Chapter 10
Christina
Later in the day, I’m helping stock the bar. The clubhouse phone starts ringing while I’m walking up with a twenty-four pack of beer in my arms.
I immediately think it’s some supplier or a wrong number. Then I hear Brandi, one of the club girls, call out from the kitchen, “Hey, Christina? You’ve got a phone call.”
My whole body goes still. It takes me a minute to force my feet to move. I step into the hall. “Are you sure it’s for me?”
“Yeah!” she calls back. “They asked for you by name and said it was important.”
I’ve never told anyone that I’m here. I glance at the club officers’ door, where Slate’s office is located. It’s closed, and I can hear the low rumble of their voices talking inside. I can’t bring this to him yet.
When I step into the kitchen, she holds the receiver out to me and gives it a little shake. When I reach for it, Brandi lowers her voice. “He sounds weird. Like he’s trying to sound polite but is kinda pissed. You know what I mean?”
I nod. “Yeah, I get it. Thanks for the warning.” My hand trembles as I take the cordless receiver from her. “Hello?”
There’s a slight pause. Then a man’s voice responds, “Hello, Christina.”
It’s just like Brandi said—he sounds pissed, but his tone is syrupy sweet.
“Who is this?” I ask, trying to sound brave.
“You know who I am,” he responds firmly. “I’ve been patient. You’ve made things difficult, as usual.”
Panic surges through my veins, but I try to force some normality back into my voice. “You have the wrong number.”
“No, Christina, I don’t have the wrong number. And don’t lie to me. I hate liars. I want you to come outside now. Alone. Or I’ll blow this place apart—fifty bikes, fifteen women, and one child who doesn’t deserve to pay for your mistakes.”
I get lightheaded for a second, and it feels like all the oxygen has suddenly left the room.
“You’re lying,” I whisper. “How can you know details like that?”
“You seem to think you’re the only one capable of spying and gathering information on your enemy. We’re two peas in a pod, you and me. Now, get your ass out here before I blow the whole damn place with you in it. I get paid either way.”
A chill creeps up my spine as the line goes dead.
I stand there with the receiver still in my hand, listening to the dial tone. Around me, the girls keep working in the kitchen. They’re laughing and joking around with one another, totally oblivious to the danger they’re in.
My knees nearly give out when I hang up. My hands are cold, and I cling to the kitchen counter in order to keep from hitting the floor. I realize at some point that I’m hyperventilating.
Queenie rushes over, wiping her hands on a towel. “Are you all right, honey? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
I open my mouth to answer, but the words won’t come. Standing there feeling helpless is making this whole situation worse.
She frowns. “Christina? What just happened?”
“I need Slate,” I manage to croak out. A sick feeling swirls in my stomach, making me nauseous enough to throw up, but I shove it down.
She must hear something in my tone because she doesn’t argue. She turns fast, calling towards his office. “Slate! You better come out here right now!”
The sound of multiple sets of boots moving on the floor makes some of the panic subside. Slate’s here, and he’s coming to me. When I see his face, I rush to him. He’s as calm as ever, scanning my face worriedly.
He reaches out and steadies me with one hand on each shoulder. “What happened?”
I swallow hard. “There was a call. It was him.”
He glances at the phone hanging on the wall and then back at me. “The fuckin’ asshole stalking you just called the clubhouse?”
“Yes, I recognized his voice from when he chased after me that night in LA,” I tell him. “Brandi answered, and he asked for me by name. He said if I didn’t come outside, they’d blow this place up.”
His eyes narrow, and he’s typing out a text on his phone within seconds.
Within a minute, all the brothers are moving with purpose.
He orders them around so fast that I can’t believe it—and they seem to know exactly what to do.
From what I gather this club has a contingency plan for potential attack situations.
Suddenly, his father and brothers are huddling around us.
Onyx asks, “We got your message about the bomb threat. Is it credible?”
Slate jerks both shoulders up. “Who the fuck knows. It was from the asshole stalking Christina.”
Rock comments tensely, “He’s a tenacious little prick, isn’t he?”
Jasper, their club president, announces, “The clubhouse is officially on lockdown. That means nobody comes in or leaves without my express permission. Get the girls and the prospects to the basement. Everyone needs to stick to the plan. I don’t want to catch anyone doing their own thing.”
“The threat’s not real,” I say quickly. “He’s bluffing, just trying to scare me into making capturing me easy.”
“Maybe,” Jasper says. “But we don’t take chances when it comes to our clubhouse and our loved ones.”
Queenie and Tessa start herding all the women downstairs, saying something about a safe room.
I quickly gather Katie into my arms. When I start to follow them, Slate pulls Katie from my arms and hands her off to his mother.
Queenie grabs her up and makes for the stairway leading downstairs without another word.
Once they’re out of sight, he asks, “What exactly did he say? I want a blow-by-blow.”
I tell him, word for word, every syllable, every pause—the way he sounded so irritated but kept his voice polite. “And he said something really weird right before he hung up.”
Frowning, Slate asks, “Stranger than threatening to blow up our fuckin’ clubhouse?”
Riding right over that question, I tell him, “He said he’d get paid whether I’m dead or alive.”
Slate lets loose with a string of curses under his breath. “I should have fuckin’ checked out the fucker the second I learned he wasn’t your ex.”
Slate glances over at Jasper, who mutters, “Don’t worry. I’m fuckin’ all over this.” He promptly pulls out his phone and walks off.
I look at Slate. “I don’t understand.”
He wraps one arm around me and explains as he walks me to the steps leading downstairs.
“You were an investigative reporter. Someone tried to kill you to shut you up once. There’s a good chance that when you came back to the US, it was easier for them to put a hit on you rather than try to track you down themselves. ”
I shake my head, unwilling to believe something like that could happen to me. “That’s a little improbable, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but just when you start believing wild shit like that can’t be happening to you is when it bites you in the ass. Jasper is gonna have our IT guys do a search to see if there’s a price on your head. If so, it might just lead us right to whoever wants you dead.”
“This whole situation feels surreal.”
“Well, you can talk to Queenie about that. She’s good at helping women get their heads around the realities they’d otherwise like to live in denial about.”
Ouch, that hurt to hear. But maybe he’s right. When he guides me through the door, I turn and ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah, stay in the safe room and let us handle things. We’ve got a system, and it works best if we’re freed up from worrying about our loved ones.”
“So, you love me now?”
My question clearly catches him off guard. I can tell by the surprise that registers on his face. He quickly recovers and leans forward to give me a quick, rough kiss. He murmurs, “Yeah, I fuckin’ love you to pieces. If I’m being honest, I probably always have.”
Before I can respond, he shuts the door, and I hear the lock click closed.
I quickly make my way downstairs and join the rest of the women in a small concrete room behind a heavy metal door.
Once Queenie does a quick headcount, she locks and bars the door.
We’re all standing around looking at each other.
She announces calmly, “Everything’s going to be okay. It’s probably nothing, but you know how overprotective the brothers can be.”
That seems to settle down everyone but me. I reach down and pick up Katie. She’s all smiles, clearly thinking we’re playing a new game of some sort.
The club girls try to make the best of their morning being wrecked by setting out the breakfast that never got served upstairs.
They don’t seem particularly stressed. I realize it’s because odd, one-off things like this must happen on the regular around the clubhouse.
They’ve learned to trust the brothers to take care of things.
Me? I wish I could unknow the things I learned during that phone call.
Tessa coordinates breakfast, keeping everyone busy and laughing.
Managing people must be her super skill, I think to myself as I sit Katie at the counter and give her some eggs to eat.
My little daughter is still all smiles. She’s too young to understand the reason we’re in this safe room is because her mother’s past has caught up with her one more time.
Tessa makes the go-away gesture. It’s her way of giving me a minute to myself. I gratefully take her up on her silent offer. Walking over to a quiet part of the room, I drop down into a cracked leather chair that looks like it’s seen better days.
I fold my arms over my stomach and stare at the floor.
Queenie comes to sit in another weathered armchair right beside me. She takes a sip of her coffee before saying the last thing I expect to hear. “Do you think we could bribe this ex of yours to go away?”
My head jerks up to stare at her. I guess word hasn’t got around about who was after me and why. “I honestly don’t know,” I stammer. “There’s more going on here than meets the eye.”
“If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener,” Queenie says before taking another sip of her coffee.