Maggie had been born not long after it was built, and it became as much a second home to her as it was to any man who wore the cut.
Despite the place being almost thirty years old, Henry made sure it always got the maintenance and upkeep it needed to look its best. As Maggie pulled through the open chain link gate and into the long parking lot, memories began flooding through her mind, stronger than any déjà vu she had ever experienced. On this midday during the week, most of the members were likely out at their day jobs or other such errands. The parking lot was nearly empty, but a handful of bikes cooled in front like a shiny vanguard. She spotted the bikes of her father and his vice president, Beck Dillon, but the rest of the bikes were unfamiliar to her.
After she parked, Maggie sat in the driver’s seat and tried to gather herself and her courage. She went to reach for the door and saw her hand shaking, so she killed the engine, cracked a window, and lit up the last of the joints she had brought in her purse. The weed took the edges off her anxiety, but even the highest-grade chronic wasn’t going to fix this. She smoked half of it before she stamped it out in the ashtray and immediately pushed out of the SUV, not giving herself a chance to hesitate any longer.
Maggie had learned from years of watching the most alpha of alpha dogs how to hold herself to gain respect. She squared her shoulders and held her head high, eyes straight ahead, as she walked calmly through the parking lot and to the front door of the clubhouse. She didn’t let herself get spooked at the door. She didn’t knock. She wrapped her hand around the knob and pushed her way in as if she had always belonged.
She did her best not to become flooded with nostalgia at the sight of the long wooden hallway, the framed photos on the walls, the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey. She didn’t even take off her sunglasses as she marched down the hallway towards the den, from which floated the faint sound of talking and the soft click of billiard balls. She stood in the wide doorway and surveyed the room for a few moments before anyone noticed her. Someone she didn’t recognize was shooting a lazy game of pool with himself. Beck sat at the bar with a beer in his hand, talking with another member. It took her a few moments to recognize him as Tommy Castillo. Tommy had been just a kid barely old enough to drive the last time she saw him. He was still a dark and gawky looking man, but he had grown at least a foot and was not the skinny whelp she remembered. Faint sounds of sex floated from one of the bedrooms down the hallway.
“I’m looking for Henry Oliver,” said Maggie. She was endlessly pleased to hear her voice come out strong, not shaking as she had expected.
All the men stopped what they were doing and looked over to the doorway. The one at the pool table frowned as if he smelled something rotten, burning cigarette dangling from his thin lips. Tommy was staring at her, trying to place her face. But Beck’s face immediately lit up and he jumped up from the barstool.
“Christ almighty. Maggie? Is that you?” he said, moving across the den with his arms open wide. He looked like a big, gray-haired Santa Claus—or Santa’s brother, maybe, who took a darker path than the toymaker. He was always a large man, but post-middle age had made him even bigger. Her father used to joke about how unbelievable it was that the Viet Cong hadn’t spotted such a “redwood of a dude” in the midst of their jungles. “I can’t believe it!” Beck wrapped her in a rocking hug that would have suffocated anyone smaller. Maggie couldn’t help but laugh and accept his affection.
“Hi, Beck,” she said, though it came out muffled, stuffed as she was against the fabric of his shirt and cut. “It’s good to see you.”
“Let me get a look at you!” He pulled back from the hug, his face shining and bright, and looked her over. Behind him, the one at the pool table was exchanging not-so-secretive questioning looks with Tommy behind the counter. “What a beautiful woman you’ve grown up to be. You look just like your ma.”
Maggie knew very little about Sara, the woman who had somehow charmed the infamous Henry Oliver and gave birth to her. She died when Maggie was a baby. She had no memory of her. But she knew the MC had loved Sara, and so accepted the compliment with a smile. “Thanks, Beck. Listen, is Henry here?”
“Maggie?”
The sound of Henry Oliver’s voice was still enough to conquer a room. Everyone turned to look at him, halfway down the stairs that led to the MC’s more private and official meeting rooms. Beck moved away from her slowly as Maggie locked eyes with her father. His hair had begun to gray at the temples, and his belly was a bit bigger than it had been when she left, but aside from those minuscule details, he was still the dark, powerful man she remembered. And unlike Beck or even Will, his face gave no indication that he was happy to see her.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she and her father stared each other down. She could feel the tension in the room rising. Maggie had the passing thought that it was perfectly appropriate to begin this reunion in this position—with her father standing over her, staring down in judgment. It was exactly the way their entire relationship had always been.
“Henry,” said Maggie. Her voice cracked, despite her best attempts otherwise. She removed her sunglasses and cleared her throat. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Henry stared down at her a few moments more, expressionless, quiet. Then he seemed to blink out of his own mental trance. “Not at the moment.”
Maggie licked her lips. “Can we talk in private?”
Again, Henry hesitated, making her wait and squirm. Then he finally nodded once and headed back up the stairs without another word. Maggie looked over at Beck and saw an expression of sympathy, but he also said nothing to her. She headed towards the stairs.
As she passed Tommy at the bar, he couldn’t help but let out a whisper to her. “Maggie—hey!” He even waved a little, as if she hadn’t noticed him there before. Usually Tommy’s obliviousness was a bothersome joke, but at that moment she couldn’t help but crack a tiny laugh at him. How a man could be in her father’s MC and still be so pleasantly naive was a mystery, but he relieved her tension and she was grateful. She raised a hand at him as she passed by, and then headed up the stairs.
Henry waited for her in his seat at the head of the conference room table. It was his throne, his seat of power, from which he made all the pertinent decisions of the MC. This choice of meeting spot was not lost on his daughter. Maggie put her purse in an empty chair and took up the spot usually reserved for Beck, at Henry’s right hand.
A few moments of silence passed. Maggie waited to see if he wanted to begin. She knew immediately launching into her story would make her look and feel powerless. She realized then how much of their interaction was exactly that—one of them trying to hold power over the other; strategy; tactics in place of connection.
Finally, Henry cleared his throat and leaned back just a bit in his chair. “What brings you here, Maggie?”
She hadn’t expected anything less from him than straight to business, but the question stung regardless. Maggie took a breath and said, “I need your help.”
Henry let out a little scoff. Her father was a predator and Maggie had learned from him, and from the club, how to read other people. He didn’t have to say that he was disappointed. She could see it all over his face, all over every little mannerism in that moment. “Isn’t that typical? It’s been what—four years? Five?”
“Five and a half.” She didn’t bother to accuse him of knowing exactly how long it had been since she ran away from LeBeau. “Five and a half years next month.”
He scoffed again, leaning forward on the giant conference table. “What kind of help is it you’re looking for? Must be a big favor if it got you back to this town.”
Maggie nodded. It was too difficult to look at him in that moment, and so she stared at his big hands, at the wedding ring he still wore after all these years. “I’m in danger. I need to get protection from you… from the MC.”
She thought she saw his shoulders soften a bit. Henry took a pause and then asked, “From who?”
There was an edge to his voice she recognized all too well. She took it as a good sign that he was listening and taking her seriously.
“I…” Maggie had to pause, because she could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she was not about to cry in front of her father. No, not now. She took a breath before she continued. “I was working at a pharmacy in Eagleton. I got targeted by some low-level thugs looking for a connection to get access to prescription drugs. I didn’t want to help them, but there’s just …. it wasn’t safe. I had to get out or they were going to kill me. And I didn’t know where else to go.”
She looked up and saw her father’s calm face watching her, listening. Some of his anger had melted away, and for that she was grateful. She said nothing else, waiting for him to respond.
When he did, Henry’s voice was almost as quiet as Will’s. “You did the right thing,” he said. “No one is going to bother you here. Do you have a place to stay yet?”
“No. I took the long way down and around from Eagleton. I just got into town this morning,” she said.
Henry nodded. “Talk to Drake downstairs. He has connections to a realtor here in town. He can probably arrange a house for you to stay in until we can get you settled somewhere permanent.” He looked at her with a questioning eyebrow. “Assuming, that is, that you aren’t planning on running off again as soon as I solve your little problem?”
Maggie immediately opened her mouth to spew out the knee-jerk, anti-authoritative bile that often passed as conversation between her and her father, but she stopped herself. She knew she was in no position to give attitude, no matter how badly she wanted to do it. And the truth was, she hadn’t planned her future at all, because she still wasn’t sure she was going to have one.
She swallowed her words and simply nodded at her father. “That sounds fine. Thank you.”
Henry nodded. “We’ll get this taken care of. If these people are as dangerous as you say, and if I’m going to protect you properly, I need your promise that you’ll leave that rebellious bullshit at the front door. I’m in charge here, and you’ll do as I say, when I say it. You’re my daughter, and I won’t leave you with the wolves, but I’ll be damned if you’re going to abandon your family, come crawling back for help, and put them in danger because you’re too proud to shut up and listen once in a while. I call the shots, or you can hit the road and take your chances on your own again. Is that clear?”
Even as part of her was screaming that she had made a huge mistake, Maggie nodded again. Her pride wasn’t worth her life. “Yes. Understood.”
“Good,” said Henry. He stood up from the chair, and on instinct Maggie stood up with him. “Go downstairs and talk to Drake. We’ll get this taken care of.”
Maggie waited for a moment, feeling hesitant. Should she hug him? Shake his hand? There was no protocol for this awkward moment. Henry cleared his throat and walked over to open the conference room door for her, more or less showing her out. Maggie flushed with a bit of embarrassment as she grabbed her purse and sunglasses and left the room. Henry didn’t follow, but closed the door behind her, staying in the conference room alone.
Someone had started up the jukebox in the den, and a few more unfamiliar members joined Tommy and Beck at the bar. When she came down the stairs, Tommy shouted her name happily and grabbed a beer, cracking it open on the side of the counter. “I can’t believe you’re back!” he said as he handed it to her.
His kindness immediately took some of the edge off her nerves. She took a seat at the bar and for a split second, she felt welcome. “Can’t believe it myself,” said Maggie as she clinked her bottle against his in a friendly cheers. She took a few grateful, deep swigs and tried to gather her senses. When she realized her hands were shaking again, she put the bottle down on the counter and shoved them into her pockets nonchalantly. “Henry said I need to talk to Drake…”
“Well, if it ain’t my lucky day!” said the one at the pool table. He had begun a new cigarette, and patted his table partner on the shoulder as he walked over with a cocky stride. His greasy blonde hair was done up in a bun on top of his head. Toned, tanned arms showcased a wide array of colorful old-school tattoos. He was attractive in his own way, but something in his mannerisms made Maggie’s skin crawl. “’Cuz you are about the finest looking bitch I’ve seen in this place in a long ass time.”
The look on Tommy’s face was priceless. “Dude,” he said, dragging the word out.
“What?” said Drake. Then he yelped loudly when he felt Beck’s meaty hand whack the back of the head mercilessly. “What the fuck, man?!”
“That is Maggie Oliver, you shithead!” said Beck without an ounce of humor. “As in, your president’s daughter?”
The cigarette tumbled from Drake’s lips as his jaw dropped. His eyes went wide. “Oh, oh shit! Fuck me, man, I didn’t know… fuck, please don’t tell your old man… I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Oh? Do the other ‘bitches’ typically find that kind of talk respectful?” said Maggie with a hint of a smirk as she took a swig of her beer.
“You’re a goddamn moron, Drake,” said Tommy, laughing. “Henry’s gonna kill you.”
“Hey, it was an honest mistake! I’ve never met her before, Jesus! And you’re one to talk about being a moron, Castillo.” Drake leaned far over the bar and smacked Tommy the way Beck had smacked him. Maggie just laughed and rolled her eyes at their boyish display and finished her beer with a grateful breath.
“Henry said you could find me a house to stay in while I settle back into town,” said Maggie.
“Oh, no doubt,” said Drake as he straightened his shirt and cut. He bent and picked his still-burning smoke off the ground and took a drag. “I can definitely do that for you. Lemme make a few calls while Tommy gets you another beer.”
Tommy was two steps ahead of him and had already put an open bottle on the counter in front of her. She tipped it to Drake and said thanks, watching him pull out his phone and scoot off into the quiet hallway.
“He the new resident ‘hook-up artist’?” said Maggie to Beck. It seemed every new generation of the Black Dogs brought in variations of the same types of men, and the hook-up artist was a valuable one. The club always found itself in need of random skills and tools, and a good hook-up artist acted like a spider in the middle of a web of connections, brokering beneficial relationships between groups who would otherwise never meet.
Beck looked at Drake and nodded. “Best one we’ve had in a long time. That little shit’s running so many deals, we can barely keep up with him.”
“He looks like he needs a shower.”
“He probably does,” said Beck, and clinked her beer bottle with his as she laughed.
After a few minutes, Maggie actually felt a little like herself again as she sat at the bar, shooting the shit with Tommy and Beck. For the first time in years, she felt safe. It was almost like she had never left.
She listened to Tommy telling a story about his wonderfully colorful abuela when they heard the sound of the clubhouse door open and shut. Heavy footsteps came down the hallway. She didn’t think much of it until one of the members at the pool table behind her shouted, “Hey, Jase! Time to defend your championship, bro!”
Maggie felt her throat seize up and almost choked on the swallow of beer she was halfway into when she heard his name. She found her composure before she could make a complete ass of herself and gulped it down, turning to face the doorway.
And there he was: Jase Campbell, all six-foot-one of him. He had been painfully attractive before, and had only become more-so as a fully grown man. He had shaved his jet black hair on the sides and kept it long on top, giving him the appearance of somehow being clean-cut and dangerous all at the same time. He had always been broad-shouldered, but in the years since she had seen him, he had clearly been hitting the gym hard. His arms and chest were huge, his waist whittled neatly beneath his MC cut. And, as the men who joined the MC were wont to do, he had abandoned the scruff in his early t
wenties and grown himself a dark beard and moustache combination. He stood straight like a soldier, always standing out of the crowd—even when that crowd consisted of other alpha males like himself. Power seemed to flow off him like an invisible aura.
Even her best dreams couldn’t do justice to the reality of the man that Jase was. Maggie felt her stomach drop somewhere near her ankles as she looked at him for the first time in almost five-and-a-half years.
Jase, the man she had loved. The man who had first loved her.
The man she had abandoned.
She couldn’t bring herself to do or say anything in that moment, and no one else in the room seemed to realize she had stopped breathing. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. She had promised herself she would play this cool, but her heart was pounding in her chest like a bird trying to escape from a cage.
Jase didn’t notice her, not right away. He was looking at the man who had challenged him, smiling. His whole face lit up when he smiled. He took a few steps into the den before he finally looked over to the bar and saw her sitting there with a beer in her hand as if she had never left in the first place.
As soon as he saw her, he stopped dead in his tracks. The smile fell from his face, and in its place a red-tinted darkness began to brew. He stared at her as if he was looking at a ghost and she could see his chest heaving as his breaths came shorter and shorter.
“Jase, look who it is!” said Tommy. “Maggie’s back!” He might have been oblivious, but even the cheer in his voice couldn’t mask the tension building in the room.
Maggie stood up carefully from the barstool and put her beer on the counter. She said nothing, made no motion towards him. She only met his eyes and waited.
Everyone had stopped what they were doing and watched Maggie and Jase with curious eyes. Maggie wondered if the way she felt today was what it felt like to be famous: everyone constantly staring, watching everywhere you went, waiting for you to fuck up…. waiting for you to scream. Maggie withered beneath their collective gaze.
Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Page 18
