14. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Ginger
I stared at Vegas across the top of his desk. Why had those men shown up today? Why couldn’t my past stay just that — in the past? All I’d wanted was a fresh start, a new life without pain and suffering. I was starting to wonder if it would have been better if I’d never left. At least then, I wouldn’t have known how good life could be.
“Who the fuck is Mr. Rayburn?” Vegas demanded.
“Someone from my past.”
He narrrowed his eyes. “I already figured that much out. Don’t be obtuse and tell me who the fuck he is. You know exactly what I’m asking.”
Right. I did know, but… what if I told him and he threw me out? What if he decided I couldn’t be with Bronx and Reno anymore? Or worse, my men could change their minds. What if I was too much trouble for them to keep in their lives?
“Ginger.” Vegas’ voice was deceptively soft as he called my name. I focused on him again, trying to shake off the doubts and fear.
“I told you about my past already. About what men did to me. There’s more. My uncle thought of me as a cash cow, and the highest bidder was Mr. Rayburn. He’d offered to buy me.”
I heard Bronx growl behind me. Reno's hand came down on my shoulder, a reassuring weight that somehow felt like an anchor in a storm threatening to pull me under. I let out a shaky breath and forced myself to meet Vegas' gaze.
"He saw me at a party when I was sixteen. I was serving drinks, and he... noticed me." The words tasted like ash in my mouth. "He told my uncle he wanted to buy me. Like I was property."
Vegas' expression didn't change, but I could see the muscle in his jaw working. "And your uncle?"
"Negotiated a price." My voice came out hollow. "Three hundred thousand dollars. That was what I was worth to him."
"Jesus Christ," Bronx muttered, his fingers tightening on my waist.
"Did the sale go through?" Vegas asked, his voice clinically detached. I knew it was his way of processing—the businessman calculating variables—but it still made me flinch.
"No. I ran before it could happen. That's when I ended up on the streets." I swallowed hard. "I thought I'd gotten away. My uncle caught up to me. Let his men punish me. I hadn’t heard anything about Mr. Rayburn since then, so I thought he’d lost interest."
"Clearly, he hasn't," Vegas said. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "These men today—they work for him?"
I nodded. "They were his security detail. I recognized two of them."
Reno moved around to face me, crouching down to look me in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell us about this before, sweetheart?"
The tenderness in his voice nearly broke me. "Because I really did think it was all in the past. It never occured to me he’d see me and decide I still belonged to him. As far as I know, my uncle never received the money but if he did..."
"Then he’ll come for you. But we won’t let that happen. You aren’t alone," Bronx said firmly. "You have us now."
I wanted to believe him. God, how I wanted to. But I'd learned early on that wanting something didn't make it real.
"You don't understand," I whispered. "Rayburn doesn't just want me. He wants to own me. And he doesn't like losing what he considers his property. I’ll be little more than a pet or slave."
Vegas stood up, circling his desk until he was directly in front of me. "Listen to me very carefully, Ginger. You are not property. You are not for sale. And anyone who thinks otherwise is going to have a very serious problem with me."
“Well, technically, she belongs to me and Bronx,” Reno said, giving me a wink. “But otherwise, you’re right.”
His words should have comforted me, but they only intensified my fear. "I can't let you all get caught up in this. These people—"
"Are exactly the kind of people we deal with every day," Vegas interrupted. "The difference is, they fucked with someone we care about."
I stared at him, searching his face for any sign that he was just said what he thought I needed to hear. All I found was cold, hard certainty. I never knew what to think of him. Sometimes, he came across as an unfeeling monster. But then he had moments like this one.
"No one is taking you anywhere," Reno promised, taking my hand in his.
Bronx squeezed my waist and pressed his lips to my temple. "We protect what's ours, little girl. You're ours."
My throat tightened with emotion. I wanted so badly to believe them, to trust that they could keep me safe, but experience had taught me that nothing good ever lasted.
"What if they hurt you?" I whispered, voicing my deepest fear. "What if they hurt you because of me?"
Vegas scoffed. "Have you forgotten who we are? What we do? These men may be dangerous in your world, but in ours?" He shook his head. "They're amateurs playing at being predators."
"You don't know Rayburn," I insisted. "He has connections. Political ones. He's untouchable."
"No one is untouchable," Vegas replied, his voice like ice. "Not to us."
Reno squeezed my hand. "Baby, we've been doing this a long time. We've dealt with politicians, police chiefs, judges—people who thought they were above consequences. They all learned differently."
I looked between the three men, seeing the absolute conviction in their eyes. They truly believed they could protect me. Part of me wanted to run—to disappear before I brought trouble to their doorstep. But another part, a part that was growing stronger every day, wanted to stay and fight.
"I need to know everything," Vegas said, returning to his chair. "Every detail about Rayburn. His businesses, his habits, his weaknesses."
"I don't know much," I admitted. "He owns several hotels, I think. And he collects things—art, antiques..." I swallowed hard. "People."
Bronx's grip on me tightened slightly. "People?"
I nodded, staring at my hands. "Young women, mostly. He... displays them. At parties. They serve drinks, entertain guests. They're like living decorations to him."
"Human trafficking," Vegas said flatly. "That makes this easier."
I looked up at him, confused. "Easier?"
A cold smile spread across his face. "It means we don't have to be careful about how we handle this. The gloves come off."
Reno stood, pulling me to my feet. "First things first. You're not going anywhere alone until this is dealt with. One of us will be with you at all times."
"I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking," Bronx cut in. "We're telling you how it's going to be."
I should have felt trapped by their declaration. Instead, it felt like being wrapped in a protective blanket. No one had ever cared enough to protect me before.
"Vegas," Reno said, "we need to get the others up to speed."
Vegas nodded. "I'll call a meeting. In the meantime, Ginger and KiKi should head up to your new suite. Have some girl time.”
The idea of "girl time" with KiKi while everything was falling apart seemed absurd, but I recognized Vegas' suggestion for what it was—a way to keep me distracted and safe.
"We'll figure this out," Reno promised, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. The tenderness in his touch nearly undid me.
"I know," I lied, forcing a smile. I couldn't bear to see the worry in his eyes deepen.
As we left Vegas' office, Bronx kept his arm firmly around my waist, like he was afraid I might disappear if he loosened his grip. Maybe he was right to worry. The urge to run was almost overwhelming—to disappear before I could bring destruction to these men who had somehow become everything to me.
"I can hear you thinking," Bronx murmured against my ear as we walked. "Don't even consider it."
I glanced up at him, startled. "Consider what?"
"Running." His eyes locked with mine, seeing far too much. "You're not going anywhere, little girl. Not without us."
He stopped at the foot of the stairs, and Reno immediately pulled me against his chest, his lips finding mine in a kiss that felt desperate, possessive. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark with emotion.
"We're going to fix this," he said, his voice rough. "You're ours now. No one takes what's ours."
I wanted to believe him—to believe in the protection they offered. But I'd spent too many years learning that safety was an illusion.
"What if you can't?" I whispered, voicing my deepest fear. "What if he's too powerful?"
Bronx's laugh was cold. "Baby, you have no idea what we're capable of."
With that last word, he led me upstairs. I was surprised to find KiKi already waiting, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. How the hell had she beat us?
She reached for my hand.. "Come on. I've got face masks and ice cream, and you look like you need both."
I hesitated, looking back at Bronx and Reno.
"Go," Reno said gently. "We need to meet with the others. We'll come get you when we're done."
"Don't worry," KiKi said, her voice deceptively light. "I may look like a harmless little thing, but I've got a gun and I know how to use it."
That surprised a laugh out of me. "You do?"
She winked. "Honey, I’ve lived here for years. I learned a thing or two."
As she pulled me toward my suite, I glanced back at Bronx and Reno. The look they exchanged sent a chill down my spine—it was the look of men planning violence.
For all the horrors I'd faced, I never expected to find myself sitting cross-legged on a plush carpet while a beautiful woman applied green goop to my face. KiKi hummed as she worked, her fingers gentle against my skin.
"There," she said, leaning back to admire her handiwork. "Now we wait twenty minutes for it to dry, and you'll have skin like a baby's bottom."
I tried to smile, but the mask was already tightening. "Thanks."
KiKi studied me, her eyes far too perceptive. "You know, the first time I met Vegas, I was terrified of him."
"Really?" That surprised me. She seemed so comfortable here, so at ease with all the men. I’d thought I was the only one scared of him.
She nodded, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I was working at a strip club downtown. Some asshole customer wouldn't take no for an answer, and Vegas happened to be there." Her smile turned wistful. "I never saw what he did to the guy, but I never had trouble from him again."
I digested this information, trying to reconcile it with the cold, calculating man I'd met. "Do you ever... feel trapped here?"
KiKi laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "God, no. I've never felt safer. These men—they're dangerous, yes. But not to us." She reached for my hand. "They'll move heaven and earth to protect what they care about. And honey, they care about you."
“But Vegas was going to throw you out.” How could she defend this club knowing she was on borrowed time?
Her smile faded. “They have rules, Ginger. It’s to protect themselves and us. By deciding to keep this baby, I’ve broken them, which means I have to face the consequences.”
“What if they decide I’m too much trouble to keep around? Will they throw me out too?”
She gently took my hand. “No. Your circumstances are different. They’ll defend you until the end. You’re not a club girl anymore. You’re an old lady.”
I wanted to believe her, but doubt gnawed at me. "You don't understand what Rayburn is like."
"Maybe not," she conceded. "But I do understand what these men are like. And if I were betting on who would win in a fight between them and this Rayburn creep? I'd put every penny I have on our guys."
Our guys. The casual way she included me in their strange family made my chest ache.
"What if I bring trouble to all of you?" I whispered. "What if someone gets hurt because of me?"
KiKi's expression softened. "That's not how it works here. Your troubles became their troubles the moment they decided you were theirs. And trust me, they're very good at solving problems."
Before I could respond, a sharp knock at the door made us both jump. KiKi rose gracefully to her feet.
"Who is it?" she called, one hand reaching for something beneath the coffee table.
"Detroit," came the gruff reply.
KiKi visibly relaxed, opening the door to reveal the massive man I'd seen briefly around the clubhouse. He filled the doorframe, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest.
"Everything okay?” KiKi asked.
Detroit nodded, his eyes flicking briefly to me. "Vegas sent me to keep watch. I'll be right outside."
"Thanks," KiKi said, and he stepped back, pulling the door closed.
She turned to me with a small smile. "See? Protection detail already."
I touched the hardening mask on my face, feeling oddly vulnerable despite the layer of green goop. "I'm not used to people caring what happens to me."
"Well, get used to it," KiKi said, flopping back onto the sofa. "Because these men don't do anything halfway. When they decide to protect someone, they go all in."
I picked at a loose thread on my jeans. "But why? Why would they risk everything for me? They barely know me."
KiKi studied me for a moment. "You really don't see it, do you?" When I just stared at her blankly, she shook her head. "Honey, I've been here for years, and I've never seen Bronx or Reno look at anyone the way they look at you. Not even close."
"But we just met. It doesn't make sense."
"Love rarely does," she said with a shrug. "And before you argue that it's not love—maybe it isn't, not yet. But it's something powerful enough that they'd burn the world down for you."
The weight of her words settled over me. I'd never had anyone willing to fight for me before. The idea that I did now—that I had not just one person but several—was almost too much to comprehend.
"I'm scared," I admitted quietly.
"Good," KiKi said, surprising me. "Fear keeps you sharp. Just don't let it make decisions for you."
We fell into silence as the face masks dried. KiKi flipped through a magazine while I stared out the window, watching shadows grow longer as the afternoon waned. My mind raced with possibilities, each worse than the last. What if Rayburn came with more men? What if someone got hurt? What if, what if, what if...
After we washed off the masks and KiKi insisted I eat some ice cream, she put on some mindless reality show that I couldn't focus on. Every sound made me jump—a door closing downstairs, voices in the hallway, motorcycles in the distance.
"They're back," KiKi said suddenly, muting the TV. Sure enough, I could hear footsteps coming down the hall, followed by a knock on the door. KiKi moved to answer it, revealing Reno standing in the doorway. His eyes immediately found mine, and the intensity in them made my breath catch.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice gentle despite the tension in his shoulders. "Can you come downstairs?"
I nodded, rising to my feet.
KiKi squeezed my arm as I passed her. "You've got this."
Reno took my hand as we walked down the hallway, his warm fingers interlacing with mine. The simple gesture steadied me, anchoring me to the present when my mind wanted to spiral into panic.
"How bad is it?" I asked, my voice small.
"We have a plan," he replied, which wasn't really an answer. The muscle in his jaw twitched—a tell I was beginning to recognize as suppressed anger. "Vegas and the others are waiting."
I tried to read his expression as we descended the stairs, but his face had taken on that hard, impenetrable quality I'd seen before. It was his biker face—emotionless, dangerous, ready for anything.
The main room had been cleared of everyone except the core members. I spotted Vegas at the head of the long table, with Bronx pacing near the window. Several other men I recognized from around the clubhouse were there too: Miami, Chicago, Denver, and a couple others. Detroit came down the stairs behind us, joining the group.
Bronx's head snapped up when we entered, his eyes instantly finding mine. He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled me against him, pressing a hard kiss to my forehead.
"You okay, little girl?" he murmured against my skin.
I nodded, though it was a lie. I wasn't sure I remembered what "okay" felt like anymore.
Vegas cleared his throat. "Sit down, Ginger."
Bronx led me to a chair between his and Reno's. The proximity of both men should have made me feel safer, but the tension radiating from them only heightened my anxiety.
"We've done some digging on your Mr. Rayburn," Vegas began.
"He's not my anything," I said sharply, then immediately regretted the outburst. "Sorry."
Vegas' lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Correction noted. Maxwell Rayburn, 58, owns four hotels in Las Vegas and has interests in several casinos. He sits on the board of three charities, all of which appear to be fronts for money laundering. He's been investigated twice for trafficking but never charged."
My stomach churned as Vegas laid out the details of Rayburn's life with clinical precision. It was surreal hearing about the monster of my nightmares discussed like a business competitor.
"He has a compound outside the city," Vegas continued. "Heavily secured. And he's connected to at least two senators and a judge."
"Told you," I whispered. "He's untouchable."
Detroit let out a derisive snort. "No one's untouchable, sweetheart. Some just require more creativity than others."
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but something told me I’d find out sooner or later.