Chapter Five #2
Both Prospects straightened at the directive, understanding the gravity without needing explanation.
“Is she in trouble?” the younger one asked, curiosity overriding protocol.
I fixed him with a steady gaze. “She’s claimed. All you need to know.”
He nodded quickly, accepting the rebuke without comment. Mason’s expression remained neutral, but I caught the slight narrowing of his eyes -- not judgment, just assessment. Trying to reconcile the Samson he knew with the man who’d claimed a half-dead stranger at the gate last night.
“Something else,” Mason said after a moment. “Security camera picked up someone walking the perimeter around four this morning. Eastern fence line.” He gestured toward the screens in the guardhouse. “Never showed their face to the camera, knew exactly where to stay in the shadows.”
Ice settled in my gut. The letter under my door. Someone had been close enough to my cabin to deliver it, and the security systems hadn’t caught them. Not good.
“Beast know?” I asked.
“Called it in the moment we saw it,” Mason confirmed. “He and Ranger have been in the clubhouse since dawn. I’d have thought someone would have dropped by to tell you or at least called.”
I nodded, already turning toward the main compound. He wasn’t wrong. Someone should have said something, but that wasn’t my call to make. “Keep your eyes open. And watch the road.”
As I moved away from the gate, something caught my eye -- a glint of sunlight on metal in the distance.
I squinted, trying to figure out what I was seeing.
Looked like a dark blue sedan. The driver’s window was cracked open slightly, and as I watched, the unmistakable shape of binoculars appeared, trained directly on the compound entrance.
I didn’t break stride or give any indication I’d noticed.
Instead, I counted cameras as I walked -- one mounted on the telephone pole near the entrance, another disguised in the birdhouse on a tree twenty yards in, a third blinking from beneath the eaves of the first cabin.
Our security system had been upgraded last year after a rival club had tried to plant explosives near the clubhouse.
Now every inch of the perimeter was covered, the footage monitored round-the-clock by Prospects on rotation.
But someone had still managed to slip through, to approach my cabin unseen.
The clubhouse stood at the center of the compound, a low-slung building of weathered wood and stone with the Kings’ emblem painted above the double doors.
Two more Prospects flanked the entrance, nodding respectfully as I approached.
No questions, just deference to the patch I’d earned through fifteen years of loyalty.
Inside, the main room stood empty except for Beast and Ranger, bent over a table spread with what looked like blueprints of the compound. Beast looked up as the door closed behind me, his face unreadable as always, but tension evident in the set of his shoulders.
“Letter came to my cabin last night,” I said without preamble. “Hand-delivered. County sheriff’s office, asking about Callie.”
Beast straightened, exchanging a glance with Ranger. “Same time someone was testing our perimeter,” he observed. “Not a coincidence.”
“No,” I agreed. “And now we’ve got a deputy asking questions at the gate and a lawyer offering cash for information.”
Ranger’s face creased with displeasure. “Moving fast.”
Beast folded his arms across his chest, his substantial frame blocking half the morning light from the windows. “We have a safe house in Millerton. Off the grid, stocked, ready to go. We should move her there tonight.”
I shook my head immediately. “Moving her is exactly what he wants. Makes her look guilty of something. She stays with me.”
Beast studied my face, reading the certainty there. We’d known each other long enough for words to feel unnecessary between us.
“This puts heat on all of us,” he said finally. “Law enforcement taking interest in the compound. Surveillance.”
“The heat was already coming,” I countered. “You’ve seen the bruises. Heard what she told me. This isn’t some random domestic. This is a cop using county resources to hunt a woman beyond his jurisdiction.”
Ranger pushed away from the table, moving to stand beside Beast. His gaze, sharp despite his years, fixed on mine. “Your claim, your call,” he said slowly.
I held his gaze, understanding the implication. By claiming Callie, I’d brought her under club protection -- but I’d also brought her troubles with her. The Kings operated outside the law in numerous ways. Law enforcement attention was always unwelcome, always dangerous.
“I understand,” I said simply.
Beast nodded once, decision made. “We’ll double the perimeter watch. No one gets in or out without clearance.” He gestured to the blueprints. “I want you both to review the security protocols. If they’re testing our defenses, they’re planning something.”
“Or creating a distraction,” Ranger suggested. “If they got in once, they can do it again unless we figure out how they did it.”
The thought had occurred to me as well. I moved to the table, studying the layout of the compound I knew by heart. My cabin sat at the eastern edge, closest to the perimeter fence. Most vulnerable.
“I need to get back,” I said, mind already racing ahead to Callie, alone at my cabin. “She’ll panic if I’m gone too long.”
Beast nodded. “Go. But, Samson --” He paused, his voice dropping slightly. “If this escalates, we may not have a choice about moving her.”
I met his gaze. “She stays with me.” My tone left no room for debate. “I claimed her. That means she’s one of us.”
Beast held my gaze for a long moment before nodding once. “It does. Just make sure it’s worth what might be coming our way.”
I left without another word, my stride lengthening as I headed back toward my cabin. The unmarked sedan was gone when I passed the gate, but the feeling of being watched lingered, prickling between my shoulder blades with every step.
* * *
I approached my cabin with measured steps, scanning the tree line and open spaces between buildings.
The compound felt different now, familiar territory transformed by invisible threat.
At my door, I paused, listening. Movement inside -- quick, frantic sounds of drawers opening, fabric rustling.
My hand went to my weapon as I pushed the door open, but it wasn’t an intruder I found.
It was Callie, frantically shoving borrowed clothes into the small backpack Lyssa had brought over.
She froze when the door opened, a borrowed T-shirt clutched in her trembling hands. Her eyes, wide with fear I recognized too well, met mine across the room. For a heartbeat, we remained locked in a tableau -- her poised for flight, me blocking the only exit.
“What are you doing?” I asked, though the answer was painfully obvious.
She looked down at the shirt in her hands, fingers working the fabric with nervous energy. “I should go,” she said, her voice barely carrying across the space between us. “I’m bringing trouble to your door. To everyone here.”
The resignation in her tone cut deeper than I expected. I closed the door behind me, engaging both locks with deliberate movements before crossing the room in three strides. Her shoulders tensed as I approached, but she didn’t back away -- progress of a sort.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I said, keeping my voice quiet but firm.
Her fingers tightened on the shirt, knuckles white with strain.
“You don’t understand. There was a letter.
People asking questions. Now there’s probably surveillance.
” She finally looked up, meeting my gaze with desperate intensity.
I wasn’t sure how she knew about the questions, but that wasn’t important right now.
“Here’s how it starts. First questions, then pressure.
Then people start losing things -- jobs, reputations, freedom. ”
I gently took the shirt from her unresisting hands and set it on the table. “He wants to flush you out and get you alone.”
Her breathing quickened, shoulders rising with each inhale.
“I’ve seen what happens to people who help me.
My friend Melissa lost her job at the bank after she let me stay with her.
Pastor Ryan’s wife had her volunteer position at the hospital ‘reassigned’ after she suggested I talk to a counselor in the next county. ”
I placed my hands on her shoulders, feeling the fine tremors running through her. Not fever this time -- pure fear.
“Callie,” I said, waiting until her gaze focused on mine. “The Kings aren’t small-town volunteers. We can’t be intimidated by badges or threats.”
She shook her head, frustration flashing through the fear. “You don’t know him. What he’s capable of.”
“And he doesn’t know us,” I countered. “What we’re capable of. Who we’re connected to.”
Something shifted in her expression -- not quite hope, but a fracture in her certainty of defeat. “What if he hurts someone here because of me?” she whispered, voice breaking. “What if he hurts you?”
The vulnerability in the question caught me off guard. Fifteen years in the Kings, and violence had always been a given, a calculated risk. But the way she asked -- as if my safety mattered to her personally -- stirred something I’d thought long buried.
I took her bandaged wrist, my thumb brushing over the gauze where zip ties had cut into flesh. “Let him try,” I said softly.
The simple declaration hung between us. Her gaze searched mine, looking for uncertainty or bravado and finding neither. Just certainty. The Kings protected their own, and I’d claimed her. Simple as it gets.
The shrill ring of my landline shattered the moment. Few people had this number -- Beast, Ranger, a handful of trusted brothers. Not the kind who called without reason.
I released her wrist reluctantly, moving to the kitchen where the ancient wall phone hung. The caller ID displayed an unfamiliar number with the local area code. I hesitated, then hit the speaker button, keeping my eyes on Callie.
“Yeah?” I answered, deliberately curt.
“Good morning,” a smooth, professional voice responded. “I’m looking for Miss Monroe regarding an urgent family matter.”
Callie went perfectly still, color draining from her face as if someone had pulled a plug. She recognized the voice -- I saw it in the absolute terror flooding her eyes, in the way her hand flew to her mouth to stifle any sound.
“You’ve got the wrong place,” I said, keeping my tone neutral while rage coiled tight in my chest.
“I believe there’s been some misunderstanding,” the voice continued, unruffled. “I represent Chief Robert Davis, who is quite concerned about his niece’s welfare. She left treatment against medical advice and may be in danger. The family simply wants to ensure her safety.”
Each lie delivered with practiced sincerity, each word causing Callie to shrink further into herself. I watched her backing away until she hit the wall, pressed against it as if trying to disappear into the wood grain.
“Like I said,” I repeated, gaze locked on hers. Niece? Yeah, right. But if a lawyer was calling, then they had most likely fabricated documentation. “No one by that name here. Don’t call again.”
“I should clarify,” the voice continued, a new edge beneath the professional veneer. “Harboring a mentally disturbed individual who has fled treatment could result in legal complications. Chief Davis would prefer to resolve this quietly, for everyone’s benefit.”
Callie shook her head violently, mouthing “No” over and over. I’d seen the look before -- in trapped animals, in brothers backed into corners with no way out. Pure desperation.
“Understand this,” I said, each word precise and measured. “There’s no one here for you to speak with. Any further contact will be considered harassment. We clear?”
A pause, then: “Crystal clear, Mr. Harker. But this conversation isn’t over.”
The line went dead. Callie slid down the wall until she sat on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them like she was trying to hold herself together physically.
I moved to the phone again, dialing Beast’s direct line. He answered on the second ring.
“They have my landline number,” I said without preamble. “Lawyer just called asking for her by name.”
Beast cursed softly. “How deep are this bastard’s connections?”
“Deep enough to find a number not listed in any public record,” I replied. “We need to assume all our lines are compromised.”
“Agreed. Switch to burners only, starting now.” Beast’s voice dropped lower. “How’s she holding up?”
I glanced at Callie, still huddled against the wall, gaze fixed on some middle distance. “Scared. Was packing to run when I got back.”
“Keep her close,” Beast ordered, though he didn’t need to. “We’ll handle the rest.”
After hanging up, I crossed the room and lowered myself to the floor beside Callie, back against the same wall. Not touching, just present. For long minutes, neither of us spoke.
“He always finds me,” she whispered finally. “Isn’t there anywhere that’s safe and out of his reach?”
“No,” I corrected gently. “He found my phone number. Not the same thing.”
She turned to look at me, eyes red-rimmed but dry. Beyond fear now, into something harder, more resolute. “What happens next?”
Instead of answering, I reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. When she didn’t, I drew her against my chest, one hand protective at the back of her head while my gaze remained fixed on the window, watching for movement beyond the glass.
“We stay together,” I said simply. “And we make him regret ever hunting you.”
She didn’t reply, but I felt her exhale against my chest, her body gradually relaxing into mine.
Outside, shadows lengthened as morning gave way to afternoon.
Somewhere beyond our walls, a predator circled, seeking weakness, opportunity.
But here, in this moment, with her heart beating steadily against mine, one thing became perfectly clear.
I’d claimed her. And whatever came through the door would have to go through me first.