Chapter 7 #3
"I'm saying there are many people who wanted Richard Keller dead," Dad replies carefully.
He then pinches the bridge of his nose, his expression darkening.
"There's something you need to know, Livie.
Something I didn't tell you before." He looks at Greyson, who nods slightly.
"We managed to recover more from that ZIP file than your friend let on. "
"What do you mean?" I ask, tension coiling in my stomach.
"Richard Keller wasn't just some abusive stalker.
He was a damn chatterbox," Dad explains, his voice hardening.
"There were hours of recordings where he bragged about his connections—high-level mob associates who run trafficking rings, prostitution and kidnapping operations.
He described in explicit detail how they abduct women, how they torture people who cross them. "
My blood runs cold. "But why would he tell Diane all this?"
"Because he's an arrogant bastard who thought he was untouchable," Mason interjects. "The recordings show he was spilling the same information to the police, trying to cut a deal for some financial crimes he committed."
"Jesus," I whisper, the new information hitting me like a physical blow.
"That's not all," Dad continues grimly. "From what we can piece together, your friend Diane wasn't just gathering evidence against Richard for his abuse. She was using these recordings to blackmail his mob connections."
"What?" I nearly choke on the word. "Diane was blackmailing the mob?"
Mason nods, his expression grim. "It looks that way. Small amounts at first, just enough to stay under the radar. But when Richard disappeared, his friends started getting suspicious. They traced the blackmail back to Diane."
"And now they're after her," Greyson adds, his hand finding mine. "Which means they could come looking for you too, if they think you're involved."
Mom makes a small, distressed sound from the doorway.
"We need to make absolutely certain they understand you have nothing to do with this," Dad says, leaning forward intently. "That you never knew about the blackmail, never saw those recordings, never participated in any way."
"But how?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly. "If they killed Richard in a guarded hospital room, what's to stop them from coming after me anyway?"
"We have channels," Greyson says quietly. "Ways to communicate that this was Diane's operation alone, that you were an unwitting roommate caught in the crossfire."
I stare at him, suddenly understanding the true extent of the MC's connections. "You know people who know these people."
It's not a question, but he nods anyway. "The clubs don't deal in human trafficking or the other sick shit these guys are into, but we occasionally occupy the same spaces. We can get messages to them."
"So, what happens now?" I ask, looking between Dad and Greyson.
"Now we send those messages," Dad says firmly. "Make it crystal clear that harming you would start a war they don't want. Meanwhile, you stay close to home, close to protection."
"And Diane?" I can't help but ask, despite my lingering anger toward her.
Dad and Greyson exchange another look, something unspoken passing between them.
"She made her bed," Dad says finally. "We can warn her, but beyond that…" He shrugs, the gesture saying everything his words don't.
The cold reality of the situation settles over me. Diane didn't just put me in danger through carelessness, she deliberately engaged with dangerous criminals, used information she had access to for personal gain, and all without any thought to the potential consequences for those around her.
"I want to call her," I say firmly. "She deserves to know what's coming."
"Livie—" Dad starts to protest.
"I'm not saying we help her," I clarify quickly. "But I need to hear her admit what she did. And she should know why these people are after her."
After a moment's hesitation, Dad nods. "After dinner. We'll set up a secure line."
Mom clears her throat. "Speaking of dinner, it's ready. And I think we could all use a moment to breathe before diving back into… all of this."
As we move toward the dining room, Greyson pulls me back slightly, his voice low in my ear.
"Whatever happens with Diane, with these mob connections, I won't let anyone touch you," he promises, his eyes intense. "You're under my protection now. Mine and your father's. That means something in our world."
I lean into him, drawing strength from his solid presence. "I know," I whisper back. "And for the first time in my life, I'm grateful for exactly what that means."
Dinner passes in a strange blend of normalcy and tension—Mom's excellent cooking, with Dad and Greyson discussing club business with Mason in carefully measured terms. Through it all, I can't stop thinking about Diane, about the recordings, about the web of danger I have unwittingly stepped into.
And beneath it all, a realization that's both comforting and terrifying: I've spent years trying to escape this life, this world of clubs and codes and sometimes violent justice.
But now, facing threats I never imagined, I find myself grateful to be exactly where I am—surrounded by men who understand this dark world and know how to navigate it.
Men who would kill to protect what's theirs.
And somehow, against all odds, I've become Greyson Reed's to protect. The thought should frighten me, but instead, it feels like coming home.
After dinner, Mason leaves to go home to Meadow, and Dad leads us to his office—a room I rarely entered as a child, understanding even then that it was where "club business" happened. He picks up a secure phone, one I recognize as untraceable, and hands it to me.
"Make it quick," he advises. "And put it on speaker. We all need to hear what she has to say."
As I dial Diane's number, Greyson moves to stand behind me, his hand resting on my shoulder. The phone rings three times before she answers.
"Hello?"
"It's me," I say, my voice steadier than I expected. "We need to talk about what was really on that flash drive, Diane. About what you've been doing with Richard Keller's recordings."
The silence that follows tells me everything I need to know.
"Livie, I—" Diane's voice cracks, and I can hear her crying. "How did you find out?"
"Does it matter?" I ask, anger flaring despite my exhaustion. "The question is, why didn't you tell me you were blackmailing dangerous criminals with recordings from our apartment?"
"I never meant for it to go this far," she whispers. "It started small, just… just enough to pay rent before I moved in with you and when my hours got cut at the salon. A few hundred here and there from Richard's business associates. I never thought—"
"You never thought they'd trace it back to you?" Greyson interrupts, his voice deadly calm. "You never thought they'd kill to protect their secrets?"
"Who is that?" Diane asks, fear sharpening her tone.
"Someone trying to keep me alive," I snap. "Which is more than I can say for you. Do you have any idea what you've done? Richard is dead, Diane. Murdered. And now these people think I might be involved in your blackmail scheme."
The sob that comes through the phone is heartbreaking, but I steel myself against it.
"I'm so sorry, Livie. I never wanted to hurt you. I was desperate, and when I heard those recordings… God, the things he described, the women they've hurt… I thought if I could get some money from them, maybe I could help their victims somehow."
"By keeping the money for yourself?" Dad's voice cuts through the speaker, cold and unforgiving.
"I… Yes," she admits in a broken whisper. "I was going to donate some of it, but I needed… I was behind on everything. Student loans, credit cards, medical bills from when I got sick last year. I thought just a little bit wouldn't hurt anyone."
"A little bit?" I can barely contain my fury. "Diane, these aren't people you can 'just a little bit' extort. These are killers. And now they're coming for you."
"What do you mean?" Her voice rises in panic.
Dad leans toward the phone. "I mean you need to disappear. Tonight. Change your name, leave the state, and pray they don't find you before you can get somewhere safe."
"I can't just leave everything—"
"You can and you will," Dad cuts her off, "if you want to live to see next week. These people don't negotiate, girl. They don't forgive. They eliminate problems."
The silence stretches for long moments before Diane speaks again, her voice small and defeated.
"What about Livie? Are they going to come after her too?"
I look up at Greyson, seeing the grim determination in his eyes. "We're handling that," he says simply. "But you need to understand—Livie is under protection now. Real protection. The kind you should have thought about before you dragged her into this mess."
"I know," Diane whispers. "I know I messed up. I know I don't deserve forgiveness. But, Livie, please… I love you like a sister. That has to count for something."
My throat tightens with emotion I don't want to feel. "It does count for something," I say quietly. "It's why I'm warning you instead of just letting whatever happens happen. But, Diane… we're not friends anymore. We can't be. Not after this."
"I understand," she says through her tears. "Just… be safe, okay? Be happy. You deserve so much better than the mess I've made."
"Goodbye, Diane," I say, ending the call.
The silence in the room is heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and grim possibilities. Finally, Dad breaks it.
"She's as good as dead," he says matter-of-factly. "Girl like that, on the run from professional killers? She'll be lucky to last a month."
"Dad," I protest weakly, though I know he's probably right.
"It's not cruelty, baby girl," he consoles me, his voice gentling. "It's reality. She made choices that put not just herself but you in danger. Now she has to live—or die—with the consequences."
Greyson's hand squeezes my shoulder. "What matters now is making sure you stay safe. That means no more contact with her, no matter what. If she calls, you don't answer. If she shows up, you call us immediately."
I nod, understanding the gravity of the situation even as part of me mourns the friendship that's truly dead now. "So, what happens next?"
"Next," Dad says, reaching for another phone, "I make some calls. Let certain people know that you were an innocent bystander in all this, that touching you would bring consequences they don't want to face."
"And if they don't listen?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.
Greyson's smile is cold and predatory. "Then they learn why you don't threaten family in MC territory."
The certainty in his voice should terrify me. Instead, I find it oddly comforting. For the first time since learning about Diane's betrayal, I feel like I can breathe again.
"Come on," Greyson says, helping me to my feet. "Let's get you home. You've had enough revelations for one day."
As we prepare to leave, Mom pulls me aside for one last hug.
"I know this is scary, sweetheart," she murmurs in my ear. "But you're exactly where you need to be. With people who will protect you no matter what."
"I know, Mom," I whisper back. "I'm finally starting to understand what that means."
On the drive back to Greyson's house, I stare out the window at the familiar streets of my childhood, seeing them with new eyes. This isn't just the small town I tried to escape anymore. It's a fortress, protected by men who live by codes older and stronger than any law.
And for the first time in my adult life, I'm grateful to be inside those walls instead of outside them.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Greyson says, glancing over at me as we pull into his driveway.
"Just thinking about how much has changed in a few days," I reply. "A week ago, I was worried about starting a new job and navigating family dynamics. Now I'm in the middle of mob politics and witness protection."
"Not witness protection," he corrects, parking the truck. "Family protection. There's a difference."
"What's the difference?"
He turns to face me fully, his expression serious. "Witness protection means you're hidden away, isolated, living in fear until the threat passes. Family protection means you're surrounded by people who would die before they'd let anyone hurt you."
The distinction hits me with unexpected force. "And that's what I have now? Family protection?"
"That's what you've always had, Livie," he tells me. "You just haven't been close enough to need it before now."
As we walk into the house, I realize he's right. The protection was always there, waiting in the background of my life like a safety net I never thought I'd need. Now that I do need it, it's closing around me with the strength of steel and the warmth of unconditional love.
And at the center of it all is Greyson Reed, the man who waited two years for me to come home, who fought for me, who's claimed me as his own with a certainty that takes my breath away.
"What happens now?" I ask as he locks the door behind us, engaging the security system with practiced efficiency.
"Now you heal," he says simply. "You work at your aunt's salon, you have dinner with your family, you live your life. And I make sure nothing and nobody gets in the way of that."
"And us?" I ask, the question I've been carrying all evening finally finding a voice. "What happens with us while all this is going on?"
His answer is a kiss that steals my breath and chases away every shadow, every fear, every doubt. When we break apart, his forehead rests against mine, his eyes holding promises I'm finally ready to believe.
"Us," he says, "is the one thing you never have to worry about. I'm not going anywhere, Livie Bennett.”
And as he leads me upstairs, his hand warm and sure in mine, I know with absolute certainty that whatever storms are coming, we'll weather them together.
That night, I sleep without nightmares for the first time since the attack. Greyson's arms around me, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, create a sanctuary no stalker or mob enforcer can penetrate. In the morning, I wake to find him watching me, his expression so tender it makes my chest ache.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Just memorizing this," he says. "You, here, in my bed. Safe."
I stretch carefully, mindful of my ribs. "You know, for such a feared MC president, you can be surprisingly sentimental."
His laugh rumbles through his chest. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."