by Nicole Fox
We head to my office and I call for Dex. I trust him more than anyone else in this club right now.
“I need you to take Tanner back inside Grave Robbers territory. Get as close to the house as you can without getting yourself shot,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he asks, looking at me, then to Tanner, who is pointedly looking out the window, her face set in an unhappy mask.
“I’m sure. Just get her out of here unseen.”
Dex looks surprised but doesn’t comment. He just offers Tanner his arm and leads her out. She doesn’t look back at me.
I will never, ever admit how badly I wish she would.
# # #
Tanner
I ride along on the back of Dex’s bike, the leather of his kutte cool against my cheek as I tuck away from the wind. He lets me off about a block from Grave Robber’s headquarters, looking around nervously, worried we were noticed.
“This neighborhood would be shocked not to hear motorcycles,” I say. “I don’t think anyone would notice one in the neighborhood. If I had to guess, they’d be looking for more than one. You should be able to get well out of here before I walk through those gates.”
“Are you … going to be okay?” he asks. “For the record, I think he’s making the wrong call on this one.”
I feel a lump form in my throat. “Thanks,” I say, swallowing it back, forcing myself not to cry. “I care about him, but I know why he sent me away.”
“Griz has been through a lot and he’s got really careful instincts because of it,” he says. “That doesn’t mean he can’t make mistakes.
“I know.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you again. Anna looks forward to it, too,” he answers.
Dex holds out his fist for a bump, which I give him, then starts up his bike and roars away. I give him a thirty-second head start before marching my way back to the house. At the gate, the two guards’ eyes go wide at the sight of me. Alone, looking no worse for the wear, marching up on foot.
I’m practically pushed in through the gates as the guys call to alert my father while also peering around the street to look for ambush. I take in the sight of this house, just as big as Griz’, white sided with four big pillars and a large front porch. It’s stately, this home, though older and less modern than the Chained Angels’ headquarters. I’ve never given much thought to how different the properties are, how much thought might have gone into creating an environment for each club. It occurs to me that I really was naïve, really didn’t know a thing about club business, other than gossip. I feel like my eyes have been opened by this experience, in both good and bad ways.
I walk up to the house, unsurprised when both my father and Kit come barreling out, both of them shouting orders and questions and causing a more chaotic scene than is really necessary. I wave my hands, both in greeting and to tell them to calm down. I try to smile, but I’m sure it comes out as more of a grimace. I don’t feel relief to be here, not at all, and the sensation of loss is pulling me down.
My dad pulls me into a fierce hug.
“Holy shit, Tanner,” he says. “Did you escape? How the fuck are you here right now?”
“Griz sent me,” I say. “He let me go.”
He pushes me away, his hands still on my shoulders. “He let you go?” He looks me up and down. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” I say. “Not at all. He was a good host.”
“He,” my dad says. “David Grisham. The dead man who stole my baby.”
“He didn’t steal me,” I say. “Let’s go inside and talk, okay?”
He agrees and we make our way inside, all the way to the back of the house where his office is situated. It’s a dark room with wood-paneled walls and bookshelves all around. Again, the differences are stark. Griz’s office is light and uncluttered, with modern furniture and a large window out to the pool area.
He tells me to sit, so I take a seat on the worn leather couch while he sits behind his huge mahogany desk, ever the boss. Kit stands at his side, dutiful like a dog. There’s a very big part of me that wants to make a snarky comment, but I keep it to myself.
They start talking about mounting a full-scale war on Griz’ turf. Kit talks about getting extra weapons, making sure the guys are in Kevlar vests. My father wants two formations, one to start the assault, the second to sweep in and secure the territory. He wants to burn the house down to the ground. He wants Grisham’s blood. He wants his land and his men and his deals. He rages on and on, and Kit agrees with him, doesn’t bother trying to calm him down.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “Does anyone care what I think?” I ask tersely.
My father’s head pops up from where he looks at a territory map on his desk.
“I mean,” I say with a shrug, “I was the one who was there.”
“Yes,” Draven says, “You’re right. You know the house. Tell us what’s going on over there. Anything we can use to level those pieces of garbage.”
“No,” I say. “No, I told you. It wasn’t him. And they’re not garbage. Apart from the guy who took me. His second is a guy named Spike. He took me without Griz’ consent. He was the only one—ever—who hurt me. The rest of the brotherhood there was perfect.”
“I don’t believe that,” Kit says. He turns to my dad. “Sir, I watched her be forced to … perform … on him. In front of at least a dozen men.”
“Maybe I liked it,” I say, jutting my chin out.
Kit scoffs at me. “No one likes being held by the hair and made to perform oral sex on a virtual stranger in front of a dozen other men. Unless they’re a whore, and we know you’re not a whore, right, Tanner?”
His one makes my blood boil. I stand up and point a finger at him. “You better shut the fuck up, Kit. You don’t know a thing about what’s between us.”
Kit laughs out loud. “Oh, great. You’ve gotten fucked by the great David Grisham. Now your little heart thinks it’s in love. Jesus, Tanner, could you get more middle school?
“Oh, so now I’m middle school? You fucking pig,” I sneer. “You can’t wait to get your hands on me, because you’re a big pervert. I’m telling you that Griz had nothing to do with my kidnapping. He was good to me. He sent me back because he wants to find a nonviolent truce.”
“All right,” Draven says, exasperated. “Stop arguing. You’re making my head hurt. Tanner, Kit is right, you’re not thinking straight. Just because a man pays attention to you doesn’t mean he’s a good man.”
My father is a handsome but rugged-looking man, with graying, light brown hair and a handlebar moustache. He’s tall, leanly muscled, and has a permanent darkness to his skin from riding in the sun for so long. I always thought the world of him, thought he was the most handsome man in the world, the way little girls often do. I see him now and realize that while I’ll always be a daddy’s girl, I also need to fight for another person I care about: Griz.
“Daddy,” I say, “I am twenty-three years old. I did not go to Chained Angels of my own choice, but I did get involved with Griz of my own free will. He left me alone and didn’t make me do a single thing I didn’t want to do. He is a good man, and I think you know it. He sent me home to talk to you, to try to figure things out without bloodshed. That means something.”
“David Grisham does not claim things and then just give them back. He works hard to secure what he wants and he doesn’t let it go once he has it,” my father says. “If he claimed you, then there was a reason for it.”
“He didn’t claim me,” I say, pleading. “Dad. His second took me without his knowledge. He did not order it. He did not have a plan for it. What happened between us was not a formal claiming.”
“Then why wouldn’t he just return you right away?” Kit asks. “Why make a big show when we came to the property?”
“Because you snuck onto his property like a common criminal,” I say. “You know better than anyone that perception is reality. He couldn’t just let you traipse in and case the joint. He needed to mak
e a statement to you and to his men.”
“Oh, okay,” Kit laughs, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you learned so much about how clubs run just by being someone’s whore for a week.”
“Knock it off,” Draven says with a cutting glare. “I think you’d better remember your place here before you use language like that against my only blood,” he says sharply.
Kit, to his credit, has the decency to look ashamed.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “He’s just jealous. Talk about a middle schooler. Calling me names because he can’t get my attention any other way.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t matter,” Draven says. “A rival club came onto my territory, to my ex-wife’s property, and took my daughter against her will. This is enough for full-blown war in and of itself. I had every right to storm the gates and shoot everyone in sight—that would have been an acceptable act of retaliation, one fellow clubs would have supported. Add to it that one of my men is dead now.”
“I understand, but …”
“But nothin’,” he says, silencing me. “Tanner, you are my only daughter. I’ve done all I could to keep you safe. This is your club, your home, and it’s well within my rights to hold responsible the club that took you. I don’t care if it was the VP or the lowest man on the totem pole who took you—the leader of a club is responsible for the actions of all of his men.”
I cross my arms over my chest, sulking. These two do not listen to women, and they clearly think I’m still a child, to boot. “This is bullshit,” I say.
“Stop pouting,” my father scolds. “We just want to keep you safe and keep our club territory intact.”
“I don’t need you to keep me safe,” I say.
“Clearly you do,” Kit answers for my father. “Which is why I’ve asked your father to expedite our marriage. If I marry you, you’ll be even further protected by the club. And I’ll be able to personally manage your security and welfare.”
I gasp and look up at my dad, who nods in agreement. “No,” I say, my stomach sick. “No way. I don’t consent to that.”
“Consent is irrelevant,” Kit says. “This is for your own good.”
Think. Think. Think.
“Well,” I say, pursing my lips, “You can’t marry someone who’s already married.”
You could hear a pin drop in this joint. The two men are totally shocked, which is great because I needed something to keep them from further planning ways to fuck up my life.
“What do you mean, you’re already married?” Draven asks.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Griz and I … we clicked. We love each other and we eloped the other day. So, you see, I can’t belong to you or Kit or the Grave Robbers anymore. I already belong to someone, and that’s Griz. I already have a club, and that’s the Chained Angels.”
Both my father and his second in command are silent. The tension in the room is thick enough to touch. Finally, Draven says, “Tanner, please go to your room while Kit and I talk through this new information. I’ll come talk to you when we’ve decided what to do.”
I want to argue, to tell him I’m not a baby anymore, that I have the right to make my own choices and that I choose Griz. I feel like walking right back out the door. But I don’t. Draven is still my father. Still a decent man. I owe him at least the respect of hearing him out, so I make the trek to my quarters, adjacent to his, and I wait.
Chapter Eleven
Griz
My office is quiet now. It was just ten minutes ago when I had six members turn in their colors while they told me what a clusterfuck this club has become. I can’t say I blame them. I can’t pinpoint exactly when I started to realize just how toxic my VP has become and just how absent I have been, but here we are now and I’m six members down.
Hank, the guy who questioned me outside when Spike came back shot, was the first in the door. He said, “This club ain’t never been for me. I thought seeing something new start from the ground would be exciting, but it’s like workin’ in a fuckin’ bank. Surrounded by spoils and unable to touch any of it.”
“You get paid handsomely on every deal,” I say. “But I don’t want you here if you think that acting like a professional is so fucking hard. Turn in your colors.”
He did, and then five other guys followed him. None of the others were quite as vocal, but they all expressed similar sentiments. They want action and excitement. This club is just business.
Thing is, I’ve been in clubs that had drama all the time. Fighting, fucking, shooting, stealing—my father died in one of those clubs and I didn’t want that. I wanted to run something that we could hold up and be proud of, something others might follow. But now I see that might not be possible.
Frankly, I’m half tempted to light a match, get on my bike, and let it all go. Get my kid and drive east, start something new. Something legit. However, I know I’ve got many more guys who feel as I do, I know it … that’s why I need to stay and see this through.
I rub my forehead. This headache just won’t go away.
Really, I should be glad that Tanner is home with her father now. Safe. Right? I mean, fuck, I only nearly stopped Spike from doing more to her than he already had. With him still around, still so volatile, the only thing to do was to send her away.
Besides, I sure as hell don’t need another distraction and that’s exactly what she was, a distraction.
Tell that to the guy who nearly threw up watching her leave with Dex. I felt physically ill letting her go with him, sending her away. How is it possible that I could have feelings like that for a woman who was literally bound and gagged on my bed just days ago?
It was just sex, I tell myself. Just sex. Didn’t matter. Don’t need the distraction.
So why does this feel so shitty?
# # #
Tanner
“You’re goin’ back,” Draven says from the doorway to my room.
I stand up and walk over to hug him. He returns the sentiment, but when I pull away, his face is grim.
“Tanner, I don’t know what happened to you there, but if what you say is true, then rules are rules. You’re his now.” He swallows and looks around the room. “I know you didn’t want to marry Kit.”
“But you would have made me anyway, because you thought you could keep me under your thumb,” I answer, sounding more bitter than I actually feel. “He’s like twice my age and he creeps me out.”
“He cares about you and wants to keep you safe,” he snaps back. “Same for me. Ain’t no shame in that.”
“It doesn’t matter that I’m not attracted to him? That if he had sex with me, it would be against my will?” I ask.
Draven opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. Shakes his head. “It don’t matter now. He’ll take you back to Grisham’s club, and you’ll deliver a message. We don’t need war, but we do need blood. His second killed one of my men. We demand blood in return. Get your things together. The car’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
My dad isn’t one for big emotional displays. He’s always been fair but firm. My mom said he was too stoic. She needed someone more passionate. Which is why she slept with another club member, one my dad beat to within an inch of his life before granting my mom a divorce.
I guess now, having seen the way Griz has handled things with his fists, that I understand my father a little better now. My mom calls him a psychopath, but I think I understand that this is just the way club business is handled. Bloodshed is part of the deal sometimes. I mean, the guy did sleep with the boss’s wife.
Draven gives me a hug and wishes me luck before he loads me up in a black car with Kit. I meet his gaze and find him fighting tears. It makes me well up and he shoves me away before turning away and stomping off.
The driver is not someone I recognize, which makes me uncomfortable. The fact that he had a car sent makes me uncomfortable. I mean, we have cars, but we rarely travel anywhere in them, particularly not when dealing with other clubs. I assume that my d
ad doesn’t want to make a scene by having us roll up on a motorcycle. Or maybe he wants the ride to be more comfortable. Either way, it makes me feel antsy.
For good reason, I realize, when Kit sidles up close to me as we pull away. Great. So this was a way for Kit to get a few minutes to talk some sense into me. If we were on a bike, we wouldn’t be able to talk. Now, he’s got a good twenty minutes to lecture me on how I’m breaking my father’s heart or whatever bullshit he’s going to sling my way.
We ride a couple of minutes in silence. He finally speaks up.