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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

PHILLIPA

T he club girls have gotten bored and have left me alone since I wouldn’t rise to their comments. A couple are playing pool, and honestly, I have to turn away when they take their shots leaning over the table as the sight of another woman’s pussy does nothing for me. The others are drinking and playing cards.

After the generous double shot of whiskey that Heathen had given me, I next ask him for a soda, thinking keeping a relatively clear head is probably better than getting roaring drunk, but I am sorely tempted, knowing Saint and his brothers are currently have serious discussions about my health.

How can I convince them that after my discussions with Saint, and the promise of the future he offered me, I have no desire to try to resurrect my old life? The secret service did fuck all to protect one of their own, when they knew the unwilling part I’d played in Adams getting killed put a target on my back. Instead, they cut me loose, and the result was, if it wasn’t for Saint, I’d have died.

Apart from the dubious medic they’d called to treat me, the Kings haven’t treated me too badly. It could have been worse; I could have been thrown into that torture barn as soon as they learned who I am. I can even excuse them and understand how they used me to trick Skunk. If I’d been pre-warned, I could have played my part better, but I can understand their lack of knowledge of the person I am, and the lack of trust they have in an outsider.

I’m staring into the soda I don’t really have any yearning for, when I hear a sound. Even if I didn’t interpret it as a door opening, the way the pool game comes to an abrupt end, and the other girls throw their cards down and start primping, pushing their obviously enhanced breasts up in their barely there clothes so their nipples are almost showing, alerts me church is over, and the brothers are coming out.

I watch as the men who are starting to become familiar to me walk my way, but their choice of direction is only because I’m sitting at the bar. I don’t miss the suspicious looks they throw at me. I start to feel uneasy, not feeling any less stressed when Saint appears and walks toward me. His face is set, giving nothing away. Instead of speaking, he grabs hold of my hand, helps me off the bar stool and passes me my crutch. Then he’s guiding me toward the stairs.

“Need help?”

I brush his assistance off. “I’ve got this.” I use the handrail on one side and my crutch to aid me tortuously upward, one step at a time. With his hand to the small of my back, I approach his room, then stand back as he opens the door and guides me in.

It appears I don’t have to wait for him to tell me the outcome of the meeting. Without moving in front of me, he speaks to my back. “My brothers don’t trust you.”

I squeeze my eyes closed. My breathing falters while my heartbeat races. Although I’ve been expecting it for days, now that the moment is here, I want to be able to live my life. I try to remind myself I should have died in the ravine, but it doesn’t help. Don’t beg, I tell myself. It’s beneath me and wouldn’t change a thing.

“Just make it quick.” I’m surprised I’m able to stop the quavering in my voice.

His hands land on my shoulders, spinning me around, then his grip fastens as he realises he’s put me off balance. He waits until I steady myself, then snarls, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

He breathes in and leans his head back. His body shudders before he seems to get a hold of himself, and at last, he gives me a reprieve. “No, I’m not. And it would never be by my hand. I don’t give a fuck what my prez demands, if I’m demoted, busted down the ranks, or even kicked out of the club. I’ll never harm a hair on your head, Pippa.”

His tone, so agonised, leaves me with no doubt. But something else is true. “If you don’t…”

“We’ve got a week, Pippa,” he says fast. “Seven days to convince them you’re not a threat to the club.”

My head’s spinning. For the past few days, I knew I was walking a knife edge, and it could go the wrong way any time. For a moment I’d truly believed my end was imminent, it takes a moment to reverse my thinking now. I’m alive, and it’s possible I could stay that way. But is there really a chance? Breathing in deeply, I let the air out on a heavy sigh, then snort. “Well, that’s going to be easy.”

“Pippa, babe.” His hands grip my arms. “I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how this can work out. But I can’t fuckin’ lose you.” His chest is heaving with emotion, and the glistening in his eyes shows the extent of his feelings. “If I lose you, I lose myself.”

Wanting to reassure him, I remember I’ve never failed a test in my life. Rashly, I make a promise I can’t follow up. “We’re not going to lose either of us. Somehow, I’ve just got to convince them.”

“We,” he corrects fast. “We’re in this together.”

He’s already got the loyalty of the club, I know it’s down to me to prove myself to his brothers.

But for now, it’s just us, and Saint takes advantage of proving the benefits of being with him as he rocks my world, and then does it all over again. His stamina eventually wears me out, and when I do fall asleep, it’s in his arms with a smile of my face, and strangely, I don’t even dream.

It’s morning, and Saint had to leave early to go on a run for his club. I didn’t ask where he was going, or when he’d be back, I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything. I’d heard multiple motorbikes ride out, but suspected there’d be somebody left, one of the prospects at least. They wouldn’t leave me unguarded unless it was a test to see if I’d escape. I take heart that there’s no one inside the room, or even outside the door once I open it.

Even if they left the compound completely unguarded, I wouldn’t take that way out. Being a good girl has never got me anywhere, so why shouldn’t I be bad? Why shouldn’t I grab a life with Saint with both hands, and maybe even gain myself a family. Even under the direst of threats and in pain, I’ve felt more alive over these past few days than I ever have. Of course, as the end of the week approaches, I might be desperate enough to make other plans. But for now, I’m staying put. Well, not in Saint’s room, I’m going to turn no one from enemy to friend unless I venture out.

Once again I’m dressing in Saint’s clothes, while thinking once my future’s more certain, I must get some of my own. Which raises the question of how. I’ve lost access to the savings I had, and even those will shortly be divided up and distributed to the various charities I’d named in my will. It makes me realise what a sad life I’ve actually led up to now, concentrating too hard on work, and not enough on making friends. Or not any to whom I’d want to leave a legacy. Cats, dogs, and children will bear the benefit of the amount I’d been accumulating with the eventual dream of buying a house.

What’s crazy is, despite the practicalities that I’m dependent on a man I hardly know for now, I’m not particularly unhappy about it. To go forward, taking life day by day instead of following a plan feels freeing.

Descending the stairs in my awkward way, the tap of my crutch on the wooden floor draws the attention of the prospect who’s polishing the tables and even has a mop and bucket ready to wash the floor. I’d noticed while there was an always present odour of men’s bodies, stale beer and sex, the place was usually clean and tidy, as if the men took some pride in their living arrangements. Seeing who’s doing the cleaning makes me realise this is one way the new entrants to the club earn their full membership, and it’s not all digging graves, burying bodies, or mopping up blood.

I nod at Knight as I pass him, not sure whether I need permission or not, I ask, “Is it okay if I grab a coffee and some food in the kitchen?”

“Sure?”

The upward inflection suggests he’s not certain of the answer, but I just note I’ve asked and received a positive response, so head that way. I start a pot of coffee, then open the fridge to see what there is for the makings of breakfast. Not wanting to go overboard, I just grab some bacon and a couple of eggs.

Slightly disappointed there were no brothers in the clubroom with whom I could try to act friendly, I turn my attention to the stove and start cooking. Coffee ready, I pour myself a cup, relishing the taste and the caffeine that perks me up. After a few minutes, I’m ready to plate up. Deciding I might as well eat at this table, I pull out a chair and settle myself in.

As I’m licking my fingers after finishing the last piece of bacon and having mopped up the over-easy eggs with a slice of bread, I hear footsteps approaching. Expecting the prospect, I don’t even look up, but offer, “Coffee’s brewed if you want one.”

“Well, that’s mighty fine of you,” a lazy put-on Texan drawl answers me.

I can’t place the voice until I turn around and see who’s spoken. “Rattler.” I speak his name as a greeting, unable to miss the mostly shorn head with the ponytail hanging down.

Instead of going to pour himself a cup of coffee, he peers into the clubroom, then firmly shuts the kitchen door. He places his finger to his lips and speaks quietly. “We’ve not got much time.”

“Time?” His finger rises again, and a fierce look on his face makes me dial back the volume. “Time for what?” I whisper.

His face is different from the other times that I’ve seen him, completely mirthless and serious. “Listen to me,” he says in a low tone so I struggle to hear him. “I work for the ATF,” he states. My eyes widen as he admits he’s a government agent, just like me. But instead of Secret Service, he works for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. “I’ve been working undercover with the Kings for a couple of years.” His eyes narrow. “I’m relying on you to keep that information to yourself.”

Trying to pull my jaw off the floor, I simply stare at him.

“I volunteered to stay back to keep an eye on you while the others headed out on a run. I’m going to get you out of here.”

“How?”

“In the garage, there’s a row of hooks with keys hanging off them. They’re the ones to the trucks the club owns, and to the members’ cars that they keep on compound, the keys are stored there in case people need to move them around. Bikers don’t like cages so they don’t often use them.”

I realise there’s something different about his speech. There are no swear words being thrown in. My heart starts racing, wondering whether I can believe him.

“The keys at the far-right end of the row are to the black SUV that’s parked right outside the front of the garage.”

Still trying to take it all in, I ask, “Are you going to come with me?”

He shakes his head. “Wish I could. Would give anything to get out of this hellhole, but my work here isn’t finished.”

There’s a flaw in his plan. “If I leave, and you’re the one who’s been told to prevent that, you’re going to be in a heap of trouble for letting me go.”

Offering a rueful smile, he explains, “So this is where you’re going to hit me, sweetheart. You can swing that crutch and get me right here.” He points to his temple, then grimaces. “Got to be hard enough to convince them.”

Staring at him, I don’t immediately answer him. I let the words and his offer settle into my mind, analysing them. It could be a trap, but Rattler is being very convincing. And he’s offering the only way out of here. I could be in that car within moments, leaving probable certain death behind. And Saint.

He doesn’t hurry me, just lets me think through the possibilities and complications. After a few moments have passed, I reach for my crutch and stand. I see Rattler brace himself, but I turn my back on him, pouring myself another coffee instead.

His voice sounds a little panicked as he says, “You’ve got to hurry and get as far away as possible…”

I swing around to face him. “Actually, Rattler, under the circumstances, I think it’s best you get in that car and start driving. My place is with Saint, and I’m staying here.”

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me!”

A lapse, a swear word. I note it. “I can’t keep silent about your role here. You saw how I told them about Skunk. Why do you think I’d keep quiet about you?”

“Because you’re a Fed, and you don’t belong here.”

Offering a sad shake of my head, I correct, “I don’t belong anywhere, so I might as well stay here.”

“You fuckin’ bitch!”

Balancing myself against the counter, I wield my crutch for real as Rattler comes toward me.

“Stop right there, Rat!” barks the authoritative voice of their president.

“Told you it wouldn’t work.” Saint walks in, puts his arms around me, and hugs me close to him.

“Godfuckin’damnit!” Rattler slams his fist against the wall, then starts to walk out of the door the other two men have just entered.

“If it helps,” I call after him, “you had me fooled.”

He pauses, swings back around and says, “No I didn’t. You saw right through me.”

I feel myself slump. I’ve won nothing here. I’d passed a test I was meant to fail, but still they don’t trust me. Even if Rattler had been exactly what he’d said, a future outside this club, one where I had no identity, and especially no Saint, didn’t attract me.