Page 20 of Reaper & the Lioness (Lone Star Mavericks MC #1)

Chapter Fifteen

I was a captive in a cabin, but it didn’t mean I could pause everything with my growing consultancy.

The constant hum of activity provided a welcome distraction from my precarious situation.

As I settled into my makeshift office on the soft brown leather couch, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony.

Here I sat, a PR professional used to sleek city offices, now crafting strategies from a rustic hideout.

I shot Kenna a text with my new number, knowing she’d send a private investigator to find me if I went longer than a few hours without responding to her.

Kenna: Did you break your phone again? Or did you just want a Texas area code?

Me: It’s a long story. Too long for text message. Shit went down and I’m somewhat in hiding until I figure things out.

Kenna: Is this a burner phone!?! Are you going into Witness Protection?

Me: More like Maverick Protection …

Kenna: Please tell me you have a hot biker guarding you. You know what they say in Texas. Save a horse, ride a biker.

Me: Shut. Up.

Kenna: I’m heading into a meeting. Call me later. Love you!

My computer pinged with an influx of emails.

Each message reminded me of the normal world outside of the threat I faced.

I had a handful of clients and projects I needed to keep on track, with several check-in calls scattered throughout the afternoon.

But more than that, I remained determined to continue working with the Maverick-associated businesses.

The last thing I wanted was for Thane to pull the contract or ask for a refund.

Plus, I had to admit the challenge held a certain thrill.

Fortunately for my sanity and security, I could do plenty of work from the cabin. And as I edited the photos and videos captured the other day of Maisie at the market, an idea began to take shape.

I wanted to create a community report highlighting the collective economic impact of the businesses owned by Mavericks.

The report would tell stories about how they helped people who lived and worked in Conroe.

My strategy would change perceptions, showing the world the side of the Mavericks I’d just begun to understand.

I closed my eyes, imagining a glossy magazine-style report.

The pages would be filled with striking photos.

A bearded biker, his arms covered in tattoos, handing a teddy bear to a wide-eyed child in a hospital bed.

A family of five—both parents wearing their cuts with pride—walking dogs at the local animal shelter.

Children sitting cross-legged on a colorful rug, their faces rapt as Maisie’s animated voice brought a story to life.

Eye-catching infographics would tell the story, too.

Jobs created, taxes paid, community programs funded.

The misperception of the Mavericks seemed unfair, and I intended to fix it. Not just because my job required it, but because I had begun to uncover the truth under the leather and chrome. These people—my clients, my protectors, my friends—deserved to have their real stories told.

I’d wrapped up my last client call when an email from Matt pinged through. He hadn’t been able to reach my cell—it was still powered off. I fired off a Google Meet invite, which he joined within a minute.

“Eva, where have you been? It’s like you fell off the map. Your phone just goes straight to your voicemail—which is still full, by the way.” His eyes searched the room, the rough-hewn logs of the cabin behind me.

I rubbed my temples, unsure of how much to say or if Matt would even believe me. “I guess you could say I’m in hiding.”

“Where?” Matt pressed, leaning closer to his camera.

I paused, realizing I didn’t know. I hadn’t exactly been sober when Reaper brought me here, and his driving had been erratic. I hadn’t considered until now that he may have been trying to confuse anyone who was following us.

“Somewhere safe. Hale is trying to kill me.”

Matt let out a tight laugh. “Come on. That isn’t funny.”

“Matt, I’m serious. We’re getting close to exposing Hale. Benjamin put a bounty on my head. A million dollars. I’d be dead if it weren’t for … one of my clients.”

His eyebrows shot up, interest piqued. “Who?”

I shook my head, a flicker of unease settling in my stomach. “Matt, you know I can’t disclose client information. You shouldn’t even be asking.”

His expression hardened. “Don’t you think at least one person should know where you are in case something happens?”

“A friend knows because of her … association with the client. They saved my life. Twice in one night. I trust them.”

Hawk let out two excited barks and a small howl as if on cue. Reaper stepped inside, scooping up the pup before he could latch onto his clothing.

Matt let out a deep sigh. “I don’t like this. We need to meet up when I’m in Houston. I have more leads to share. I found two women who might be willing to talk—on the record, this time.”

I hesitated but pushed on. Reaper already knew about our investigation into Hale’s abuse. It wouldn’t hurt for him to listen in on this part of the conversation.

“Who are they? What do you know?”

Matt rustled some papers at his desk. “Ruth Wass worked for Hale as an intern a few years ago. She filed a police report after he allegedly assaulted her but dropped the charges a day later.”

He paused as he sorted through the disorganized pile of paper. Given the chaotic state of his desk, I struggled to understand how this man ever filed a story on time.

“And then Paige Villa. She’d worked as a contractor at a gala, raising money for one of their charities. She was attacked after the event. But it was dark, so Hale wasn’t named. But the description of the attacker fits, and he attended the event. We need to meet with both of them.”

I glanced at Reaper, who shook his head at Matt’s insistent request.

“Email me the information. I can’t go anywhere right now.”

Matt’s jaw clenched, frustration evident. “I promised my editor this story. We are so close.”

I bristled at his tone and jumped as Reaper slammed a cupboard harder than necessary. I glared at him before returning to my screen.

“Who’s there with you?” Matt asked, his curiosity invasive.

“My personal chef,” I quipped, forcing a smirk. “And we agreed not to involve your editor until the story was locked down. So that sounds like a ‘you’ problem. Email me what you’ve found, and we’ll go from there. I’ll check if the information aligns with what my sources are sharing.”

His eyes hardened. “Fine, I’ll send the info. But these women won’t leave a paper trail. They’ll only meet in person. I’ll find a spot to meet. And maybe you could consider giving me the names of your latest sources, too. Just to make sure we aren’t duplicating work.”

I rolled my eyes. It drove him crazy that I refused to reveal all of my sources. I trusted Matt, but Amy had only been willing to share her story as long as I kept her name a secret—even from the journalist who would publish the story.

“Bye,” I said, ending the call and pushing the laptop away.

Reaper glanced at me as he methodically chopped a carrot into perfect bite-sized pieces. “You’re not going to meet anyone right now.”

I figured as much. I wouldn’t press him on it … yet.

“Who is Matt?”

“A friend from college. He’s an investigative journalist. He promised to write the story if I can get enough women to speak out against Hale and how Abell Enterprises has covered up his violent tendencies.”

My phone pinged, an email with attachments coming through from Matt. “We’re so close. These new leads could help us break the story.”