Chapter 5
5
Amelia
M Y HEAD WAS spinning when Morgan and I climbed into the hybrid Toyota SUV we’d nicknamed Ravie. I fastened my seatbelt, took a deep breath, and turned to check on my daughter. She’d wanted to drive her own car, but I needed her beside me right now, so we’d left it parked in the driveway.
Perched on the passenger seat, focus fixed straight ahead, Morgan’s expression was unreadable, but that was nothing new. It was almost impossible to tell what this kid was thinking most days. Had she been literally anyone else, I would have reached across the console and grabbed her hand, comforting us both.
But Morgan wasn’t built that way.
Physical touch made her uncomfortable, and hand-holding—physical or emotional—was likely the last thing she needed at this stage. Still, as her mother, I needed to check in. I just had to be careful about how I did it so she wouldn’t feel coddled and push me away.
“How you doing with... everything?” I winced. What a ridiculous question.
Still, she surprised me when she replied, “Better than Bailey.”
We both turned to check on the anxious dog kenneled in the back of the car. We’d stuck her in my car since the kennel was too big to fit in Thia’s and had laid down the back seats so we could keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t get crushed by the surrounding luggage. Thia and Morgan had wrestled Bailey into a doggie diaper disguised as a jean skirt. She would have looked cute in it if she wasn’t currently trembling in fear.
“How you holding up, Bailey?” I asked.
She flopped around like a fish on land. It was a good thing she was so sweet because this poor girl had some issues.
Morgan finally turned to face me. “You’re the one in danger, Mom.”
I winced. It would have been preferable for Morgan not to learn of that little detail, but she’d overhead Levi—or Morse, as I needed to remember to call him—laying out the facts. Besides, we’d stuffed our toiletries and more than a week’s worth of clothes in the back of Ravie for an impromptu sleepover at an undisclosed location. The cat was definitely out of the bag.
“This is likely all one big misunderstanding. We’ll figure it out.” Hopefully soon because Morgan didn’t do well with schedule modifications. We’d never stayed anywhere new without proper preparations, and she had one week of school left before spring break.
Morse signaled for me to follow and pulled out of my driveway. I did, with Thia hot on my tail in her Nissan Leaf. The other two bikers filed in behind Thia, turning this into the strangest motorcade I’d ever seen.
“I trust Morse,” Morgan said, surprising me.
I stared at the back of his biker vest. We’d talked him into borrowing one of Ted’s old coats, but he’d insisted on putting the leather over it. “You barely know him.”
“I know, but he’s trustworthy. I can tell. Besides, Dad considered him a close friend.”
“He did?” Ted had mentioned Levi a few times when he was in the service, but that was it.
“Yes,” was all she said.
Levi had given Morgan his number during Ted’s funeral, instructing her to use it if we ever needed anything. I’d only learned of that recently when her car started acting up, and the asshole who’d taken over for my old mechanic hadn’t fixed it. Morgan had produced the number and suggested I call Levi, who’d sent me the address of a repair shop that had handled the repairs and refused to charge me. I’d called to thank him and hadn’t spoken to him since.
Now, here he was, like some knight in a leather biker vest, ready to whisk us away from danger.
“Morse promised to watch over us when he gave me his number.”
Stopping for a light, I turned to gape at my daughter. My memories of Ted’s funeral were disjointed and blurry. I’d seen Levi there but hadn’t been able to focus on anything beyond crippling loss and loneliness.
“Why didn’t you mention that before?”
Morgan shrugged. “Lots of people said things at Dad’s funeral.”
What she didn’t say—didn’t have to say—was how all those people with their comforting words and promises had all but disappeared from our lives. I didn’t blame them. Grief made everyone uncomfortable, and we’d definitely been grieving.
Levi… no, Morse… had followed through with his promise, going as far as protecting me from the dark web. How the hell was I supposed to feel about that?
While I’d packed, he’d turned off the water to my running toilet, promising to fix it once the threat had passed. Then he’d hauled our luggage out to our cars and loaded it up. All while I endeavored not to drool over him. I couldn’t help it. The vision his ass presented in those jeans made the angel on my shoulder demand I get my ass to confession. I’d never been Catholic, but goddamn. Biceps and triceps and glutes, oh my! What was I supposed to do? Focus on his face? That was no less tempting. I couldn’t tell if I now had a thing for beards or if the intensity in his eyes was what made my thighs clench.
The demon on my shoulder—long ago lulled into a coma by grown-up responsibilities and grief—sat up and took notice, plotting out possible sins. I’d been into bad boys once, and the biker vibe was hot.
No, he was hot.
And he’d been so desperate to get to me he hadn’t even worn a jacket.
Your life is in danger, this is not the time for a mid-life crisis .
This was still Levi, no matter what name he now went by. He wasn’t here to seduce me but to rescue me. He was eight years younger than me, for crying out loud. Still, there was something about how he’d marched in and taken charge of the situation like nobody else ever had.
I’d always been the one who handled everything.
I was a military wife, after all.
Being cared for felt… unexpectedly reassuring. Especially since I sure as hell didn’t know what to do in the situation.
However, as I followed Morse into the parking lot of an old fire station and he gestured for me to slide into a space past the rows of motorcycles, I worried I might have been so distracted by his looks and intensity that I’d misread him.
Not knowing what else to do, I parked and turned off Ravie. In an epic show of solidarity that reminded me why she was my best friend, Thia parked beside me. We climbed out of our vehicles, casting dubious looks at the bikes, the building, the two sketchy bikers smoking by the door, and the entire situation in general.
Morse and the rest of our biker escort had parked near the building and now had their heads together, conversing in hushed tones.
Thia, Morgan, and I huddled beneath a security light and tallied motorcycles, twenty-three of them at first count. At least the parking lot was well-lit.
“That’s an awful lot of bikes,” Thia whispered, though the bikers couldn’t possibly hear us from where they stood.
I nodded.
“I love you, but I’m not the kind of white girl who dies first in the movie.”
“Noted. Let the record also show that I’m not thrilled about taking my teenage daughter into a biker hangout. We’re not actually doing this, are we?”
“Absolutely not.” Thia shook her head adamantly. “Is anyone packing mace? I have a rape whistle, but I’m worried that might not cut it.”
Morgan patted her small backpack purse. “I have pepper spray and a stun gun.”
I gaped at her. “Where did you get weapons? More importantly, how did I not know about this?” I was failing as a mother, wasn’t I?
“Uncle Joe.”
“Ah.” That checked out.
Joe lived in Florida and hadn’t accepted any of the invitations we’d sent for birthdays, graduations, or family get-togethers, but since Ted’s death, he’d stepped up financially. For Morgan’s eighteenth birthday, he’d sent her an electronic tablet pre-loaded with a $500 gift card for ebooks, and last Christmas, he’d enrolled her into self-defense classes. It shouldn’t surprise me he’d armed her for safety.
“You know how to use them?”
“Of course. The classes he sent me to covered weapons. I know how to shoot a gun, too. And I’ve watched several tutorials on YouTube.”
I had lost control over the situation... no, over my daughter.
Appreciation morphed into anger.
What a goddamn interloper. He hadn’t even come to Ted’s funeral, but he’d made sure our daughter knew how to shoot a gun. Without clearing it with me first? Who did he think he was?
Yet, I couldn’t be too mad since at least someone had ensured Morgan could defend herself. Ted and I had talked about sending her to classes, but his death had been the tidal wave that wreaked havoc on my world. I survived the experience, but it sent everything into chaos. Although I’d never met him, Joe had stepped in when I needed him most, arranging the funeral and handling everything remotely.
And now, thanks to Joe, my daughter was better equipped to protect us than Thia and I put together. Between the pain pulsing down my left leg and my absolute lack of weapons, I experienced an acute pang of inadequacy for my severe lack of preparation for this. Then again, nobody could have predicted this bizarre scenario.
Morse finished his conversation and headed in our direction.
“What’s the worst that can happen if we climb back in our cars right now and burn rubber out of here?” I whispered to Thia. “We upset an old friend? I can live with that.”
“You could die,” Morgan said, her tone eerily solemn as her gaze met mine. “We already lost Dad. I don’t want to chance losing you. At least hear Morse out.”
It was likely stupid to entertain advice from an eighteen-year-old who would avoid most of humanity if given the chance, but looking into her somber brown eyes, how could I say no? Morgan had always been an excellent judge of character. Besides, I trusted Morse, too. He’d always been protective and time clearly hadn’t wiped that instinct away.
“He does seem to believe your life is in danger,” Thia added with a shrug. “He picked up the bill for your daughter’s car repairs and didn’t even ask you out to dinner. If he wanted to lure you here for some nefarious reason, seems like there’d be easier ways than fabricating a death threat.”
She had a point. Yet despite her reassurances, when Morse reached us, it was Thia who threatened to mace him if he didn’t answer some questions.
“You better start talking right now,” she demanded. “Where the hell are we?”
“Ladies,” he swept a hand toward the building. “Welcome to the headquarters of the Dead Presidents Motorcycle Club.”