Chapter 5

CHAPTER

FIVE

CLINK

“She’s in fucking Knoxville. That’s an eleven-hour drive,” Atomic growls.

We’re standing in his living room, him in nothing but a pair of athletic shorts, his cell phone in his hand, and me in my wrinkled clothes smelling like Dillion.

“She is,” I state. “Being held by the Demon Guns somewhere in Knoxville. I assume their clubhouse, but who knows?”

“What the fuck was she thinking?” he barks, running his fingers through his hair and tugging on the ends. “Crazy goddamn bitch.”

His words aren’t out of anger. I know Atomic loves Vixen just as much as any of the guys. He’s frustrated. He clears his throat. “I know she told them she was ours. But I’m going to give them one fucking chance to let her go.”

I watch as he thumbs through his phone, then he clears his throat and touches the speaker icon. The room fills with the sound of the device ringing, and I wait. I am ready to go and get not only Vixen but also her sister. If she went to try and get her herself, there must be more to the story.

“Atomic,” a deep voice rumbles. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I can hear the humor in his voice.

Fucker.

Atomic closes his eyes as if he’s gathering all the patience in the whole goddamn world just to greet this asshole. “Blur,” he says. “You know why I’m calling.”

“Do I?” he asks.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek. I bite down so hard that the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I’m seconds from calling out Blur’s bullshit. But I have to stay quiet and let my president handle this. As much as I want to say something, it would be disrespectful if I did. So, I stay quiet, as hard as it is.

“You do. I hear you got one of my clubwhores locked up in your place.”

“Seems to me that if she walked into my clubhouse, she’s mine now.”

Atomic lets out a snort. I know that he finds this anything but funny—he’s trying to hold his shit together, and it is hanging by a goddamn thread at this point. He leans back on his heels, clearing his throat before he speaks. When he does, his voice is thick and full of warning.

“You don’t release what’s mine, you are starting a war,” he grinds out through gritted teeth.

During the silence that follows, I expect Blur to accept the threat and tell us to come and get her, but he doesn’t. Instead, he laughs. He sounds fucking psychotic when he does, too, so I know where this is going.

“War it is,” he confirms. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to take you boys out.”

“You won’t,” Atomic quickly snaps.

“We’ll see about that. Expect to see you soon,” Blur announces before he ends the call.

Atomic’s gaze swings over to meet mine. I watch as his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches before he speaks. “This fucker is going down. I don’t care how big and bad they think they are. I’m done playing nice and trying to work deals and treaties. That was his one chance. Now he’s done.”

Maybe I should feel bad for Blur and his men, but I don’t. They don’t feel bad about taking our property—Vixen. We won’t feel bad about what we’re going to do to them or how we’re going to handle the situation.

“What now?” I ask.

“Now we hold church.”

Atomic spins around and marches into the back of the house. I stay where I am, wondering if it’s too late to forget all of this happened and go back to Dillion’s warm bed. A few moments later, Atomic is back wearing jeans, boots, and his cut.

“You tell Ryan?” I ask

“Yeah,” he grunts. “She’s not thrilled, but she understands. Let’s go. We’re about to have a fucking meeting with a bunch of drunk and half-asleep brothers.”

Together, we make our way out to the driveway and climb on our bikes. The engines roar to life before we head straight for the clubhouse. We don’t waste any time. This isn’t a pleasure ride.

When we pull up the clubhouse drive, I notice that if any guests have been here, they’re gone now. Good. We have some shit to discuss, and we don’t need any more distractions than we already have.

After we park our bikes, I follow behind my president. The clubhouse is quiet. The men are bleary-eyed as they sit around the bar. A few are drinking, and no doubt they are working with a little hair of the dog. I would be the same if I hadn’t been at Dillion’s.

“Church,” Atomic shouts.

He’s pissed, and I don’t blame him because fuck those guys. Before I walk into the conference room, I stop and glance at the sofa where all of the clubwhores are huddled together.

Guilt curls in my belly. I fucked up. I should have done more for Vixen. We didn’t want to rock any boats, and now we’re in a war. It will probably be a short war, but it’s going to be a fucking war, nonetheless.

A war that is going to take me away from Dillion for at least a few days, and that fucking sucks.

“Everyone sit,” Atomic barks. “We got a goddamn problem.”

And that’s when he tells everyone what’s happened, where Vixen is, and who has her. Because she’s being held against her will by the fucking Demon Guns. Fuck them all. Every single one of them. We’re going to not only disgrace the entire club, we’re going to end them all.

Not a single soul in that goddamn clubhouse is safe.

DILLION

Sitting straight up, I suck in a breath and hold it for a moment. Looking around, I try to find what’s woken me up. There’s nothing. The house is quiet. The sun is shining. Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I squeeze my thighs together.

Last night wasn’t a dream, not that I thought it was, but I’m sore. And satisfied. I wish he were here, that he were behind me when I woke up. Maybe that’s part of the reason I feel odd. Alone. I’m always alone and want nothing more than to have him there.

My secret lover.

The faceless, nameless man who makes me scream.

Moving into the bathroom, I take care of my business, then start the water. A few moments later, steam fills the room. I step into the hot shower and let out a heavy sigh as the hot water washes over me.

Closing my eyes, I can’t help but think about my brother. He’s gone. I still can’t believe he’s dead, that everyone in my family is dead. I’m alone, and as much as I feel alone, I also feel at peace, except for a job. I do need one of those, and I didn’t get much work-searching done yesterday.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I try to breathe. I feel like I’m drowning. I’m close to drowning. I need to make myself useful. I won’t be able to go on without a job for much longer. Something needs to give when it comes to that.

Dressing quickly, I take my phone and look up the address for Sal’s Bar. I definitely couldn’t strip, but if there is something else I can do, I’m willing. Grabbing a bottle of water, I take my keys off the counter and head toward my car.

I start the engine then look down at the GPS and touch the start button. Gripping my steering wheel, I listen to the guide tell me where to go. It only takes me a few minutes to pull into the parking lot of the bar.

Everything looks empty but amazing. The building is huge. By the name alone, I imagined a dinky, scandalous-looking brick building, but this place is huge, bright even. I hope it’s nice inside, and I really hope they will hire me.

There isn’t much else here. I’m not sure I’ll be able to stay in Pineville if I don’t find a place to work. I’ll have to sell my brother’s house, and then I won't have anywhere to go. I’m sure I could find an apartment or a hotel somewhere to rent for a while, but I still wouldn’t have a job.

I also have no real skills to fall back on. Being the granddaughter of a crime boss isn’t really much of a flex. I don’t think any employer would give much of a fuck about it, and in fact, they would probably see it as a bad thing and not hire me at all.

Gripping the steering wheel, I decide to call the number on the website. Two rings are all it takes for a man to pick up.

“Yeah, you got Sal,” he says.

I almost end the call instantly. I’m not a brave person. I’m not even a semi-brave person. I am weak and sad, pathetic even. In fact, all I’ve done is take this free house that was probably bought with some kind of blood money. No doubt off the back of some innocent person.

“I was wondering if you’re hiring,” I blurt out, unable to hide the trembling of my voice when I speak.

There is a moment of silence. Then he chuckles before he speaks. “Guessing you ain’t gonna strip for me?” he asks.

I blink a few times, trying to think of the words to answer him. I don’t know what to say. What to do. Then I force myself to speak because if I don’t, I’ll feel like an even bigger idiot, and I’ll replay this every single night before I fall asleep until the day I die… I still might, anyway—I probably will.

“No, not stripping,” I finally force out.

He grunts. “Might need someone in the card room. You come by the bar at three this afternoon. I’ll size you up.”

Before I can say anything else, confirm or deny the demand, he ends the call. Flicking my gaze down to my phone, I stare at it for a moment, unsure if he truly ended the call. He did. Then I shift my attention up to the bar.

The card room. That sounds promising. My family loved cards. Everyone in the Southern Mafia was big on thinking they were something fucking special, and that meant they thought they were special and god’s gift in every aspect of life, cards included.

This is the most promising lead I have. Starting the car, I shift it into Drive and head back into town. There isn’t much here—the main street, a small grocery store, and another market, along with an almost miniature post office.

Pulling into the market, I wonder If they are hiring. I’m not sure I’ll be able to work at the casino. Maybe there is something a little tamer for me—the grocery store, maybe a boutique.

Although I’m not sure any of them would be enough to live off on my own, since I don’t have a house payment, maybe I could make it work. I think I could make it work. I just need enough money for utilities, food, and necessities.

That can’t cost that much… can it?

Parking my car, I open the door and shift my legs to the side, standing straight. As I move toward the building, I look around for any hiring signs but don’t see them. Sinking my teeth into the corner of my bottom lip, I continue walking and head straight for customer service.

“Excuse me?” I call out.

There is a man with his back to me, and he slowly turns around. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. Opening my mouth, I start to ask him if I can speak to the manager, but words fail me because he begins talking instead.

“Dillion, is that you? Albert’s little sister?”

My spine stiffens. Not one person has noticed me here, not that I thought they would. This is where my brother lived, not me. I was born and raised in Shreveport, Louisiana.

Pineville wasn’t ever on my radar. It still isn’t, but I have to admit there is an appeal here. It’s small and quiet. It’s safe. Except I can’t imagine why the hell my brother had a house here, and I have absolutely no idea who this guy is.

“It’s me,” I say, although I don’t even try to guess who this guy is. “I was wondering if you were hiring?”

He blinks a few times. Then he clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hire you.”

I stare at him. I don’t know what to say. I have no damn clue. I open my mouth to ask him why, but then I snap it closed. If he knows my brother, then he knows where I come from. And he knows that I come from evil. I won’t pretend that it’s anything other than that. You can candy-coat it all you want. But what my brother, father, and grandfather stood for was evil.