by Lilly Atlas
The next morning, after a night of tossing and turning, wondering what Striker was doing in the room across the hall, Lila sat on the bed and stared at her phone. She’d plotted out multiple iterations of what she planned to say to her father, and finally felt prepared to make the call.
She and Striker had dozed on the deck, wrapped up in each other, for about an hour before waking up chilled and hungry. Striker grilled some steaks, and Lila had fixed a salad and potatoes. Since the evening had cooled considerably, they ate inside. The meal was eaten in companionable silence, but once it was finished Lila grew nervous and uncertain of what to do next. It was the coward’s way out, but she had fled to her room, pleading fatigue.
Now she sat and stared at the phone as though it was rattlesnake poised to attack. Striker was at the garage working on a custom build. He’d offered to take her along, but she declined, needing to take care of this call. Striker promised he would only be away a few hours, and a prospect watching TV in the living room was assigned the boring task of babysitting.
Okay, enough stalling. Lila rolled her eyes at her own spinelessness, picked up the phone and located her father’s cell number in her contacts.
He answered on the third ring.
“Lila. Have you come to your senses yet?”
Well hello to you too, Dad. Lila held the phone away from her ear, and stuck her tongue out at it. The childish gesture made her feel marginally better. “Hi, Dad. How are you? How’s mom?” There wasn’t any point in engaging in a battle right from the start. The decision to move away from home had been difficult for Lila’s mother to accept, and while she was just as guilty as the wannabe governor in Lila’s eyes, she had a bit of a softer spot for her mother.
“We are fine, Lila. I assume there is a purpose for this unexpected phone call beyond your inquiry into our wellbeing. I know you have a busy schedule, what with all the riding on backs of motorcycles you’ve been doing lately, so let’s skip the small talk.”
He knew. Lila’s stomach sank. Could he be responsible for the text messages and the incident yesterday? Would he stoop so low as to hire a thug to frighten his daughter into running back to the fold? “You’re having me watched?” She worked to keep her voice level, and free from anger.
“Of course I’m keeping track of you, Lila. You made a lot of angry threats during your tantrum before you left, and I have too much at stake right now to leave loose ends.”
She ignored his digs. Telling her she threw a tantrum and calling her a loose end was his method of goading an outraged response from her. There was no way she would give him the satisfaction of an emotional outburst. “Is that all you’re doing?”
“What do you mean?” he sighed, the sound full of frustration and impatience.
Here’s where it got tricky. She couldn’t admit to the texts and car incident or he would flip out and probably send in the National Guard. Not in a concerned parent way, but because he couldn’t have any unfinished business so close to the merger, as he said. She chose her words with care. “You admitted you have someone keeping tabs on me, are they assigned to pressure me into returning to Washington as well? Should I expect some subtle maneuvering in that direction? Because I believe I made myself perfectly clear before I left. I have no qualms about going to the media with the Aaron incident, and can add to my list of grievances if necessary.”
Her father chuckled, and Lila clenched her teeth to hold the nasty words inside her mouth. “No, Lila, contrary to what you might think, I quite believed you when you made your threat. You are very much like me in that respect; you’ll do whatever is necessary to get your way. I have someone keeping me updated as to your goings on every so often and that’s all. I need to be certain you haven’t engaged in anything that will sabotage this deal and my campaign for governor. But really, Lila, bikers? Is this some kind of post adolescent rebellion?”
“Call off your dog,” she spat out. “If I wanted you to know details of my life I’d give them to you myself. Since this is the first call in six months, you should be catching on that I don’t want you to know those specifics. I’ll stay away from your campaign if you stay out of my life. That’s been the arrangement all along.”
“Be careful, Lila,” he warned, his voice so cold she was surprised her phone still felt warm in her hand. “A few well-placed calls to the FBI, and I can have your new friend’s whole world turned upside down.”
She gripped the phone until her knuckles turned white as resentment surged. In that instant, she was certain her father wasn’t responsible for the threat against her. It wasn’t his style. He was much more likely to make a call to the FBI, and have the No Prisoners investigated from now until kingdom come, something Lila refused to allow. “You be careful as well,” she said, her voice equally icy. “I can destroy your chance to be governor with just one well-timed interview.”
There was silence on the other end. Good. Let him chew on that for a while.
“I trust by your silence you are aware that I’m serious, and this isn’t an idle threat. I believe we have an understanding. Call off your man, immediately.”
“You don’t give me orders, child. You’ll come crawling back on your own once your new biker friend fucks you over, until then I need to be sure your foolishness won’t harm the family.”
With that parting shot he ended the call, and left Lila fuming on the bed. Damn him, having to get the last word. Her hands trembled as she dropped the phone to the bed. Well, she’d set out to discover if he was the one behind the texts, and was confident he wasn’t, which was a relief. Although, that meant it was most certainly the Grimm Brothers, and that was not a comforting thought.
Chapter Twelve
“Fucking piece of shit. How the hell am I supposed to get this garbage looking like new when the owner obviously didn’t take care of it, and it’s in worse goddam shape than they told me?” Striker slammed the wrench he’d been working with into a toolbox, as he complained to no one in particular.
“Hey, Striker, how’s that custom rebuild coming along?” Jester asked him, his tone overly cheerful.
“Eat shit, asshole.”
They guys in the garage cracked up. Striker was in a piss poor mood. Lila had been living under his roof for three days, and his dick had been rock hard since she stepped foot in his house. He was going out of his mind, and something had to give soon. His hand wasn’t cutting it anymore. Last night, he’d gone so far as to agree to go with his brothers to Black’s for an after hours party, complete with strippers. One of the girls there would have taken care of him, but he’d begged off at the last minute. It seemed his dick wasn’t going to be happy until it found its way inside Lila.
“What the hell is going on with you, Striker?” Acer asked. “You’ve been a miserable son of a bitch the last few days. With that sexy piece you got staying at your house, we figured you’d be all relaxed and spouting poetry. What’s wrong? She not wanting to play doctor with you?”
In a move so fast none of them saw it coming, Striker slammed Acer against the wall with a forearm across his throat. Acer’s eyes widened as he gasped for breath, but he didn’t fight back. They were brothers, closer than most biological family, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t throw down when it was warranted. Usually most of the guys avoided getting physical with Striker because he was a fierce and skilled fighter. He had the nickname for a reason.
“What did Pres say, huh? She’s family now, treat her with some fucking respect.” Striker’s chest heaved as he tried to control his anger.
“So it’s like that, is it?” Jester asked cracking up. “Oh this is good.”
Striker turned his menacing gaze toward Jester who raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I mean no disrespect, brother, just making conversation.” His lips were turned up and his shoulders shook slightly with the effort to hold in his laughter.
Striker removed the pressure from Acer’s throat, and turned back toward his work. From over Striker’s shoulder, Acer braved his
wrath again. “Seriously, Striker, she’s gorgeous, smart, and classy. None of us are going to judge you for wanting more than a roll with her. Hell, half the guys will be pissed you got there first.” Leave it to Acer to notice a classy woman. No matter how much ink the guy got, or how much leather he wore, he still reeked of the wealthy background he came from.
Striker sighed, and admitted defeat. “Yeah, well, she’s driving me fucking crazy. She gets home from work and puts on these little tank tops and tiny shorts that she calls pajamas, my whole house fucking smells like her, and last night she took a bath.”
“That bitch!” laughed Acer.
“I know you like ’em dirty and all, but personal hygiene is not a bad thing. In fact, most women do insist on being clean,” Jester piped in with a smirk.
Gumby rolled the creeper he was lying on out from under an old mustang to add his two cents. “Don’t think it’s the soap he has a problem with. More likely the sexy broad hanging out naked in his tub. How’s your dick feeling these days, Striker?”
Shiv picked that moment to walk into the garage. “This what you dumbasses do in here all day? Talk about each other’s dicks?”
Everyone in the garage busted up at that. Striker loved the banter and camaraderie he shared with his brothers, but it wasn’t quite as amusing when he was on the receiving end of their taunts.
“Nah,” said Jester. “Striker was just telling us about the joys of unfulfilled lust.”
“You mean you ain’t hittin’ that?” asked Shiv, which elicited another round of laughter.
“Fuck you all.”
“Any word from Jackal?” Jester asked the question that killed the lighthearted mood in the garage.
Shiv frowned and rubbed the back of his neck as he always did when he was frustrated. “No. I’ve tried to contact him multiple times and haven’t heard anything in reply.”
Striker picked the wrench up again, and renewed his efforts to loosen a bolt that had rusted over. “It’s gotta be Snake. That asshole is power hungry. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was putting pressure on Jackal to tell us to fuck off.”
“Would it work? Would Jackal cave if Snake pushed hard enough?” Gumby was back under the car, but he always paid close attention.
Everyone looked at Striker. He’d had the most dealings with Snake in the past, but Shiv knew Jackal better, so Striker couldn’t say. He spun the wrench in his hand while he thought. “I’m actually more concerned that Snake will try to take Jackal out of the equation entirely. He’s not the type for subtle manipulation. Shooting Jackal in the head would be more his style.”
“Shit,” Shiv sounded disgusted. “Maybe Jackal’s off the radar because he’s taking care of the Snake problem.”
Striker didn’t think so, but he kept that opinion to himself. If Jackal had a handle on Snake he’d have reached out to Shiv or Striker. Lila hadn’t received any more texts, but he wasn’t in anyway convinced it was over.
On his way back to the clubhouse, Shiv stopped by the bike Striker was dismantling. “Everything going okay, VP? Any trouble with your houseguest?”
“No trouble as far as threats against her, no more texts.”
“Just the trouble of having a woman underfoot?”
“Something like that.” He grunted in satisfaction as the bolt finally gave way.
“You know, Striker, having an ol’ lady can be a real nice thing sometimes.” Shiv had been married to his third wife for about five years, although she regularly threw him out, and made him sleep at the clubhouse at least three times a month.
Striker snorted. “You sure you’re the authority on marital bliss?”
“Never claimed to be. Just saying it can be nice.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Striker’s phone rang, and he pulled a dingy rag out of his back pocket to wipe the grease off his hands before checking the screen. It was Bobby Kiderman, or Kid to the MC, the prospect he’d assigned to follow Lila to work today. When he couldn’t be with her, the club was having a prospect tail her. Striker brought her to her house to pick up her car two days ago. The assigned prospect followed her to work, then hung around during her shift, switching out every few hours. “Hey, Kid, what’s up?”
“You need to get down here, VP, Right away. Got some shit going on with your girl.”
If the Kid hadn’t sounded so serious, Striker would have pointed out that she wasn’t his girl. “Shit, what’s happening? Is Lila okay?”
“I’m not sure. I’m out in the parking lot. They’ve barricaded the entrance, and won’t let anyone in or out. Cops are here and shit’s crazy.”
Fuck. Protective urges Striker wasn’t aware he possessed flared to life. The need to be with Lila was so strong, it felt like a physical punch to the solar plexus. “On my way.” He ended the call and immediately placed another one to Lila. When she didn’t answer, deep concern for her safety rose up in a tidal wave of fear.
“Jester, Gumby, Acer, let’s roll. Trouble at the hospital.” Striker took off at full speed toward his motorcycle.
They all dropped what they were doing and raced to their bikes.
“Grimm Brothers?” Jester was the first to say what they were all thinking.
“No details yet. Kid said cops blocked off the entrance to the hospital. No one in or out.”
“How you plan to get in, VP?” asked Gumby.
“I’ll break the damn door down if I have to. No way they’re keeping me out.”
“Hell you could probably use your unsatisfied dick as a battering ram,” Jester yelled over the roar of their engines, successfully easing some of the tension they were all feeling.
Striker flipped him off as he gunned it and flew through the open gate.
Lila sat on a plinth in one of the ER treatment rooms, her head spinning from the past hour’s events. She had obviously recognized she was in some level of danger. That’s why she was staying with Striker and considering Shiv’s offer, but this incident really drove it home. Now she was officially scared out of her mind. This was the push she needed to make a decision. She would let Striker know when she saw him that she’d take the deal Shiv offered, and handle whatever consequences arose later. There was also no doubt in her mind that it was the Grimm Brothers who were hassling her.
A colleague examined her, and determined that she didn’t suffer anything worse than a few bruises, at least physically. If she was ever able to step foot in her office again without having a panic attack, it would be a miracle. Her head pounded as though a drumline marched in one ear and got stuck on their way out, and her throat ached from where the attacker had grabbed her neck. On her left breast, he’d left a row of humiliating finger shaped bruises. Lila shuddered as she recalled the fear of further violation.
A sharp rap on the door caused her to jolt. “Yes?”
A man’s head poked through the cracked door. “Dr. Emerson? I’m Detective Marks. Is it all right if I ask you a few questions?”
“Yes of course, please come in.”
The detective stepped in the room, and left the door open behind him, correctly guessing she wouldn’t want to be closed in with a man she didn’t know at the moment. “How are you holding up?” he asked as he reached forward to shake her hand.
“I’m pretty damn freaked out if you really want to know.” His handshake was firm and quick.
“I’m sure you are.” After he released her hand, he drew a small notepad out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “Think you can walk me through what happened here today?”
Lila studied him for a moment before she spoke. He looked to be in his late forties, and was tall and lean, wearing a suit instead of a uniform. He still had a full head of hair, and the salt and pepper color gave him a distinguished look. “Sure. Um, let’s see.” Her voice shook as she struggled to organize her thoughts. “I’m sorry, my head is spinning in a million directions.”
“Please take your time, doctor.” His eyes were kind, but Lila had no doubt that was only because she was t
he victim. He had an air about him that suggested he could be hard and unyielding if necessary.
“I had just finished treating a patient, and there wasn’t anyone in the waiting room, so I came to my office to—”
Angry shouts sounded from the entrance to the ER. “I don’t give a fuck what your protocol is. If you don’t let me back to see Lila, I’ll knock your fucking teeth out, and bust down the door.”
“Look, Striker, I really don’t want to have to arrest you today, but I sure as hell will if you don’t back off right now.” The irritated voices could were clearly heard from the treatment room Lila occupied. It was closest to the entrance.
As soon as she heard Striker’s voice, relief poured over her. They had connected on his deck a few nights ago and she needed that connection now. “Please, Detective Marks, can you let Striker come sit with me?”
“You in tight with the MC?” One eyebrow rose with his inquiry.
“I’ve treated them a number of times and have just become friendly with Striker,” Lila answered, knowing that she had to tread carefully. She wanted Striker with her for two reasons. One, because she knew his presence would comfort her and make it easier to tell the story, and she wanted him to know exactly what she did and did not tell the police.
Detective Marks observed her for an instant before he nodded. With a resigned sigh, he poked his head out of the room and called toward the entrance. “Officer Diaz, please allow Striker, and only Striker through. Dr. Emerson would like him with her.”
Lila exhaled a huge breath the moment Striker entered the room. He rushed toward her and gently cradled her face between his hands. “Damn, baby,” he said as he tipped her chin up to inspect her bruised throat.
Their eyes collided. His had darkened, and worry mixed with fury radiated from the normally ice blue gaze. “I’m okay, Striker. I was just about to tell Detective Marks what happened. He said you could be in here with me, if that’s all right with you.”