Chapter 7 #2
"Oh my God, Livie!" Diane's voice comes through, thick with tears. "I've been calling you all day! I thought you were— I thought he might have—"
"I'm alive," I cut her off, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "No thanks to you."
There's a pause, a shaky intake of breath. "I deserved that. I deserve worse."
"Yes, you do." The words come out sharper than I intended, but I can't bring myself to make them gentler for her. "He nearly killed me, Diane. He had his hands around my throat. He shot at me."
"I'm so sorry," she whispers. "I never thought—"
"That's the problem," I interrupt. "You never thought about what could happen to me. You used our apartment to hide evidence against a violent stalker without telling me. You put a target on my back without giving me a chance to protect myself."
Greyson squeezes my hand supportively as I continue.
"Do you know what the worst part is? If you'd just told me the truth from the beginning, I could have helped you. We could have gone to the police together. Instead, you let me think I was crazy when I felt like someone was watching me."
"I was trying to protect you," she says weakly.
"No. You were protecting yourself." My voice breaks slightly. "Friends don't do that to each other, Diane."
The silence that follows is heavy with unspoken regrets.
"His wife is alive," I tell her, gentling my tone slightly. "They found her in the trunk of his car. She'll recover, physically at least."
"Thank God," Diane breathes. "And the evidence? Did they use it?"
"They have everything. He's not getting out anytime soon." I pause, wrestling with my anger and the friendship we once shared. "Your plan worked, for what it's worth. You stopped him."
"We stopped him," she corrects gently. "You fought back. You survived."
I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted by the weight of it all. "I need time, Diane. I'm not ready to forgive you yet."
"I understand," she says, and I can hear the resignation in her voice. "Just… know that I love you, Liv. You're my best friend, and I'll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, if you'll let me."
"Goodbye, Diane," I say, ending the call.
Greyson pulls me against his body, careful of my ribs, as tears I didn't know I was holding back spill down my cheeks.
"That was hard," he murmurs into my hair. "I'm proud of you."
"I don't know if I'll ever trust her again," I admit, my voice muffled against his chest.
"You don't have to decide that now." His hands trace soothing patterns on my back. "Some betrayals take time to heal, if they ever do."
I pull back to look at him, struck by the wisdom in his words. "When did you get so insightful about friendships and forgiveness?"
A shadow crosses his face. "When you're president of an MC, you learn quickly who you can trust with your life and who you can't. Betrayal isn't something we take lightly."
"What happens when someone betrays the club?" I ask, though part of me already knows the answer.
His eyes darken. "Depends on the betrayal. Sometimes they lose their patch. Sometimes they lose a lot more."
The reality hangs between us, a reminder of the world he inhabits—a world of brotherhood and loyalty, but also violence and retribution when necessary. A world I was born into but tried to escape, only to find myself drawn back to its center.
"Does that scare you?" he asks quietly, studying my face.
I consider the question, wanting to give him an honest answer. "Not as much as it probably should. I grew up in this life, Greyson. I know what it means to wear that president's patch."
Relief flickers across his features. "Most women wouldn't be so understanding."
"I'm not most women." I manage a small smile. "I'm Wilder Bennett's daughter, remember?"
"Trust me," he says, his eyes warming, "that's something I could never forget."
My phone buzzes again, a text from my mother this time, asking if I'm coming for dinner tonight instead of tomorrow. I show it to Greyson.
"Your choice," he says. "I'm happy to face the Bennett inquisition whenever you're ready."
The thought of my entire family grilling Greyson over pot roast makes me laugh despite everything. "Maybe we should get it over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid."
"Somehow I doubt it'll be that quick or painless." He grimaces, though there's humor in his eyes. "Your mother is going to have questions. Lots of questions."
"You can handle it," I tease, poking his chest lightly. "Big, bad MC president afraid of my mom?"
“Terrified," he admits with a chuckle, joking.
I snuggle back into his chest, loving the fact that he is willing to go to my family’s home and face them, but I wouldn’t doubt that half of the MC will be right there around the dinner table.
I’m excited to get to know some of my cousins' ole ladies, and it makes me happy to think of Elle and Christopher getting together after being in love with each other their whole lives.
Most of all, I'm excited to get to know my brother's ole lady Meadow, who is from the Devil Souls MC herself.
My brother has told me a lot about her. I have met her throughout the years, but this is different because she is my brother's ole lady.
"You should rest before we head over there," Greyson suggests, running his fingers through my hair. "Doctor's orders, remember?"
I start to protest but a yawn betrays me. The pain medication is making me drowsy, and the emotional toll of the past few days is finally catching up to me.
"Just for an hour," I concede, letting him guide me upstairs to the bedroom.
"I'll wake you with plenty of time to get ready," he promises, tucking the blanket around me with surprising tenderness.
I'm asleep before he even leaves the room.
* * *
The sound of Greyson's phone jolts me awake. Disoriented, I blink at the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. How long was I out?
"What?" Greyson's voice is sharp, tense in a way that immediately sets me on edge. "When?"
I push myself up, wincing at the protest from my ribs. Greyson stands at the window, his back rigid, one hand gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles have gone white.
"And you're sure it was—" He cuts himself off, listening. "Jesus Christ. Lock it down. No one talks to the press. No one."
"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice still rough with sleep.
He turns, his expression unreadable as he ends the call. "Richard Keller is dead."
My heart stutters. "What? How?"
"Someone got to him in the hospital." Greyson crosses to sit on the edge of the bed, his movements measured, controlled. "Security found him an hour ago. Throat cut."
"Oh my God." I press a hand to my mouth, shock rippling through me.
"That's not all." His jaw tightens. "Whoever did it cut his lips off."
The gruesome detail hits me like a physical blow. "His lips? Why would anyone— Who did it?" I ask instead, though part of me doesn't want to know the answer.
"No one knows," he says, far too quickly. "Hospital security cameras mysteriously malfunctioned. No witnesses."
* * *
The drive to my parents' house is tense, silent except for the low rumble of Greyson's truck.
My mind races with possibilities, with questions I'm not sure I want answered.
Richard Keller was a monster who nearly killed me, who terrorized women, who would have continued hurting people if he hadn't been stopped.
But this brutal execution crosses a line that even MC justice rarely approaches.
As we pull into the driveway, I notice fewer bikes than I expected. No extended family. Just my parents' vehicles and my brother's; the twins have gone back to college.
"Small dinner," I murmur, more to myself than to Greyson.
"Family only," he confirms, his hand finding mine across the console. "Whatever happens in there, remember that I'm with you. All the way."
Mom opens the door before we can knock, her smile tight but genuine as she embraces me carefully.
"Oh, baby," she whispers, pulling back to examine my bruised face. "My brave girl."
"I'm okay, Mom," I assure her, though the words feel hollow with the weight of what we've just learned.
She turns to Greyson, surprising us both by pulling him into a hug as well. "Thank you for keeping her safe."
"Always," he promises, the single word carrying more meaning than entire speeches could.
Inside, the atmosphere is unnervingly normal—the dining room table set with Mom's good China, the smell of food filling the house, music playing from the kitchen speakers. Dad and my brother Mason sit in the living room, each nursing a glass of whiskey, their conversation halting as we enter.
"Livie." Dad stands, crossing to kiss my forehead. His eyes linger on the bruises around my neck, something dark and satisfied flickering in their depths. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," I say, watching his face carefully. "Though I just heard some disturbing news."
Dad's expression doesn't change.
“News?" Mom asks, returning from the kitchen.
"Richard Keller is dead," I say bluntly. "Murdered in his hospital room."
My mom grins from ear to ear. “Well, isn’t that some good news.”
I snort out a laugh, not expecting her to say that. "But who would do this? I thought this would just be over? Was he involved with something else?"
Dad and Greyson exchange a look before Dad sighs. "Richard Keller wasn't just some random stalker, Livie. He had connections, financial dealings with people who operate in the shadows. People who might have wanted him silenced before he could make a deal with prosecutors."
I sink into the nearest chair, trying to process this new information. "You're saying the mob had him killed? Not the clubs?"