Chapter 7 Mia
MIA
The seal on the fortified entrance hisses, a serpent warning us that we’re leaving Eden.
Sixty hours. That’s how long the world stopped.
Inside the Vault, time was measured in keystrokes and the rough slide of Elias’s hands over my skin. Outside, apparently, time is measured in bullets.
The massive door swings outward. The bunker air hits me first, stripped of the sterile, recycled cool of the temperature-controlled archive.
As we move up from the underground level, it smells like burnt ozone and sulfur, the air thick with cordite and gunpowder. But beneath the stench of war, I can only smell Elias—the heavy, masculine musk of his skin and the scent of our sex still clinging to my hair.
My pussy is still throbbing, my walls clenching with the memory of the way he filled me to the hilt only an hour ago.
Elias stops in the threshold. His broad back creates a wall, blocking my view. The forensic accountant in my brain recognizes the sharp tilt of his head as he balances the risk variables before initiating a transaction.
"Stay behind me," he growls. His voice resembles dragging gravel, dropping an octave from when he was whispering filthy promises against my neck. The Treasurer has returned. The set of his shoulders suggests he plans to murder someone.
I nod, curling my fingers into the back of his leather cut. The thick patch reading TREASURER anchors me.
We step into the lower hallway. My lungs freeze. The drywall opposite the Vault is pockmarked with bullet holes. Dust coats the floor in a fine gray layer, disturbed only by heavy boot prints. Shattered glass from a framed photo of the original First Nine crunches under Elias’s tread.
"Jesus," I whisper.
Elias’s hand flies back. His thick fingers find my hip, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "Eyes on me, Mia. Don't look at the mess."
"You said they held the line."
"They did. The line got close."
He keeps me tucked into his shadow as we navigate the corridors, moving past the main bar and toward the main common room—the Chapel.
The silence presses down on us. Usually, a clubhouse has a hum to it, packed with low voices and the clink of bottles. Today, the only sound is the scuff of my boots competing with the heavy thud of his.
We round the corner into the Chapel area. The air shifts, growing hot and heavily charged.
The room is packed. Logan, the President, stands behind the bar with his arms crossed over a chest resembling carved granite. Shane, the Sergeant at Arms, scrapes a knife against a whetstone. The shhhk-shhhk noise grates against my eardrums. Austin leans over a pool table covered in maps.
Three men in cheap navy suits stand in the center of the room. They stick out instantly, looking far too clean and radiating that specific brand of federal arrogance.
The agent in the middle turns. It’s Buzz Cut, the Fed who tried to arrest me on the highway, his right wrist currently encased in a thick fiberglass cast.
His eyes land on me, a smirk twisting his thin lips. "Well, well. The numbers girl finally comes out of her hole."
Elias stops. He stands with the stillness of a landmine, waiting for a single wrong step.
"You’re trespassing." Elias keeps his tone conversational, but the threat vibrating through his frame against my palm betrays him. "Do you have a warrant for this property? Because if you’re here without one, you’re invading a private residence."
Buzz Cut sneers, reaching into his jacket.
Instantly, four guns appear. Logan doesn’t blink, but a Sig Sauer materializes in his hand, resting heavy on the bar top. Shane’s knife stops moving. Austin straightens his spine.
Buzz Cut freezes, his hand halting mid-reach. "Easy, gentlemen. Just paperwork." He pulls out a folded document, tossing it onto a beer-stained table. "Warrant to search. And an arrest warrant for Ms. Carlson."
Acid floods my stomach. The floor tilts under my sneakers. "On what grounds?" I demand, projecting a steady confidence I don't possess. "I haven't done anything."
"Fraud," Buzz Cut counters, smoothing his tie. "Embezzlement. Corporate espionage. We found the accounts, Mia. The offshore shells and the wire transfers. All linked to your IP address."
"That’s impossible," I snap, stepping out from behind Elias’s massive frame. The fear in my gut cools, replaced by the sharp, acidic burn of an auditor who’s seen one too many cooked books. "I didn’t touch those accounts. I was auditing them to locate the leak."
"Funny how the leak started the week you were hired as interim CFO," the agent pushes back. "Three failing companies in four years, Mia. Every time, you walk away clean while the assets disappear. You’re the common denominator."
He’s twisting the facts. My history of being hired to clean up messes that were already too far gone is being weaponized into a narrative of absolute guilt.
"She didn’t do it," Elias growls.
"Oh?" The federal agent stares at Elias. "Did she spin you a sob story, Mr. Gunnar? She played you. She used your club to hide while finalizing the transfers. We got a tip an hour ago. From inside your own network."
All the oxygen vanishes from the room.
The digital mirror is acting as a mole. The signal is actively communicating with outside forces.
The Costas are feeding the Feds disinformation to frame me, forcing me out of the club’s protection.
Once the Feds take me into custody, I’m defenseless, leaving the club without the only person capable of untangling the financial knot choking them.
"She’s coming with us." Buzz Cut steps forward, yanking a pair of handcuffs from his belt. The metal glints under the harsh bar lights. "We can do this the easy way, or we add obstruction of justice to your rap sheet, Gunnar."
Taking another step, he enters my immediate airspace.
"Mia Carlson, you are under—"
His hand darts out for my arm.
Snap.
Elias lunges with a speed my brain fails to track. Before the Fed can brush my sleeve, he is airborne, slamming back-first onto the pool table and scattering the paper maps.
Thick, tattooed fingers wrap around the agent's throat, Elias’s grip an iron vice. He slams the Fed onto the pool table, his chest a hard, unyielding wall of muscle as he pins the man.
He doesn't just want to stop him; he wants to erase him for daring to touch what belongs to the Treasurer. His right fist crushes the man's windpipe, his gray eyes turning black with the primal need to protect what is his.
"Elias!" I scream.
"Back off!" one of the other agents yells, ripping his weapon from its holster.
Chk-chk.
A pump-action shotgun racks loudly, echoing through the Chapel. Shane stands tall on top of the bar, aiming the long barrel directly at the second agent’s sternum.
"I wouldn't," Shane warns, a terrifyingly cheerful lilt in his tone. "My finger twitches when I get nervous."
The true terror remains anchored to the pool table.
Elias skips past shouting or raging entirely. He leans close to his victim's face, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling growl that easily carries through the silent room.
"You touch her," Elias promises, the syllables falling like heavy anvils, "and I will make it a federal case when they have to identify your corpse by dental records."
Buzz Cut claws desperately at the iron grip, his face turning a mottled red. A wet, choking gasp escapes his bulging eyes.
"She is under my protection," Elias continues, his grip tightening. "She is under my roof. She is mine. You do not put cuffs on what belongs to me."
My skin tingles, warmth spreading beneath the flannel as I watch him claim me with such fierce and determined intensity. The logical, calculating Treasurer has vanished, replaced by a beast who would kill the world to keep me.
My pulse isn't just hammering; it’s a frantic thrum in my pussy, my walls aching for the heavy stretch of his cock again as he stands between me and the Feds.
The man pinning a federal agent to felt is the same beast who forged a steel ring in the middle of the night because gold was too soft.
Risking federal prison and the entire club's safety means nothing compared to destroying the threat that dared to reach for me.
"Elias," Logan barks, issuing a sharp command. "Enough. Don't bleed him out in the Chapel. Cleaning the felt is a bitch."
The chokehold lasts three agonizing seconds—enough time for Buzz Cut to see his life flash before his bulging eyes. With a sneer of disgust, Elias shoves the agent away and straightens his massive frame.
Retreating isn't an option. Stepping backward, he plants his body directly in front of mine to form an impenetrable human shield.
Buzz Cut rolls off the edge, violently coughing and clutching his bruised throat. Scrambling backward toward his partners, his earlier bravado shatters completely.
"You..." The agent wheezes, aiming a shaking finger at Elias. "You just assaulted a federal officer."
"I removed a trespasser threatening a civilian," Elias states flatly.
Adjusting his cuffs, he forces the monster down far enough to let the lawyer take the wheel.
"Your warrant demands a search of the premises and the arrest of a suspect based on probable cause.
That probable cause relies entirely on an anonymous tip, making it inadmissible without corroboration.
You lack physical evidence and witness testimony.
Your entire case hangs on a digital echo I can mathematically prove was spoofed. "
The rapid pivot from brutal violence to cold logic threatens to give me whiplash.
"You still want to arrest her?" Elias challenges. "Proceed. My legal team will bury you after I file a counter-suit for harassment, excessive force, and gross negligence in verifying your intel. I’ll tie you up in civil court for so long your grandchildren will be paying the attorney fees."