My mind whirls with the info that Lyric had already provided. To me, this is looking more and more like a hostage situation rather than a mistress looking to save her ass. Bullet steps in with an ease that I’m currently not feeling, and judging by the looks of it, neither is Karma.
“Let’s head out, then, shall we? We’ll provide coverage. Two of us in front, your vehicle next, and myself and our prospects will take up the back.”
The man nods and turns on his heel toward the van. My eyes flick between both of my brothers. “Anyone else find that weird?”
“Fuck yes. But we need to get her to our place to see just how bad this actually is.” Bullet lifts his chin and starts walking to his bike.
“I’m thinking Lyric’s suggestion to get this woman out of their grasp is going to be the way to go,” Karma says, his fist hitting the top of my shoulder before he heads to his own bike.
I tap out a text to the prospect with the next plan before swinging my leg over my bike and starting the engine. With my sunglasses on and in place, I push off with my boot and cruise toward the front gate. Our little caravan slips onto the highway as we make the trek back to Braham. The hours tick by slowly, and I find myself looking over my shoulder often, my eyes seeking out the blacked-out van. Something feels off. An awareness I can’t name settles into my gut and twists painfully. I’m more anxious now than when we started to get the asset to the safety of our club. It's nightfall by the time we cruise into town, making sure to keep to the backroads that are less populated. There’s nothing normal or inconspicuous about the way we’re traveling. It's probably as criminal as it looks.
The gate opens as soon as we arrive, and I’m guessing one of the prospects called ahead to let them know our location. We all drive into the lot, and we park our bikes in the designated area. The van door opens, and the back door slides open. All I can see from here is two men in suits holding a woman between them. Something in the back of my mind niggles with familiarity. I watch as her pink tennis shoes drag on the ground, her legs clad in a pair of fitted jeans that hang loosely from her frame. She’s wearing a black long-sleeve shirt with her arms propped over their shoulders. Anger surges watching them hold her, but what really makes me pause is the black bag that's over her head.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, palming my piece in the back of my jeans, my fingers itching to take out these suits right now. Knowing it would bring a war to our doorstep is the only reason I don’t. I take the time to adjust my cut before following everyone into the clubhouse.
The room has quieted, a semicircle of members surrounding the woman, who is now sitting upright in a chair. Prez stands before her with his arms crossed, his face set in a murderous glare. The men in suits stand by her side, their cold, impassivefaces not even flinching. My gaze meets each of the brothers surrounding the room, and I can see the disgust and anger in each of them while they look on.
“Are you sure she isn’t being held captive? I wasn’t aware that Marco Bianchi would treat his asset this way,” Prez says, his glare harsh.
The same man who talked to us at the shipyard shifts. “This woman is very important to Mr. Bianchi. It was for her safety that she did not know where she was going in case anyone tried to intervene. If she had been hurt or mistreated at all, none of us would have lived.”
The man reiterates her importance, but it still doesn’t answer the question about how she’s been treated or if she wants to be here.
“And when will Bianchi be coming to collect his asset?” Jester asks, his eyes flicking from his angry president to the man and back again.
“Mr. Bianchi will be in contact when it is safe,” the man answers, stepping back and placing his hand gently on the woman’s shoulder. His eyes roam around the room, glancing at each brother one by one. “It is very important that she is not touched. Mr. Bianchi has already spoken about how important she is. The alliance will not hold should this woman be harmed or touched in any way.”
If looks could kill, this man would be buried six feet under where he stands. Prez grits his teeth. “I hope you aren’t suggesting that any of my brothers or myself would force ourselves upon a woman?”
The man straightens and palms his tie with his hand. “Bikers are notorious for degrading women. Don’t you keep a stash of whores on site?”
Prez takes a step forward, most likely to punch the guy where he stands, but this time his old lady’s hand on his arm stopshim. “I think you’ll find that men of any outfit are capable of mistreating a woman. Or is having one drugged with a bag over her head being gentlemanly?”
Jocelyn’s words hit like they’re supposed to. The man’s face flushes, and his mouth snaps shut. The two Mafia men share a look, and the other speaks this time.
“We’ll take our leave. Please wait for further instructions from Mr. Bianchi as to when he’ll come to collect her.”
Prez manages to nod his agreement. With that, the men turn on their heels and leave. The room quiets as we listen to their van start up and drive off. My eyes fall back to the woman in the room. Lyric pushes her way through the crowd and goes to kneel by her.
“Lyr—” Karma steps forward to stop her.
“Let her be.” Prez nods to Lyric, giving her permission to do what she set out to do.
Lyric’s eyes flick to me and my back straightens. My heart pounds in my chest from the look on her face. Her hands reach for the cover and she pulls it off. Long blonde hair falls down the back of the chair. Hair that I’ve seen a million times, spread over my pillow, snagged from my shower drains and peeled from my sweatshirts. I’ve seen it hanging in my face while she hovers above me, I’ve felt those silky tresses as they slip through my fingers while I kiss her. Lyric gasps, tears forming in her eyes. Prez’s gaze shoots to me, but I’m already moving forward through the crowd to get to her.
“Dodger——”
Every step I take closer is making the air in my lungs seize up. Somehow, I know, without even seeing her face, that it’s my girl. Just being this close after so long, the room is charged with energy, and everything else fades away. The way I could always feel her before I could see her. Lyric is holding her hand now, tears streaming down her face when I make it in front of her,falling to my knees. Her head lolls to the side, but her wide, brown stare finds mine.
“Win.” My voice comes out raspy, and her eyes slide shut again. I reach for her right as her body slumps forward, catching her against my chest. Her scent surrounds me while I absorb her weight, and my knees almost go weak.
“Let’s get her to the office,” Prez says, his voice low, like he’s trying not to startle a caged animal. Everything inside me wants to tell him to fuck off, to take Winnie and run as far from here as I can. After five years I’m finally holding her again and the circumstances around how this came to be are all jacked up.
“I need to check her out, Dodger,” Lyric says quietly, and I close my eyes for a beat.
I swallow down the need to take her and hide, reminding myself that Winnie’s needs come first. Checking on her health and making sure she’s okay is top priority. Nodding my head, I stand, lifting Winnie with me, one arm behind her back, and the other under her legs. I carry her through the clubhouse, past everyone’s shocked faces, to Prez’s office. He has one couch in here that I lay Winnie on, quickly grabbing the blanket on the back to pull over her.
“Tell me she’s okay, Doc,” I beg, taking Winnie’s hand in mine.
