Chapter 3
THREE
NIC
My brain is spinning when I leave Keeley in the room, spitting fear and pretending she’s not terrified.
She’s Blade’s sister.
The same Blade who betrayed the club, his brothers, and the fucking patch. Who was trying to crown himself president behind all our backs.
And who I gutted right next to Crank.
Shit the fucking bed.
I didn’t tell Keeley her brother’s dead. I sure as shit didn’t tell her I killed him.
There’s no faking the fear in her eyes when she asked about him, or the way her body tensed without her even noticing. But fear and loyalty can sometimes become tangled and devotion can be misplaced. Until I know more about her relationship with Blade, I’ll keep it quiet.
The weight on my shoulders is heavier than it was this morning, and the walk to church feels longer.
Outside the door, I slip my phone, wallet, and keys into the box, trying not to get swamped by all the questions rolling around in my head.
All I know is that Blade is dead and his sister was in that cage for a reason. I want to know why. That fucker never did anything without a plan.
I take my seat at the head of the table and wrap my fingers around the gavel in front of me while I wait for the others to join.
I’m sure my brothers have questions too.
It’s not every day we find something that fucked up.
I wait while everyone takes their seat, the low buzz of conversation filling the room. My gaze lingers on the only empty chair. The one I’m saving for King, even if he won’t be the same when he comes home.
None of us are.
We’re still figuring things out as a club, finding our feet on ground we’ve never walked before. New leadership, new roles, new everything.
“She talk yet?” This comes from Dash.
“Her name’s Keeley.” There’s no easy way to say the next part, so I just throw it out there like a grenade. “She’s Blade’s sister.”
As soon as that leaves my mouth, everyone talks at once. I let them get it out, watching the dynamics build and shift between them before I clear my throat.
The room falls silent.
“She was in that cage for a reason,” I say, “and since we can’t ask Blade what that was, we need to figure it out.”
There’s not a single good scenario I can think of that ends with Keeley in that cage, bruised and bleeding. Not one.
What the fuck was he twisted up in?
“Blade put her there?” It’s framed as a question, but the way Diesel’s looking at me says he already knows the answer.
“Yeah,” I cut a glance across the table, taking in each of my brothers. “Keeley seems scared of him. I don’t think she’s involved in whatever he was doing.”
“And Crank?” Mace’s shoulders are steady, like he’s ready for whatever blow I might land next.
“I think he knew Blade was workin’ somethin’ behind his back, but didn’t know what.”
All he had was an address on a piece of paper.
“And we killed him before he could figure it out.” Riot folds his arms across his chest, like he’s trying to connect the dots we’re all staring at. “Which means this whole thing is a Blade special. Fuckin’ great.”
I rest my knuckles on the table as my thoughts drift back to that cage and how we found her. How the fuck do you put your own sister in that shit hole and walk away? She can’t have been in there for more than a few days, maybe a week at most, but even an hour would be too long.
Mace leans forward. “What do you need us to do, Nic?”
And this is why he’s my VP. Mace always gets straight to the heart of whatever we’re doing. “We keep diggin’. Pull all the threads we have.” My brows come together as I stare at the table. “She said there was a man in a suit. I wanna know who he is.”
“And the girl?” Diesel taps his fingers on the table, his eyes focused and sharp. He’s pissed.
We all are.
Blade’s blood hasn’t even finished drying yet, and he’s still a fucking problem. But Keeley? No matter what runs through her veins, she’s not her brother.
And I don’t think she was working with him. Keeley moves like someone caught in a trap she didn’t expect. There was a real vulnerability in her eyes.
And the way she looked at me? Fuck. I was the monster in her story, the thing to be afraid of.
I don’t like that at all.
She’s not my problem. She’s a piece in a puzzle I’m trying to complete. That’s all.
But when her eyes flick up to me, terrified, empty and exhausted, all I want to do is make that look disappear.
“Nic?” Mace pins me with his unblinking stare. “What are we doin’ with her?”
I exhale long and hard through my nose, quickly calculating every scenario I can think of. Is she being used against the club? Is she in danger?
What the fuck was her brother up to?
“She stays,” I say finally. “At least until we figure out her part in this.”
And whether she’s an enemy of the club or a victim of it.
Later in the small hours of the night, I find myself sitting alone in the bar, wading through a hundred different thoughts—none of which make sense anymore.
My back aches, shoulders too. The couch in my office is a piece of shit and I gave up trying to sleep.
So now I’m in the corner, tucked away with a bottle of something far too expensive to drink by the home measure. The perks of being in charge.
I hear the door creak. I’m expecting Mace or one of my brothers, so I don’t look until I hear light footsteps that are out of place. Keeley slips in, glancing back at the door like she’s expecting an armed battalion to tackle her. She doesn’t notice me in the low light.
What the fuck is she doing?
I track her across the room as she weaves between the tables like she’s trying to blend in with the walls.
Then it hits me. She’s running.
Fuck me.
Should have known she’d try. Even a caged dog will bolt if the door is left open. Why would she stay? She doesn’t trust me yet. I haven’t given her a reason to.
Keeley moves clumsily. She’s not stealthy at all. Every few steps, she wobbles. I let her get within inches of the door before I say her name.
The strangled yelp that tears out of her mouth would be comical, but it’s not. Not when she whirls toward me, face blanched of colour, and her eyes wide with terror.
Fuck. I don’t like that look on her face. Her fear sits in my stomach like a boulder. I don’t move, don’t cross the floor toward her, don’t even shift on my feet. Not when she looks a breath from bolting. Or passing out.
Her hand fumbles behind her for the door handle and with her eyes locked on mine, she turns it.
The deadbolt doesn’t give.
She tries again, twisting harder. When it doesn’t budge, her gaze flicks around the bar, looking for another way out. Her desperation is only overshadowed by her frustration, and it makes something sharp dig in behind my ribs.
“You can’t keep me here.” It comes out breathy, laced with anger.
I get it. I’d be pissed too.
“You want a drink?” I raise the bottle in her direction.
For a moment, she doesn’t blink or move. I pour a home measure into the glass on the table and use two fingers to slide it toward the empty seat opposite mine.
“What I want, Phoenix, is to go home,” she snaps, her arms wrapping around herself. She looks smaller like this.
I hate that too.
“It’s Nic,” I correct automatically.
But I don’t hate the way my name sounds in her mouth, which is new and mildly irritating. Also, something I’m not unpacking right now.
She mutters under her breath that I shouldn’t have told her my name if I didn’t want her to use it. I ignore her, mostly because she’s right and I don’t know why I gave her my full name anyway. I never introduce myself like that.
I tap my fingers against the bottle, easing my thoughts back into order. “I know it’s shit,” I tell her, “but until we figure out why you were in that cage, you can’t go back to your life, Keeley.”
Her jaw goes slack, her mouth forming a tight line. “Because you said so?”
I lift my gaze to meet hers. “Because whoever your brother was workin’ with might come after you.”
She flinches so hard I wish I could shove the words back into my stupid mouth.
Brilliant. Real fucking smooth, Nic.
I shouldn’t have said it like that. Keeley ain’t a part of this life, and I can’t talk to her like she is. Not everyone treats murder, cages, and kidnapping like it’s just a normal Tuesday.
Keeley’s throat bobs, and her eyes dart around the room again. I follow her line of sight, wondering if she’s expecting an attacker to jump out from behind the beer bottles or from under the counter. There’s nothing back there but dust and shit no one’s bothered to throw out.
I drape my arm across the back of the chair next to me, lazy and easy, as if I don’t have a care in the world. But inside I’m tense as I watch her. I don’t want to spook her.
That alone should concern me.
Probably.
Definitely.
Maybe it’s her unease rubbing off on me. Or the way she’s watching me like she thinks I’m a threat. Could just be the last week finally grabbing me by the balls and forcing me to deal with everything.
Too bad. I don’t have time for that shit.
“Have a drink,” I repeat.
She looks like she could do with something to take the edge off the tension riding her.
If I was a gentleman, I’d give her the whole bottle and watch her drain every last fucking drop.
Considering the shit she’s been through, she deserves to get lost for a bit, but I’m not a gentleman, and this stuff ain’t cheap.
But Keeley ain’t the only one who needs to dull the noise. I’m not just sitting here to take the edge off a shitty last few weeks. I’m fucking hacking it back with a ninety-quid bottle of whisky.
Yeah, that’ll solve all my fucking problems.
“You offer booze to all your prisoners?” Her arms fold around her, bracing for whatever impact she thinks is coming.
She’ll be waiting a while. I’m here for a good time, not a fight. Not tonight.
I take a sip from the bottle, my gaze never leaving hers. “Only the ones who try to escape.”
Her eyes narrow. “So I am a prisoner?”
“You’re a guest,” I correct, even though I’m not sure that’s true myself.
I don’t know what Keeley is yet. Not a threat. Not her brother. Just a woman in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time.
And now she’s in my clubhouse, which makes her my problem. My responsibility.
Which means she’s going to drink my fucking booze.
I hook my foot around the chair, kicking it out for her. “Sit.”
Keeley grumbles something I don’t catch, but it’s sharp enough that I know it’s not polite. Then she pushes off the door and weaves her way between the tables.
Her eyes don’t leave mine as she drags the chair back a few more inches, clinging to any scrap of control, then sinks into it. The glass sits in front of her like a bomb she’s not sure she can diffuse.
“It’s the good shit,” I tell her.
She leans forward, sniffing the contents, then sits back. “I don’t even know if I’m supposed to drink,” she mutters, rubbing the side of her head. “I was drugged and I’m pretty sure I’ve got a concussion. My brain could be melting into soup as we speak.”
My gaze drifts to the cut in her hairline, covered with tape, and then to the bruises. It looked bad before she was cleaned up, but now it looks stark against her pale skin.
“Trust me.” I tilt the bottle in her direction. “You’re fine. Dramatic, but fine.”
Her jaw tightens, and her eyes blaze. “Great bedside manner,” she mutters. “Clearly missed your calling as a doctor.”
I’m better at breaking things than fixing them. But I don’t like her looking at me like I’m the villain.
Keeley finally takes a tentative sip. It’s like she’s never tasted alcohol before, or she thinks I’ve poisoned it.
Her nose wrinkles as she swallows. “Fuck a duck—that’s… That’s strong.”
Fuck a what now? I grin. I can’t help it. Who talks like that? It’s cute and I don’t do cute. Usually.
I clear my throat. This time, I’m the one dragging control back into the conversation. “That’s how you know it’s the good shit.”
The glass clinks against the table. “How long are you planning on keeping me here, Nic?” It’s direct and I respect her for asking it. She’s interesting. Scared but not cowering. Fighting, but not physically.
There’s a fire in her that I find curious.
“I told you. You’re a guest.”
“A guest who can’t leave.” She drags in a shallow breath, as if anything more would cost her energy she doesn’t have. “You’re holding me here against my will.”
“Your door ain’t locked,” I say pointedly.
“No, but the doors to outside are.” She studies me for a second and I’m not sure if she wants to kill me or scream at me. “Are you working with my brother or is this just your own brand of crazy?”
That makes me bristle. “Ain’t workin’ with the fucker.”
The bite in my voice surprises her. Good. I want her to know I’m not tied to whatever shit he’s done.
“Look, if you’re going to kill me, I’d rather just know. Don’t pretend to be a good guy if you’re planning something horrible.”
Is she serious? “I don’t make a habit of hurtin’ innocent people, Keeley.”
Her eyes search mine, but I don’t break the connection. “What about my brother? Is he planning on killing me?”
I could tell her he’s not planning shit since he’s dead, but that opens the door to questions like what happened, where’s his body?
Who killed the fucker?
Yeah, ain’t explaining that shit to a civilian.
“I told you—you don’t have to worry about him.”
Because he ain’t fucking breathing anymore.
“I don’t understand any of this.” That makes two of us, sunshine. “I just want to go back to my life, Nic.”
I don’t give her platitudes or false promises.
There’s no point.
Until I know what the threat is, she’s not going anywhere—unless it’s within the four walls of my clubhouse.
“Right now, the only thing that’s happenin’ is you’re gonna drink the rest of that while you tell me what you know. Then I’m gonna walk you back to your room, tuck you up in bed, and ask you not to attempt another midnight escape.”
I nudge the glass closer. She ignores it. Of course she fucking does.
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know.” She huffs. “This is the weirdest fucking abduction ever.”
“You were locked in a cage. I pulled you out of it. That’s not an abduction, Keeley. That’s a rescue.”
“Okay, so open the door then.” I don’t move, and neither does she. We both know I’m not unlocking it. Her jaw tightens. “Keeping someone against their will is abduction, kidnapping—whatever word you want to use. I’m not a guest.”
“Use whatever word helps you sleep at night,” I say. “But until I know what shit your brother was tangled up in, you don’t walk out of here. Understand?”
Not alone. And sure as fuck not without protection.
“Understand,” she repeats through clenched teeth.
I don’t like that either.
It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t matter. Not to me.
She’s not club. She’s not mine. She’s not part of my world.
But I want to know why she was in that cage, and what I can do to keep her out of another.