Chapter 2
Chapter two
Lila
I paced the tiny waiting room in Juniper Creek Hospital, feeling sick to my stomach. During dinner, everything seemed perfectly normal. Dad was a little out of breath and flushed, but I never dreamed it would lead us to the ER.
Then he doubled over with a look of excruciating pain on his face. Clutching his chest with a wheeze.
He looked so…fragile. Vulnerable. Old.
During his Presidency with the Reckless Order, Dad had endured a range of injuries—broken bones, a few concussions, getting stabbed, getting shot. But he kept going. Nothing seemed to slow him down.
Until today. Until this…whatever it was.
And the scary part was that it came out of the blue. There was no opposing force, no cops, no turf war with a neighboring club, no old enemy seeking revenge. None of those myriad of dangers that I had mentally prepared myself might hurt him over the years.
His body simply malfunctioned and gave out.
“Lila.”
I turned to see Pretty Boy striding into the waiting room, steady as a rock when my world had turned upside down. I hated how good he looked, with his broad shoulders and his sharp, hazel eyes locked on me.
“What happened?” Pretty Boy asked. “How is he?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything. He’s still in the ER.”
“What about you?”
Pretty Boy searched my face and reached out like he was prepared to pull me into a hug. I reared back, putting a hand up to ward him off.
“I’m fine. Don’t touch me.”
He withdrew his hand and crossed his arms instead. Guilt knotted in my stomach for sounding like a bitch. He was just trying to help.
But if he touched me, I knew I would break. And I never cried in front of anyone. Especially not the club, full of tough, tattooed bikers. I’d worked too hard over the years to earn their respect, to view me as a woman with more substance than eye candy or Daddy’s spoiled little girl.
“I texted everyone to let them know what’s going on,” Pretty Boy said. “And we’ll take shifts in the waiting room to make sure that someone is always here for Hillbilly.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I protested.
“Good. Neither are we.”
Pretty Boy settled into a nearby chair, knees spread wide, with a stubborn look that dared me to fight him on this. Under normal circumstances, I gladly took every opportunity to argue with him about anything, no matter how inconsequential it might be.
But I didn’t have the fire in me this time.
“You can do whatever you want,” I muttered, turning away.
A moment later, the waiting room door opened and Hades emerged. His usual gruff expression was softened with concern.
“Hey, Lila,” he said. “How are you holding up? Jenny called and she’s on her way.”
“I should have known that gossip would spread with lightning speed around here.”
“Did you really think we would let you go through this alone?” Hades countered, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
Despite the challenges that accompanied club life, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
These people had become my big, boisterous family.
Even though I didn’t wear the cut and colors, the umbrella of the club’s protection and support extended to anyone associated with their members—wives, girlfriends, kids, nieces, nephews.
We looked out for each other when we needed it the most.
Within the next five minutes, bikers began pouring into the waiting room.
There was Tarzan, with his wife, Keely, and their son, Kenny, riding on Tarzan’s shoulders.
Trooper followed at their heels, with his girlfriend—my best friend—Shea. They had been dating for almost a year by now, and I had a feeling that she would be wearing an engagement ring pretty soon.
Then came Ironside, Vice President of the club, with Psycho, Brass, and Recoil.
When I was little, Mom and Dad got divorced because of the club.
Mom didn’t want her sweet baby girl raised around all those outlaw bikers, but I took to the lifestyle like a duck to water.
I had these bastards eating out of the palm of my hand by the time I was two years old, charming them with my laughter and attitude.
They would lay down their lives to keep me safe.
Mom didn’t see it that way though. She wanted more for her daughter than hanging out at a biker bar, and I didn’t really blame her for that.
Eventually, the tension reached a boiling point and Mom couldn’t take it anymore. After the divorce, she moved to the east coast and got remarried. She became the proud stepmother to two angelic girls who were nothing like me.
At first, I felt like a bomb had been dropped in my family, tearing it apart.
But the Reckless Order rallied around me, offering a shoulder to lean on if I needed it. Just like they did now. These men were like brothers and uncles to me.
Except for Pretty Boy.
He was…something else. Something I couldn’t define.
Amid the hum of conversation that filled the waiting room, I heard my phone ring in the depths of my purse. Without paying any attention to the caller ID on the screen, I answered it.
“Hello, Lila.”
A chill shivered down my spine. I recognized that voice—the lilting Irish accent, the oily purr in his tone.
Edgar Sweeney. Member of the Irish mafia.
“What do you want, you fucking snake?” I hissed, hurrying out the door.
These bikers were a bunch of gossips and eavesdroppers. I didn’t need them listening in on my conversation. Sweeney had a notorious reputation for going back on his word, which my father had learned the hard way. Whatever reason he had for calling me, it wouldn’t be good.
“I heard about your dear old Da.” Sweeney clucked his tongue. “Such a shame.”
“If you did something to him—”
“Hush, lamb,” Sweeney cut in. “There’s no need for threats. I’ve done nothing to your Da. Not yet anyway.”
I clenched my teeth so hard that my jaw ached.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Hillbilly and I had an arrangement, but he’s not holding up his end of the bargain.”
I frowned as an uneasiness coiled in my stomach. Dad never mentioned anything like that to me. But he often left me in the dark when club business became too dangerous and might put me at risk.
“What kind of arrangement?”
“A financial one. I provided him with a loan a few months ago”
I scoffed.
“No. No way. He would have never taken a single fucking penny from you.”
Sweeney hummed.
“Your Da wanted to keep it quiet. He didn’t give reasons, and I didn’t ask. I’ve granted him a generous amount of time to pay it back—in full, in cash—and he has not delivered.”
I huffed, pacing in circles in the hospital’s parking lot.
“Well, he’s not exactly in a position to crunch numbers at the moment. That’s what happens when a medical emergency puts you in the ER.”
“Not my problem, pet,” Sweeney said. “This is business, and I will have my money back.”
I sighed, rubbing my temple where a tension headache was beginning to take shape. Being the President’s daughter was a strange position. I didn’t actually have any real power in the club. I couldn’t hold an office or vote in their meetings since I wasn’t an official member.
Instead, I was more like a princess. Except I was destined to never inherit the throne after my father’s passing. His position would be filled by someone else who was voted to take his place. And it was tricky to navigate.
“Fine,” I relented. “How much does Dad owe you?”
Maybe I could pay off this loan myself. Maybe I could get Sweeney off Dad’s back without anyone else’s help.
“Three hundred thousand dollars. Cold, hard cash.”
The breath punched out of my lungs and left me gasping. I didn’t have that kind of money. Dad certainly didn’t either.
“For what?” I replied, incredulous.
“Oh, I can’t tell you that, lamb. Your father said it was private. He needed money, and I was willing to oblige.”
My mind reeled with this information. I had to stall for time.
“Well, as long as Dad is in the hospital, you’ll just have to wait,” I said.
Sweeney sucked his teeth in dismay.
“Oh, pet. That’s the wrong answer. Because I laid out the terms of my loan very clearly to your dear old Da.
He knew exactly what he was agreeing to.
If he can’t pay what he owes, his debt falls to his family.
That would be you. And your mother. Her stepdaughters are growing into beautiful young ladies. ”
A lump formed in my throat. Mom and I weren’t exactly close these days. We didn’t even spend the holidays together. Our lives were too different, and I think she felt betrayed that I sided with my dad instead of her during the divorce.
But I didn’t want anything happening to her. Or my stepsisters. Even if we had nothing in common.
“You have forty-eight hours,” Sweeney said. “Don’t force my hand, Lila. Be a good girl and get me my money, or I’ll have to hurt that pretty, perfect body of yours. And then I'll pay a visit to your mother."
I growled, fighting back a fuck you that burned on the tip of my tongue. Sweeney chuckled. My blood boiled at his amusement.
Then he hung up. I stood in the parking lot alone, with the weight of my father’s secret debt resting on my shoulders.
What did he need three hundred thousand dollars for? Why didn’t he tell me about it? Why did he feel so desperate that he would turn to Sweeney of all people? And where could I possibly come up with that much money in just two days?
As much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t do this alone.
I needed help. I needed to tell the Reckless Order what was going on.
And I didn’t want Dad to hear a word about it.
His health was fragile enough already. The additional stress wouldn’t do him any good.
I knew how he would react if he found out that Sweeney had threatened me—his one and only daughter.
He would be out of that hospital bed in a heartbeat, even if his body crumpled.
“Is everything okay?”
I whirled around to see Pretty Boy as he exited the hospital. I clutched my phone, swallowing hard.
Since we were kids, Matteo "Pretty Boy" Rossi was always around, like a thorn in my side. Deep down, I was jealous of him in a way, filling the role of my father’s protégé that I never could.
Sure, I was Dad’s daughter, his flesh and blood. But Pretty Boy was a potential successor, an heir to the club Presidency.
I wanted to hate him. Properly, deeply, truly hate him, from the pit of my soul.
Instead, the urge to sink into his arms and cry my eyes out overwhelmed me.
Pretty Boy stood there, waiting for my response with a wariness in his eyes and a tension in his muscles like he was prepared to spring into action at any moment.
His stupid pecs stretched the fabric of his shirt tight across his chest. His chocolate brown curls were smoothed back into a knot at the base of his neck.
And he studied me with those hazel eyes. Even in the crowded clubhouse, his eyes always managed to find me, like a homing missile. Target acquired and locked in.
“You should stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” I said, marching past him.
Pretty Boy caught my arm. I tried to pull away but he held on tighter. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make me stay for a moment longer.
“Hey,” he said, quiet but firm. “If you want to talk about your dad—”
“I don’t. And certainly not with you. Now let go of me.”
Pretty Boy released my arm. I dashed into the waiting room, eager to put distance between us while the heat of his palm lingered on my skin.