“Maybe that’s true.” I shook my head in disbelief. “But he believed Pete over me and didn’t even give me a chance to explain. It’s like he just shut down.”
“Damn, you just don’t see it, do you?” Lizzy rolled her eyes. “He’s pretty gaga over you, and Pete shook him up—big-time. Even big, sexy bikers get scared.”
* * *
I crawled into work the next morning and put my head on the desk. My office smelled vaguely of sex. Just what I needed—a reminder of yesterday. Pete’s flowers were slightly wilted, and Jean Luc’s were mostly dead. I put Jean Luc’s roses in a vase anyway, trying to revive them, then I put them somewhere that I didn’t have to look at them.
Sheena came straight into my office and sat down. “What the hell happened yesterday?” she demanded. “Your office has more flowers than a funeral parlor, and Carlton told everyone you were making strange noises and must have whooping cough. Spill it.”
“Jean Luc walked in while Pete was still here. They argued; Pete left.” I didn’t even hesitate at telling Sheena what happened. I was just numb. I wanted everything over as soon as possible, and I wanted my life back to normal. “Jean Luc and I broke up.”
Sheena opened her mouth to say something, but someone knocked on my door. Without waiting for a response, the visitor stepped into my office. My father.
“Hello, Mr. Englestein,” Sheena said primly. She turned to me. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Sheena fled, leaving me alone with Dad.
Dad sat in the guest chair across from my desk and adjusted his cuff links. His graying hair was thinning and swirled into a wispy, curly cap topped off with a yarmulke. Like a little black cherry on top of whipped cream.
“Hi, Daddy.” I smiled, pretending I hadn’t been through an emotional blender over the last two days. My father and a hangover all in the same morning was quite momentous in my world.
“My grandchild is not going to be a damn biker.” He slapped his hand on the table to emphasize “biker.” “A gentile is bad enough, but a biker too? Your mother is having a coronary. You were with him the other night, weren’t you?”
My head stopped pounding long enough for my brain to kick in to gear. “A biker? What are you talking about?” I wanted to run. I told Mom that Jean Luc was an artist. How had he found out?
He rolled his eyes. “They have me on retainer. You didn’t think someone in club leadership would make a phone call? No more. It stops now.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” I hated that my voice was shaky. “He fired me yesterday.”
“He fired you?” I recognized my father’s angry look from when I didn’t get As in my civics class. “What the hell do you mean he fired you?”
I shrugged. I certainly wasn’t going to tell my father the details. “We just had a disagreement,” I explained. “He decided to pursue the case a different way.”
“Did he hit you?” He squeezed my hand. “I don’t want to get a call one night and hear that you’re dead—or worse. Tell me that you’ll spend the next week at home. Your old room is ready. We can protect you better there.”
“Daddy. I’ll be fine.” I tried to smile. “I don’t need protection. He won’t hurt me.”
My father closed his eyes and said a little prayer.
“I’m fine, Daddy,” I reassured him. Sitting back in my chair, I smiled. “It’s over, okay? Let’s just leave it at that.”
He shook his head. He knew I wasn’t referring to a client relationship. “I’m due in court in an hour. I just stopped by to check on you.” He looked around the room. Probably trying to find a hidden biker ready to kill me. “I’m sending over one of the security guards from upstairs. No arguments, young lady. He’ll go home with you tonight.”
* * *
I trudged up the concrete stairs of my apartment with Roger, my personal security detail, bringing up the rear. I’d tried to throw myself into work, but I kept thinking about Jean Luc. How had I been so wrong about him?
From behind me, Roger activated his special walkie-talkie, and it made a little chirp. “We’ve arrived,” he said into the handset. Like I was the president and not just the boss’s daughter.
“Hey, I’m home and I brought a guest,” I yelled into the apartment. I was pretty sure Lizzy would like a heads-up that we now had a man living with us. I turned to Roger. “Just make yourself comfortable. I’m going to change.”
I dropped my bag at its usual place on the kitchen table and hung up my keys on the hook.
“Oh, hi.” Lizzy sashayed across the room toward our visitor. “So nice to meet you, uh...?”
“Roger,” he said. “I’m Miriam’s personal bodyguard for the evening. I’ll be staying with you ladies tonight.”
“Bodyguard?” she asked, looking at me. “What happened? Why do you need a bodyguard?”
“Dad heard about my breakup and thought it was best,” I explained quickly. I didn’t want Roger reporting back to my father. It would be best to limit the information I gave him.
“Oh.” Lizzy smiled and sat down next to Roger on the couch. “Being a bodyguard must be terribly exciting. What’s been your most interesting case?”
Soon Roger was telling her all about his time in the military police and his other experience. Thankful that she was keeping him occupied, I ran to my room and changed into pajamas. I returned to the living room to discover that Lizzy and Roger had made themselves comfortable. They each had a glass of wine, and Roger was talking about the best way to handle some type of handgun.
“You must be terribly strong to handle that type of recoil.” Lizzy trailed a finger down his arm.
I groaned. Lizzy hadn’t shown any interest in men since her husband had died two years ago. She’d been infatuated with silent film stars, heartthrobs from the ‘60s, but never anyone real—until now.
I gave up and spent the rest of the night in bed with some work.
* * *
I tried to sleep but mostly stared at the ceiling. Memories of the last few days came rolling through my brain. When tossing and turning didn’t help, I got up for a drink of water.
As I walked into the hall, there was a bump, then a whisper. Well, at least Lizzy and my security guard were having a good night. I headed for the fridge.
A gloved hand clamped tightly over my mouth, and an arm curled around my stomach. A hard body pressed up to my back; there was nowhere to go. I tried to struggle, but the arms just got tighter.
I couldn’t move, but I could smell. The scent of my captor was earth. Clay. Sculpting clay—Jean Luc.
“Shhhhh, ma cher, it’s just me,” he whispered. “Promise you won’t scream, and I’ll let you go.”
He steered me down the hall. Once we got to my room, he moved away, leaving me cold.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. “You fired me and made it damn clear you didn’t want to see me again, remember?”
Jean Luc shrugged. “I want to rehire you. Right now.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Look, here’s three hundred dollars for retainer.”
“Keep it. I don’t need your money.” I folded my arms over my chest. “How the hell did you get in here? I have a protection detail.”
“The guy who is out cold on the couch? He’s your protection?” Jean Luc looked at my bedroom door and back to me.
I rolled my eyes. Maybe Lizzy was right, maybe he was jealous.
“My dad thought you might come by.” I sighed. “I’d appreciate it if you would just leave.”
“I can’t leave without you,” he whispered. “Things are about to go down, and I need you under protection. At least until it all blows over.”
Ice ran through my veins. “That’s why you want me on retainer again, isn’t it?” I dropped the curtain as my mind raced. “You need to be
able to trust me, and the only way you think that will happen is if I’m on the payroll as your lawyer.”
He shrugged. My stomach sank. I’d hit the mother lode.
“You also can’t tell me what it is, can you?” I asked. “Otherwise I have an obligation to stop a crime before it happens. You know that, don’t you?”
“You need protection from what’s coming. I can provide it, or you can go to your father. But either way, you need protection.” He nodded in the direction of my snoring security guard. “The guy passed out on your couch is not good enough.”
“What’s coming?” I asked, covering my shoulders with a blanket. “What do I have to be afraid of?”
“I can’t tell you.” He reached out to touch my arm. “I just need you to come with me and trust me.”
“This is insanity,” I hissed. “I could lose my practice and be disbarred.”
“We gotta focus on right now. You could lose your life.” He closed his eyes for a second. “Just until this all blows over.”
Jean Luc had been a royal asshole when he found out about Pete, but this didn’t feel like a revenge move. The bottom line was that I trusted him. He was a damn biker with a rap sheet who’d climbed into my window and asked me to run away with him, and yet I still trusted him. I sighed. What harm could come if I spent a few days at a biker compound? The whole damn office thought I had whooping cough anyway.
The wind bit my legs as I climbed out my back window in nothing but sleep shorts and a sweatshirt. Jean Luc tossed my bag down to one of the leather-clad guys waiting at the bottom of the ladder. Once I hit the ground, the guys hustled me into a white van.
After I slid into a middle bench seat, I looked around, trying to find Jean Luc. It was too dark to see much. All I could see was leather and that one guy had a knife strapped to his belt.
“Jean Luc?” My heart leaped into my throat. It had been exciting before, like out of a movie. Now I was locked in a van with a bunch of men that I didn’t know. “Where’s Jean Luc?”
I didn’t recognize my voice when I said his name. It was all high-pitched and breathy.
I was locked in a van with a bunch of bikers I didn’t know. This was a bad idea. My heart pounded as I searched for the door latch. My fingernails caught on the door panel, but I couldn’t find it in the dark.
“Hey, remember me?” said the driver. He made eye contact through the rearview mirror. “You went to my house for a party a few weeks back? I’m Colt. Jean Luc’s riding his bike tonight, okay? We thought you’d be more comfortable in the van.”
The curly-haired guy next to me stuck out his hand for a shake. “I’m Russ. You met me and my old lady briefly at the party. Her name was Theresa. Redhead.”
Oh right, I remembered now. We shook hands, and that began the most polite and unusual round of introductions in my life. It was almost like we were at a garden party instead of the back of a cargo van in the middle of the night.
The van jostled as we went over a small speed bump. I tried to see out the windshield, but it just looked like a parking lot.
“Almost home, sugar.” The guy next to me grinned. He wasn’t so bad.
When the van stopped, the guys piled out, and Jean Luc appeared. I jumped from the van and wrapped my arms around his neck.
“You didn’t tell me you’d be leaving me with them,” I said into his ear.
“I’m sorry, babe.” He shrugged. “Let’s get your things and go upstairs.” Grabbing the little bag that I had packed, he turned and headed inside. I ran to follow him.
“This is the clubhouse,” Jean Luc explained as he pushed open a thick, steel, prison-style door.
It looked like a bar. A couple of pool tables, a serving area, some old couches, and a stripper pole way in the back. Classy. It was clean, at least, and well lit. I followed Jean Luc up a set of stairs and into a hallway. Lots of doors; he chose one and opened it. The interior of the room was a lot like a low-budget hotel. Old floral comforter, forty-year-old dresser that could be used as a bomb shelter, and a nightstand with water rings on the top.
“Home sweet home.” Jean Luc tossed my backpack on the bed. “I’m headed out—we may be a while.”
“So I just wait?” I asked, annoyed. “You’re just going to stash me in this place and leave me?”
“Look, I’ll be back in a few hours. And there will be a few guys here to make sure you’re safe.” He leaned against the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for how I acted the other day. I guess I read more into what was between us than you did. It’s fine. I’m not looking for a relationship or anything, and I guess you aren’t either.”
What the hell was he talking about? He wasn’t looking for a relationship? The other day in our office had been all about jealousy and ownership. At least that’s what it had felt like to me.
“Are you still on this idea that I’m using you to get over my relationship with Pete?” I jumped off the bed and started to pace. “Because whatever was between us was real, and you know it.”
I shook my head and sat back down on the bed. “Just go. Do whatever it is you plan to do.” I could feel the tears building, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of crying. “I guess I’ll see you when you get back,” I said as nonchalantly as I could.
He nodded and left, clicking the door closed behind him.
I fell face first into the firm mattress. I had just run away with a guy that I was falling in love with only to find out he didn’t want a damn relationship and he was about to go commit a crime. Rolling over, I stared at the ceiling for almost an hour. What the hell had I gotten myself into? I needed to get out of here.
I got off the bed and opened the door. The hall was dark and empty, but the lights were still on in the bar. I walked to the other end of the hallway and found another bedroom. If I wanted to get out of here, I had to go downstairs. I still had my phone, so once I was outside, I would just call a cab or something.
Grabbing my bag from the bedroom where Jean Luc had left me, I tiptoed down the stairs, taking care that my shoes didn’t squeak or tap. I was so busy focusing on not making a noise that I missed who was sitting in the bar.
“Welcome to the clubhouse, Miri.” The amazingly beautiful brunette from the family night was lounging on one of the couches, reading a romance novel. She smiled, and her perfect features lit up. She placed her bookmark in her book and patted the spot next to her. “Why don’t you come join me?”
Had she noticed my shoes? Did she realize I was trying to get out of here? Her expression gave no answer, so I decided to play it cool. Dropping my bag out of sight, I sat down next to her on the couch.
“What’s with the bag?” she asked. “You weren’t going to try and leave, were you?” Her eyes were big and round. Either she was completely brainwashed by these guys, or there really was something dangerous going on out there.
“Oh, no.” I pressed my lips together in hopes she wouldn’t catch the lie. “I just wasn’t sure if I should stay in the room upstairs.”
She smiled, obviously relieved that I wasn’t trying to escape. “You don’t have to stay upstairs. But we did put you in Skeeter’s room,” she explained. “I thought Skeet and Christophe could stay in the guest bedroom for the night.”
“His room?” I asked. “Does he live here?”
“Well, he has his house, but he stays here so often.” She blushed. “A lot of the single guys have rooms here. For, you know, after the parties.”
After the parties. I imagined a drunken revelry with leather, booze, and girls in bikinis. Well, whatever the women would be wearing, it wouldn’t be sleep shorts and a sweatshirt. I decided I didn’t want to know what happened in those rooms.
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall your name,” I said, ducking my head. “I remember that you made the wonderf
ul deviled eggs at the party.”
“Thanks. I’m Bettes, Tate’s wife.” She smiled.
“He’s the president, right? Does that mean you’re the first lady?” I laughed at my own stupid joke, desperate for some sort of normalcy. “So when are they coming back?”
“Not real sure. Tate said a few hours. I thought I’d stay here with you, in case you needed something. Like maybe reassurance that you’re doing the right thing.” She winked.
I collapsed back into the couch and sighed. “Honestly...” I decided to confess, since I wasn’t going to get out of here anyway. “I came down here to escape.”
“Skeeter’s a good guy. You have to trust him. He’s got you here because there’s a real danger, but also because he cares about you.” She patted my leg. “He’s been with the club for six years, and I’ve never seen him lose his head over a girl. Just give him time. He’s a little new to this relationship thing.”
I turned to her and blinked back my tears. “There’s no relationship. At least, that’s what he said. That he’s not looking for anything permanent. Honestly, I’m not sure if I want one.” I swallowed and hoped the hitch in my throat wasn’t coming through in my voice. “He went to my office the other day and said the only reason I wanted to date him was because he was a dangerous biker.”
“Oh, sweetie.” She giggled. “Sounds like he’s a little mixed up. Tonight you’ll know if he wants a relationship or not. With guys in an MC, it’s easy to tell.” She sat up and leaned toward me. “They’re on some sort of stressful job tonight. After those kinds of jobs, they always seek out their women. The unattached guys go for the whores over at the club, and the rest go for their old ladies and girlfriends. Just watch him tonight and see which direction he turns.”
Bettes got us some Diet Coke, and I digested this information. Whores versus girlfriends. My stomach churned. Which one would Jean Luc choose? Did I even care?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Skeeter
Rebel Custody Page 14