Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Livie
"Livie?" Dad's voice comes through immediately, tense with concern. "Everything okay?"
"We need to talk," I say, putting the phone on speaker. "Mason's here with me and Greyson. We just spoke to Diane."
"Your roommate from LA?" I can hear the confusion in his voice. "What's she got to do with this?"
I take a deep breath, squeezing Greyson's hand for support. "Everything, Dad. She's the reason this guy is after me."
"What?" The single word comes out like a growl.
I explain everything—Richard Keller, the recordings, the flash drive hidden in our apartment, Diane's attempts to build a case against him. With each detail, Dad's breathing grows heavier, the familiar sound of his barely contained rage.
"Let me get this straight," Dad says when I finish. "This piece of shit isn't stalking you because he's obsessed with you. He's hunting you because he thinks you have evidence that could send him to prison for what he did to other women?"
"That's the gist of it," Mason confirms.
"And your friend," Dad continues, his voice dangerously quiet, "she hid this evidence in your apartment without telling you, knowing this guy was dangerous? Knowing what he'd done to other women who crossed him."
I wince at the cold fury in his tone. "She was scared, Dad."
"So, she put you in danger instead?" Dad's voice erupts through the speakerphone, a volcanic fury that makes even Mason wince.
"I'll kill him myself," he growls, the sound of something shattering in the background punctuating his rage. "This piece of shit thinks he can hunt my daughter? In my town?"
"Wilder." Mom's voice filters through, trying to calm him.
"No, Joslyn. This ends now." There's a deadly calm replacing his initial explosion that's somehow more terrifying. "Mason, call church. I want every brother at the table in thirty minutes."
"Already on it," Mason responds, stepping away to make the calls.
"Livie, baby." Dad's voice changes slightly when addressing me. "You stay put. Don't leave Grayson’s place for any reason, you hear me?"
"Dad, shouldn't we just call the police now that we know—"
"Police?" He barks out a humorless laugh. "What are they going to do? Take a report? Tell us they'll look into it? Meanwhile, this psychopath is still out there, still hunting you."
Greyson's hand squeezes mine supportively as Dad continues.
"No. We handle this ourselves. MC style." The resolve in his voice brooks no argument. "That's what family means, baby girl. We protect our own."
I swallow hard, nodding even though he can't see me. "Okay."
"Grayson," Dad addresses Greyson directly. "I need you at this meeting. Bring your top guys."
"I'll be there," Greyson confirms, his expression hardening into the club president I glimpsed at the party. "But I'm not leaving Livie alone."
"My prospects will guard the house," Dad says. "Four of them, armed. Nothing gets within a mile of her without us knowing."
After we hang up, Greyson turns to me, his eyes searching mine. "You okay with this?"
"Do I have a choice?" I ask, not unkindly.
"Always," he says, surprising me. "We can do this by the book if that's what you want. Call the cops, file charges, wait for the system to work."
I think about Richard Keller, about the darkness Diane described, about the terror I've felt these past weeks. The system didn't protect Diane when she tried to report him. Why would it protect me?
"No," I say finally, steel entering my voice. "Dad's right. We handle this ourselves."
Relief flashes across Greyson's face before he masks it. "I need to shower and change before the meeting. Will you be all right for a few minutes?"
I nod, suddenly feeling very small in his oversized shirt. "I should get dressed too."
* * *
While Greyson showers, I return to the guest room and pull on jeans and a sweater, trying to process everything that's happened.
By the time I come back downstairs, the house is transformed.
Four serious-faced young men in prospect cuts are stationed around the property.
Greyson stands in the living room, now fully dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt, and his leather cut, looking every inch the MC president.
"I don't want to leave you," he says, crossing to me.
"I know." I reach up to straighten his cut, a gesture I've seen my mother perform countless times for my father. "But you need to be there."
He captures my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "I'll have my phone. Call if anything, and I mean anything, feels off."
"I will."
He hesitates, then pulls me into a fierce kiss that leaves me breathless. "This will be over soon," he promises against my lips. "And then we figure out us without all this hanging over our heads."
After Greyson leaves, the house feels eerily quiet despite the presence of the prospects outside. I pace restlessly, checking my phone every few minutes for updates from Diane. When it finally rings, I nearly drop it in my haste to answer.
"Diane? Did you find it?” I ask.
"I did," Diane confirms, relief evident in her voice. "I’m taking it straight to a detective I trust. But, Livie, there's something else you should know."
My stomach tightens. "What?"
"Richard's wife filed for divorce last month. She's missing. The police are looking for her, but…" Her voice trails off.
"You think he hurt her," I finish, cold dread settling over me.
"I think she might be in serious danger, if she's still alive," Diane adds. "Which is why I sent copies of everything to your email just now. In case anything happens to the original."
I grab my laptop from my overnight bag, opening my email to find a ZIP file waiting for me. "I got it. I'll make sure the right people see it."
After we hang up, I forward the email to myself, Greyson, my father, and Mason. Insurance, in case the worst happens. Then I open the files, steeling myself for what I might find.
What I discover makes my blood run cold.
Richard Keller isn't just some obsessed stalker, he's a predator with a long history of violence against women.
Financial records show payments to at least five different women over the past decade, all of whom subsequently dropped charges or disappeared altogether.
There are photos of his current wife, bruised and terrified, dated just weeks ago.
And there, in a folder labeled "Contingency," is a document that makes my heart stop—a detailed plan for abducting someone. My name is mentioned repeatedly, alongside a cabin located in the mountains just outside Blackridge.
With shaking hands, I call Greyson, but it goes straight to voicemail. They must be in church, where phones must be switched off, as is protocol during official meetings. I try my father, then Mason, with the same result.
I pace the living room, anxiety building with each passing minute. Richard Keller isn't just looking for evidence, he has a plan. A plan that involves me.
A noise outside catches my attention—the crunch of gravel under tires. I move to the window, expecting to see one of the prospects making rounds. Instead, I see a dark sedan slowly approaching the driveway.
My blood turns to ice as I watch the car stop at the gate. The prospects have noticed too. They're moving toward it, hands on their weapons. But they're too far away, spread out across the perimeter as they are.
I grab my phone and my gun, ducking away from the window. As I dial 911, I hear shouting outside, then the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
The 911 operator answers, but before I can speak, the power cuts out, plunging the house into sudden silence as the security system fails. I drop to the floor, crawling toward the kitchen where I remember seeing a back door.
"Shots fired," I whisper into the phone, giving Greyson's address. “I need help now."
More gunfire can be heard from outside, closer this time. I hear glass breaking somewhere in the house.
"He's inside," I breathe into the phone. "In the house."
I end the call, knowing I need both my hands free. The kitchen is dark, but I know the general layout from breakfast. I stay low, moving as quietly as possible toward where I think the back door is.
A floorboard creaks behind me, and I freeze.
"Olivia," a voice calls, sending chills down my spine. "I know you're here. We need to talk."
Richard Keller. It has to be. I recognize the voice from the gate, from that night at my parents' house. Measured, calm, utterly terrifying in its control.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he continues, moving closer. "I just need what's mine."
I stay perfectly still, trying not to even breathe. My gun is a reassuring weight in my hand, but I've never actually shot anyone before. Could I pull the trigger if I had to?
"Your friend Diane has been very naughty," he says conversationally, as if we're discussing the weather. "Taking things that don't belong to her. Saying things that aren't true."
I hear him moving through the living room, methodically searching. He's between me and the front door now. The back door is my only option.
"I know you have it, Olivia. The flash drive. Give it to me, and this can all be over. We can start fresh."
Start fresh? The delusion in his voice makes my skin crawl. I inch backward, my free hand searching blindly for the door handle.
"You know, I've been watching you for months," he continues. "You and Diane. At first, I was just concerned about what she might be saying about me. But then I saw you, really saw you, and I knew."
My fingers find the door handle. I turn it slowly, praying it doesn't make a sound.
"We're meant to be together, Olivia. That's why I followed you here. That's why I've been so patient."
The door swings open silently. Thank God for well-oiled hinges. I back through it, onto a small patio.
"Your friend doesn't understand what real love is." His voice grows more distant as I create space between us. "But you do, don't you? You understand sacrifice."