Chapter Four
Ada
I followed my brother and the three other men down the narrow staircase into the concrete bunker beneath the main warehouse.
Knight’s tech room had always reminded me of a submarine command center from some action movie.
Only with less space and more exposed wiring.
The blue-white glow from multiple monitors cast stark shadows across the men’s faces as we filed in, making their expressions look harder and more severe.
The door closed behind us with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud in the humming silence.
“Sorry for the squeeze,” Knight muttered as we crowded in. “Not exactly designed for meetings.”
That was an understatement. The room barely fit the five of us.
Cables snaked across the concrete floor like technological vines, disappearing beneath tables crammed with equipment.
The constant whir of cooling fans created a white noise backdrop that made my skin prickle.
I found myself wedged between the wall and Jag’s solid frame, the heat radiating from him warming a chill inside me I hadn’t realized I felt.
“Show us what you found,” Knuckles said, leaning forward, his hands resting on the edge of the desk.
Knight nodded, clicking through several windows. “Traffic cams first.” His tattooed fingers tapped commands, and the largest screen filled with footage of an intersection. “I’ve been running facial recognition software across every camera I can access. Found this yesterday.”
The timestamp showed early morning, two days ago. Knight zoomed in on a figure crossing the street, a big, tall man with a distinctive limp.
“Rat Man,” Jag snarled, the name falling from his lips like a curse.
Knight nodded. “Multiple hits over the past week. He’s been careful, but not careful enough.” He pulled up another feed. “This is three blocks away from the compound perimeter yesterday.”
The footage showed the same man standing in the shadow of an abandoned building, staring directly at what I knew was one of Knight’s security cameras. The guy wasn’t hiding. He wanted to be seen.
“Motherfucker’s gettin’ bold,” Gunnar growled, shifting his weight.
“That’s not all.” Knight’s voice dropped lower as he clicked to another window. “This is audio from a bar downtown. One of the prospects was having a beer, heard someone asking questions. He activated the recording app I installed on their phones.”
He hit play, and a gravelly voice filled the room:
“…Gunnar Gill. Heard he’s connected to Cain from Bones. That true? Cain’s blood running through Kiss of Death now?”
My eyes flickered to Gunnar, whose expression had hardened into stone. Knuckles straightened, placing a hand on Gunnar’s shoulder.
“Why’s he digging into Gunnar’s past?” I asked, breaking the tense silence.
“Because Cain killed Kiss of Death’s president before Rat Man took over,” Knight explained quietly. “It’s old blood, but it never quite dried.”
“Yeah,” Gunnar bit out tersely. “Before my time, but my brothers and my other sister remember him well. Dad killed Slash, the old Kiss of Death president, when he came to the Bones clubhouse and tried to take Mom and Suzie.”
Jag shifted his feet and moved away from me slightly. I looked up at him and saw the look of surprise before his features shut down once more. “You’re Angel’s kid?”
Instantly the temperature of the room dropped several degrees. I found myself inching closer to Jag before I realized it, then stiffened and eased back.
“Be careful how you say my mother’s name, Jag,” Gunnar said.
Jag shook his head. “Not meaning disrespect, man. I didn’t know her by any other name.
And only because I did my best to distract fuckin’ Gremlin the night he met her.
Thought it worked too, but he fixated on her.
A week later, probably the night he took Angel, was when I took the fall for Rat Man.
” He took a breath and shook his head. “I was a kid, man. I tried to do the right thing, keeping Gremlin away from women he fixated on. When they caught on, I guess they made me a pawn. The fall guy when Rat Man got careless.”
Knuckles grunted and gave Jag a hard look.
“You were in the right place at the right time. Just with the wrong people.” He shifted his gaze to Gunnar.
“I’d never have brought Jag here if he’d had anything to do with your mother’s mistreatment.
Jag’s not like Gremlin. Jag was easy prey for that swine because he was new in the area and struggling to fit in. ”
“Rat Man told me that, because I wasn’t eighteen yet, they’d likely give me a couple years in juvie and I’d be out.”
“Sounds like the son of a bitch,” Knuckles grumbled. “I was already on the inside, but Griffin gave me a heads-up you were coming.”
“You saved my life, Knuckles.” Jag then shifted his gaze to Gunnar. “I tried to protect that woman.”
Gunnar sighed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even born, but I know sometimes my mom still has nightmares. Suzie too. If Cliff and Daniel do, they don’t talk about it.”
“Christ,” Knuckles muttered. “I feel a fuckin’ nightmare comin’.”
Gunnar shot him a look. “Well, you know I can’t keep them out of this. Wouldn’t want to even if I have to go against you to tell them.”
“Fine.” Knuckles straightened. “Get through this briefing, then me and you got some things to discuss, Gunnar.”
I felt the change in Jag’s breathing before I looked up at him.
His face had gone completely blank. Sweat erupted over his brow and trickled down his temple.
His breath now came in shallow pants. No doubt the memory of everything he’d just relived in his explanation was overwhelming him.
I recognized the signs of a flashback or panic attack.
The former could be dangerous, the latter embarrassing. And sometimes dangerous.
“Jag?” I said softly, not touching him but wanting to pull him back from wherever his mind had taken him. The others continued talking, seemingly oblivious.
Knuckles recognized it too. “Jag,” he said sharply, the command in his voice cutting through whatever nightmare had gripped him. “You with us?”
Jag blinked, his focus returning to the present with visible effort. He swallowed hard, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Yeah.” His voice was sandpaper rough. “I’m here.”
No one mentioned what had just happened. Instead, Knight continued.
Knight clicked to another screen that made my stomach drop. It showed my office building downtown. The timestamp was from yesterday morning. I watched myself walk from my car to the entrance, unaware of the figure lingering across the street, watching me.
“The son of a bitch is following Ada,” Knight said in a low growl. He’d been saying something before that, but I’d been too focused on Jag for a precious few seconds and missed the lead-in.
“You need to check on all the women,” Jag said, his voice deadly calm. “If he’s targeting Ada because of her connection to the club, he might go after others.”
“Hannah’s already on it,” Knuckles said. “All the old ladies have been told to stay at the compound. Club girls too.”
“What about the women at the shelter?” I asked, thinking of the families who had sought refuge there.
“Extra security’s already in place,” Gunnar assured me. “No one gets within a block without us knowing.”
“We need something that doesn’t make them feel like prisoners,” I insisted, looking around at the grim faces. “These women have already escaped one cage. They can’t feel like they’ve traded it for another.”
My words hung in the air. Jag’s eyes met mine, something unreadable flickering in their depths.
“She’s right,” he said quietly. “Security that feels like confinement will do more harm than good.”
Knight nodded slowly. “I’ll work with Hannah on making it less obvious. But in the meantime” -- he slid a keycard across the desk to me --”you’re staying at the compound until we neutralize this threat. That’s not a request, Ada.”
I expected to feel resentment at being ordered around, even by my brother. Instead, the weight of the situation, of seeing myself being watched without knowing it, settled in my chest like a stone.
“I won’t argue,” I said, taking the keycard. “I’ve been thinking about moving closer to the shelter anyway. This just speeds up the timeline.”
Relief flashed across Knight’s face, quickly masked by his usual gruff expression. “Good. You’ll take the unit two doors down from Jag. It’s ready.”
My eyes flicked to Jag, finding him already watching me. Something electric passed between us, brief but undeniable. His jaw tightened, and he looked away.
I nodded. “Sounds good,” I answered softly.
When the meeting was dismissed, I headed to the building I’d been assigned to and stepped inside the lift.
My shoulders tensed with the weight of everything I’d just learned.
The keycard dug into my palm where I’d been clutching it too hard.
Rat Man. A disgusting image for a disgusting man.
Now he watched me, had followed me without my knowledge.
The thought made my skin crawl, yet somehow I felt more angry than afraid. No one had the right to hunt me.
I stepped off the lift into the hallway.
I needed a moment to myself, to process everything without the intensity of my brother breathing down my neck.
Or Jag. Strangely, his gaze had been on me every time I glanced his way since Knight showed the footage of me being followed.
Given I had a stalker I hadn’t known about, his attention should probably creep me out.
Instead, I felt protected, like he was watching out for me whether I wanted him to or not.
If it had been anyone other than someone in Kiss of Death, I’d have run from the compound at the first opportunity.
But the club Jag knew and the club I knew were vastly different, even if they were the same club.
I was nearly to my room when I sensed rather than heard someone behind me. A presence, nothing more. I spun around, not sure what to expect. Jag stood three steps behind me, his expression unreadable.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathed, my hand pressed against my chest. “Make a noise next time.”
“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” I lied. “Just… startled me. I mean, after that meeting and all.”
“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said, his voice low and rough. Not a request. Not quite an order either.
Before I could respond, his fingers circled my wrist, surprisingly gentle despite the calluses that rasped against my skin.
The touch sent an unexpected current up my arm, making my breath catch.
His thumb rested against my pulse point, and I knew he could feel my heartbeat quicken beneath his touch.
“I know where it is,” I said, the words coming out softer than I intended.
“I know you do.” His eyes held mine. “I’m still walking you.”
Jag released my wrist but stayed beside me, close enough that our arms occasionally brushed. Each brief contact sent little sparks across my skin. I found I wanted to “accidentally” tangle my fingers with his just to see what he’d do.
I stole a glance at his profile. His jaw was tense, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble.
Whatever was happening between us, he felt it too.
The keycard in my hand felt hot, a reminder of why I was headed to temporary quarters instead of back to my own home.
Because someone was watching me. Because I might be in danger.
We reached my assigned room, a door identical to all the others in this section of the compound.
I slid the keycard into the lock, pushing the door open to the one-bedroom apartment.
I’d helped them finish the inside of a few of them.
Truthfully, I’d often considered asking Knight if he’d let me stay at the compound with him.
I hadn’t lied when I’d told him that earlier.
It had just never been the right time. Looked like fate had decided I’d waited long enough.
“Home, sweet home,” I murmured, stepping inside. I turned to thank Jag for the escort, words already forming on my lips.
They never made it out.
Jag moved suddenly, with a speed and grace I wouldn’t have expected from a man his size.
One moment he was standing in the doorway, the next he had backed me against the wall beside the door, one hand braced beside my head.
His eyes locked with mine, a fierce question burning in them for just a heartbeat.
Then his mouth was on mine, hard and hungry. Nothing gentle about it. His body pressed against mine, solid and warm, pinning me to the wall. My surprise lasted only a second before I responded, my hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away.
The kiss was electric, desperate, like a man who’d been starving.
His free hand came up to cradle my face, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the intensity of his mouth on mine.
I tasted need on his lips, felt the tension in every muscle of his body as it pressed against mine.
My head spun with the suddenness of it, with the raw emotion behind it.
This wasn’t calculated or planned. This was pure instinct, a dam breaking after too much pressure.
Then, just as abruptly, Jag pulled back. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide with something that looked almost like fear. Confusion crossed his face, followed by a flash of regret so brief I might have imagined it. He stepped away from me as if burned, his hands dropping to his sides.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m… sorry.” He turned and walked away, his strides quick and purposeful. I remained against the wall, one hand rising slowly to touch my lips where I could still feel the pressure of his. My pulse hammered in my throat, my breathing ragged.
As I watched him disappear around the corner, a small smile formed on my lips.
I suspected I understood what had just happened better than he did.
A man who’d been locked away from human contact for nearly forty years, suddenly confronted with feelings and instincts he didn’t know how to process.
He was running from himself, not me. But something told me he wouldn’t be able to run for long.