Chapter 12
Nora
The club is going into defense mode. They call it lockdown. I grew up watching my father’s club do it. All the old ladies and club girls are prepping the safe room in the basement.
The Sons are currently keeping two hostages locked in their jail in the basement.
We have to pass them to get to the safe room.
One is the possible cartel guy Jinx talked about and the other is Rash, one of my father’s men.
He’s middle aged and has been staring at me since I turned twelve.
I notice him watching me out the little ten-inch window in the heavy metal door.
He doesn’t talk to me. In fact, I’ve never heard him talk.
I do my best to ignore him when I pass with a case of bottled water.
Silver whispers as we store the supplies we’re carrying in the safe room, “They tripled the number of guards at the gates and there are at least two dozen club brothers patrolling the perimeter.”
“I hope it’s enough,” I whisper back. Neither of us want the guys in lock up to hear.
Her voice sounds more confident. “They also have two snipers on the roof, as well as lookouts on all four corners of the building, searching the sky for drones. The brothers ain’t gonna let nobody sneak up on us today.”
“Yeah, but the message said they were coming for me.”
Silver grabs my arm and pulls me down. “This safe room is surrounded by five feet of concrete and a steel door that came off a freakin’ bank vault. If you end up here, ain’t nobody can get to you, girl. Calm down and let the brothers do what they do best.”
I nod, swallowing thickly. “You’re right. They know what they’re doing.”
***
Jinx doesn’t stop moving all day. He rolls from one task to another, giving orders, like a proper club officer and leading by example.
He seems to be everywhere at once, the chapel, the front gate, Striker’s office and his head bent low with Jasper talking over security no doubt.
He passes me occasionally and touches my shoulder or gives me a quick kiss on the forehead.
His support means everything to me right now.
Tessa finds me in the early afternoon. Thankfully, we’re not in the safe room yet, but it’s ready in case the Hyenas get into the compound. “You doing okay, Nora? You look like you could use someone to talk to who’s been through this before.”
My eyes fly open in surprise. “You came from a club that wanted you back?”
“The man who hired me as a surrogate paid the Hyenas to take me back.”
I thought Jasper was the father of her son. She must have seen my confusion because she adds, “There was a mix up at the clinic, Jasper is my son’s father, though it’s a long story, and one probably best left for another day. Enough to say that The Sons won’t take any shit from The Hyenas.”
“I’m really sorry that happened to you. I spent my life wishing that I’d been born into a normal family, you know?”
“I do. The thing is, normal is overrated.”
I let out a laugh before I think. “I guess you’re right. It’s not club life that I hate. It’s the abuse, coercive control, and constant grifting that bothers me. My father’s club is dangerous.”
“They were dangerous, even before your father became their club president,” she states knowingly.
I gesture towards the front gates. “How scared should I be right now? Can they break through the gates?”
She thinks about it for a minute before answering.
“Last time they attacked our compound, two brothers ended up in the hospital and one Hyena ended up dead. But back then we didn’t have you on our side.
Jasper told me you were generous with intel on the Hyenas.
I’m sure that’s going to make a difference. ”
She pats me on the shoulder and says, “Hang tough, Nora. Don’t let the Hyenas get inside your head.”
When she walks away, my hand drifts down to my stomach. This baby growing inside me must be protected. That means that no matter what, I can’t go back to my father. I don’t want the life the Hyenas have to offer for me or my child.
By late afternoon, I’m still desperately looking for things to do to keep my hands busy.
I take the lead on making dinner, along with several of the club girls who normally cook.
We start by browning twenty pounds of ground beef.
The club girls break out four big skillets and I divide the beef.
Once that’s cooking, we begin cutting lettuce and tomatoes for tacos.
It’s quick and easy food for a large crowd.
Queenie drifts in while I’m working and starts pulling down plates.
Her old man, Rock, founded this club, and Jasper, Onyx, and Slate are her sons.
There’s another son, Mica, who has his own club, I don’t know the full story, but it’s all amicable.
Jinx is the only club officer who wasn’t born into the founding family.
This clubhouse has been Queenie’s home for over thirty years, and she moves around with confidence.
“You don’t have to help,” I tell her. “I’ve got it.”
“I know you’ve got it. I’ve seen how good you are at coordinating the club girls. It’s nice because it gives Tessa a break from always worrying about what’s for dinner.”
Smothering back a smile, I tell her, “Having something to do keeps the worry away.”
She sets the bowls on the long counter and starts taking out taco shells to heat in the oven. “I’m mostly just keeping you company.”
I appreciate it. It’s nice to feel accepted. As we chat about the club and how Jinx was chosen to be a club officer because of his years of service, discipline, and levelheadedness, I feel my anxiety going down.
The brothers straggle in when they get a minute and mostly take their tacos with them and go back to their posts.
We start wrapping them in paper to make them more portable.
Poor Garret eats one-handed at the counter, his face still purple and one eye swollen.
I refill his water glass without him asking and he looks up at me.
“Thank you, Miss Nora, but you don’t have to wait on me.”
“You took that beating because of me. The least I can do is keep your belly full and your drink topped off.”
“I took it ‘cause I walked too far from the wall,” he says, stubbornly. “And none of us blame you for anything the Hyenas do. They’ve always been messed up, and it ain’t your doing.”
He goes back to his taco, eating like a starving man. I have to turn to the stove for a second because my emotions are getting the better of me.
Something about the smell coming off the taco meat makes me nauseous. It’s not morning sickness. It’s just that pregnant women are sensitive to smells. I’ve always heard that and it appears to be true.
Queenie watches with a knowing expression on her face. This older woman misses nothing.
“You should sit down, sweetheart,” she says gently. “You’ve been on your feet all day.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, trying to sound sincere.
“Of course you are.” She crosses to the refrigerator and comes back with a glass and a can of ginger ale. “Humor me and have a seat anyway. I’ve supervised lockdown in this clubhouse more times than I can count. I know tired and scared from carrying too much of a load, if you know what I mean.”
She doesn’t come right out and say it, but I get what she’s hinting at. She lowers her eyes, pouring the ginger ale into the glass for me. “Drink up. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“It’s mostly just the situation,” I tell her.
“Sure it is,” she says, letting me get away with a little white lie. Because she’s kind. And because this is something that a woman’s allowed to keep secret until she’s ready to talk about it.
Jinx ducks in once near sundown, eyeing the tacos. I hand him one and ask, “What do you want to drink?”
He jerks his chin at the refrigerator. “An ice cold beer would be good right about now. But given the circumstances I gotta be clear headed.”
He takes a look at my ginger ale. “Thought you’d be on the wine coolers?”
He knows I’m not a big drinker. But I’m pretty sure soon he’ll notice I’m not drinking at all. I shrug and say, “I guess I wanted to be clear headed too. I know what my father is like and I can’t afford to drop the ball.”
While he demolishes his taco, I fetch him a ginger ale and return to find him chowing down on another. He practically empties the can in one gulp, grabs a third taco for the road and takes off after giving me a kiss on the cheek.
I’m standing there looking at the door he just walked through, thinking that maybe everything will be okay after all. Maybe my father is just bluffing. That’s when I hear the alarm go off for the second time today.
When I look out the kitchen window, I hear Striker shouting, “Drone! There’s a drone, close to the east wall!”
After that I hear the pounding of dozens of biker boots, all moving at the same time.
They’re all moving into the positions they practiced earlier in the day.
I walk over and turn the stove off because this is it.
I can feel it all the way down to my bones.
Before I can get turned around there’s a strange sound and Jinx’s body collides with mine, pinning me to the wall.
Somewhere outside I hear the sound of several rifle shots. Then Striker yells, “It’s down, it’s down, hold your fire.”
When Jinx backs off me, he’s looking all kinds of embarrassed. “Sorry about that, sweetness. I hope I wasn’t too rough.”
I shake my head, choking back tears because he just used his body to shield me from danger.
We turn and look out the window. There’s an oversized drone lying on the pavement. It’s little more than a smoking wreck at this point. I swallow thickly because there’s some kind of device attached to it.
“What’s that thing on the bottom?” I stammer.
“It looks like some kind of projectile or explosive,” he states quietly. “Look, I need to…”
“Go, do what you need to do. I’ll be fine.”