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I pulled over to the curb, not yet ready to enter the gates. The building that loomed ahead of us looked the same, aside from a little more worn. The guard shack that sat by the road had been replaced and I wondered what happened to it.

Had a car plowed through it? Did someone shoot it up in a drive-by? Or worse, had someone set it on fire or blown it up in some misguided attempt to take over the club?

I’d heard the stories. The kids at school who knew who my brother was never passed up an opportunity to gossip about the outlaw club. The laws they broke. The drugs and guns my classmates bought from them. Going so far as to ask me how many brothers I had slept with. Which one stole my innocence?

Joke was on them. My innocence had been stolen long before my brother joined the MC. Only no one knew that, except me. And the man who stole it.

But he was dead.

Killed by my brother.

The brother I now needed to help me save and protect another little girl who I was determined would hold on to her innocence until she chose to relinquish it, only when she was ready.

With a deep fortifying breath, I pulled up to the gate. I knew the drill. I rolled my window down and handed my license to the prospect.

My real license.

There was no reason to lie about who I was here.

As he handed it back, he asked, “What do you want?”

“I’m here to see Ellie Thomas.”

Yes, I needed my brother, but I wasn’t ready to see him yet. First, I needed to know what kind of woman Dante thought was trustworthy enough to give his daughter too.

“No one here with that name.”

“She’s an old lady.”

“Ain’t no old ladies here. We got club whores, but ain’t no brother gonna claim a bitch that’s openin’ her legs for every man in there.”

“What about Ryder Thomas?” I asked, getting frustrated.

Maybe the guys who had old ladies didn’t bring them to the clubhouse. Keeping their old ladies at home meant they could fuck the whores without being nagged, I guess.

“Ain’t no one here with that name either,” he said, spitting on the ground beside my vehicle. He laid a hand along the roof and leaned in. “You looking to be a club whore?”

“Could I speak to Gunner, please?” Refusing to dignify his question with an answer.

“Look, lady, you’re battin’ oh for three. You wanna try a fourth name?”

“What are you talking about? I know Gunner is a patched member.”

“Sorry, lady. Ain’t no one here named Gunner.”

I stared at the prospect, asking silent questions he couldn’t answer.

How could he not be here? The club was his life. He wouldn’t just leave. He wasn’t dead. The monthly deposits into my bank account assured me of that.

“Is Steele still the president?”

“Yea.”

“Could you call him, please? I need to speak to him. It’s urgent.”

“Lady, Steele is fuckin’ busy. He don’t answer to every bitch that rolls up lookin’ for him.”

“Please, just tell him Mellie is here. Gunner’s baby sister. He’ll see me. I promise.”