar, wheat berries and a grinder. Peanut butter powder, rice, and it just goes on and on.
My eyes land on a collection of knives, and I look them over. Some are antique looking, some are hunting knives, and—I freeze dead in my tracks the moment I see it, and my stomach drops.
It can’t be.
I scramble past Aiden, all logic leaving my head. Forcing my eyes to refocus, I look more closely to prove I’m wrong, but by the time I reach the end of the shelf, it’s clear—the tungsten blade, the intricate black handle that looks exactly like mine…except for the tiny bumblebee on the handle.
The room sways. Questions and confusion punch me in the chest as I remember Dagger’s words: You really don’t know Aiden Foxx…
My head is swirling with what’s right in front of me.
My sister’s knife is in Aiden’s house?
I pull it down and flick it open faster than Aiden can react. Then I’m lunging at him, an animalistic growl leaving my throat.
His eyes widen in shock, caught off guard as I bring the knife to his throat, and we stumble into the wall behind him. His hand is instantly on mine, gripping it so tight I’m waiting for a bone to crack, but I don’t let up.
“What the fuck, Mia?” he bites out.
My body is vibrating with adrenaline. “This knife!” I manage to get out. “Why the fuck do you have it?”
Aiden is way too calm for a man with a blade to his pulse point. “It’s hard to see which knife you’re talking about when it’s at my fucking jugular!” he says, spitting his words out. “Mind telling me what it looks like?”
“It’s a tactical folding knife.” Tears spill over my cheeks. “Tungsten-gray blade, with a small bumblebee engraved on it, and I know it like the back of my hand!”
His eyes are vibrant blue, and they aren’t the eyes of a guilty man, but I’m so fucked up. I don’t know what to think.
“Please…” I beg. “I need answers, now.”
“I can’t give you answers when I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about, Mia!”
“This knife is my sister’s!” I scream, walking the line between cutting him and throwing myself into his arms, struggling because when it comes down to it, I can’t imagine not feeling his arms wrapped around me. The confusion and frustration only heighten the energy between us.
Aiden grips my hand even tighter, but his eyes soften. “That knife was a fucking gift! From Dagger, for the first shipment of Berettas I had delivered when I took over the club!”
My eyes search his, frantically. All the proof we need is hovering in the space between us. Dagger must have been the one to take it from Nic to begin with, and then he gave it to Aiden. But why? My breathing is fast as my heart thuds in my ears.
“You didn’t think to ask where it came from?” I practically whisper.
“When another boss gives you a gift, you don’t question it, you just take it. There were ten men with me when Dagger gave it to me.”
He lets go of my hand, and I suck in a breath, but I don’t let go of the knife.
Not yet.
My eyes drop to his lips for less than a second, but it’s enough time for him to lift my body and flip our positions, slamming me into the wall.
The knife is still between us, and Aiden leans into it. I can’t move my hand. He’s holding the knife to his own throat, and I’m struggling to pull it away as he starts to bleed.
I shake my head, because I don’t want to kill him—I need him—and I know in my heart he’s not behind this. I just reacted out of rage. “Aiden…you’re bleeding,” I whisper, fear in my voice as my eyes flit from his to the cut on his throat. I can’t tell how deep it is.
“You want to have the power, Rhiannon? Then fucking own it!” His eyes are crazed, and they’re scaring the shit out of me. “If you don’t trust me, then do it! Slit me fucking ear to ear.”
He leans in a little more, and the knife slides.
I shake my head frantically, struggling to pull the knife away from him. I know he isn’t capable of hurting my sister. “I don’t want that…” I whimper. “I’m sorry! I trust you. I’m sorry!” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I need you, Aiden…” I choke back a sob.
He lets go of my hand, and his eyes are full of resolve as he whispers, “Remember, Rhiannon, the line between love and hate only exists when your next breath depends on it.”
“I will…” I whimper.
Blood drips freely onto his shirt. “Then, if you’ve cut me up enough, my dirty little sadist, get that fucking blade off my throat so I can kiss you.”