Chapter 9
Caitlyn had work in an hour. Where was her other shoe? Someone banged on the door. Owen never budged from his video game.
Finding her shoe, she hopped to the door. Wrenching it open, she dropped the shoe and tried to wiggle her foot inside.
“Honey, I’m home.” Silas held his arms wide.
Caitlyn’s legs weakened at the sight of her ex-husband. Dark blue jeans with black biker boots and a stained wife-beater shirt. He loomed in the doorway. Knowing better than to step back or show him any signs of weakness, Caitlyn’s fingers tightened around the doorknob. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a man come home to his wife?”
Dread swirled around in her stomach like soured milk. Swallowing down the bile rising in her throat, Caitlyn crossed her arms to make it clear she wouldn’t fall into any of Silas’s schemes. “I’m not your wife, Silas.”
“A piece of paper means nothing,” Silas said, moving closer. “You wore my cut. You bore my son. You. Are. Mine.”
She tried not to roll her eyes at his disgusting remark. “Funny, since you haven’t been around for years. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?”
“Parole, baby.” Silas lowered his arms, but then he lifted them higher again.
“Off early for good behavior. And now I’m home.
It’s good to see you kept the shop waiting for me.
That was some trick you played.” He wagged his finger at her.
“But don’t worry, I’ve had time to think of how you can make it up to me.
” He winked. “Where is Pops? I need to see him.”
Caitlyn’s stomach rolled. “No one notified me of your release.”
A sly grin spread across Silas’s face. “Been keeping tabs on me. See? You do care.”
Panic clawed at her throat. Images of Owen engrossed in his video games in the other room filled her mind. Pops was tinkering in the garage, trying to replace the parts she took off his motorcycle to keep him from driving off on it.
Silas’s eyes twinkled with an unsettling glint. The carefully groomed beard couldn’t mask the broadness of his chin, a feature that used to send shivers down her spine. Nausea churned in her gut. “If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”
Was her restraining order still good? Did such things need to be renewed? He wasn’t supposed to get out of prison this soon.
A tense silence stretched between them. Caitlyn forced herself to meet his gaze, hoping the threat held a sliver of believability. Maybe, just maybe, a reminder of the law would be enough to scare him off.
“You can’t keep me away from my son, Kitty Cat,” Silas finally drawled, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “And last time I checked, I still owned half the business.”
“There is no business. The shop has been closed for over a year. Besides, I bought you out a long time ago. Remember all those legal fees? The lawyer? The divorce?”
Silas’s expression blanked. Caitlyn stiffened, knowing that dead look he got before the storm hit. Instead, he smiled, his ice-blue eyes sending their frosty chill to the pit of her stomach.
“You always did like to dig your claws in deep,” he said, taking another step toward her. Caitlyn reached out to hold the door frame. She wouldn’t budge—not for him. She wouldn’t allow him to intimidate her ever again, no matter what he said or did.
“I recently saw a sweet ride with lightning painted over the tanks. I’d know my wife’s artistic style anywhere.”
“I did that a long time ago.” Her heart hammered in her chest.
“I asked the guy.” Silas’s gaze fell below her neck, then up to meet her eyes again. “He said it was custom. By appointment only. He got it done last month.”
Caitlyn tried to breathe out her nose and steady her nerves. “It’s not your business.”
He stared, his steel eyes narrowed and assessing. A trickle of sweat ran down her back. He pulled his shoulders back. His arms remained toned and well-muscled, just as she had observed the day they took him away in the courtroom.
“Where’s the boy? It’s been a while since I saw him.”
“He’s not here,” she lied.
“I have my rights, Kitty Cat. Now tell me where he is.” Silas leaned toward her.
Caitlyn leaned back, her throat tightening. “He’s not here.”
“Then I’ll wait.” Silas stepped back. “I’ve got time. Is the apartment above the garage still empty?”
Their old apartment. He would try to move back in with them again, force his way back into their lives. Not with a protective order. She planned to call the lawyer, find out what happened to get him out, and get the name of his parole officer.
“No. It’s rented,” she lied again. A mutual friend of theirs, Pete, went through a divorce.
Needing a place to live, Caitlyn offered him work in the garage to help her out that first year Silas went to prison.
He wasn’t as good as Pops with mechanics, but Pops lost interest in the shop when the drink ruled him.
For a long time, she blamed Silas. Pops lost his leadership of the Ghost Riders for his part in allowing Silas to direct the club’s path.
It ruined their business. It aged and destroyed her father.
And Pete found another woman to move in with and left the garage apartment empty last year.
Now, Caitlyn did custom paint jobs to earn extra cash between the pizza shop and the motor coach gig during the off season without having time to find a new tenant or wanting to deal with one.
“Ole Pipper is still around. I’m sure he won’t mind me crashing for a while,” Silas said.
Pipper was Pete’s biker name. They’d called him the Pied Piper for all the pies his wife baked and brought to the Ghost Riders’ meetings. He had a half-dozen kids, and his ex-wife suspected a few others he hid from her through their years together.
Exasperated, Caitlyn said, “Whatever trouble you’re in, we don’t want it. I’m not about to let you near Owen again. You’ll find some way to use him in one of your schemes.”
“You’re right, I will.” Silas’s grin widened. “You always knew me best. My wild Kitty Cat.” He took a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to cup her cheek, but Caitlyn turned her face away.
He dropped his hand away from her. “I never could hide the truth from you.”
Caitlyn recoiled, her stomach twisting with a sickening mix of fear and loathing.
“Don’t touch me. And I mean it.” Did she?
Would she call the police? The memory of the restraining order was hazy, and dealing with the authorities again filled her with a renewed dread.
But what choice did she have? “Stay away from us. Stay off this property. If I have to, I swear, Silas, I’ll call the cops!
” Her voice wavered slightly, a tremor of uncertainty she desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice.
Silas chuckled, a low, humorless sound. “You do that, sweetheart. And while you’re at it, ask them if they have a guy named Sebastian Daniels on the force.”
“Who?” The name slammed into her like a physical blow. So much for a clean break. Her carefully constructed life teetered on the edge like a house of cards.
Silas stepped back, a predatory glint in his eyes, and perched himself on the porch post. The air crackled with unspoken tension, thick enough to choke on. Caitlyn kept hold of the door like a lifeline. A silent prayer escaped her lips, a plea for strength and guidance.
“Sebastian Daniels,” he drawled, each word slow and deliberate, like an icy blade scraping against bone.
“I thought I heard Owen mention you had a friend named Daniels,” Silas continued, a sly smile playing on his lips. “Sandy or Sandra, I think?” He clicked his tongue in mock contemplation. “Ah yes, Sammy! A strange name for a girl, wouldn’t you say?”
Caitlyn’s mind reeled. But Owen couldn’t have mentioned her.
He was three when the police arrested Silas.
Who else could have revealed it? Her gaze darted toward the garage, a knot tightening in her stomach, deepening her dread.
Several Ghost Riders’ members kept in touch with Silas, even after his incarceration.
Had one of them been keeping more of a watch on her than she realized?
“What about her?” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. A faint rustling sound came from inside the house. Panic once more pressed into her throat.
“She got a brother?”
“How should I know?” Caitlyn listened, hoping Owen would stay inside, but the footfalls came closer.
Sammy talked about her twin brother often in the first few years of their friendship.
Lately, life kept Caitlyn from seeing Sammy for more than a quick hug on Sunday mornings. Sammy was proud of her brother. A cop.
“Just tell me what I need to know. She’s your friend... or was,” Silas said, leveling his gaze upon her. “I may have been in prison, but I still heard gossip about my wife and our son.”
Caitlyn clenched her jaw. With everything he had done, she couldn’t allow him around Owen.
Silas wasn’t the man she had once fallen in love with long ago.
He used her. He needed her to help him move up the ranks of the Ghost Riders by marrying the president’s daughter.
They called him Shadow because he’d do anything, even if it meant carrying out their dangerous orders.
Her father didn’t understand. None of the Ghosts did.
Silas flexed his muscled arms, showing off tattoos she used to love, running her fingertips along his back when she believed in him and thought he differed from the other Ghost Riders. Now, they were just a reminder of a past she wanted desperately to forget.
“Why should I help you?” she replied coldly, keeping her insides from trembling. Silas made these kinds of inquiries for one reason. Dear Lord, please let me be wrong. “Why does Sammy having a brother matter?”
The hopes, the dreams—all lies.