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Chapter Four

Irene

“ H e what ?” Wini shrieks on the other end of the line.

I’m sitting outside the local courthouse waiting for it to open and staring at the interior of the brand new Toyota Accord they are ‘lending’ me.

Viper also hinted at my never touching my other car again, which almost made me cry.

I have had that car since StingRay, Shark’s father, bought it for me for my seventeenth birthday with the club.

Now, at twenty-nine years of age, it’s barely hanging on.

It was already used, but I loved it when I got it.

The thought of letting it go…it was the first thing that has my emotions triggered.

“Viper said they were ‘lending’ me the car but when one of the sales guys snorted…” Wini cackles at the other end of the line.

“Yeah, that’s your car now!” I groan at her overexcitement.

I can’t let them buy me expensive shit I don’t need.

I also refuse to allow them to buy me anything, period.

If I have ever learned anything in this life, one of the key items is that gifts aren’t free, nor do they come cheap.

People always intend them as a favor to be repaid later.

“Just go with it for now, not that you really have any other choice. It sounds like Nero, Viper, nor Shark were going to let you leave with your janky ass car.”

“My car is not janky!” I exclaim with more frustration bubbling under the surface that no one is on my dang side about this.

“Whatever you say, girlfriend,” she says passively. Voices in the background echo through my phone and into the new car speakers. “I have to run. Let me know if you decide to kick their asses or castrate them. I will video it for you later as spank-bank material.” Without a goodbye, she hangs up.

Sighing, I drive to the local thrift store to pick up the newest donations. They have been partners with Blood Reapers MC since long before I joined, and they have continued to be a major contributor to the youth in need within the community.

“Irene, I didn’t recognize you without your car!

” Abigail squeals as she throws herself into me, giving me one of her famous hugs that goes unreciprocated.

Everyone knows I hate being touched, but she is the only person I don’t panic over when it happens.

Not sure what the psychology behind it is, but I’m not going to educate myself about it.

Her hugs are nice, just not pleasant if that makes any sense…

She finally backs away and gives me space. “Yeah, the lights on the dash were flashing too much for me to ignore. The MC set me up with this for now while it’s getting fixed,” I sigh, still not happy about potentially never seeing my car again. She doesn’t need to know that, though.

“I’m not surprised. It was blowing an unhealthy amount of smoke into the environment. Probably best that you replace it.”

Yeah, against my will…

“The guys are grabbing the carts with the bins. When word got caught around town about the new takedown, we had so many additional donations that we had to put them in the shed!” She giggles, her head shaking with ease.

“That’s amazing. Let Regan know who donated things.

She and the kids do group time a lot, so they can make thank you cards or something during one of their fun group sessions.

” Nothing sounds less fun, but Regan enjoys teaching the children to read and write, and enjoys being with them so much that she does it near-daily.

Abigail talks about everything as a few of the MC guys load the bins into my car. The last one barely fits, but they slam the door hard enough to make it work.

“Thank you again, Abi. This means a lot, and I’m almost positive the kids will like the clothing too. Don’t forget to send Regan the names of donors.” She gives me another unreciprocated hug before pulling the guys back inside behind her.

Driving back to the agency headquarters, I try to think of ways to get those kids to open up to us.

Usually, it only takes a few sessions with them to get them to open up.

I can’t meet with every single individual, but I have tried more than double my efforts than usual with no luck.

It’s impossible to know whether they were threatened into silence, whether they just don’t want to talk about what happened, or even whether they weren’t mistreated at all.

Yet.

With the upward tick coming into view regarding children in rings, there are more and more children coming out of them unharmed.

The new ways are more daycare style, letting them live freely while also under strict watch and rule.

It’s an odd mixture, but they don’t know better.

They don’t get sold out until their teens, when it’s too late for them to want to run.

With a loaded exhale, I park next to a rumbling motorcycle.

It idles next to me with a teen on the seat.

He’s probably sixteen or seventeen, with one of the guys.

He must be learning as he lets go of the clutch to let the bike slowly propel itself forward.

A second later, the engine roars, a loud backfiring pop rings out, and the bike shuts off.

With the long, defeated look on the kid's face, I would guess they had been at it for a while.

The door to my car suddenly jerks open. I immediately see Globe as he looms over me with a sly smirk playing on his lips.

He is one cocky idiot, but there is a carefree nature about him that wants to just wrap you up.

Minus the giant bulging muscles and tattoos that scream bad boy, he would make the perfect cuddler.

Behind him, Nero lingers with his muscular arms crossed over his chest. Something about the act makes me feel…

feral. Like he could easily overtake me, and quite frankly, I don’t think I would be against it.

Instead, I power through these odd emotions.

“Shouldn’t you be working on my car?” I snap, the wound of my car’s near-death outing still fresh.

“The shop is closed, it’s after hours,” Nero shrugs, his expansive shoulders rising then dropping effortlessly.

Something about those strong, bulking shoulders has my thighs clenching harshly.

Furrowing my brows, I snap myself out of the lusty haze to glance at my watch.

Sure enough, it’s almost eight at night.

The summer months are in full swing because the sun is barely setting.

“Winifred said you might need help bringing stuff in,” Globe cuts in while gesturing to my very packed backseat. “It’s incredible that we have so many amazing donors for these kids. They have gone through enough shit, worrying about clothes and food shouldn’t be one of them.”

Looking into his mucky brown eyes, they twinkle with ease, an ease that I’m all too familiar with as it masks our true feelings. It masks secrets. Maybe his aren’t as dangerous as mine.

I can’t stop the small smile that pulls at my lips.

They can’t get too close.

They can’t know.

Dropping my gaze, I wave for them to move away from the car so I can get out. They do so easily. No prodding or probing is needed. Nero’s face is passive, yet his jaw is clenched tightly. He must have seen something on my face that he didn’t like.

Lucky for me, I don’t work for them. I work for the foundation that Wini, Mila, and I run with the board. Regan is making her way up there with us as an educational specialist, but she’s not had any help from her four men.

Nero doesn’t wait for me to give them the go-ahead. Totes are dragged from my car onto the concrete, stacked on top and side-by-side. The kid and the other guy, who I now recognize as Maverick, come over to us to assist.

“Ma’am,” the kid says with a nod and then grabs two at a time. I haven’t even gotten my butt out of my seat yet.

A blood-curdling shriek rings through the air followed by a gunshot.

I whip out of the car and slam the door to go inside the agency, only to be grabbed around the waist in a stronghold.

A piece of me I thought I buried a long time ago resurfaces, an old response I thought I worked through in the past roars out of me.

With more force given through adrenaline, I slam my head back into my intruder's face. They cry out, and I bring my elbow into their stomach, right by their ribcage. Air whooshes from their lungs as I’m able to break free.

I don’t wait around. Instead, I bolt inside and am met with four other guys with their hands in the air.

Shoving past them is nearly impossible as they stand like a wall.

When I manage to get past, the sight makes me halt.

I have seen this girl around before, though she isn’t one that I am familiar with.

“Rachel,” I whisper. Whatever breeze is let inside carries my voice to the terrified girl.

She turns the gun away from one of the other innocent social workers toward me.

Her hands tremble while holding the weapon, and she shakes her head back and forth frantically as if she doesn’t want me here.

A moment later, her finger moves from the side of the gun to lay flat on the trigger.

I don’t pay anyone my attention besides Rachel.

Tears stream down her face with a wild look remaining in her eyes.

From the looks of it, she isn’t sure what to feel right now.

A mixture of emotions, and that’s a damn good thing.

She’s at least emotionally fragile, not shut off.

We can work with that. Though, something must have spooked her, and I have no idea what that could be.