Gunnar: A Motorcycle Club Romance

by Nina Levine

  Every part of me holds its breath, waiting for his response. I’m hopeful he’ll take the bait and run with it so I can try to drag him to the office kitchen, pretending the gift is in there before telling him to wait while I go get it. I’m fully aware this is the worst plan in the entire history of dumb plans, but I’m fucking desperate here.

  He stops. “What the fuck is going on?”

  My eyes widen at his tone.

  He’s not buying a word I’m saying.

  And I’m pretty sure I’m about to discover just what a monster he is. I’m under no illusions that if Joe figures out my plan to save Mason, I’ll learn that anything he’s done to me so far doesn’t come close to the devious shit he’ll dream up in response to this.

  When I don’t answer him, he barks, “Get in my office now. We need to discuss the fact you didn’t come home last night.”

  He turns and stalks into his office before I can get another word in. I can barely process the fact he knows I didn’t come home because I’m still trying to process the fact he’s going to punish me for snooping on him and trying to blackmail him.

  I consider running away. Like seriously consider it. And then I think about the power I’m trying to claim and realise running away isn’t claiming anything. It’s hiding and it’s admitting defeat. I need to go in there and stand tall against him. I don’t think I can salvage this, but I sure as hell can stand proud that I tried to improve mine and Mason’s life. I’m not going to give Joe the satisfaction of thinking I’m scared of him.

  But hot damn, the steps I have to take into his office are some of the hardest steps I’ve ever had to take in my life. And if I thought I wanted to vomit before, now I know what it truly feels like to want to vomit.

  I reach his office door and take a deep breath.

  Showtime.

  I step through the door and am almost knocked over when Joe meets me. He’s on his way back out with the two smooshed-nose men right behind him, and he doesn’t look pleased with me.

  Huh. I should have just told him he had visitors. I suspect he would have left the building without further argument.

  I race around his desk and remove the USB and close down everything I had open before turning his computer off. I then stash the USB in my bag and sit at my desk, sucking in deep, calming breaths. Not that they’re very fucking calming. I don’t even think if I was to meditate all day, have a massage, and drink an entire bottle of tequila that I’d feel calm.

  That was fucking close and I need to be more careful in the future.

  29

  Chelsea

  Alexa: We still haven’t discussed the fact you slept with Mason at my place on Wednesday night. When are we getting together to do that?

  Me: He told you?

  Alexa: Hell no, but I woke up and heard you guys. And Jesus, you two are noisy AF. I was worried you were gonna ram a hole through my wall.

  Me: LOL you should be worried. Your brother is hardcore.

  Alexa: Oh god, you did not just say that.

  Me: Well you’re the one who wants the goss.

  Alexa: Not the details, girlfriend. Just the goss on what’s happening with you two. Jesus.

  Me: Honestly, I don’t know when I can swing some time. Joe’s home and all over me. We’ve got a fundraiser tonight, a dinner tomorrow night, something the next night, and then dinner with his parents the night after. And don’t even get me started on the days. He’s filled my damn schedule right up. He’s punishing me.

  Alexa: I won’t even ask what for, but see if you can make room for me, even for a quick lunch or coffee one day. Tell him to fuck off with not allowing time for your friends.

  Me: I love you. I’ll try. Gotta go xx

  Alexa: I love you too.

  Alexa: PS I love that you and Mason got it on. I hope this continues. You know I’m secretly hoping you two get back together.

  Alexa has no idea of the man I’m married to. After the visit from the smooshed-nose men, Joe came back angrier than I’ve seen him in a while. Unfortunately, they didn’t take care of him how I’d hoped they would, so he came in and let me know in no uncertain terms how pissed he was. Two hours later, I had a new schedule on my email. One he oversaw himself. One designed to fill every available minute of my day for the next week. God only knows what the week after will look like. And on top of that, he informed me he’s put hidden cameras in our home for security. What he was really saying, though, is that he can see when I’m not home when he thinks I should be.

  “Chelsea, I need you to bring your A-game tonight,” Matthew Ronson says, coming up to me as I exit the Range Rover outside the hotel where the fundraiser is being held tonight.

  I hate this asshole almost as much as I hate the one I’m married to. “I always bring my fucking A-game, Matthew.” I don’t bother being polite to him anymore.

  “I honestly don’t know what the fuck Joe sees in you,” he says, hatred blazing in his eyes.

  “That’s because you’re not actually smart; you’re just an asshole who gets what he wants through lies and manipulation.”

  He opens his mouth to respond, but Joe joins us and cuts in. “Chelsea, go and find your mother and sit with her.” He’s all snappy and snarly like he’s been since he arrived home yesterday.

  “Yes, dear husband.”

  His fingers curl around my bicep, digging in hard as he leans his mouth to my ear. “You keep giving me attitude and I’ll wash your fucking mouth with soap tonight after I fuck it.”

  The fear of my husband I’ve been pushing away for weeks slams into me. I know he has so much more inside him that I haven’t seen yet, and I can’t help but think he has a violent streak I should be doing everything in my power to avoid stirring. But my attitude has a way of falling out of my mouth where he’s concerned, and as much as I know I should rein it in, I fail more times than not.

  When he jerks me away from him, I walk inside the hotel, find my mother, and sit with her. She’s sitting at the table assigned to our family for this dinner, looking as blank as usual.

  “Are you happy, Mum?” I run my gaze over her, taking in her perfect hair, flawless make-up, expensive dress, and trim figure. My mother looks like she has the world at her feet, but I know she doesn’t, and I want to know how she really feels about it. She and I have never had a truly honest and raw conversation in our life, and I doubt we will now, but people still sometimes surprise me; maybe she will.

  She turns and frowns at me. “What kind of question is that, Chelsea?”

  “The kind I really would love to know the answer to.”

  Still frowning, she says, “No, I’m not happy that we’ve been made to sit at this table. It’s in an awkward position, and the light is shining in my eyes.”

  “I mean in your life. Are you happy with your life?”

  She opens her mouth to speak but snaps it closed before flattening her lips. “Really, darling, that’s not a question that can be answered.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there is so much going on in my life that makes it impossible to answer. Some things are good, while others are not as good.”

  I lean forward, my eyes boring into hers. “Yes, I get that, but surely you have an overall sense of your life and whether you like it and are happy.”

  She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “One doesn’t just decide if they’re happy, Chelsea. That’s not how this works. We just get on with the things we have to do and take the good with the bad. We don’t get to choose happiness in life; life chooses it for us.”

  I have my answer and it makes me sad. That a woman can get to her age and not have a clue about whether she’s happy or not saddens me greatly. And that she thinks we don’t have the power to create our own happiness hurts my heart even more. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Joe and Dad, it’s that, yes, life can dictate a lot, but it’s how we choose to work with life that is the key to happiness.

  I take a wine from the waiter as he comes pa
st, and as I sip it, I think about my life. I think about the choices I’ve made and the consequences of those choices. I think about being my mother’s age and decide here and now that I will do everything in my power to know deep happiness. I will own the power I have to create the life I want. I do not want to look back on my life and regret a second of it.

  I sip some more wine and consider a new approach for getting those files off Joe’s computer.

  I also think about my father and how I’m going to bring him down.

  It came to me earlier.

  I’ve figured out how to force my father’s hand. After all this time, I’ve finally figured it out.

  Now, I just need to sort out my husband.

  Unfortunately, I think he’s going to be a handful. But nothing good in life comes easy, and Mason is worth every second of pain I’ll have to endure.

  30

  Gunnar

  “Tell me again what the fuck we’re doing here,” I say to Griff as we enter an office building on George Street. It’s just after 8:00 p.m. and I’m not having any good feelings about this job Moss sent us on.

  He jabs the button for the lift and looks at me. “You know why the fuck we’re here.”

  “Yeah, and it feels off.”

  The lift doors open and we step in to go up to level twenty.

  “That’s because of your situation with Novak and Hearst.”

  “Yeah, it fucking is, and it’s also because I don’t fucking trust these motherfuckers.”

  Moss and Hearst have sent us here to threaten one of the engineers who has been consulting on the mine approval he’s trying to push through. Apparently, this guy has decided he wants Moss to pay him a fair chunk of change before he’ll sign off on his part of the process.

  “That makes two of us, brother, so let’s just keep our shit together, get through this, and then go the fuck home.”

  My VP is in a mood today. Fuck knows why, because he keeps shit to himself, but I’m picking up the vibe he’s putting down, so I know it’s time to pull my head in and just get shit done.

  We exit the lift and make our way to the guy’s office. He appears to be the only one here, which makes sense; it’s Saturday night, and most sane people are busy drinking, fucking, or zoning out in front of the TV.

  Griff doesn’t bother to knock. He tries the door first, and when it’s locked, he kicks it in. The guy we’re here to see looks up from his desk with panic, and when he sees us coming towards him, he madly reaches into his drawer, searching for something. Something that I just fucking know isn’t going to be anything good.

  Knowing this, I don’t take my fucking time stalking around his desk. And I sure as fuck don’t take my time getting my fist in his face. He lands on the floor, at which point I reef him up and slam him back down in his seat. Pressing my hands to his chair armrests either side of him, I get in his face and demand, “Do you know why we’re here?”

  His lips curl up. “My guess is Dwayne Moss sent you.”

  “He sure as fuck did,” I say. “You’re gonna sign some paperwork for us.”

  “I’m not signing anything, asshole. Not until I get my money from Moss.”

  I push up off the chair and punch him again. Then, gripping his neck, I steady him in the chair and say, “There’s not gonna be any more money from Moss.”

  Griff produces the paperwork we need signed and shoves it across the desk at the guy with a pen. “Sign that and don’t waste our fucking time. We all know how tonight’s gonna end. I’d rather just cut straight to the end now.”

  The guy eyes Griff, and snarls, “I don’t think you’re gonna like how tonight ends.”

  My fist connects with his face and he ends up on the floor again. As I reach down to hoist him back up, the motherfucker pulls a move and grabs a fucking knife he had stashed around his ankle. He then tries to fucking stab me with it.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I bellow as I fight him off and jerk him back up to a standing position. I’m fucking ropable now. All fucking bets are off. “You sit at a fucking desk all day and you sling a fucking knife around your ankle? Who the fuck are you? Crocodile fucking Dundee at a desk?” I jab him in the face, hard and snappy. His head bounces back and then forward, at which point, I punch him again, this time hard enough to lay him flat on the floor.

  This asshole thinks he’s the shit, though. Instead of lying down and accepting his fucking fate, he keeps fighting against me and is back up in my face fast. We go another round of punches, and Griff steps in to help, pulling the guy away from me and holding him around the neck.

  Tightening his hold on him, Griff roars, “Sign the fucking paperwork or I’ll let Gunnar go to fucking town on you, and that is the last fucking thing you want. Mark my fucking words.”

  The guy shows us just what a dickhead he is when he struggles against Griff. “I want my fucking money before I sign anything!”

  I look at Griff. “And here I was thinking this’d be a quick, easy job.” Jerking my chin at the guy, I say, “Hold him for me.”

  Griff holds him steady and I smash my fist into his face. Fast. Repeatedly. Until I’m punching a bloody mess that I can’t fucking make out as a face anymore.

  “You ready to sign yet?” I ask when I take a breather.

  The guy shakes his head. It’s hanging from his shoulders like it could roll off at any time and looks like something out of a horror movie, but still, he fucking manages to shake the fucking thing.

  Griff shoves him forward, letting him fall to the floor, while I eye the room, surveying it for things I can use to hurt this motherfucker. I didn’t expect this to be so fucking difficult, so I didn’t come prepared.

  “Fuck,” Griff says as I’m poking around the room. “I think he’s had a fucking heart attack.”

  “The fuck?” My head snaps back to eye the dickhead on the floor, and sure as fuck, he doesn’t appear to be breathing.

  Griff bends over him, checking his pulse, before straightening. “No fucking pulse.”

  “Well, that just fucking pisses on our party.”

  Griff rakes his fingers through his hair. “It does more than that.” He pulls out his phone and makes a call to Hearst. After a quick conversation, Griff puts his phone away and says, “It’s too risky to move the body due to where we are, so we’re gonna clean the room and get the fuck out of here. I’ll pull the surveillance on the building and wipe us from it. Hearst is gonna make sure this doesn’t come back on us.”

  I don’t argue with my VP, but I don’t fucking trust Hearst. If anything, I’d trust him to ensure it did fucking come back on us.

  We clean the room and exit the building, keeping our heads down and moving fast. Twenty minutes later, we’re back at the clubhouse so Griff can pull the surveillance.

  Scott’s in the bar talking with Blade. He glances up as we come in. “All done?”

  Griff gives a shake of his head. “No.” He fills Scott in.

  “Jesus,” Scott says. “You trust Hearst to make good on that?”

  “I don’t fucking know,” Griff says.

  “I’m not convinced,” Scott says. “I think the three of us need to have a conversation with Novak over this.”

  “When?” Griff asks.

  “Now,” Scott says, ruining the rest of my fucking night. “You take care of the surveillance while I line up a meet.”

  The two of them take care of their shit while I change my shirt, and thirty minutes later, we’re on our way to some hotel in the city where Novak’s attending a fundraiser. He wasn’t fucking happy to hear from Scott and tried to say no, but Scott pushed the point and made it happen.

  We wait outside the hotel when we arrive, and Scott lets Novak know we’re here. Novak directs us as to where to wait for him, in a hidden alcove around the corner of the hotel. I expect Hearst to be with him when he comes out, but he’s alone.

  “This better be fucking important,” he says, throwing some heavy pissed-off vibes our way. “I’m in the middle
of a fucking dinner and I don’t appreciate being interrupted.”

  Scott steps towards him, his shoulders like stone walls, his face the same. “You know what I don’t fuckin’ appreciate, Novak? Taking care of your dirty work and not knowing if we’ll be backed up when something goes wrong.”

  “What the fuck went wrong?”

  “Hearst hasn’t told you?”

  There’s something in the way Novak scowls that causes me to sit the fuck up and pay attention. “My son-in-law doesn’t run to me with everything, Mr Cole, no. Please enlighten me.”

  Scott gives him a rundown on the events of the evening, to which Novak says, “If Joe said he’d take care of it, he will.”

  What he says is too fucking dismissive for me, and I can’t hold myself back any longer. “I don’t fucking trust him,” I say.

  Novak glances at me and I fucking hate the smug look in his eyes. “Trust me when I tell you that we have our ways of keeping your club out of trouble. You of all people should be aware of that, Mason.”

  Scott cuts in. “You need to know that if we do end up going down for shit, you’ll be going down too.”

  Novak turns to him, looking less than fucking friendly. “I suspect you’re alluding to sharing with the world the fact you’ve done some work for me.”

  “I’m not fuckin’ alluding to anything. I’m fuckin’ stating it loudly,” Scott says. “You fuckin’ take our back or you won’t be premier anymore.”

  I watch as Novak walks away from us and think about what was just said. For the fucking life of me, I can’t figure out what my brain is latching onto, but it’s fucking latched onto something Novak said.

  You of all people should be aware of that.

  I am aware of that. I’m fucking aware of that. But the way he said it makes me feel like there’s something else to it. Something I’m not fucking aware of.