“Where did you see him?” I ask Zara.
“What? Oh, the hotel. The River Hotel,” her voice trails off as she looks around. Men in denim and leather surround us. She tries to hide the fear, but I can see it.
“Let’s get you inside and get you something to drink,” I say, turning to the driver who stands on the other side of the cab. He looks almost as scared as Zara. I pull out my money clip and peel off a couple hundred in twenties. I hand him the money. “Does she have anything?”
He pockets the money and pops the trunk open. “Will she be safe here?” he asks in a low voice.
I nod. “She’ll be safe. I’ll take care of her. Can you tell me what happened?”
The driver fills me in on Zara’s reaction at the hotel after seeing several of us on the freeway. I nod as he describes the kuttes the bikers at the hotel were wearing. It appears as if some members of the Adelaide Bushrangers are in Chicago. Now the question is, why are they here? For Zara or me.
“Sammy, take her bags to the guest room next to Bush’s and then grab her a brandy,” Chrome says, his arm possessively around Cicely. “We’ll be in my office.”
I nod at Chrome in thanks. The last thing Zara needs is the rowdy clubhouse. She needs privacy and quiet. I place my hand at the small of her back to prod her inside. She’s all eyes as she walks through the common room. We follow Chrome and Cicely through the crowds and down the hallway to his office. Once inside, I lead Zara to the couch and sit next to her. Chrome sits across from us, pulling Cicely onto his lap.
“Zara, my name is Chrome, and this is my woman, Cicely. Take as long as you need to settle yourself. You’re safe here. I promise. I’m the President of this club, and I won’t let anything happen to you. Sammy is bringing you some brandy.”
“Thank you. I could use it,” Zara admits, chewing on her bottom lip.
I’m close enough to her that I can feel her trembling. Seeing Menace and being inside a biker’s clubhouse have her on edge. I want to ease her fears while learning more about our unwanted visitors.
Cicely’s voice cuts through the room, warm and smooth. “So, Zara,” she says, smiling like they’re old friends meeting for coffee, “why are you visiting Chicago?”
Zara blinks, like she has to switch gears. Then something lights up behind her eyes. It’s subtle at first, but I see it—the fear loosening its grip, excitement sliding into its place.
“Oh—Chicago is huge for fashion,” she says, her accent sharpening when she gets animated. Her hands finally come alive, fingers moving as she talks. “I’m a clothing designer. I’ve recently earned my degree.”
Chrome raises an eyebrow, interested despite himself.
Zara leans forward now, all nerves forgotten. “A few of my designs were selected to be displayed during Fashion Week. Not the big stage, but a smaller showing in one of the side venues. It’s really exciting.” Zara’s smile is wide as she visibly relaxes.
Cicely grins. “That’s incredible.”
“It is,” Zara agrees quickly. “I came all this way from New Zealand for it. I’ve worked toward this for years. Late nights, tiny studios, making do with whatever fabric I could afford. Seeing my work here—” She presses a hand to her chest. “It makes all of it worth it.”
I glance at her, really look this time. She’s glowing now, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Whatever scared her earlier has been pushed to the background by passion, and damn if it isn’t a good look on her.
Chrome chuckles softly. “Sounds like Chicago picked the right week to have you.”
Zara smiles, a real one this time, and for the first time since we walked in, I feel the tension in the room ease. And maybe—just maybe—I stop worrying that this city is going to swallow her whole.
A knock on the door precedes Sammy's entrance. He’s carrying a tray with a glass of white wine, two bottles of beer, and a snifter of brandy. I take the brandy and one bottle, handing the snifter to Zara while Chrome grabs the other bottle and the wine, then hands the wine off to Cicely. Chrome thanks Sammy before he exits.
I watch Zara take a sip of brandy and see her relax.
“Thank you. This was just what I needed.”
“Can you tell us what happened to bring you here?” Chrome asks.
Rather than answer, Zara takes another sip of brandy as she closes her eyes. When she opens them again, I can see the resolve in her orbs.
“I didn’t know you were in Chicago,” she starts, glancing at me. “I heard you had left the country after what happened, but I didn’t know where you went. Only that you headed to the States.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m lost. What happened in Australia?” Cicely asks. “I mean, I knew you were from Australia, but I never thought to ask why you ended up in Chicago. Do you know the story?” she asks Chrome.
Chrome nods. “I do, but it isn’t my story to tell.”
“It’s mine,” I say. “Most of the guys know what happened. I assumed Chrome told you.” I adjust to get comfortable. While this story isn’t long, it isn’t quick, either—Zara snuggles in next to me, which relaxes me.
