Property of Bane (Kings of Anarchy MC: Florida #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Frankie

“You’re playing with fire, Frankie. Like, actual fire that’s going to burn your entire life to the ground if you get caught.”

I roll my eyes at Trinity’s dramatic warning coming through my laptop speakers.

On the screen, my online bestie’s dark pixie cut frames her concerned expression as she watches me work my magic across three different monitors.

“Fire can be cleansing,” I murmur, fingers flying across my keyboard as I navigate through yet another layer of encryption protecting Cooper Benson’s offshore accounts. “Besides, they started this.”

“Did they, though?” Trinity leans closer to her camera, and I can see the new tattoo peeking out from under her collar. “You still don’t have actual proof they did anything to your dad.”

My jaw clenches. She’s right, and I hate it. But what else am I supposed to think? Dad’s last meeting before vanishing into thin air was with the Kings of Anarchy MC at their strip club.

“His calendar said he was meeting with them, Trin. That’s not a coincidence.”

“It’s also not evidence,” she counters gently. “And stealing from them definitely isn’t going to do you any favors.”

I pause and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “I’m not scared of them.”

Okay so that’s a lie, but my bestie doesn’t need to know that. I know who these men are. Everyone does. The Kings are everywhere–scattered across the US, doing all sorts of illegal stuff and ruining who knows how many lives.

I’ve been digging for the last week and so far I’ve found hints at prostitution, drug manufacturing, racketeering, and even mention of killers for hire. So yeah, I know who I’m dealing with, and they aren’t Boy Scouts. But I can’t let that stop me. They know where my dad is and I have to find out.

Shaking it off, I return my attention to the beautiful lines of code flowing across my monitor, and stay the course. “They need to pay.”

Trinity sighs, and I know she’s chewing on her lip ring. She always does that when she’s stressed. “How much are we talking this time?”

“Ten thousand.” I crack my knuckles and hover my finger over the enter key. “Going to the Summer Run Animal Rescue, the Gulf Coast Wildlife Sanctuary, and the Panhandle Pit Bull Project.”

“Jesus, Frankie. That’s—”

“A drop in the bucket for this asshole,” I interrupt. “Do you know how much money these guys move? This Cooper asshole has over a quarter of a million just sitting in this one account. Not earning interest, not invested, just sitting there like he’s too stupid to know what to do with it.”

“Or maybe he’s saving it for something,” Trinity suggests.

“Well, now he’s giving it to the puppies and sea turtles.” I hit enter, and a rush of satisfaction floods through me as I watch the transfer process.

It takes thirty seconds, and poof—Mr. Benson’s ten thousand dollars disappears from his account and reappears in three different animal charities’ accounts. I’ve set it up so it looks like he made the donations himself. Let him try to explain that to his criminal buddies.

My lips tip up as I rub my hands together. Consider me a modern-day Robin Hood. Stealing from these rich criminals and giving to the innocent creatures who can’t protect themselves.

“You look like hell, by the way, bitch,” my bestie says, studying me through the screen.

“Gee, thanks, heifer.” But I catch my reflection in the darkened window to my left and wince.

Okay, maybe I do look a little rough.

My blonde hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun that’s officially moved into sloppy territory, and the dark circles under my eyes might be a tad concerning.

Glancing down at my oversized MIT hoodie, I see not one but three stains from the pizza pockets I’ve consumed over the last several days.

When’s the last time I showered?

“Seriously, Frankie. You need to get some sleep, babe.”

I wave her off. “I’ll sleep when I find out what happened to my Dad.”

“You mean you’ll sleep when you’re dead, which is what’s going to happen if the Kings figure out you’re the one stealing from them. And, honey, they will if you don’t back off.”

“They won’t figure it out.” I minimize the transfer window and start covering my digital tracks. “I’m too good.”

Trinity sighs. “Everyone thinks they’re too good until they’re not.”

Glancing over, I see a frown on her face. “These guys aren’t just some random dudes. I’ve done some digging, babes. They’re criminals. Like, bury-bodies-in-the-swamp serious bad ombres.”

I glance over again and wrinkle my nose. “Bad ombres?”

She rolls her eyes and flips me the bird. “I’m being serious.”

My stomach twists, but I shove the feeling down.

Fear is useless.

Fear is what kept me silent all those years when Dad forgot I existed. Fear is what kept me from asking why he never had time for me, why nannies raised me, why boarding school became my home at six years old.

I’m done being afraid.

“I’ve been stealing from them for months now,” I remind her. “If they were going to find me, they would’ve already.”

“Or maybe they’re just slow to catch on. Or maybe—” Trinity cuts herself off, tilting her head. “Wait. How much have you taken from this guy?”

I minimize another window. “I don’t know. I haven’t been keeping track.”

“Frankie.” She groans.

I give her my full attention. “What? I haven’t!”

“Bullshit.” She arches a dark brow. “You’re a computer genius—a prodigy for crying out loud. You track everything. How. Much?”

Damn her for knowing me so well. I pull up my spreadsheet—because, of course, I have one—and scan the numbers. “From the club overall? About two hundred grand. From this Cooper dude specifically?” I whistle low. “Almost all of it. Like, one-fifty.”

The silence on the other end of the video chat is deafening.

“Trinity?”

“You stole one hundred and fifty thousand dollars from this guy?” Her voice pitches higher. “Frankie, what the hell?”

“He’s their VP. He’s probably done terrible things. He probably—”

“You don’t know that!” Trinity practically shouts. “You’re making assumptions and ruining someone’s life based on this idea that these guys are guilty!”

“They ruined mine first,” I snap back, my throat tight.

And there it is—the truth I’ve been refusing to admit. Maybe Dad and I didn’t have a great relationship. He was distant, cold, and treated me more like an obligation than a daughter. But he was still my dad. He was still the only family I had left.

And now he’s gone.

“I’m sorry,” Trinity says softly. “I know this is hard. I know you’re hurting. But this isn’t the way, babe.”

“Then what is?” I slump back in my chair, suddenly exhausted.

“The cops aren’t doing anything. They think he ran off with some bimbo or embezzled money or—I don’t know.

They’ve basically written him off as another middle-aged man having a crisis.

But I know something’s wrong, Trin.” I pound my fist against my chest. “I can feel it.”

“Have you considered that maybe the Kings didn’t do anything to him? That maybe they actually know something that could help you?”

I have considered it.

Late at night, when I can’t sleep, and the what-ifs chase each other around my brain.

What if I’m wrong?

What if it’s all a big coincidence that they had a meeting with daddy?

What if I’m destroying this guy’s life?

But then I remember what I saw on my Dad’s calendar when I hacked into his digital day planner. He had a meeting with these guys, and they were the last people to see him before he disappeared. And Trinity is right about them being criminals. The kind that kill people and hide their bodies.

“I can’t stop now,” I whisper. “I’m in too deep.”

Trinity’s expression softens, and I can see the pity that washes over her face. “Then at least be careful. Please. You’re my best friend. I can’t lose you.”

My chest aches. “You won’t. I promise.”

We chat for a few more minutes about nothing important—her new tattoo, the guy she’s been seeing, the weather in Atlanta where she lives. Normal things. Things that make me feel less manic. Like I’m a normal nineteen-year-old girl and not someone spiraling out of control.

When we finally say goodbye, the silence in my loft feels suffocating.

I blow out a heavy breath and look around my messy loft. Maybe I should eat something, or sleep. Take a shower that lasts longer than five minutes.

Instead, I pull up Cyber’s files. He’s the Kings of Anarchy’s tech guy, and he’s good. Not as good as me, but good enough that I have to stay on my toes. I’ve been monitoring his activity, watching for any signs that he’s getting close to tracking me down.

So far, nothing. He’s working on something on a private server I haven’t had time to crack yet. I’m working on it, though. Just need to find the right backdoor and—

My security system alert goes off.

I freeze, my heart suddenly pounding against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. The notification pops up on my phone’s screen.

Motion detected at front entrance.

No. No, no, no.

I pull up the security feed. My dad might not have given a damn about me, but at least he installed decent security when I moved into this place. Four cameras cover every angle of the garage and the stairs leading up to my door.

Who’s out there? I lean forward, like that’s going to magically allow me to see whoever is just out of frame.

Eyes raking across the screen, I don’t see a single thing.

Then suddenly, a shadow at the edge of the screen moves.

Oh God. Trinity was right. They found me.

I slam my laptop shut and scramble out of my chair, almost tripping over the ethernet cord.

Shit, shit, SHIT!

My hands are shaking. Think, Frankie. Think!

Do I call the cops?

Just as soon as I think it, I know I can’t do that. What would I even tell them? Send help, the motorcycle club I’ve stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars from found out, and now they’re here to kill me?

That’ll only land me in the slammer.

I glance towards the only window. I could jump out and run, but I don’t have anywhere to go. There’s nobody left, other than Trinity.

Exhaling, I steel my shoulders. I’m going to have to fight my way out of here.

Darting across the room, I leap over my bed and dive into my closet. “Where are you, where are you?”

There!

I grab the Louisville Slugger propped in the corner and grip it tightly in my hands.

The bat is solid maple, heavy, and the only thing in this apartment besides my computers that’s worth a damn. Looks like I’m about to find out how Acuna Jr. feels when he swings for the fences.

My hands are sweating. I wipe them on my leggings and grip the bat tighter, moving toward the door.

Every horror movie I’ve ever seen flashes through my mind. The idiots are always running up the steps when they should be running out the front door. Too bad for me I was already up here, and now I’m trapped like a rat.

I press my ear against the door, listening.

Footsteps. Heavy boots on the stairs. Whoever’s coming up here isn’t even trying to be quiet about it.

They want me to know they’re coming.

My security system beeps again, alerting me that someone’s at the door. I wait for a knock, but it doesn’t come.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

They’re just... out there. Waiting.

I should yell through the door that I know they’re out there. That if they don’t identify themselves, I’m calling the cops. If I could stop shaking like a damn leaf, I might do all of that.

Instead, I raise the bat over my shoulder and position myself behind the door. If they come through, I’ll have one chance. One swing, and I have to make it count.

The doorknob jiggles.

My heart is beating so loud in my ears that I’m sure they can hear it through the door. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the air conditioning pumping through the vents.

Shit, crap, damn. I’m too young to die.

The lock clicks.

Wait. The lock clicks? How did they—

There’s no time to figure out all the whys as the door slowly swings open, and a large figure silhouetted by the exterior light steps inside.

He’s huge! Broad shoulders. Tall. Definitely a dude.

This is it.

Squeezing my hands tighter around the wood in my hands, I catch the glint of something metallic in the intruder’s hand.

Is that a gun? I don’t wait to find out.

I swing the bat with everything I have, aiming for where I think his head is in the darkness.

“What the—” The words are cut off as the bat connects with something solid.

Not his head. His shoulder, maybe? Either way, it’s enough to make him stumble back, and I use the momentum to swing again, this time going lower.

“Jesus Christ!” he growls, and his voice is deep, rough, and definitely pissed off. “Are you fucking crazy?”

Screw him. I don’t care. I swing again, and again. Like I’m trying to hit a home run, and his big ass is the ball.

“Stop—fucking—” He catches the bat mid-swing, ripping it out of my hands with little effort.

Now I’m defenseless, and whoever this guy is, he’s between me and the only exit. Panic claws at my throat.

“Stay back!” I scramble backward, my hip connecting with my desk. Pain radiates up my side, but I ignore it. “I know Tae Kwon Jitsu!”

It’s a big fat lie. I couldn’t fight my way out of a paper bag. I took one self-defense class at MIT, and spent most of it trying not to throw up from anxiety.

“You know what?” The big bastard sounds almost amused, which surprisingly pisses me off.

“And karate. And—”

Shit. I don’t know any more names.

He laughs deep and husky as he reaches over and flips on the light switch.

I blink against the sudden brightness, my eyes adjusting, and then—

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

Standing in my doorway, holding my bat with a red mark blooming across his left cheekbone where I hit him, is the most terrifyingly handsome man I’ve ever seen.

He’s huge—at least six-three with short dark brown hair, and venomous cobalt blue eyes that are currently glaring at me with an intensity that makes my knees feel weak.

The leather vest he’s wearing has a patch on the front declaring him BANE, the Vice President.

Vice President.

My brows shoot up to the sky.

Oh, god. Oh, shit.

This is Cooper Benson. The guy I’ve been bleeding dry.

And I just tried to beat him to death with a baseball bat.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls, his beautiful eyes narrowed to slits.

“Frankie,” I answer stupidly.

His head jerks back. “You’re a fucking girl.”

My brows snap together. He sounds confused. Shouldn’t he know who he came here to take out? He’s not very good at this murder, death, kill stuff.

Before he has a chance to catch up, because clearly he’s a little slow on the uptake, I do the only logical thing.

I grab the cold coffee from my desk in my favorite Get Fucked cup and throw it in his face.