Chapter Six
Alex
I had been staring at my laptop screen for so long that my eyes burned, the VPN connection icon blinking steadily in the corner like a heartbeat.
Twenty-four hours. That was how long it took BrotherDocs to respond to my inquiry.
Twenty-four hours of Oscar circling me like a shark that smelled blood in the water.
Twenty-four hours of pretending everything was fine while my insides twisted into knots.
I clicked on the encrypted message, my fingers trembling slightly as I entered the decryption key.
My stomach dropped.
One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A hundred grand more than the original quote.
And face-to-face delivery.
Fuck.
I sat back in my desk chair, the old wood creaking under my weight.
The sound was too loud in the silent clubhouse, and I froze, listening for any sign that Oscar had heard.
His room was down the hall, and he had always been a light sleeper.
Or maybe he wasn’t sleeping at all. Maybe he was lying awake, wondering what the hell his little sister was really doing home after four years.
The clubhouse remained quiet.
I turned back to the screen, reading the message again. And again.
Everything about this felt wrong. The price increase.
The insistence on a face-to-face meet. The timing.
BrotherDocs had a reputation, a solid one, built over years of successful transactions on the dark web.
They didn’t do face-to-face meetings. That was the whole point.
Digital delivery, anonymous transactions, zero physical contact. It was what made them reliable.
Safe. So why the sudden change in protocol?
I pulled up my research files, scanning through the forum posts and reviews I had compiled over the last few days. Nothing suggested BrotherDocs operated this way. Every testimonial mentioned digital delivery. Encrypted files sent through secure channels. No meetings. No physical handoffs.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
This could be a trap. But what choice did I have?
It was only a matter of time before the owners of the money found me.
And it was only a matter of time before they connected the dots back to me.
Alexandra Jones, the stripper who worked at the Prancing Pussycat before disappearing the same night seventy-five million dollars vanished from existence.
The girl who smiled, served drinks and stripped to appease a fucking dominant dickhead with a wicked fist.
I had been so careful. So fucking careful. But careful only bought me so much time. It didn’t buy me safety. I needed that identity. I needed to disappear before whoever owned that money came looking for me, because it sure as hell wasn’t Michael’s.
My fingers moved across the keyboard before I could second-guess myself.
MedusaX: $150K is acceptable. Two days, not three. I choose the location.
I hit send before I could change my mind.
The response came back almost immediately.
BrotherDocs: Non-negotiable. Three days. We choose the location. Take it or leave it.
My jaw clenched. They were pushing. Testing me. Seeing how desperate I was. And I was desperate. They knew it. I knew it.
But I wasn’t stupid.
MedusaX: Two days. I choose a location within 50 miles of Athens, TX. Final offer.
The cursor blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.
I counted my heartbeats, each one hammering against my ribs like it were trying to escape.
Finally, the response appeared.
BrotherDocs: Two days. County line, Highway 175 and Farm Road 2495. 11 PM. Abandoned gas station. Come alone. Bring cash. Any deviation from these terms and the deal is off.
I stared at the message, my mind racing.
Highway 175 and Farm Road 2495. Just past the Athens County line. Far enough from town that nobody would see us, close enough that I could get there and back without raising too many questions.
An abandoned gas station meant no witnesses.
No cameras. No paper trail. It also meant no backup.
No escape routes. No safety net. Everything about this screamed trap.
But what was my alternative? Stay here and wait for whoever owned that money to find me?
Hope that Oscar’s protection and the Gods of Mayhem’s reputation would be enough to keep me safe?
I left home four years ago to get out from under Oscar’s thumb, to escape the suffocating weight of club life and the violence that came with it.
I swore I would never come back, never let myself be trapped in this world again.
And here I was, right back where I started, except now I had seventy-five million reasons for someone to want me dead.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
I should have taken less. Should have been satisfied with enough to disappear, not enough to declare war.
But I had been angry. Furious. At Michael, at every man who looked at me like I was nothing more than tits and ass, at every hand that had grabbed without permission, every leering smile that made my skin crawl.
I wanted to hurt him. Wanted to take everything he had built and burn it to the ground.
And I had.
Now I was paying the price.
MedusaX: Agreed. Two days. 11 PM. I’ll be there.
I closed the laptop and sat in the darkness, my heart still racing.
Two days.
Forty-eight hours to figure out if this was legitimate or if I was walking into an ambush.
Forty-eight hours to avoid Oscar’s questions and Zeus’s knowing looks and the weight of every secret I was carrying.
Forty-eight hours until I either disappeared for good or ended up in a shallow grave somewhere off Highway 175.
I can do this. I’ve done harder things.
I had. I survived Michael. Survived the Pussycat. Survived years on my own with nothing but my wits and my anger to keep me going.
I would survive this, too.
I had to.
Morning came too soon.
I had managed maybe two hours of sleep, my dreams filled with faceless men and the sound of motorcycle engines, and the metallic taste of fear. When I finally gave up and dragged myself out of bed, the sun was already climbing over the horizon, painting the Texas sky in shades of orange and red.
Blood and fire.
Stop being dramatic.
I pulled on jeans and a tank top, tying my hair back in a messy bun. My reflection in the mirror looked tired. Haunted. The girl staring back at me had dark circles under her eyes and a tightness around her mouth that hadn’t been there four years ago.
I looked like someone running out of time.
Because I was.
The smell of coffee hit me as soon as I opened my bedroom door.
Strong and bitter, the way Oscar always made it.
I followed the scent downstairs, my bare feet silent on the worn wooden steps.
My brother was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug in one hand and his phone in the other.
He looked up when I entered, his dark eyes tracking my movements with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
“Morning,” I said, keeping my voice casual as I headed for the coffeepot.
“Morning.” His voice was flat. Neutral. The tone he used when he was trying not to show what he was thinking.
I poured myself a cup, added sugar, and turned to face him. He was still watching me.
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“You were up late.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said with a shrug. “Jet lag or something.”
“You rode from South Dakota, Alex. That’s not jet lag.”
I took a sip of coffee, using the moment to gather my thoughts. Oscar had always been perceptive. It was what made him a good enforcer. He noticed things. Patterns. Inconsistencies. Lies.
“Bad dreams, then,” I said. “Happy?”
His jaw tightened. “What are you running from?”
His question hit like a punch to the gut, but I kept my expression neutral. Bored, even. “Nothing. I told you.”
“Bullshit.” He set his mug down with enough force that his coffee sloshed over the rim. “You show up here after four years and you expect me to believe some sob story about a bad breakup and needing time to figure things out.”
“It’s not a story.”
“It’s bullshit,” he repeated, standing up. He was tall, six-four, all muscle and ink and barely contained violence. The kind of man who made people nervous just by existing. “I know you, little sister. I know when you’re lying. And you’ve been lying since the second you got here.”
My fingers tightened around the coffee mug. “I’m not lying.”
“What did you do?”
His words hung in the air between us, heavy and accusatory.
I met his gaze, forcing myself not to look away. “Nothing.”
“Alex.”
“I didn’t do anything, Oscar. Jesus Christ! Can’t I just come home without getting the third degree?”
“Not when you show up looking like you’re about to bolt at any second.
Not when you’re jumping at shadows and checking your phone every five minutes like you’re expecting bad news.
” He took a step closer. “Not when Zeus is asking me questions I can’t answer because my own fucking sister won’t tell me what the hell is going on. ”
Zeus is asking questions.
That was bad. Really bad. Zeus didn’t ask questions unless he already suspected the answer. And if he were asking Oscar about me, it meant he had noticed something. Seen something that didn’t add up.
“There’s nothing going on,” I snapped, hating how defensive I sounded. “I just needed to get away for a while. Clear my head. Is that really so hard to believe?”
Oscar stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then he sighed, running a hand over his face. “No. I guess not.”
But he didn’t believe me. I could see it in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders. He knew I was hiding something. He just didn’t know what.
Yet.
“I’m going out later,” I said, changing the subject. “Thought I would drive around, see what’s changed since I left.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Around. Maybe grab lunch somewhere.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No.” My word came out too fast, too sharp. I softened my tone. “I mean, you don’t have to. I know you’re busy with club stuff. I’ll be fine on my own.”
His eyes narrowed. “Alex.”
“I’m twenty-two years old, Oscar. I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
“Oh, you need something, alright,” he grumbled. “You just won’t tell me what.”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Couldn’t give him one without unraveling everything. So I drank my coffee and pretended not to notice the way he watched me, like he was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. Like he was waiting for me to slip up.
I spent the rest of the day planning.
The meet was tomorrow night. Eleven PM at an abandoned gas station just past the county line.
I needed to scout the location, figure out escape routes, and identify potential threats.
I needed to be smart about this. Smarter than I had been with Michael.
I waited until Oscar left the clubhouse with Zeus and the other officers before I slipped out.
I jumped on my Ducati and headed north on Highway 175.
The ride took less than twenty minutes, and the gas station was exactly what I expected: a crumbling relic from another era, windows boarded up, pumps rusted and broken. The kind of place people drove past without a second glance. Perfect for a clandestine meeting.
Perfect for an ambush.
I parked my bike across the road, hidden behind a cluster of trees, and studied the location. There were two ways in and out. Highway 175 and Farm Road 2495. The station sat at the intersection, surrounded by empty fields and darkness. No cover. No witnesses. No help if things went wrong.
This is a bad idea.
But I was out of good ideas.
I took photos with my phone, marking potential hiding spots, angles of approach, places where someone could wait in ambush.
Then I rode the surrounding roads, memorizing turns and landmarks, planning escape routes.
By the time I got back to the clubhouse, it was late afternoon, and Oscar’s bike was lined up and parked out front with the others.
Shit.
I parked my bike and headed inside, trying to look casual. He was in the main gathering room, beer in hand, watching me with that same unreadable expression.
“Where were you?”
“Riding. Like I said.”
“For five hours?”
“I lost track of time.”
He didn’t respond. Just took a long pull from his beer and kept watching me. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable. Finally, he spoke. “Zeus wants to see you tomorrow. In church.”
My blood ran cold. “Why?”
“He didn’t say. Just said to be there at noon.”
Noon. The meet is at eleven PM. I can do both.
“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
Oscar nodded slowly. “Good.”
But the way he said it made it clear that it wasn’t a request. It was an order. And in the Gods of Mayhem, even I knew not to refuse orders.
Not even if I was the enforcer’s little sister.
That night, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, as my mind raced.
Tomorrow, I would meet with Zeus. Answer whatever questions he had.
Play the role of the prodigal daughter returning home after a bad breakup.
Then tomorrow night, I would meet BrotherDocs at that abandoned gas station. Get my new identity and then disappear.
Simple.
Except nothing about this was simple. Zeus was suspicious. Oscar was suspicious. And whoever I was meeting tomorrow night, whether it was really BrotherDocs or someone else entirely, was an unknown variable I couldn’t control.
Too many moving parts. Too many ways for this to go wrong. But I was committed now. The message had been sent. The meet was set. All I could do was show up and hope I walked away. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but all I could see was that abandoned gas station, dark and empty and waiting.
Waiting for me to make the biggest mistake of my life.
Or the smartest move I ever made.
I wouldn’t know which until it was too late to turn back.