Five
My anger is palpable as I take in the scene. I watch as the woman raises her head and searches the crowd for the voice that has thwarted her plan of ripping my son a new one. When her eyes connect with mine, she freezes. A slight smirk slips onto her lips when she looks around and realizes she’s surrounded by some of the meanest motherfuckers in Southern Maine. Yet again, she doesn’t react like I’d thought she should. She doesn’t look afraid or even concerned. Her eyes never leave mine, and then she smiles. She fucking full-on teeth-baring smiles as if this is the happiest damn moment of her life. And that’s when I realized this chick is crazy. Because no sane bitch would smile like she’s won the damn lotto, that shit isn’t normal.
“Well, shit,” she says. Her head shakes, and her smile gets wider while amusement shines in her eyes.
“What in the actual fuck is going on here?”
My voice comes out hard as I stare at her. Not willing to let her crazy deter me from finding out who she is and why the fuck she thinks it’s a good idea to come to my club and pull some bullshit like this.
When surrounded by my club brothers and me, most men would tuck tail and run. Oh no, not this girl. She stares at me with amusement and a glint of curiosity. The only other reaction is pushing her gun into Bull's head further. He jerks away slightly and winces when the knife she’s holding to his neck nicks him. My eyes narrow, and my anger nearly boils into a deadly rage when I see the trail of crimson slide down his neck.
A few growls and curses are directed at her, which she ignores while watching me. I sigh, knowing that if I don’t handle the situation soon, shit can get nasty. Closing my eyes and taking a breath, I calm myself. I look around at my brother, letting them know I will handle this. I’m not the kind of man who would put a bullet into a woman’s head without cause. But if this chick doesn’t chill the fuck out, she may be the first.
She remains unaffected by her surroundings and the threats being made toward her. She shifts her stance, which has my focus returning to her. Her head tilts to the side, and she watches my reaction to her with curiosity. Her eyes take me in from head to toe, and her smile gets wider. A few brothers murmur at how they think this chick is crazy, among other shit.
As I stare her down and note her soulful eyes, something about them has the anger in me washing away. Instead, my brow furrows because I’ve never met a woman so utterly unaffected when put in a dangerous situation as she’s now in. Well, no one since…
No, that can’t be right.
Continue to take her in, and the protectiveness I felt before comes back with ferocity. I want to yell at her and ask her why the fuck she put herself in this situation, and I also want to protect her from what's to come because of her choices. I don’t understand these conflicting feelings.
Watching her watch me, I can say she’s a beautiful young woman. I can appreciate her beauty, but the familiarity hits me deep in my gut, which has me seeing her in a way I would one of my club brother's kids. And I can’t help but wonder why that is.
Out of nowhere, and I mean no-fucking-where, an SUV comes barreling into the lot, skidding to a stop, narrowly missing a few brothers and club girls as they scatter out of the way. Which pulls my attention from crazy. The vehicle does nothing but idle. My brother's attention is divided between crazy and whoever just drove into my compound like they are looking to catch some bullets.
We keep the gates open during open club nights. It doesn't happen often, but we like to let the townspeople in to show them that even though we’re a one-percenter club, we’re good guys and good for the city. Some don't like us no matter what we do, but we try. Mostly, the townspeople and the cops leave us be. Other than nights like this, our prospects secure and man the gates, and right now, I think Brick, the Prez of the Sacramento chapter, was on to something when he made the rule about his gates being left open. He doesn’t allow them to remain open for any reason, even on open club nights. He says it keeps the riff-raff out and allows more control of the comings and goings of visitors and outsiders. I’m inclined to agree with him after this shit.
The SUV sits idle, and then after a few beats, the doors open, and two big motherfuckers and a chick step out. The sight takes me aback. I scan the trio. They are all outfitted in tactical gear, looking ready for shit to go sideways at any moment. My eyes narrow, and my body stiffens at the implication. A few club brothers shift and aim toward the intruding trio. The newcomers look around and realize the gravity of the situation, but even at gunpoint, they don't seem to give a shit. Nor do they show any signs of being concerned for their safety.
Who in the fuck are these people?
The three newcomers focus on the girl holding my son at gunpoint and ignore everyone around them. Finally, the one who stepped out of the driver's side speaks.
“What the fuck, Bellamy? You said you were going to play nice. This… doesn't look like playing nice, Rocket?” The driver looks to the passenger for an answer, which I assume is rhetorical. “... Does this look like little Bell is playing nice to you?” The driver of the SUV has his hand on his piece attached to a leg holster as he takes slow and even strides toward the girl. My eyes narrow on him. He seems outwardly relaxed, but his hand never releases his grip from his weapon, which tells me the relaxed posture is a facade. The one he called Rocket has a… my eyes widen when I see what he has cradled in his arms.
What the actual fuck?
“Nope, brother… It does not look like little Belly Bell is playing nice. Not one bit.” he says, sending a wink in Bell’s direction.
For fuck's sake.
“Is that a fucking rocket launcher? That…is a fucking rocket launcher. Prez. You see this shit?” My VP’s voice holds a hint of amusement in its tone.
Taz and I watch on as the one called Rocket pets the rocket launcher like it's not a damn inanimate object. And I'm flabbergasted. Yeah, a big bad biker, Prez is fucking flabbergasted. This situation is one for the books. This shit is outlandish even for me, and I’ve seen and done some crazy shit. I shake my head watching this… whatever it is going down.
Fucking hell.
My attention goes back to Bellamy, who, at some point, thought this was the funniest shit in the world. Her gun at my son's head is now on her hip. Bellamy is now doubled over, laughing her ass off, still with the knife near Bull's throat, but resting between his shoulder and neck. She is aware enough of her weapon placement to know that her jostling could end up with her accidentally slitting my son's throat.
“Bitch, you are fucking crazy?” Bull stands, shoving the hand holding the knife away from his neck.
When he stands, he faces her, pulls his piece, and points it at her head. Who again seems oblivious to her surroundings. She raises her hand while holding the knife, pointing her finger out at Bull and wagging it at him. She tries to get hold of herself, but the laughing fit doesn’t stop.
“Ok... ok wait… w… wait.” She pulls in a deep breath, still giggling, attempting to sober herself. At that moment, she realizes shit’s bad when she looks around and sees all the guns pointed at her and the three from the SUV. She stood to her full height, making eye contact with everyone around her and stopping at me. Her eyes still were not showing fear or concern for the potential outcome of this situation.
She still tries to hold her laughter in, pulling her bottom and top lips into her mouth. I can see the amusement in her eyes. Finally, she releases her lips and bites down on her bottom one, trying to stifle her laughter. What in the fuck is so funny? Who knows? Once she controls herself, she takes a deep breath and speaks.
“Ok, listen, Pain, the plan was to come here, do a little people-watching, and maybe talk to the sperm donor...” She waves a hand in my direction, which shocks the shit out of me. There are a few gasps, and I can feel eyes burning into the side of my face, all of which I ignore.
“And be on my way...” she giggles again. “I… didn’t plan for this.” She waves her hand around.
Fucking hell.
Although I should focus on the heavily armed trio in my parking lot, my brain isn’t having it. What it is doing and focusing on is what she said. My brows knit together as I look at her. Really fucking look at her, taking in every feature of her face. Realization slowly creeps in, and before I can say something, a man from the SUV speaks,
“Wait, wait, wait. That's him? Shit, Bellamy Dianne Church-Petrov, you could have called, emailed, fuck, you could have sent a damn carrier pigeon for all I fucking care. What you didn’t have to do was be a Billy Badass and come here alone. You lying little shit, you told us you were going to bed. For fuck's sake, you know he will kick your little ass for this, right?” he says, pushing his hand through his hair.
When she shrugs at him, he takes a deep breath, exasperated by her antics. I don’t blame him. The girl is nuts and doesn’t know how to read the damn room or, in this case, the parking lot. I feel he has to do that a lot with this chick. But wait, did he say her last name was Church-Petrov? As in the Petrov Bratva.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck.
This is bad. Like, if I’m right, shit could really get ugly.
“Yeah, I know who they are, and you know who I am. I always have a plan.” She sighs. “And who says I'm alone? You know he never lets me out of his sight. No matter how sneaky I think I’m being. The fucker has Bellamy-dar of some crazy shit. We all know he likes to play and act like he doesn’t know every move I make, but we know that’s a damn lie.” she says with a shrug. She looks at me and sighs an overly dramatic sigh while making a show of putting her weapons away.
When she takes a few steps in my direction, my brothers stiffen. I wave them off. Once she gets to me, she puts her hand out. She is calm as a cucumber with a broad smile on her face.
“Hi, I'm Bellamy Dianne Church-Petrov, your bastard daughter...” She waves her hand in a circle and curtseys. The little shit curtseys, as if her confirmation hadn’t floored me. “My twin brother is around here somewhere. Although… I don't think he wants to meet you. That’s a lie. I know… he doesn’t. You aren't his favorite person in the world. I believe his words were, That fucker can rot in the deepest depths of hell before I would ever want anything to do with him.” She raises her brow at me with a hint of mischief in her eyes and a playful smirk on her lips. “You get the point. I don’t think I could make that any clearer. But don’t take it personally. The kid is a mama's boy.” At that, I hear a phone ring with what I believe is the song Take Me to Church by a guy called Hozier.
She takes a small step back from me, taking the hand she held out for me to shake with her. I’m so damn shocked by her words, and I don’t move, just stand there like a fucking idiot watching her. She sighs softly to herself, pulls her phone out of her back pocket, holds a finger up, and answers it. This girl is something the fuck else. Then, without even saying hello, she speaks. I catch very little of the beginning of the conversation until her voice raises slightly.
“I know you heard me. Stop being so sensitive…” She listens, bobs her head a few times, and lets out a few sounds of agreement. “You are a mama's boy.” She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “First, little brother, you are twelve minutes younger, so I reserve the right as your big sister to call you kid.” She sighs. “Whatever you say, little brother… Yep, I got it handled. Nope, he seems… interesting.” She looks over at me with curious eyes and then winks. “Also, why are you fuckers so big? He… What the fuck ever. Yes… yes… Ok, bye.” She sighs again and ends the call.
“I’m relaying this message only because my brother is throwing a fit. Don’t take it personally, big brother…” She looks at Bull. “Blaze said, and I quote, if you ever put your hands on my sister again, blood or not, I’ll rip them off with my bare hands and feed them to you.” She snarls and grunts while saying it in a deep, mocking voice, and we all stare wide-eyed at her. Oh, this kid is abso-fucking-lutely crazy.
Well, shit.
She looks at us both and smiles. “Again, I’m not the one that said it. It was him. He gets, uh… umm, a little protective. You know how brothers get?” She shrugs as if it's just an ordinary Tuesday, as if her brother, my other son, didn’t just threaten dismemberment.
And then what has been said over the last five minutes slams into me like a fucking Mack truck.
“FUCK.”