Page 33 of Wild Night (Vicious Reapers MC #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

POSEY

“The guys are caught up in… club business ,” Dakota says, emphasizing the club business part of her sentence. I don’t really know what that means, but I’m guessing it has to do with the motorcycle club business and all the things Void schooled me on while we were together.

“So you lived in a safe house with one of the other guys? Ivy knows this, and it’s cool?” Briana asks.

I’ve only met this girl once, at Dakota’s wedding, but I do know from texts with my niece that she’s Dakota’s best friend.

She saved her from the cult, and she also moved here at the same time Dakota did and started her life over again.

She’s part of the fold without being related to or married to a member of the club.

“I assume he knows where I was,” I say with a shrug.

“Are you going to tell?” Briana asks.

I don’t know if she’s trying to stir the pot or what she’s doing, but I decide that I don’t really care. She can say whatever she wants. I decide to shut it all down with a couple of sentences, and then that’s it.

I’m not talking about it any longer. I’m shutting this shit down right now.

Void helped me, protected me, and saved me. He gave me a place to breathe and feel safe. I will never be able to thank him enough for that, even if he was simply just doing his job.

“If Justin doesn’t know, that’s not on me. I’m not keeping a secret. If he wants details, he’s more than welcome to ask. He’ll find out that Void slept on the couch, I slept in the bed, and we shared conversations and meals, nothing more.”

Briana gives me a smile. I don’t know why I expect her to have something snarky to say, but she seems content with that answer.

Maybe she thinks of herself as a sister to these guys and is trying to play some sort of protective role.

Whatever the case, if she’s going to be a problem, it could get ugly.

“Let’s go to the clubhouse, hang out, and wait for the guys there. I can put Nathan down for a nap in his playpen,” Dakota announces as she stands to her feet.

We’ve been hanging with Lainey all afternoon. Dakota even did some decorating. Showing off some of her newly acquired skills so that Lainey would have some pretty things for her bakery case for this week. Next week, it will be back to the regular schedule.

“Are you coming with us?” I ask Lainey as Briana and Dakota gather Nathan’s things and get him ready for the short trip to the clubhouse.

“I try not to make it a habit of going down there,” Lainey says, wrinkling her nose.

She’s so freaking cute. I open my mouth to ask her why, but then snap it shut. Because not only is it none of my business, but I can imagine seeing your brother in precarious positions would be icky.

“Well, I hope I’ll be back tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive a single day without a pastry,” I announce as I rise to my feet.

Lainey shakes her head a couple of times, her eyes finding mine. “Well, I’ll be here waiting. You can teach me about wine. I seriously know nothing.”

“And maybe a caffeine-free drink?” I ask.

“Without a doubt, babe.”

I wave to her before I reach down and grab hold of Dakota’s diaper bag, following her and Briana out of the bakery and to the car. They’re chatting about something, but I’m not really paying attention to any of it. As nosy as I am, I know it has nothing to do with me.

Something causes me to pause, though. I’m not sure what it is. It’s just a feeling, a prickling at the back of my neck. Turning my head slowly, I look behind me to check if anyone is watching me, but nobody is there.

Taking a moment to glance around as I slowly move toward the car, I try my hardest not to seem conspicuous, but I’m sure I fail. Completely and totally miserably fail. I am not covert by any stretch of the word.

I don’t see anything or anyone out of place, though, not that I would know, really. This is only my second time coming down here, but I also feel as if I would see someone staring at me and notice it, which I don’t.

I climb into the passenger seat of the car, close the door, and strap my seat belt in place, my eyes still looking anywhere and everywhere for anything that stands out as odd—I still find absolutely nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Dakota asks.

“I feel like someone is watching me.” The words just spill out of me, even though I have nothing to justify the feeling.

She hums, then clears her throat. “We’re going to the clubhouse. Whoever it is, they won’t dare come there. They would be signing a death wish if they did.”

And with one eye on the rearview mirror and the other on the road in front of us, Dakota drives straight for the clubhouse. We stay in silence the entire time, me bouncing my knee, feeling nervous as shit for no reason other than just a gut feeling.

Nobody follows us as we get farther away from town and closer to the clubhouse. My knee slows down its movements, and I start to breathe easier. I also notice that Dakota’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel loosens.

“I’m sorry. I feel stupid,” I mutter.

Dakota snorts. “After the shit you’ve been through, not ever do you get to say you feel stupid about your safety.

Also, who knows? Someone could have been watching us.

It’s always better to be on the lookout when it comes to that stuff.

Now let’s go to the clubhouse and have a glass of water to relax. ”

“A glass of water?” I say with a laugh.

“Well, we can’t drink.”

“You can,” I point out.

She shakes her head. “Not alone. Plus, I’ll have to drive us home.”

Fair enough. A glass of water it is. A calming glass of water that I plan on pretending is wine.

IVY

“What do you mean the cameras went offline?” I demand.

Viking jerks his chin, his eyes lifting to meet mine. “Exactly what I just said,” he states. “They went offline for five minutes.”

“How do you know?” Bullet asks.

He is asking because he’s genuinely curious about the process.

I want to know because I need to know who the fuck could have that kind of access and actually turn my shit off, come in here, and leave me a note all within five fucking minutes.

How is this shit fucking possible? That’s what I want to know.

Viking’s gaze flicks back to the computer screen as he answers the question. “I can tell when I check the system, deeper than just surface level, that there was a disturbance. Not fucking sure how it was hacked, but that’s what happened.”

“What do we do now?” I demand.

There is a moment of silence. The room is bathed in it, and I don’t fucking like it, not in the goddamn slightest. I want to know how the fuck this person did that. Who the fuck this person is. Why the fuck they did what they did, and how to prevent it from ever happening again.

Viking shakes his head once, then his eyes shift back up to meet my own. “Got no goddamn clue. I’m decent with this shit, but I am not a professional. I know the cameras were turned off, what time, and the duration, but that’s all I fucking got on the situation.”

I don’t know how to fucking respond to that shit. He’s doing all he can, and I don’t feel like he’s lying or anything, but at the same time, there has to be more information.

“Any client of yours ready to kill you over their court case?” Razor asks.

Shrugging a shoulder, I let them know that there was one I recently lost, he’s in prison, where he deserves to be, and the one before that was settled out of court.

A white-collar embezzlement that ended up with him having to pay everything back, plus a few million in restitution.

But he doesn’t have to spend a day in prison because they want him to be able to actually pay that money back.

“Before those?” Bullet asks.

“Nothing really to note. I don’t have a fucking clue, and I don’t really see any of my clients doing this shit. I just don’t see it.”

I can’t imagine anyone I’ve represented in the past year who would do something like this.

I win most of my cases, or at the very least, I’m able to avoid jail time for them.

Only in rare cases, like this most recent one, I couldn’t.

But he was guilty as fuck, and I urged him more than once to fucking settle.

He was too egotistical to do that, which was on him.

“Now I gotta watch my back? What the actual fuck?” I ask.

“Until we know more, that’s about all you can do,” Bullet says, though his words come out more like a growl.

“I don’t like that fucking arrangement at all, especially after everything that’s happened with Posey.”

“Could it have been Posey’s ex, and maybe you just noticed it?” Razor asks, as if he can read my fucking mind on the matter.

“Don’t know, but I’m going to make a call on this shit right fucking now,” I announce.

I should have Bullet call the Rivara chapter as the president, but I’m good and pissed off. So, I make the call to the vice president, Brake, myself. It only rings once before he answers.

“Brake,” he greets.

“Where are you at on Lucian Whitmore?” I ask.

There is a moment of silence, and I’m not sure what he’s going to say next, mainly because I don’t fucking know the guy all that well, but he surprises me when he seems completely forthcoming and tells me what he did with the little prick.

“Lucian Whitmore presented himself to the winery contact, Monty. His legal wife was delivered to Monty by us, and in exchange, he handed over Posey, gladly, and asked us to keep her safe until she made whatever decision she wanted. Which she obviously did since we handed her over to your men.”

His words are delivered matter-of-factly and make me smirk, because I would say something similar if the tables were turned. “I got an issue here, and I don’t think it involves Lucian, but I need to be sure.”

“Issue?” he asks.

“Someone fucked with the surveillance in my law office and left me a threatening note. No fucking clue what else he did.”

Brake is silent for a moment, then he clears his throat. “If I had to guess, Lucian and his legal wife are living life out at a farm with rolling hills. But I can forward you Monty’s number. He’ll want to hear about Posey’s well-being anyway.”

“Thanks. And, Brake?” I call out. He doesn’t speak immediately. “Appreciate everything you did for her.”

He doesn’t tell me that he didn’t do it for her, he did it for the club and this Monty guy, which is probably more the case than anything else.

We’re not really in the habit of protecting damsels in distress, but instead of saying all that, he murmurs that it’s no problem, then adds on that we owe him one.

I know without a doubt that he will keep and use it sometime in the future. Then he ends the call, and a few seconds later, my phone buzzes. It’s an incoming text, which is Monty’s information, so I can place that call myself.

What a fucking day.