Our tech guy began to tap on his iPad. “Jonny Jensen, aged thirty-one, born in San Diego, an only child to Derek and Lindsay. Moved to LA when he was twenty-five to be a session drummer. Joined a couple of bands after the first year, but they never amounted to much, then he joined Saint’s Rapture and hit the big time. He’s a party boy, exhibitionist, who likes the limelight.” Colt’s stare narrowed on the screen. “No criminal record apart from one pap altercation a year ago, which was settled out of court, but it looks like his records were sealed when he was seventeen.”
I leaned forward. “Can you get into them?”
Colt rolled his eyes. “What do you think? Gimme a minute.” His fingers flew over his iPad as if they were onfire. He paused a couple of times, waiting for the device to catch up with him. Images began to flash up on the screens. A police report first, then a hospital admission form, and finally, a grainy mugshot.
“Jonny was arrested for attempting to break the terms of a restraining order served on him by an ex-girlfriend. He was accused of harassing her and her new boyfriend. The judge took pity on him and ordered him to complete an anger management program rather than give him a custodial sentence. Jonny’s dad’s a partner in a law firm in San Diego and managed to get the case sealed.” His lips thinned. “Obviously, it’s not what you know; it’s who you know.”
Hendrix grunted. “So he’s got a history of not handling rejection well? Plus, his dad’s loaded, so that fits the entitlement part of the profile. We all know lawyers are a special breed. Some of ‘em think theyarethe law. That could’ve rubbed off on his boy.”
“Seems that way,” Colt confirmed. “Though I have to point out, this happened nearly fifteen years ago, and he’s been clean since. It could’ve been a one-off sitch.”
I thought back to the day Jonny snapped at Saint. The venom in his tone shocked me, and the way he called her a cunt. At the time, it was explained as him coming down from a high, but after hearing Colt go over the profile of Saint’s stalker, alarms were wailing in my head.
“So what do we do about it?” Gambit asked.
Hendrix bit the inside of his cheek, deep in thought. “Nothing for now. The clubhouse has got cameras everywhere, and we make sure Saint is never alone with Jonny.”
“I don’t like it,” I murmured.
“Neither do I,” Diablo agreed.
A surge of heat hit my chest, and my nostrils flared. “You know that Saint’smywoman, right?” I asked,turning to the SAA. “I’ve been protecting her just fine for the last couple of weeks,brother.”
His cheeks flushed red.
“Iceman,” Hendrix said quietly. “Don’t take your shit out on the wrong person. I get it’s frustrating, but D’s just worried.”
The surge left me as quickly as it had reared up, and I slumped back in my chair. “Sorry, D,” I muttered. “I think the pressure’s getting to me.”
He nodded. “S’okay.”
But I could tell he was hurt by my outburst.
“Come outside with me after, brother,” I offered. “I’ll introduce you.”
His forehead furrowed. “You don’t have to.”
“Yeah, I do, bro. There’s no man in the club I’d rather my woman be around or be protected by than you. Brave as a fuckin’ lion and a heart bigger than anyone I know.” I grinned. “You’re a mouthy fucker too, but the good outweighs the bad by far.”
The boys chuckled, and to my relief, Diablo laughed along, too.
I shot him an apologetic smile.
He grinned back and gave me a chin lift.
My shoulders relaxed, but the nagging feeling in my gut persisted, and a sense of dread made my chest clench.
Threats were coming from all angles, and I knew something was about to go down; I could feel it in the air that I breathed because it contaminated my lungs every time I inhaled.
In a way, I wanted the stalker to bring it on because the sooner I could shoot him in the head, the sooner all danger would pass, and Saint and I could get on with our lives.
I just hoped that when the dust settled, everyone I loved was still standing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SAINT
“This place isawesome!” I squealed, standing up to wiggle my ass in time to the gorgeous Rihanna singing how she found love in a hopeless place. I shoved another five-dollar bill in Heather’s G-string, then, circling one arm in the air, lasso-style, I yelled, “Twerk that ass!”
