by Nicole Fox
I let out a wanting little groan and he stirs. He doesn’t open his eyes, just says, “Hey, baby, come to bed,” in a voice thick with sleep. He turns to his side and pats the bed, then starts to snore softly.
It nearly undoes me, seeing him look like this. I’m not stupid enough to think he knows he’s talking to me. It’s obvious he’s thinking of someone else, but yet, I want so badly to be the woman he’s beckoning to bed. I want to crawl into the protective shell his body is making. I shouldn’t want it. He’s my captor, after all. But I do.
I dig through the bag of clothing and find a whole ensemble of running clothes. I dress and pull my hair into a high ponytail, brush my teeth, wash my face, and shave my legs and pits at the side of the tub. Wishful thinking, maybe, that I’d need to be smooth in case someone touches me.
By the time I finish, I find Griz awake, thumbing through my book by the window. I race over and try to grab it out of his hands. He holds it high over his head and his eyes spark with mischief.
“I hope you’re not considering this training for the real thing?” he says.
I blush. “Shut up.”
“Good comeback.” Gesturing toward the adjacent wall, he says, “There’s coffee.”
I groan and do a weird little gallop thing over to the machine, which conveniently slides out of a cabinet in the wall. Fucking genius. As my coffee brews, I turn to Griz, who has pulled on a long-sleeve T-shirt bearing the club’s name and logo, along with a pair of worn jeans that make his ass look delicious.
He catches me looking and purses his lips to one side. “Good view?”
“Mmm,” I grunt noncommittally with a one-shoulder shrug.
“So listen, Tanner,” he says. “I’m going to give you the run of the property today. It’s not fair to keep you locked up here. There’s a gym on the east end. You saw the dining room, and the kitchen’s just across the hall. There’s a pool out back. The garage is further past that, down the path. Feel free to wander, but if you try to leave, the guys will just bring you right back.”
This is the most I’ve ever heard him speak. And he’s saying words that indicate some freedom and trust. I could jump for joy.
“That’s awesome,” I say. “Thank you so much.”
He pushes his lips together. It’s not a smile, but it’s not a frown either. It’s, like, an acknowledgement that he’s made me happy. I’ll take it, but I decide in that moment that it’s my new mission in life to see him smile.
I wonder how often that ever happens?
# # #
Griz
I promised to take Shannon shopping for back-to-school, but I’ve had to cancel. She’s asked when she can see me again, and I can’t give an answer. This means are were tears, and then a tongue lashing from my sister, who tells me for the umpteenth time that I need to leave the club and get into something less dangerous. She tells me she didn’t sign up to raise my kid for me and while she loves Shannon, she feels that Shannon needs her dad right now.
After that fun little interaction, I spend the morning in my office, power-drinking coffee and sorting through various reports from my guys. Dex pops in, asking if I’m feeling any better.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I grunt in response. “I wasn’t sick.”
“You just seemed … heightened … last night. Well, for a while now, really. But especially last night,” he says.
“I’m fine, but I’m not kidding when I say this bullshit side business has to stop,” I answer. “Jackson reported that three guys had a whole side deal with the Juarez family last month. They literally finished our pickup, then walked away to do another deal. What the fuck is that?”
“Spike’s got a few guys running extras. Pills, mostly, some coke. They get enough to sell in a month and split the profit,” Dex says. “The guys think you’re okay with it.”
“Why the fuck would they think that?” I snap.
“Spike’s got ’em convinced this is the way things are in a club,” Dex says, shrugging his skinny shoulders. “I wouldn’t know, as I never been in one but this.”
I eyeball this guy. He doesn’t look like much and is shit in a fight, but he’s loyal. I need more of him, more guys willing to question things, willing to tell me when things aren’t right, or when he has a bad feeling about something.
I don’t need guys doing side deals, taking extra cuts, and treating club property like it’s their own. For one, it makes me look like a weak leader, like I don’t know what the fuck my guys are doing. It makes our partners think they can pull the wool over my eyes, cheat me on business. Second, once a faction of idiots decides to start a little side gig, others follow. And then I’ve got a bunch of assholes thinking they can challenge me for leadership, or territory, or whatever.
It hasn’t always been like this. There was a time when we operated like a well-oiled machine. We rode, we partied, we made deals, we expanded our reach. We made a shit-ton of money. All of us benefited.
Now, since Spike’s gone off the range, things have descended into chaos. And I need to get that shit back in order before I lose everything.
# # #
Tanner
I decide to just walk the property first, just to get a lay of the land. I wander the living quarters, finding probably ten bedrooms, some locked and others wide open, beds made and tidy, like hotel rooms awaiting guests. I hear sexual escapades behind several doors and find myself shocked that this is going on so early in the morning.
Maybe I’m just naïve. I mean, I never spent much time wandering my dad’s club headquarters at all, mainly because he forbade it. I have more freedom here, as a prisoner, than I had there. Of course, I also wasn’t there that much. I would occasionally visit with him, usually for formal functions—honoring someone’s retirement, funeral send-offs, holidays. I always had to stay where he could see me, even after I turned eighteen.
My dad had a house a couple of miles from the club, where we lived together. He never let me move in with my mom, something she’s still pissed about. We were very close growing up, and when they divorced she assumed I’d live with her. He deemed it unsafe and told her if she tried to fight him for custody, he’d have her living on the street.
So, she learned to live with only visitation, every other weekend and every Wednesday. Her house is at the very edge of Dad’s club’s territory, as far away as she could get and still have his financial support and protection.
As I got into my late teens, he let me have marginally more freedom, mainly by way of not requiring someone’s old lady to babysit me when he was at the club. Those were the nights I’d sneak out, or invite younger members of the Grave Robbers brotherhood over to make out. I never went far with them, and I think they were afraid of the consequences if they pushed the boss’s daughter too far.
I guess I’m just not that worldly. But I know one thing: I never felt an ounce of the attraction for those guys that I feel for Griz. And I think he feels that way about me, so I can’t understand why he keeps depriving us both of what seems inevitable.
As I wander outside, I get a few looks. No one says much to me, other than polite greetings. My guess is that Griz put out the word that if anyone touches me, they’ll be in deep shit. By the looks of his bruised knuckles, I get the impression he’s not a man to fuck with.
I find the pool easily, and while it looks mighty inviting on this hot August day, I keep walking until I find the garage. I’ve been a sucker for bikes since I could walk.
A guy in a wife beater, club kutte, and greasy jeans, looks up from a bike as I approach, the gravel crunching under my feet giving me away. I raise a hand awkwardly.
“Hi, I’m Tanner,” I say.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” he says, looking back down at the bike.
“Word travels fast, I guess?”
He grunts a laugh. “When your boss has a girl on her knees on the front steps, you don’t often forget who that girl is. Or who she belongs to.”
I frown. “I don
’t belong to …”
“To Griz? Sure, you do. You think he puts on shows like that for just anyone? He showed all of us, and those Grave Robbers fuckers, just whose girl you are. You’re not just club property; you’re his property.”
“So is that why all the guys are being so polite this morning?” I ask.
“Polite? Sure. They don’t want their teeth knocked down their throats. And girls like you make them nervous.”
“Girls like me?” My nose wrinkles. “What’s that mean?”
“Girls who look like you do. No makeup, hair natural, normal clothes instead of stilettos and dresses up their asses. You’re a natural beauty and you have no idea. Guys are intimidated by that.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I saw a few of those … women … and they were quite beautiful. The guys seemed pretty into them.”
“Hookers, you mean? Well, they get paid to look beautiful and fulfill a desire. You’re just … here. And it’s unsettling. Even more so when you’re protected by the boss. He don’t let women into his life. Ever.”
Hmmm. Interesting. I find a stool and hop up on it, watching him as he works. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Tony,” he says. “Mechanic and garage supervisor. Make sure all the bikes run smoothly.”
“How long have you worked here?”
He purses his lips, thinking. His face is kind of wrinkly and the facial expression makes me think of a bulldog.
“Well, I started here when Griz started the club, so like five years, I guess. But I was with him in another club earlier. I knew his old man.”
“Oh, his father was in a club, too?” I ask.
“Mmm-hmmm,” he confirms. “Killed in a turf battle when the kid was a teenager. Good guy.”
“His mother?” I ask.
“Died of cancer a few years later,” he says. “Why you so interested in Griz’ life story all of a sudden?”
“He doesn’t say much,” I say, biting my nails. “He’s hard to read.”
“Guarded, yes,” Tony confirms. “Been through a lot. Built this club up from nothing. Hard to hang onto power, even when you’ve earned it.”
“What about his daughter?” I ask.
“We don’t talk about his daughter. She ain’t part of this, and he wants to keep it that way,” he says tersely.
“Like you guys left Draven’s daughter out of things?” I ask.
“Can’t speak for the decisions of others,” he says. “You don’t seem harmed.”
“I suppose not,” I say.
He goes back to his work, the chatterbox closed for business for the day.
Chapter Seven
Griz
The Feds have paid me a visit today, asking about two missing teens they believe were escorted to a trafficking ring over the border recently. Thankfully, I am able to genuinely express that I have no knowledge of such a thing and have never seen the girls.
I’m fucking livid. I knew Spike was working an angle, but teenagers?
He showed up three hours late to the meeting I ordered him to attend yesterday, and today he’s standing in the corner of my office, smirking as I tell him about the visit.
“Do you honestly think I don’t know all of the things you’re doing?” I ask.
“I suspect not,” he says, picking at a fingernail.
“Then why the fuck do you do them?” I ask.
“Why not?“ he asks. “It’s fuckin’ boring around here. You think you’re Mister Up-and-Up, but you ain’t above the fray. You just like everybody else in this network. Runnin’ guns, pushin’ drugs. What the fuck’s the difference?”
“Those girls were teenagers,” I say, teeth gritted so hard I think they might break off in my mouth. “Little girls.”
“They like ’em young down there,” he says with a shrug. “Client asked for something specific, I got ’im something specific.”
“You disgust me,” I say. “You get one more chance. Get clean and sober and get in line, or leave this operation.”
“You need me,” he sneers. “I walk and you ain’t got nobody half as willing to do your dirty work. You wanna act like you’re some kind of saint, some kind of business man. This club is what it is and it means gettin’ a little grease on your lily-white hands every so often.”
I’m in his face in a heartbeat. “You think I don’t have blood on my hands? Haven’t had to make shitty choices or get dirty while I’ve built this operation? Fuck you. Get out of my sight.”
He leaves, but not without giving me the finger in one last show of disrespect.
I sit, staring out the window, watching Tanner float around the pool in a tiny black bikini. She looks like a goddess, blonde hair on top of her head, big round shades covering her eyes. Her lips are pure artistry, pink and soft. Her legs seem eight miles long, toned and lightly tanned. I squirm in my seat, my dick having a moment with the view.
My cell phone rings and it’s Cary, my sister. Thank god for distractions.
I grunt a hello.
“Shannon’s first day of first grade is on Monday. You’re going to take her, right?”
“Hello to you, too,” I sigh.
“David, seriously. She needs you to be there for this,” Cary says.
“I don’t know if I can get away,” I say. “Things are bad here.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “What’s bad mean?”
“Rogue VP selling underage girls to traffickers bad,” I say. “Kidnapped daughters of rival club leaders bad.”
“Shit,” she says. “I told you …”
“You told me. Yes. Again and again, you’ve told me to pull out, to go legit. I built this club, and I’ll be damned if I see it in the shitter. I have to fix this, Cary. I have to fix it and then I can walk away.”
“Promises, promises,” she says. “You said you’d leave when you found out Giselle was pregnant.”
“I’m not having this conversation right now,” I say.
“Well, I’m not going to be the one who tells your daughter you won’t be seeing her off to her first day of school.”
“She’s literally been going there all year,” I say.
“These are memories, David,” she says. “You walk her inside and introduce yourself to the teacher. You take her picture outside the school. You make a fucking effort.”
“Watch it,” I growl.
“Don’t tell me to watch it,” she snaps. “I’m not one of your fucking minions. I’m your sister and this is your daughter and we’re the only family you have. Get your head out of your ass.”
“I love you too,” I say.
“I’m serious,” she says. I hear noises on the other end of the line and it takes me a minute, but I realize she’s crying.
“Cary,” I say gently. “What?”
“I worry about you,” she sniffles. “Dad died in that world. Giselle …”
“Don’t talk about Giselle,” I warn.
“You loved her. I loved her. But Shannon never got to know her. Don’t take away her father as well.”
“I won’t,” I say.
But I know I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep.
# # #
Tanner
Well, what a lovely day.
I spent an hour in the gym, then cooled off by the pool. Which has a bar, a fact Griz did not mention earlier. I drank two of the most lovely, icy, strawberry-y drinks, and woo-hoo, I am feeling pretty damn good right about now.
I feel a little tipsy, which is cool, but I guess I should find some dinner or something.
Chef’s got a spread laid out in the dining room, so I grab a plate and go through the line, ignoring the looks I’m getting from the random assortment of men and women in the room. It could be that I’m only wearing a bikini that’s attracting attention. Maybe?
A lean, brown-haired guy beckons to me from where he sits at a four-top with another young woman. I wander over and ask, “Is there a dress code in this place?”
He grins, teeth a m
ess in his mouth. “Nah, not really. I’m Dex.”
“Tanner,” I say.
“This is Anna,” he says, gesturing to the young woman next to him. She’s a little plump, with dark hair and green eyes. Kind of a little goth girl. I wonder if she’s even legal. I wonder if she’s a sex worker.
“Nice to meet you, Anna,” I say, taking a seat.
