Chapter Twenty

Cali

I was second-guessing myself the whole ride back to my apartment. The bigger part of me wanted to turn the car into each jug handle I passed, to head back toward the clubhouse, climb into Brooks's bed, feel him curl his arms around me, and stay the night with him.

The other part, though, that was trying to be smart and rational, knew that I needed to be in my own place to be able to get ready for work in the morning.

Maybe, if things progressed the way I was praying they would, I could keep some basics at the clubhouse. Just enough to allow me to get myself ready for one day of work. That way, I could crash if I felt like it.

But I didn't feel like we were at a point yet that I could ask for that kind of thing.

"God, get a grip," I grumbled to myself as I sat at a red light.

It was one night.

I was acting like I was never going to see the man again.

He would be coming over to my place to spend the night in just, what, twelve hours or so.

I had to stop being so needy.

Things were too new.

I mean, objectively, it wasn't exactly new like most relationships were new. We'd been close to each other most of our lives. It wasn't like I didn't know the man and was walking around with heart eyes already.

But I just didn't want to scare him away with the intensity of my feelings. While I may have been in love with him since I was old enough to be capable of things like that, he'd always seen me as his best friend's little sister. Not a valid love interest.

I needed to give him time for his feelings to grow as deep as mine were.

So I had to act like the separation wasn't killing me as I parked out front of my apartment building.

See, now here is the part where things were a little bit fuzzy. I had no idea if, when I put my key in the lock, it met any resistance. Like it would if it was actually locked.

All I knew was there were no outward signs of anything being wrong. Not in the first landing, or up at the top of the stairs when I reached that door.

It wasn't until I pushed open my door and flicked on my light that my belly bottomed out.

Someone had been in my apartment.

No, not only been in it.

Tossed it.

And not in a "where are the cash and valuables" kind of way. Not that I actually had any cash or valuables. I liked having too many choices to invest in expensive jewelry or designer clothing and shoes. I bought crap from big box stores or inexpensive online retailers, so I had options to fit my moods.

There was literally nothing in my apartment of any worth save for, I guess, my laptop that was stashed in a drawer in my nightstand. And, I guess, my grandmother's and mother's engagement rings that I'd been meaning to get turned into some sort of necklace for years, but never actually doing it.

The destruction in my apartment wasn't about cash value items.

This was someone looking for something that I may have hidden.

My couch cushions were gutted.

Every decorative item that had been on my shelves or sitting on top of cabinets, even my wall art, had been torn down. Most of it was broken shards shattered all around the floor.

I stood there frozen for a moment, listening to the silence in my apartment and my own heartbeat thumping in my ears.

Then I was moving, some part of me needing to know what else was wrecked.

The kitchen was a disaster, every pot, pan, plate, cup, and dish thrown on the ground, so they could inspect the insides of the cabinets.

Even my fridge had been opened, all the items tossed out, so they could inspect each inch of my fridge and freezer.

Instinctively, I walked over toward the ice cream, picking it up, and tossing it into the garbage. It squeezed in my hand, completely defrosted, all but ready to spill out of the seal on the bottom.

I pushed the fridge and freezer doors closed, but left the rest of the food mess on the floor as I turned into my dressing room.

Clothes were scattered, but seemed unharmed.

But the couch was gutted.

And, for no reason whatsoever, my very expensive mirror had been smashed.

With a little sob caught in my throat, I ran toward my jewelry box, finding the contents scattered, like they'd looked through it, but decided nothing was worth even stealing.

Tucked way in the back, though, were the rings that meant so much to me.

Thank god.

I slipped them on my fingers, not wanting to risk anything happening to them as I walked back out of that room, and headed up the stairs toward my loft.

There was nothing up there that I cared all that much about. Some bottles of somewhat expensive perfume, but not enough that it would break my bank to replace my favorites. The laptop. Some little trinkets.

There was glass scattered on the floor near the window, my little sun catchers I'd bought at the Renaissance faire pulled down for no good reason at all, since there was no way to hide anything there.

I wasn't surprised to find my laptop missing.

Or my bed ripped open.

Jokes on you, assholes, I thought, looking at the split memory foam mattress, that this is full of fiberglass.

I remember being upset when I found that out after I bought it and the return window closed. But the fiberglass, apparently, was what helped them meet fire safety standards. And was completely safe if you left the cover on and didn't cut or puncture it in any way.

But being so reckless as to slice it open?

They would be covered in the shit.

In their eyes.

On their skin.

Breathing it into their lungs.

On that last bit, I decided to hold my own breath as I started toward the stairs, my hand reaching for my phone, wanting to text Brooks to tell him, hoping he might come over and know what to do.

But it was then that I heard it.

Footsteps.

The apartment was quiet enough, and the stairs creaky enough, to be able to make it out even from the loft.

Adrenaline spiked as I realized it wasn't just one set that might belong to Brooks or even Sage showing up unannounced.

It was at least two sets.

Two sets of footsteps belonging to people I definitely didn't invite. People who'd picked the lower lock, because I knew I'd locked it before heading up myself.

What I hadn't done, though, was lock the door at the top of the stairs that led into the apartment. I'd been too in shock to do anything but move out of its way and let it close behind me.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Adrenaline surged through me, making me feel hot and racy as my head whipped around, trying to figure out what my options here were.

The window.

The window was the only option.

I didn't have a fire escape.

But because I'd made the loft my bedroom, and I was a little on the paranoid side, I did have an escape ladder attached to the sill.

I could open the window.

Push the ladder out.

And, I don't know, hope I could climb down faster than they could find me?

The problem being, of course, the fear of heights I hadn't exactly overcome yet.

Memories of not being able to go up—let alone down—the ladder at the Henchmen compound came back to me, bright and vivid as if it were happening right that moment.

What choice did I have, though?

None.

I rushed toward the window on quiet feet, wrenching it open, lifting the heavy metal folding ladder, and tossing it out.

I wiped my clammy hands on my shorts as I glanced out, sure I couldn't do it.

But then, from below, a male voice said, "What was that?"

It wouldn't be long.

They were likely already heading toward the loft stairs.

And if they found me… well, it would probably be a lot worse than falling off the ladder and plummeting to my death.

So what did I really have to lose?

Stomach cramping hard, throat tightening, I crouched down, straddling the windowsill for a beat, then forcing my leg downward until it landed on the step that felt reassuringly sturdy.

It holds over a thousand pounds, I reminded myself as I gripped the windowsill hard enough that I was sure the wood would splinter as I pushed my other leg out and back, landing on the rung.

A whimper escaped me as I forced my hand off the sill, grabbing the top rung.

Why hadn't I invested in that damn inflatable escape slide instead? I would already be on the ground. Instead of dangling above it on shaky legs and a wet, unsteady grip.

But as I heard footsteps on the stairs, I knew I had to move.

Swallowing back the bile that threatened, I forced my legs down as I death-gripped the ladder.

Just one more step, I told myself. Over and over. Until it became true.

Just as a face appeared in the window opening.

"Fuck!" he yelled. "She's getting away!"

My feet met the ground in the alley behind the building.

Every inch of me was shaking violently.

But I couldn't afford to give into that weakness.

I had maybe a two-minute head start.

I had to move.

I turned, sucking in a steadying breath, and ran for my fucking life. Because that's what I knew I was doing. If these were the men that Clay had been involved with, they were more than willing to kill. They'd killed Clay.

They'd taken him from me.

From Brooks.

From his future wife and kids.

From the world.

They wouldn't hesitate to do the same to me.

But not before making me suffer first.

I flew down the road, heading down the first side street, just trying to get out of sight, knowing they were likely faster than I was, that there was no hope of me outrunning them if it came to that.

I had to be smarter.

I flew down a familiar alley between buildings, down another block, and squeezed down another alley, the muffled sounds of laughter and music leaching through the bricks.

Chaz's.

A bar.

Full of people. Who might help me. Or at the very least be a witness to what happened.

I rushed in through the front doors, heart punching against my ribcage as I melted into the crowd, trying to disappear.

My hand went to my pocket, finding my phone.

I wanted to text or call Brooks.

But he wasn't expecting me.

He might not even have his phone on him during church.

My finger went instead toward my ride-share app, searching for someone nearby. I didn't have my wallet, my purse must have slipped out of my hand in shock when I'd walked in the door to my apartment. But I could pay on the app.

I needed to get to the clubhouse.

Where I knew I would be safe.

It was a mere eight-minute wait, but I worked myself into knots the whole time, my gaze scanning the crowd, sure I would see the men muscling in, grabbing me, and pulling me off to certain death.

But no one came.

I caught some curious glances from people in the bar, and I realized I must have looked wild right then, hand around my throat, eyes wide.

The alert came through on my phone, and I made my way toward the door, glancing outside, being comforted by a group of people standing on the sidewalk.

My ride was idling, glancing back toward the door.

I didn't even double-check their info against the app. I threw myself into the backseat, pushed my lock, and told them the address.

I wasn't sure I even pulled in a breath until we were on the move. Even then, I tensed at the stop signs and red lights, worrying someone might charge the car.

But then the clubhouse gates were in sight.

The driver pulled in.

I thanked them, upped their tip, then flew out, the door slamming harder than necessary, but I didn't give it a second thought as I ran toward the door, throwing it open.

And stepping right into the church meeting.

The room was full of stupidly handsome men wearing leather cuts.

All of their gazes turned to me in unison.

But they all fell away as Brooks came into focus.

"What happened?" he was asking as he moved toward me.

I couldn't unstick my own feet, just stood there waiting for him to come to me.

"They… they were at my apartment," I said, not recognizing my own voice, all tinny and tight.

"What? Who?" Brooks asked, grabbing my forearm like he was worried I might fall. It was only then I realized how hard I was shaking.

"I… I got home. And my place was tossed. And as I was… as I was looking around, they came back."

"Okay. Alright, come sit down," Brooks said, giving a look to the man in front of the crowd who must have been his boss. Er, president.

Then he was leading me into the kitchen, pulling out a chair, and pressing me into it.

"You're okay," Brooks reminded me, giving my hand a squeeze.

"Here," another voice said, making me glance up to see Sully, in all of his crazy Hawaiian shirt glory, handing me a glass of something. "Looks like she needs a drink," he explained.

"T… thanks," I said, taking it, seeing how dangerously close the deep red liquid was to spilling over the rim with how hard my hand was shaking.

"Got the fruity shit in it," Sully said, offering me a smile, then heading back out of the room, giving us privacy.

"Take a sip, baby," Brooks demanded, pulling a chair in front of me, and sitting down. "Little more," he demanded, tipping the glass back up when I started to lower it. "Okay. Deep breaths."

I followed his instructions, knowing I needed to get it together, give him the details while they were fresh.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah. I opened my door and the whole apartment was tossed. They cut my couch. They emptied my fridge and freezer."

A growling sound escaped Brooks, but he was softly tracing little circles on my bare thigh, trying to keep me calm.

"I was up in the loft when I heard feet on the staircase. Maybe they saw my car and came back," I suggested.

"Maybe," he agreed. "What happened then?" he asked, eyes scanning over me, looking for injuries.

"I… I had no way out. Except…"

"Except?"

The nausea welled up again, making me put the glass down, regretting both sips.

"I had a fire ladder," I told him.

"Oh, baby," he said, voice soft.

"I did it," I said, nodding a little frantically. "I didn't think I could, but I did it."

"Of course you did. You're a lot stronger than you think."

"I don't think I was strong. I think I was just trying to survive. I got down and ran. Then I hid in Chaz's as I waited for a ride share. Then…" I said, waving at the room.

"Okay, alright," he said, rubbing his hands up down my arms. "It's okay. You're safe now," he assured me.

"I didn't see them."

"That's alright."

"But we don't know who—"

"I'll figure it out."

I blinked back a silly flood of tears in my eyes.

"They took my laptop."

"Did you have it protected?"

"Yeah. And I wasn't signed into anything on it. I don't use it much."

"Good. Then there's nothing to worry about there. Did they take anything else?"

"Not that jumped out at me. They broke a lot of things."

"Just shit. Doesn't matter. You're all that matters."

My heart squeezed, but I tried to play it off. "Says the guy who has things to wear to work tomorrow."

"We'll figure all that shit out."

"I took my rings," I said, flashing my hand where both bands were on my ring finger, the only one they fit. "My mom's and grandma's," I explained. "I don't care about anything else. But I wanted these."

"Good idea," he said, rubbing the pad of his thumb over both of them.

"I left my purse, though. And, oh…"

"What?" he asked, tensing.

"The file. With all the paperwork about Clay's estate? I didn't think to look for that."

"I will," he told me.

"You're going over there?" I asked.

"Yes."

"When?"

"As soon as I can. I just—"

"Go now," another voice said, making me turn to see the president standing there looking at us. "She's safe here with us. Take Perish and Nave and go."

Brooks looked back at me, conflicted.

"I'll be okay," I assured him, nodding with a confidence I didn't feel.

"I won't be long," he said, giving my hand a squeeze.

"Okay," I agreed.

"Want me to walk you to my room?"

"Pretty sure she can walk there herself if she wants to," the president said.

"Right. Okay. I'll be right back," Brooks said as he stood, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "You did good," he told me, voice low enough for only the two of us to hear. "Proud of you."

With that, he turned and left, calling out for Perish and Nave as he went.

"You alright, babe?" the president asked.

"Not really," I admitted.

To that, he nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Cali."

"Cali," he repeated. "I'm Fallon, the—"

"President."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Sorry I interrupted church."

To that, he let out a snort. "Trust me, I'm used to this shit," he told me. "You need anything?" he asked.

"Some way for my insides to stop shaking," I admitted.

"A drink, a joint, or a fuck usually work for that," he said with a playboy smirk. "We got you covered on the first two, if you want. And I'm sure Brooks'll be happy to help you with the last bit when he gets back."

I picked up my drink and took another sip of the cranberry-flavored concoction. "I'm sorry I'm getting the club involved in my problems."

"Like I said, babe, this is just another Monday ‘round here. Don't sweat it."

With that, he was gone.

And when the conversation picked back up out in the common room, I quietly slipped out, and went into Brooks's room to wait for him.

My gaze slid to the cash, gun, and flash drive on Brooks's nightstand.

Tonight, it seemed, was the night that everything shrouded in darkness was going to come to light.

For better or worse.