Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
AMES
Rattler’s room is really quite boring. And, yes, I’ve snooped.
He’s got a bookshelf, but it’s full of comics, a couple of Harley manuals, and various porn magazines.
His drawers hold nothing but numerous almost identical t-shirts, folded jeans, and underwear.
His nightstand holds multiple boxes of condoms. There’s nothing here to suggest he’s anything other than shallow.
It makes me regret ever having asked this man to marry me. Thank God he didn’t take me seriously.
I’m in two minds about the prospect he left guarding the door.
Am I a prisoner? Or, as he said, is it for my own protection?
While I’m not a violent person, I wanted to hit Rattler when he blatantly said he didn’t trust me to have the common sense not to venture into their clubhouse, in the probable event that Malachi would come looking for me.
That I’m awkward as fuck carrying drinks on trays doesn’t mean I’m stupid.
And even that’s getting better with practice.
I’d challenge him to hold on to a tray while his ass is pinched as he passes almost every table.
And I’d love to see him doing so while performing the shimmy dance I’ve adopted to evade roaming hands.
It’s not just me. It’s something I’ve copied from the other servers.
Not in the mood and knowing I’ll be unable to lose myself in mindless television, I sit on the bed with my head in my hands, considering my situation.
Just two months ago, I was living with my grandparents, happy being a student and enjoying my course, while thinking about a worthwhile career using my skills to track down criminals.
Now I’m holed up with a whole bunch of them instead.
The coroner had determined that the deaths of my grandparents were from natural causes.
I knew better, though it hadn’t been proven.
It was damn convenient for Malachi. While them being alive wouldn’t have stopped him from getting my inheritance, they were two invested people who might have queried why I’d suddenly died when finally, one of his attempts on me had worked.
Or perhaps they wouldn’t. They’d started to think of me as accident-prone, as I’d had so many near misses.
Of course, I was supposed to die beside them that night.
At least it would have been an easy death.
With carbon monoxide poisoning, I’d have just gone to sleep and never woken up.
Sometimes I wonder whether it was good luck or bad that I wasn’t home that night. I’ve certainly not had it easy since.
A tear comes to my eye. Malachi and I had never been close, our age difference too great for us to have had shared interests.
And I’d known he was jealous of the attention given to me, after having had our parents' sole affection for years. But he was my blood. There was still part of me that wanted to believe I’d gotten it all wrong, that I’d misunderstood that overheard conversation.
But last night proved it. How could he be so evil as to plot against me, and all for money?
It wasn’t even that I wanted it. I’d have preferred our parents to still be alive.
As it was, I’d grown up with grandparents who had plenty of love to give, but only average means to get by.
I didn’t go hungry, but there were no designer clothes or foreign holidays for me.
I’d been brought up to focus on furthering my education to eventually make a decent salary.
My inheritance was waiting, I knew that, but I hadn’t really considered what it would mean.
None of my friends at university had had such a cushion waiting for them in the wings.
When I first realised it meant so much more to Malachi than to me, I’d briefly wondered about promising to sign it all over to him.
But he’d have to wait until my twenty-first birthday for me to inherit, and it seemed he was in urgent need of the money.
On my death, of course, it would go to him immediately.
The coffee I’d drunk earlier catches up with me, and I need to use the bathroom. That’s something that’s lacking in this bunkhouse—private facilities. After holding on as long as I can, I open the door. The man outside pushes away from the wall he had been leaning against.
Feeling very much like the prisoner it appears I am, I gingerly ask, “Er, can I use the bathroom?”
He looks almost as embarrassed as I am, but steps back so I can exit Rattler’s room.
Then follows me up the corridor and mortifyingly indicates he’ll be waiting outside.
I pee, wash my hands, then go back out, and am escorted back to the room.
I start wondering if this is my future now I’m depending on the Kings.
Taking my chances out on my own would probably be preferable and definitely less restrictive.
I’ve no phone, don’t wear a watch, and there’s no clock in Rattler’s room. I have no idea how much time has passed before the door opens and the man himself walks in.
He strides over to where I’m sitting on the bed, acknowledging me with a raise of his chin. “Prez has agreed you’re under our protection.”
Circling back to my thoughts of a moment before, and dreading continuing to be treated like a prisoner, I ask, admittedly not very enthusiastically, “And what does that look like?”
“Fuck knows.” He shrugs. “Prez and the top officers are discussing how it will work.” He picks up the television remote and starts flicking through channels. “What do you like to watch?”
Surprised he’s even asking me, I just shake my head. “I’m not bothered. Whatever you want.”
There’s a quirk to his mouth as he settles on an old rerun of the original CSI series in Las Vegas.
“You just want me to critique their methods, don’t you?” I smirk, then remind him, “I’ve only started on the course, so don’t expect me to know everything.”
He mumbles under his breath, “Don’t expect a woman to know anything.”
After rolling my eyes, I cock a brow toward him. “I don’t think I’ve ever met such a misogynistic dick as you. Nor someone so unpleasant.”
His eyes widen as he laughs. “And you’re just an absolute sweetheart whose own brother wants to kill her.”
I shoot him my middle finger. It’s childish, but he deserves it.
Rather than continuing to exchange insults, we settle down to watch cops, murderers, and scientists running around the streets of Vegas.
Despite my misgivings about some of the dubious techniques, even given that time has moved on since the series was filmed, I find myself getting lost in the over-the-top story when a knock comes at the door.
Rattler pauses the program and gets up to open it.
The visitor pushes him aside and comes running over to me.
“Ames, I’m so fuckin’ sorry I wasn’t there.
I can’t believe the one day I’m not around is when Malachi came calling.
” I stand and fling myself into my friend's arms. Suddenly, we’re both sobbing.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I couldn’t believe it when the man who came and got me told me what happened.
I’m so sorry,” she repeats, then pulls back slightly.
“We’ve got to leave. And this time get out of state. ”
“She’s under the protection of the Kings now,” Rattler lazily states.
Satin turns toward him and glares. “She’s under my protection.”
“Yeah?” Rattler snorts. “And where the fuck were you last night?” He taps his forehead. “Oh yeah, curled up with a hot water bottle, eating your weight in chocolate. Bitches,” he adds under his breath.
I round on him. “Not fair.”
“No? Well, one benefit you’ll find with the Kings is that we aren’t hormonal.”
The look Satin and I exchange speaks volumes.
Rat’s phone rings. He turns away to answer it. I pick up nothing from his end of the conversation, which seems to consist of a series of grunts at varying pitches. When he ends the call, he turns to us.
“Bullseye wants to talk to you both.”
“The bossman?” Satin’s eyes widen. “What’s he got to say to us?”
But Ames, who knows what’s at stake and why the club would be interested in being involved, stands up. “Come on.” She gestures toward her friend, and no, there’s no fucking way I’m calling her a bodyguard. “Let’s go and find out.”
I gesture for them both to go out the door. As I follow them, I lean to speak into Dee’s ear. “Don’t go too far. I might need you later.”
He gives me a sharp nod, then trails our trio a short distance back.
I take the lead as we exit the barn and direct them toward the clubhouse.
As there will be a number of us, Bullseye told me the meeting will be held in our church.
Not my idea. Fuck, what’s up with us having all these women in church lately?
It feels like they’re going to leave a stain that will be hard to remove.
But he’s the prez, and what he says goes.
When we arrive, Bullseye, Saint and Tempest are already seated as I expected, but I’m surprised to see Freak. I wonder how Prez managed to pull him away from his woman.
I raise my chin toward him as we enter. “Thought you’d be on your honeymoon.”
Freak shakes his head. “Nah, Trix wasn’t fussed about where we go, and I talked to Big Daddy last night. He’s pulled some strings to get us tickets to Comic Con in San Diego next month. Ace will be fuckin’ over the moon.”
“Dropping names now, are we?” I sneer. “When did you get so friendly with our national prez? And what does Trix think about that destination?” And why’s he even thinking of taking his son with them, when they’re supposed to be celebrating their wedding nuptials?
Kids and fuckin’ women, bikers should steer well clear of them.
“Shut it, Rat.” His face shutters.
I go to open my mouth again to give him some advice.
Prez interrupts before I can get another word out. “Ames, Satin, sit down.” I guide them to seats at the end of the table. I notice Ames looks nervous. Satin, however, has a cocky expression on her face.
Prez softens his eyes as he looks toward our heiress. “Ames, you have the club’s protection. We’ve not yet considered how best to protect you, but safe to say, you’re no longer working at Royals. We might move you out of state.”
Good move, I think to myself. Then she’ll be out of my hair. Maybe Bullseye’s thinking of placing her under the protection of a different chapter.
“Satin, you’ll stay here,” he continues. “And if—”
Satin places her hands on the table as she stops him mid-sentence with just one word. “No.” She glances at Ames. “I’m her bodyguard. I go where she goes.”
“Yeah?” Prez asks, deceptively calmly. “And where were you last night?”
“I had cramps,” she snaps, as if not liking the challenge.
“And couldn’t you just take painkillers?” he presses.
“I was also bleeding heavily.” She shrugs. “I know some men have kinks, but I didn’t think you’d like a stripper dancing wearing a leaking heavy flow pad. You really want bloody streaks on the pole?”
All the males in the room wince, then fidget, as if wishing they were somewhere else.
Freak leans forward, his face pinched. “You always going to miss the first day of your monthly? As you never said fuck about that at your interview.”
“I didn’t have a say when the doctor the Royals use changed my contraceptive medication.” She pauses, then adds, “Then again, I didn’t expect the effect that it had.”
“I find it fuckin’ suspicious that you weren’t there the one night Ames needed you. And you didn’t answer when the club called.”
“I’d taken painkillers and smoked a decent blunt.” She sneers. “You men have no idea how cramps can knock you out and how only a decent sleep helps.”
Ames reaches out her hand and places it over Satin’s. “I know,” she offers in a comforting tone. Then to Prez she says, “It happens.”
“It can’t happen again. Satin, you are going to stay away from Ames.”
“We stick together.” The stripper juts out her chin.
The VP, who’d been focused on his hands linked together on the table, now raises his head and focuses his cold gaze on her. “Yeah? That would suit you, wouldn’t it? You’ll be able to give her brother all the updates he wants, like exactly where to find her.”
I’m watching both girls carefully. Ames’s mouth drops open, and she turns to Satin. “You didn’t?”
“Fuck no,” her supposed friend answers.
“How much did he offer you, Satin?” Prez is determined to get an answer from her.
She doesn’t flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Suddenly, Bullseye stands and leans on the table, his arctic glare focused on her. “I’m asking you nicely. I can ask you a different way. What did he offer you to betray Ames?”
His tone and his actions have Satin looking less sure of herself than she has since she entered our meeting room. “I’ve never met or spoken to Malachi.”
Ames raises her chin, as if to say she never doubted her.
Sitting back down, Prez taps his fingers on the table, as if drumming out a rhythm to a beat only he can hear.
After a moment, he dips and raises his chin.
“Malachi found Ames here, and he mentioned your name. Seems to know the two of you are linked. Even if you’ve had no dealings with him, he knows about you. ”
I don’t think it’s possible to fake how Satin blanches.
Prez sighs, having noticed her face paling as well. I suppose it could be guilt that she’s been found out, equally as much as it could be a sign of her innocence. “Rat? Take the girls back up to your room, then come back down. I’ve called all the brothers in for church.”