Slate lifts his chin. “I sure as hell hope so. I ain’t a big fan of chasin’ this stupid fucker all over hell and half of California. If he’d come to me, that would make my life a whole lot easier.”
Gasps could be heard from several brothers. But Rock was still as a statue, still staring at Slate like he was seeing him with new eyes. “And…” Rock prompted.
Slate steps forward, blading his body in front of me. “You want the rest of my rationale? Fine. It makes more sense to lure him here where we’ve got weapons, brothers to join the fight, and a place to secure the womenfolk. This asshole has been stalking Christina for a long time. I’d prefer to have the home court advantage when we throw down.”
Rock’s eyes glitter with pride. “Smart you might be, but not smarter than me.”
I release a choked laugh. Slate’s father approved of luring a stalker right to their doorstep, saw it as good strategy. And it did make a certain kind of sense.
Slate grins back at him. “Since when did you start rhyming and shit? Ma, you should take him to get a checkup. He’s not right in the head.”
Even I could tell that Slate was just teasing, so I wasn’t too surprised when everyone laughed. It took the edge off a really tense moment.
I excuse myself to check on Katie. In truth, my head is spinning. These rough bikers inviting trouble to their door really shouldn’t surprise me, yet it does. I climb the steps quickly, wanting to get back to his suite to decompress for a bit.
Upstairs, I close the door behind me and lean against it, trying to wrap my head around everything I just learned. I can’t manage it right away, so I go into the bedroom to find Katie still sleeping. Easing down onto the edge of the bed, I cover my face with my hands. Slate still thinks this man stalking me is my ex. I’ve let him believe it because it’s easier than telling him the truth. The truth is much worse, more complicated, and magnitudes more dangerous than the kind of trouble he thinks he’s courting.
I should tell him. I need to, before he gets in over his head. I’m genuinely worried about my situation dragging them deeper into something that even the Sons of Rage can’t handle.
Katie stirs in her sleep, and I reach out to gently rub her back. She’s so young and vulnerable. I’m all she’s got. We both took a hit that day when a pipe bomb blew up and sent me hurtling through the air ten feet away. I ended up in a coma, not evenknowing I was pregnant until I woke up. My recovery took a few months, and by the time I gave birth, the doctors said she was small for her age because of the coma, and she never quite caught up. Right now, she’s coming up on her third birthday but looks like your average two-year-old. It’s probably why it’s never occurred to Slate to think Katie might be his daughter.
I pull my knees to my chest and whisper to myself, “I can’t run again. Not this time.”
No matter what, I need to keep my daughter safe.
It’s becoming increasingly obvious that I can’t do that alone. I need to break down and trust someone.
I already know that it’s going to be Slate. He took us in and really cares about us. He said he wants more than a fling this time around, and I’d love to give him more, but it has to be for the right reasons. I can’t pull him into a relationship just because I need protection. Deep down inside, I know that I’m not ready.
It all goes back to who I can trust and whether I’m willing to do what it takes to earn their trust back in return. I know I can trust Slate, his family, and his club. But I’m withholding vital information they need—not only to keep me safe but to keep themselves safe as well.
Chapter 9
Slate
An hour or so later, I’ve just finished helping Rivera settle into one of the first-floor rooms. He really needs to rest, and Stitch gave him something that will ensure he sleeps off the pain.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. One vibration, then another.
When I check the screen, it’s a text from Striker, our IT guy.
Striker: Got something on the reporter and the kid.
I open the message thread and lean against the wall while I read. Striker doesn’t waste time with long explanations. He’s ex-military, same as me, and has the same love of getting to the fuckin’ point.
Striker: I tracked the birth certificate for the baby. No father was listed.
As I read, more messages pop up.
Striker: The hospital records for Christina have been scrubbed. After her evac from Kabul, she went missing for several weeks, was in some kind of accident, and then admitted to San Diego Med under an alias. There was something about a head trauma, and she was in a prolonged coma. She dropped off the radar right after. I don’t know what she got herself involved in, but it looks like someone wanted to make finding her nearly impossible.
I stare at the screen, trying to make sense of his report. I remember her talking about being on an assignment after she left Kabul and getting injured when a bomb went off. The report of her being in a coma matches up with what she told me as well. It would even make sense that she didn’t put her asshole ex on the birth certificate. What doesn’t make any sense is why someone would try to wipe all trace of her. That’s not something you do just because you’re running from a domestic violence situation.
My days of not talking to her about her ex are over. I need to know everything I can about this man if I’m going to keep her safe.
I type out a quick response.
Me: Thanks for tracking down what information you could, bro.
