Lies and Illusions

by Avelyn Paige

  “How is that even possible?” Tyson gently nudges.

  “Witness protection. Apparently, Ginny has been in the program for a few years now.”

  “Okay, but how does that explain Presley’s involvement?” Hero asks. “What is Ginny to her?”

  “Presley was recruited by the FBI as Ginny’s therapist.”

  “How is whatever this is our problem?” Slider asks. “I didn’t think we cared about the outside shit anymore.” Ratchet glares at him, and even at this distance, I can see him mentally dismembering Slider just at the insistence that neither of them or their problems should matter to us. If he keeps this up, I may help Ratchet kill him.

  “It’s our problem, prospect, because they are our family,” Raze begins to yell as he moves around the table, coming nose to nose with Slider. “We protect our fucking family,” he spits. “If you feel differently, leave your prospect cut on the table and you can take your ass right out of that door. You’re in this room because I allow it, and if you can’t follow the rules of my fucking club, you’re done here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Prez,” he mumbles, falling back into his chair with a slump. For a man who was an inch away from his vote and patch party, he sure knows how to fuck his chances up. If we had taken the vote today, he’d be out on his ass or a prospect for life, because of his utter lack of respect for this club and our rules, when shit hits the fan.

  Raze moves away from him and looks to all of us.

  “My sister and Ratchet’s sister are in deep. As in deep enough that this might be worse than Mexico. Ginny is involved in one of the largest organized crime trials of the century. She is the key witness for the FBI’s case, and without her, everything is fucked.”

  “I take it her cover was blown?” I ask respectfully.

  “Yes,” Ratchet interrupts Raze. “Both she and Presley have been made by the crime family, and if we don’t protect them, they’ll be as good as dead.”

  Tyson looks around the room, and asks the one question that is on all of our minds. “Which family?”

  “The Zezza’s,” Raze flatly answers.

  The room erupts in yells, protests, and shock.

  “Are you crazy?” someone in the back of the room exclaims. “The Zezza’s are the largest organized crime family in the entire country. Hell, maybe even the world.”

  “I know it’s bad, but we’re the only fucking chance they have. They’re dead if we turn them away.”

  I look to my concerned brothers, and push away from the table and stand. Hero follows suit, and addresses the room, while I look on.

  “When we patched in, we vowed to protect and serve this club. That includes family. If this were any of your sisters, wives, daughters, or fucking cousins once removed, we’d stand by you. Your club president is asking you to stand by him and weather the storm.”

  “I’m with you,” I declare.

  One by one, all of my brothers, and even Slider, stand with us.

  “Thank you, my brothers,” Raze commends.

  “What’s the plan, Prez?” Thor, our newest recruit, requests.

  “For the time being, Ginny and Presley will be secured here. I’m calling for an immediate lockdown of the clubhouse. If you feel the need to send your old ladies or children away, I will not stop you. Our priority is protecting them, and I will be assigning round the clock guards on them at all times. This means that the security business will be light handed, so we will need to bring in a few guys from the other chapters to cover the load and keep watch on the clubhouse. Ratchet and I spoke prior to the meeting, and we both feel it’s best that he takes Ginny.”

  “What do you need me to do, Prez?” I ask, knowing that with Presley here, I’m going to need a good distraction. She has no idea that I’m the man she’s been talking to for months, and that isn’t exactly knowledge that I want to share to the world yet. So, the busier I am, the less likely that I will try to act on the feelings I’ve developed for her, while helping Ratchet and Ricca gain custody of her brother.

  “I need you to get all the information you can about these Zezza fuckers, V. I want to know where they call home, their ranks from top to bottom, every single meal they eat, and even when they take a dump. If the rumors I’ve heard about these guys are remotely true, we’ll be fighting an uphill battle. For now, we are assuming that they don’t know Ginny and Presley are here, but that can change at any minute. Any information you can get will help us prepare.”

  “You got it, Prez,” I reassure him. “Likewise goes for any information Ginny can provide me about the case and what she knows about them from a personal standpoint would be great. I could hack the federal database, but that’s the last resort.”

  “We’ll get the information you need, V,” Ratchet offers. I nod in return. “Raze and I have agreed to allow both girls to speak to the entire club. Information needs to move at real time speed.”

  “And what about Presley?” Slider asks with a sly tone. “I can watch her.”

  Slider’s insistence of inserting himself into Presley’s path grates even more on my paper-thin nerves. His choice of continuing to think with his cock and not his big boy brain is about to get him into trouble. The old adage of, if I can’t have her neither can you, is about to go into effect, if I have my way. Raze should be enough to scare him off, but Slider is a special kind of fucking dumbass, when it comes to pussy.

  “I appreciate your change of attitude, Slider, but Voodoo will be the one in charge of guarding her. He will keep his hands to himself unlike you.”

  My heart stops, and I look on in shock. Raze has just delivered me like a prized sheep to a slaughterhouse sale. Staying away from her will be nearly impossible now, and I get the sinking suspicion that Ratchet volunteered me for the job.

  Bastard.

  “This way,” my brother’s emotionless voice calls, as he ushers Ginny and I into the room that I have known my entire life to be the secret sanctum of nefarious men. The fact that Ginny and I are likely the first two women to ever break the threshold of this space should intrigue me, but it doesn’t. Being invited into this room isn’t a privilege. These men are going to ogle at us both like prized canaries in gilded cages begging for crackers for party tricks. A sentiment that only reminds me more of why I left this hell hole in the first place. Women mean nothing more than a warm hole to stick their dick in and to bear their pack of unruly children. We’re property to be owned, taken advantage of, and then dumped when the next young piece of ass walks into the room and willingly opens her legs.

  No, this rare occurrence can only mean one thing. They’re willing to take us in, but the problem lies with whether or not that protection comes with a price. Being the younger sister of the current club president and the daughter of the former, I can only hope that Mikey goes easy on us.

  Stepping through the door, the idle chatter of the men seated around the table, extinguishes to utter silence. Each pair of eyes are locked onto the two of us, and the uneasiness of being on display, sends a shiver down my spine. Ginny must sense it as well because she inches closer to me. My brother sidesteps around us, stalking over to two open seats near the head of the table. He gestures with his hand for us to take them, and we both comply. The worn leather of the chair squeaks, as I lower myself into it, and the back awkwardly tilts.

  “Shit,” I exclaim, as the momentum shifts my equilibrium, and I feel my body falling backwards to the floor. A pair of large hands suddenly appears on either side of my shoulders and stops the motion from continuing.

  I peer up from under my lashes to see a man with bright blue eyes and dark hair, peering down on me. His eyes are so piercing that I can feel myself being crushed under the weight of their intensity the longer I stare into them. He remains silent, as he flicks a switch under the chair and returns to his own seat. I shift my gaze to my brother, and notice his quick nod of thanks to the man who saved me from going ass over head in front of the entire club. I don’t think my pride can take that kind
of embarrassing exposure, especially when I’m already here begging for help as it is.

  “Why are we in here?” Ginny quietly asks, breaking the silence. Her bewildered eyes lock onto her brother across the table, looking for a sign of hope.

  “We need information about the men who are after you, and also how you were discovered,” my brother curtly declares.

  “Does that mean you’re taking us in?” I ask, returning his coolness back at him.

  “Yes,” he replies sharply. “This club doesn’t turn away family, even if that family turned their back on us.”

  I hiss at his rude implication of my disloyalty to this club. For years, he’s tried to convince me to come home via my calls with my mom. But I had Ginny, and I couldn’t leave, even if I had wanted to return to this den of nightmares.

  “You really want to do this now, Mikey?” I scold him. “In front of your entire club?”

  One of the men to my brother’s right abruptly stands, staring me down.

  “You will address our President correctly. Family or not. You will show him respect in this room,” the man orders me.

  I stow the urge to roll my eyes at the insinuation of this man requesting that I bow to my brother’s reign. His entire club is delusional, and all of them are in desperate need of psychiatric help. I bet that I could make a killing with sessions with each of them, including my own brother. I stow that thought away and return to the conversation at hand, before it goes off the rails even further.

  “You must be under the impression that I allow him to rule over me,” I hiss back at the man. “If me falling in line is part of the requirements of your protection, I think I will take my chances outside.”

  The man across from me sneers his disgust at my lack of groveling at my brother’s feet. If I wanted to kiss his ass, I would have done it by now. Sure, it’s probably not a good idea to challenge my brother’s authority in front of his men, but I will not be a fucking doormat to his egotistical rule. I’m not a member of his club, and I will never be. He just needs to understand that fact for what it is.

  “Enough!” My brother bellows. “Hero, don’t fucking talk to my sister like that again. She’s my family.”

  The man straightens up, nods, and re-takes his seat in silence.

  I internally fist pump in celebration to my W in the win column, but the joy is short lived, when my brother turns his attention back to me.

  “Slow your roll, Presley. You hate the club, we get it, but I will not tolerate disrespect of any kind from you and your smart-ass mouth. These men are willing to protect you, and they will not be treated like the gum on the bottom of your shoe because you have a superiority complex. Am I understood?”

  Knowing that there isn’t a clear way out of this, I just nod in agreement.

  “Now that the pissing match is over. Let’s get started.”

  I swivel in my chair and look to Ginny. Her terrified eyes scream for me to go first, but Mikey has other plans.

  “Ginny, I know that you’re scared, but I need you to tell us why you were in protective custody in the first place.”

  “Because of my ex-boyfriend, Gio Zezza. I saw him kill someone, and I ran to the police.”

  “And the police shipped you off to the FBI?” he softly questions. While Ginny was in the restroom, I warned my brother of her fragile state. Thankfully, he is respecting my request of not pushing her too hard. This is a lot for her to deal with in a short period of time.

  “Yes, they wanted me to testify against him.”

  “Did Gio know of your connection to the club or who I am?” her brother inquires.

  “No, I hated you and the club for shipping me off to that old woman as a keeper, so I used a fake name,” she says a bit too harshly.

  Ratchet flinches at his sister’s sharp words, and I can’t blame him for the reaction. Ginny’s anxiety and upbringing explains her knee-jerk reactions to stressful situations. Unlike others who would consider acting out so abruptly, she makes split second decisions, which lands her in situations like this. We had made progress on this over the last few years, but she still had her flight over fight moments.

  “And it was the FBI that faked your death, correct?” Mikey asks.

  “Yes,” she whispers with her head hanging low against her chest. I watch her for a few seconds, and when she looks to her brother, tears begin forming on her olive-colored cheeks. The guilt she has suffered knowing that her brother thought she was dead has been staggering. It was easy to see she loved him more than life itself, and it ate at her from the inside out.

  “Too much,” I mouth to my brother, effectively urging him to switch his attentions onto me. Her brother notices my request, and smirks a silent thank you for sparing her from further interrogation. As much as I want to hate the guy for the men he associates himself with, I can’t. When Ricca was in my care, she lit up, when he came back into her life, and his gentle tenderness with his sister now in front of his brothers is unexpected. There’s much more to this man than what lays on the surface it seems, and as a therapist, that fascinates me.

  I shake the professional curiosity from my mind, when the line of questioning is switched to me.

  “And how did you become involved in this?” a man asks from behind me.

  “I guess starting at the beginning is best,” I sigh, shifting in my seat in preparation of this story.

  “Four years ago, I was approached by the FBI to treat a patient in their custody, after her current therapist quit. They offered to move me to a remote location where I could meet with their patient, as well as start my own practice between sessions. It was a paid internship of sorts,” I recall.

  “And that patient was Ginny?” her brother asks.

  “Yes. The agents protecting her gave me a false name, but after a few sessions, Ginny opened up to me about her real first name. I continued treating her for the next few years.”

  I notice the man who saved me from the chair incident earlier eyes are locked on me, as he scribbles down notes. He pauses when he notices me watching and instantly diverts his eyes from me.

  “My last session with Ginny was an emergency call.”

  “An emergency?” The man scribbling notes questions. “What type of emergency?” I watch him, as he writes furiously. His hand flies over the paper at light speed. He peeks up from time to time watching me, and it unsettles me just a little bit. His focus seems to solely be on me, even when Ginny is talking.

  I turn to Ginny, seeking permission to continue further because what I’m about to say would breach just about every portion of HIPAA.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers.

  “Ginny has a severe form of episodic anxiety. Periods of prolong stress or sudden excitement can trigger her symptoms. After our last session, Ginny confessed to me that she felt an impending sense of doom, and that she didn’t feel comfortable in her current safe house. She had an episode two days after our last session, and I was called back in to treat her further.”

  Her brother’s eyes soften, as he looks at his sister. Knowing only bits and pieces of their childhood story from what Ginny has told me, I can now clearly see the bond between them. Their life had been rough, and her disappearance and faked death couldn’t have helped their fractured past memories. Maybe time together now would help heal those wounds. I remind myself to offer and help them through those feelings, should they wish after the dust settles.

  “And that’s when it happened?” my brother asks.

  “As many details as you can give would be helpful,” the man with the notes adds.

  “Mid-way through my session with Ginny, a loud bang came from the front room of her safe house. Several more came after it, before I realized that they were gunshots. Ginny began to panic, and I quickly covered her mouth to hide our whereabouts. I shoved us both into a closet and barricaded it the best I could.”

  As the memory floats back to me, I close my eyes and force myself back into the situation again.

  �
��Heavy footsteps came into the room, and it wasn’t long, before a tall man with dark hair threw open the doors and dragged us out into the living room. Another man grabbed Ginny, and shoved her away from me. I tried to get to her, but the man above me shoved his gun into my face. I thought we were both dead, until another shot rang out and hit the man standing above me. I bolted from the ground and bull rushed the man who had Ginny, while he was distracted. Once he was down, we ran out the back door. We got into my car and just drove.”

  Ginny noticeably shivers next to me, when I open my eyes again. She reaches out for my hand, and her sweaty palms grasp mine tightly.

  “Ginny, I know this might be overwhelming for you, but did you recognize either of the men there?” Mikey asks.

  “No.” she quietly answers. “But they were Zezza goons.”

  “How do you know that? Did they have any distinguishing marks, emblems, or anything to ID them as a part of the crime family?” the man with the pad asks, while twirling his pencil in his hand.

  “They both had on a silver pendant around their necks that all Zezza family members wear. It’s Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost souls. Gio wore his like you wear your vests. He never took it off.”

  Mikey looks to the man who is furiously scribbling again on his notepad, waiting for him to finish his thoughts. I watch him, and I can’t help, but wonder what his place is in this club. Unlike the other men, he doesn’t really fit the bill. He’s leaner, and much shorter than his self-proclaimed brothers. I notice his tattoos peeking out of the cuff of his Henley shirt.

  “That enough to start with V?” my brother asks the man.

  “Yeah, it’s the best kind of start you’ve ever given me for a job, Prez. I’ll be stalking those bastards like sitting ducks. They won’t even see me coming.”

  My brother narrows his eyes at the man I now know as V, and just shakes his head. Ginny’s brother sneers at him.