He glances at the phone hanging on the wall and then back at me. “The fuckin’ asshole stalking you just called the clubhouse?”
“Yes, I recognized his voice from when he chased after me that night in LA,” I tell him. “Brandi answered, and he asked for me by name. He said if I didn’t come outside, they’d blow this place up.”
His eyes narrow, and he’s typing out a text on his phone within seconds. Within a minute, all the brothers are movingwith purpose. He orders them around so fast that I can’t believe it—and they seem to know exactly what to do. From what I gather this club has a contingency plan for potential attack situations.
Suddenly, his father and brothers are huddling around us.
Onyx asks, “We got your message about the bomb threat. Is it credible?”
Slate jerks both shoulders up. “Who the fuck knows. It was from the asshole stalking Christina.”
Rock comments tensely, “He’s a tenacious little prick, isn’t he?”
Jasper, their club president, announces, “The clubhouse is officially on lockdown. That means nobody comes in or leaves without my express permission. Get the girls and the prospects to the basement. Everyone needs to stick to the plan. I don’t want to catch anyone doing their own thing.”
“The threat’s not real,” I say quickly. “He’s bluffing, just trying to scare me into making capturing me easy.”
“Maybe,” Jasper says. “But we don’t take chances when it comes to our clubhouse and our loved ones.”
Queenie and Tessa start herding all the women downstairs, saying something about a safe room. I quickly gather Katie into my arms. When I start to follow them, Slate pulls Katie from my arms and hands her off to his mother. Queenie grabs her up and makes for the stairway leading downstairs without another word.
Once they’re out of sight, he asks, “What exactly did he say? I want a blow-by-blow.”
I tell him, word for word, every syllable, every pause—the way he sounded so irritated but kept his voice polite. “And he said something really weird right before he hung up.”
Frowning, Slate asks, “Stranger than threatening to blow up our fuckin’ clubhouse?”
Riding right over that question, I tell him, “He said he’d get paid whether I’m dead or alive.”
Slate lets loose with a string of curses under his breath. “I should have fuckin’ checked out the fucker the second I learned he wasn’t your ex.”
Slate glances over at Jasper, who mutters, “Don’t worry. I’m fuckin’ all over this.” He promptly pulls out his phone and walks off.
I look at Slate. “I don’t understand.”
He wraps one arm around me and explains as he walks me to the steps leading downstairs. “You were an investigative reporter. Someone tried to kill you to shut you up once. There’s a good chance that when you came back to the US, it was easier for them to put a hit on you rather than try to track you down themselves.”
I shake my head, unwilling to believe something like that could happen to me. “That’s a little improbable, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, but just when you start believing wild shit like that can’t be happening to you is when it bites you in the ass. Jasperis gonna have our IT guys do a search to see if there’s a price on your head. If so, it might just lead us right to whoever wants you dead.”
“This whole situation feels surreal.”
“Well, you can talk to Queenie about that. She’s good at helping women get their heads around the realities they’d otherwise like to live in denial about.”
Ouch, that hurt to hear. But maybe he’s right. When he guides me through the door, I turn and ask, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Yeah, stay in the safe room and let us handle things. We’ve got a system, and it works best if we’re freed up from worrying about our loved ones.”
“So, you love me now?”
My question clearly catches him off guard. I can tell by the surprise that registers on his face. He quickly recovers and leans forward to give me a quick, rough kiss. He murmurs, “Yeah, I fuckin’ love you to pieces. If I’m being honest, I probably always have.”
Before I can respond, he shuts the door, and I hear the lock click closed. I quickly make my way downstairs and join the rest of the women in a small concrete room behind a heavy metal door. Once Queenie does a quick headcount, she locks and bars the door. We’re all standing around looking at each other.
She announces calmly, “Everything’s going to be okay. It’s probably nothing, but you know how overprotective the brothers can be.”
That seems to settle down everyone but me. I reach down and pick up Katie. She’s all smiles, clearly thinking we’re playing a new game of some sort.
