Chapter Thirty-One
“M om, can I have pizza tonight?” Erika asked from the backseat, her excitement about her day making her squirm in her seat. She was having a sleepover with Fae and Hawk, and she loved those two, which wasn’t a surprise; for how intimidating Hawk was as the club Sergeant-at-Arms, he was a softie when it came to his woman and Erika. One day, he’d make a great dad—not that she’d say that around Fae, who was looking a little too eager to have Erika and baby Nielsen around.
Liz chuckled, grinning at her girl through the rearview mirror. Just behind Erika’s seat, through the back window, Liz caught sight of the prospect, Elliot, who’d been assigned to keep watch at the school that day. Behind him was Slick, who never missed a chance to complain about “babysitting” Liz.
“That’s up to Fae, but I think it’ll be okay. Just make sure you get pizza with some vegetables on it.”
Erika pouted, but that did nothing to extinguish the brightness in her eyes, besides, Erika loved banana peppers, and never missed an opportunity to desecrate her pizza with them.
Tonight, Fae and Hawk were watching Erika overnight, so that Liz could have her night with Trouble. He’d promised a bath with bubbles, and a glass of wine. But she wanted something else, something both of them would enjoy.
Something like last night….
She shuddered, her body still deliciously sore after last night, the night she finally gave in to what she truly wanted: Erik. Her Erik. The man she’d loved for over ten years. The man who’d broke down, shattered to pieces before her eyes, humbling himself, eviscerating himself just to show her how much she meant to him.
It had been devastating to watch, to witness such a strong, alpha male crumble.
For her.
She had no idea what that meant for their future, because she still had no idea what any of it meant. Yes, he apologized, but what did a future with him look like? There was a vast difference between being the club doctor and being Trouble’s woman. For one, she’d been able to keep a professional distance between herself and the club brothers, they didn’t expect anything from her but her skills as a doctor. If she were to take that step, becoming more to Trouble, that meant she’d become an ol’ lady, like Skathi, Tessa, and Fae, who were so woven into the club, they couldn’t do anything without club involvement. Was Liz ready for that sort of connection? To men who’d been there that night that Trouble had betrayed her? Tosser and Trucker, two of the five original members were dead, but there was still Odin and Hell Hound. Odin hadn’t been a part of Trouble’s bullshit, but Hell Hound had been at the door, texting Trouble; he’d been part of Trouble’s plan, which is what made being around him, even after ten years, awkward as fuck. They didn’t talk to one another, avoided one another, and Hound had never set foot in the club clinic. Once, a few weeks ago, Trouble had mentioned that Hound had cornered him and punched him, almost cracking a rib. Liz hadn’t asked him why Hound had hit him, but now she wondered.
“Mom, can Aunt Fae and Uncle Hawk come to SeaQuest with us tomorrow?” Erika asked, breaking into Liz’s thoughts.
“I think they have plans tomorrow, love. Besides, I think your dad wants it to just be us. He wants to make tomorrow special since it’s your first fun day with him.”
Though Erika pouted again, there was still a small smile mixed in.
After dropping Erika off at school and waving to Elliott, Liz pulled out onto the street, heading toward the grocery store. She promised Skathi she’d pick up cake flour and baking powder for her because she was determined to bake a cake for Odin’s birthday while little Nielsen was napping. The woman was a fucking warrior, and she loved her growing family fiercely, hence her unrelenting desire to celebrate Odin’s birthday, which wasn’t even for another three days. Honestly, Liz figured Skathi just wanted to eat some cake. Since Liz didn’t have any actual appointments that day, and had only planned to call and check in on her patients from before the Russian clusterfuck, she offered to do her friend’s shopping—not that Skathi could leave the house at the moment, anyway; Odin was particularly protective of his recovering woman and their newborn son.
As he should be , she thought, her heart aching at the memory of her first days after delivering Erika. She’d been alone in her tiny, one-bedroom apartment right off the UNLV campus. No parents to help guide her, no mother to tell her if she was doing everything right, no father to hold her and tell her she wasn’t failing as a mother. She’d done it all alone…because Trouble had stolen her choices with his actions, with his thoughtless words.
That’s the past though …it had to be if she wanted to move forward. The problem was, she didn’t know how much of herself to give to Trouble. To Erik. It was obvious after his breakdown last night and the subsequent lovemaking that he was all in. He wanted Liz as his ol’ lady, Erika as his precious daughter, and the family that Liz had always wanted. With him. Only ever with Erik Skaarsen.
And how much did she really know about Erik Skaarsen? Yeah, she knew his body like she knew her own, she knew the type of man he was now, and the man he was when he was fresh from the Army…but where had he come from ? She knew next to nothing about his family, where he was raised, other than he was from a small town in Texas, and his parents were both dead. Had he been raised by another family? She knew what it was like to be an orphan, and it had been one thing she’d hoped they’d bond over when they’d first met. But every time she tried to get to know him, he’d change the subject, offer vague answers, or just plain refuse to continue the conversation.
Yeah, she was a fool for even considering a relationship with a man she still knew so little about. But what choice did she have at this point? Maybe…he’d be willing to share about his life pre-Army now that he was adamant about them being together. She could make it a stipulation of their reconciliation.
But what if he still refuses? Then she’d have her answer about how much of herself to give him. Nothing. If he couldn’t give all of himself—his past, his present, and his future, then he didn’t deserve her present or future.
Hating the ache in her chest created by her thoughts, she focused on driving.
Behind her SUV, Slick followed two cars behind, but still in view. As she hit her blinker to turn into the Albertson’s parking lot, her cell rang in the cup holder where she’d tossed it earlier. Her gaze dropped to the screen, and her heart jumped.
Lyle.
Lyle was calling her!
Hurrying, she turned into the parking lot, nearly colliding with a beat-up Honda. She parked, grabbed the still ringing cell, and answered.
“Lyle?” she barked, pissed as fuck. After what that fucker did to her, he’d be lucky to get off the phone with a fucking ear intact.
There was a weird clicking, and then he said, “Liz, I need help.” His voice sounded weird, sort of flat, like there was no emotion behind it. What the fuck had happened to him?
“You have a pair of brass balls, calling me for help—”
“Listen, Liz,” he snapped, “I got in trouble, but I have the money.”
Stunned, and freaking out, she replied, “You have the money you took from the Russians?”
“Yes.”
“So give it back!” she cried, her hand on the steering wheel turning white from her grip.
Hesitant silence, then, “I can’t. They’d kill me. I need you to come and get the money, then give it to them.”
Speechless, Liz choked on air. What the fuck?
“You actually think that sending me with the money will keep them from killing you—from killing me, for that matter? They came to my house, Lyle! They attacked me in my house with my little girl there! They beat the shit out of me, Lyle—because they were looking for you , because you stole their fucking money ! I have been afraid for my life for weeks now, looking over my shoulder, terrified those fuckers would find me and kill me.” She was screaming at this point, and she could see people walking by, staring at her through the windshield. “Take them their money, Lyle—step up and do the right thing, think of someone else for once.”
“No. If you want the Russians off your back, come and get the money. I’ll put the number for the boss in one bag. There’s five, so make sure you have room in your car. You call the number, set up a meeting, and give him the money. Once they have their money back, Liz, they will leave us alone. You and I will both be free.”
This motherfucker is acting like I had anything to do with his bullshit. But he was also right; if she gave Danil Oblek his money, what more could he want with her? That’s why he’d come to her house; to get his money back. Once he had it, she’d be free and clear, and Lyle could deal with whatever else Oblek thought the asshole deserved.
Maybe they’ll break a few of his ribs, and a leg or two….
Again, “do no harm” was going out the window.
Dammit, dealing with the MC, and now the Russians and Lyle, was turning her into someone she didn’t recognize. Not that she didn’t like it….
Her gaze flicked to the window, searching for Slick. She couldn’t see him, but she assumed he was there somewhere “babysitting” her from a distance.
“Where am I supposed to get this money?” she asked, her voice tense. What the hell was she thinking? How was she supposed to handle collecting five bags of cash? What happened if she got pulled over, or carjacked—
Shit! This had danger written all over it, but she had to do something! She couldn’t keep living like she was, holed up in Trouble’s house, abandoning her patients at the clinic—she’d put her life on hold because of the Russians, and if giving them back their money could get rid of them, she had to do it.
But she had to be smart about it. She’d read too many thrillers to not have learned something about running headfirst into dangerous situations—just like feather-headed damsels in historical romances, who chased the cloaked villain into the abandoned warehouse without a fucking clue how to defend herself.
But Liz wasn’t a dumbass Regency heroine, she was a motherfucking 21 st century foster system survivor, single mother, and doctor, and she’d deal with whatever came with all the tools she had in her arsenal. She just hoped Lyle Pace was ready for his ass-kicking.
Lyle’s weird, flat voice said, “I’ll meet you at the clinic. One hour. Make sure you aren’t followed. Those bikers might try to take the money for themselves. If I see a single biker, I’m out of here, I can’t risk the money not getting to the Russians.” The line went dead, leaving Liz to stare down at the phone.
Was she really doing to do this? Was she really going to put her life in danger just for the chance to get the Russians off her ass? And what about Trouble and the Savage Raiders? They’d been working to deal with the Russians, but she had no idea what that meant. She did know that the Russians represented a danger to the club—and the man she loved. If giving the Russians back their money spared a single person in the club from getting hurt…she had to do it. For herself. For Erika. For Trouble. For the Raiders.
Steeling her spine, she sent Skathi a text, telling her she couldn’t get her supplies. Then, she texted Tessa and Fae, who were going to be pissed as fuck. Liz mentally shrugged; she’d handle those two once she handed the money to Odin—because there was no damn way she was taking that money anywhere near Danil Oblek.
That done, she turned and looked out the back window. She couldn’t see Slick anywhere; the parking lot was busy.
Since she hadn’t turned the car off, she put it in drive and inched forward out of the parking spot. Checking left and right, she watched for the biker. The only thing she saw was some sort of commotion near the parking lot entrance, which just meant people were too busy to look at the suspicious woman as she drove out of the parking lot and onto River Street. After a block, then two, then three without any sign of Slick, Liz heaved a sigh of relief. Lyle seemed a bit angry about the Savage Raiders, and he was obviously misinformed about the club. Trouble didn’t want the money, he wanted the Russians to leave them alone—and it wasn’t like the club needed the money! They were multi-millionaires! She hadn’t seen a bank statement, but she wasn’t an idiot; she knew the clubs’ many businesses made a lot of money, especially their security agency. The idea that they wanted the money Lyle owed the Russians was laughable.
Get to the clinic, get the money, get to the clubhouse. Odin or Trouble would deal with making the call, and they could do the hand off with the Russian asshole.
The clinic was a thirty-minute drive, so she drove carefully. Her body was throbbing from being so tense, her hands were aching from gripping the wheel so tightly, and her heart was racing so fast she was surprised she hadn’t fainted.
With ten minutes to spare, Liz pulled up to the back of the clinic, out of sight of the street. Usually, the back of the clinic was the entrance for their more discreet patients, the ones who didn’t want anyone to know they were there. This time, however, Liz needed some discretion; she was hiding from Slick. The last thing she needed was Lyle getting spooked and doing something stupid.
Glancing out the windshield, her heart in her throat, sweat beading on her forehead and the back of her neck, Liz spotted a car she didn’t recognize. Lyle drove a brand new, cherry red Maserati, and the car parked by the back door was a plain, black sedan, like the kind you saw in those cop shows.
The kind you see following the victim….
Shaking off her thoughts, she catalogued her increasingly bothersome symptoms.
Flushed skin, hot to the touch, shaking hands, rapid heartbeat, shallow, panting breaths…she was on the verge of a panic attack— and now was not the time .
Closing her eyes, she willed her body to calm the hell down. She just needed to go inside, grab the bags of money, then get the hell out of there.
Swallowing down the urge to vomit, she forced herself to suck in a deeeeeep breath. Before she could succumb to the rising panic, she threw her door open, and slipped out. Clutching her cell in her hand, she slammed the door shut. For a moment, she stared at the back of the building that had once housed her hopes and dreams of a successful medical career. Now it was a whitewashed carcass, where her dreams had died. Lyle Pace had killed them.
After this, I’m going back to working at the hospital. Or…she could just become the full-time doc for the club.
Locking the spark of something warm and happy into the back of her mind, she tore her feet from the asphalt, and hurried to the back door. Using the keypad, she entered the code, then pulled the door open, sliding inside before the door swung shut, heavy and loud, behind her.
Now, she was locked in the building, and she had no idea where Lyle was.
Probably his office.
The place was deserted, of course it was, it hadn’t been opened for over a month. Holding her breath, she listened for any sound that could indicate what—or who—was waiting for her.
Stop being dramatic, you’re feeding your own panic!
Right. She could do this.
Squaring her shoulders, she shoved her cell into the pocket of her slacks, carefully, then headed down the hallway toward the offices.
“Lyle,” she called tentatively, then waited for a response.
Suddenly, from the shadows to her right, a man emerged—and not just any man.
He smirked, his darkly beautiful face twisting into a mockery of human emotion.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” he drawled, his accent heavy. “I think it’s time we talked.”