by Alyssa Breck
He slipped his rings off and put them on the nightstand. “Let’s get under the blanket.” The sheets were clean. He’d changed them himself last weekend, and no one had slept in there since. They got off the bed while he pulled the blanket back and fluffed the pillows.
Hunter sat down on one side and Holly on the other. He lay down and pulled the blanket back over them. Holly scooted back against him, and he put his arm around her. She stroked his hand like she was comforting him. Neither of them spoke. Silence was sometimes stronger than words.
A buzzing sound woke him up. He picked up his phone from the nightstand. It was midnight, and he had a message from Hem.
Can you come out here?
Holly was curled into a ball. Hunter got up quietly and pulled a T-shirt over his head. His jeans were on the floor, and he tugged them up his legs.
Hem sat at the bar talking to Maddox.
Hunter walked behind the counter and took down the bottle of Maker’s Mark. “What’s up, man?”
Hem turned his laptop around. “Read this.”
The Brainwashing of our Youth: White Supremacy in the United States by Holly Farris.
The academic article was written six months ago. It hadn’t run in the paper but had landed in the hands of the FBI. They were investigating the Irish Sons in Texas because of information she uncovered about recruiting tactics and how young men in prison were being forced to serve the gang.
“She’s the fucking lead source in an FBI op? Fuck.” That changed the game.
Hem nursed his beer. “This shit tonight had nothing to do with us. It was personal. The IS wants her dead, but they don’t want the heat. So making her collateral damage of a fucking bomb we set up is perfect.”
Hunter’s blood surged to the point he could hear it rushing in his head. “Who made the bomb order?”
Maddox exchanged glances with Hem then said, “Hunter, you can’t take out a Sons member. You know that will start a war.”
“So, what? I’m supposed to let them kill her? You know as well as I do that as soon as she walks out of here she’s dead. The skinheads don’t do shit half-assed. If they want her cold, they’ll make it happen.”
“Maybe you should suggest she go see mom and dad in Florida for a while until this cools down,” Hem said.
“No,” Hunter snapped. Her piece of shit dad wasn’t going to protect her. This fell squarely on Hunter’s shoulders, and he would handle it. “Who fucking hired us to set the bomb?”
“It came from the inside at Hutchins.” Maddox crushed out his cigarette and stood. He stared at Hunter. “You don’t do shit until we have church. Paul will be back tomorrow.”
“I’m not doing anything tonight.” Hunter poured another drink and downed it.
“I’m going to bed,” Maddox said and walked off down the hallway.
“For the record, I’m not opposed to killing this motherfucker. And on that note, I’m going to bed, too.” Hem dropped his empty bottle in the trash. “Try and get some sleep, Hunt.”
Hem had the security issue fixed on the gate. The sensor in the asphalt had been replaced with another keypad on the inside. Hunter checked to make sure the red light was blinking on the keypad by the front door. The alarm was set. Nobody was sneaking up on them again.
He left the lights on over the bar and went back to the bedroom. Holly was still curled up asleep. Hunter slid in beside her and put an arm behind his head. She mumbled something then rolled over and snuggled up against his shoulder.
If the hit on her was ordered from inside, he’d have to contact a Knight incarcerated at Hutchins. As it stood, Holly was a rat and didn’t even know it.
Paul sat at the head of the table. A cigarette burned between his fingers, and he rolled the ash into the tray. “What do you have, Hem?”
“In a nutshell, Holly wrote this paper for school. She interviewed an Irish Sons dude who was in solitary at Hutchins; a lieutenant turned traitor. He was about to turn state’s evidence against the whites, so he spilled his guts to her. Some of that is in this article, I’m guessing more of it is still in her head. Anyway, this guy made a statement but hadn’t signed it yet when he’s taking a shower and ends up with thirty-six stab wounds. Dead men tell no tales. Now his statement is useless to the DA.” Hem looked around the room. “That is until Holly authenticates it.”
“If she wrote this paper for school, how did it land in the hands of the feds?” Maddox asked.
“The school turned it over,” Hem replied. “She doesn’t know. They haven’t contacted her yet. That’s why the Irish Sons want her six feet under now. If she authenticates what’s in that statement, it connects a lot of dots and spells big trouble for the Sons. They probably assume she knows more than what’s in this paper, too.”
Hunter shook his head. “This can’t go down. We can’t let this go down.”
“I know you like her, but she’s not an old lady, Hunt,” Paul said.
“Did you really just fucking say that? Is that what defines common decency, here? Because that’s bullshit.”
“If we put a hit on this guy, the longstanding peace we have with them will be history.” Paul lit another cigarette and blew the smoke toward the ceiling.
“I don’t give a shit about that. If you all aren’t down, I’ll handle this on my own.”
“I got your back, brother,” Hem offered. “I always do. But maybe there’s a solution where nobody has to die.”
Hunter leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “I’m listening.”
“The IS is all about money. Could we buy her bounty?”
“I don’t know, man,” Hunter said.
“Offer up the cash to quash the hit and tell them she’s your old lady, and you’ll make sure she forgets what that peckerwood told her. The paper she wrote didn’t include some of the key shit they’re worried about. Without her testimony, they still have nothing solid.”
“To pull this off, she has to be your old lady, at least to anyone outside the club,” Paul said.
Hunter thought that it could work. “What about the money?”
“Find out how bad they want her dead,” Maddox said. “Then we’ll see where we are on the cash.”
Hunter wasn’t going to tell her anything yet. Not until he knew a plan was in place.
“Two hundred fifty grand? Are you serious?” Hunter paced along the side of the table and stopped to stare at the shadow box on the wall of the chapel. The wooden frame held the original patches from one of the founding members’ cut. The rockers were slightly off-kilter and the threading was rough. The club had come a long way from the days of hand-sewn patches and cuts.
Maddox had gone to Hutchins to meet with Kyle Melner. Kyle had issued the hit on Holly. “KM said to look at it as an insurance policy. A quarter million would be enough to call off the dogs and a hefty price to make sure you keep her quiet.” Maddox pulled his hair back into a ponytail. “He’s a smart dude, but I was able to turn the tables on him by letting him know that if they kill a Knights of War old lady, they will start a war they really can’t afford with their membership being down.”
“Okay. Okay.” Hunter straightened a plaque above the fireplace. The club had been recognized by the Chamber of Commerce for their contributions to a battered women’s shelter. That contribution meant a little more now that he knew about Holly and her mother. Her rich mother. Her rich father. Hunter turned around. “I have an idea for the cash. Hem, can you get me Holly’s dad’s contact info?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Why?” Hem asked.
“You said they were wealthy.”
“They are. Want me to pull their financials, too?” Hem typed into the keyboard of his laptop.
“Yeah. Then I’ll know what kind of liquid assets they have. Come get me when you have it.”
“Will do.”
Hunter walked out and headed for his room. Holly was getting cabin fever. She’d been holed up in the clubhouse for three days. Her car was in the shop to repair the b
uckled hood and broken windshield. There’d been no engine damage, so it was strictly bodywork.
Maddox had to wait for the next visiting day at Hutchins State Prison to make another visit with Kyle. Paul balked at Hunter making the trip with Maddox. Paul worried that Hunter might be too aggressive and kill the communication. In any event, they had a plan.
Holly wore another of Hunter’s T-shirts with a pair of sweatpants someone’s teenager had left at the compound last time they’d had a lockdown.
“I need to go home, Hunter.” She put her hands on her hips. “I have work to do. I need my computer and rinsing out panties and putting them in the dryer every day is getting old.”
“I’ll take you home to get some stuff, but I need to talk to you about something first.”
The room was neat, and the bed made. When Holly was bored, apparently, she cleaned. She plopped down on the edge of the bed and pulled on the hem of the blanket. “What?”
“You met with an Aryan dude a while back.”
“Yeah. For a paper, I was writing for my sociology class. Why? How did you know about that?”
“Did he write you letters?”
“Um, yes. Just a few right after I interviewed him. Then I wrote my paper and didn’t hear from him again.” She knitted her brows. “Why are you asking me about that?”
“Your professor turned that paper over to the cops.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know why but by doing so, he or she put you in danger. That paper has become part of an investigation into the Irish Sons. The dude you interviewed, he’s dead now. That bomb the other night? They don’t want you talking.”
The blood drained from her face. “They want to kill me over a paper I wrote?”
“Not just that, but the information that the defector gave you. He was on his way out of the gang and turning state’s evidence. You became a liability vicariously. Do you still have the letters?”
“Yeah. They’re in my file at my house.”
“Let’s go and get them and whatever else you need to get by for a few more days at least.”
She blinked. “Okay.”
They took the van so Maddox, Hem, and Kol could ride along on the hour-long trip to Sugar Branch. It was likely someone was watching for Holly to come back.
Holly stared out the window of the van. “Is it really necessary to have this security team?”
Hunter reached over and patted her thigh. “Yes. The Irish Sons don’t fuck around. If they want you dead, they’ll make it happen.”
“I wasn’t going to tell the police anything. Honestly. But I can’t claim reporter’s privilege unless I write a news report about it. Then I could tell them to go fuck themselves.”
That was a brilliant solution. Hunter turned to her. “Can you do that? Write the article?”
“I’d have to run it by my editor first. I can’t just write something and stick it in the paper. It has to be approved.”
“Oh, also, the Sons were told you’re my old lady. So you need to play that part for the time being.” He grinned at her.
Chapter THIRTEEN
Holly
Holly liked the way his lips curved when he smiled. She wanted to be mad at him, but it wasn’t there. The truth was the fear of the situation kind of excited her. “What does being an old lady entail? I have to let you slap my ass in public or something?”
Laughter echoed in the back of the van. Holly looked over her shoulder. The three men were sitting on bench seats, all grinning and dressed like biker ninjas. They wore black clothing, and the blond dude had a rifle across his lap.
“I’ll only slap your ass when the door is closed, sweetheart.” Hunter winked at her. A tingle started in her stomach. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, no one had touched her like he had that night in her room, and she wanted him to touch her again.
Hunter parked the van in front of her house. Everything looked normal. Holly started to open her door.
“Hold on,” Hunter said. “Let them go in first.” He tossed her keys to the back of the van.
She wondered what her neighbors would think if they saw three men wearing all black walking up to her front door. At this time of day, most of them would be work. The men disappeared into the house.
“Just a precaution,” Hunter reassured her. “We have a plan in place, but it’s possible word hasn’t gotten out yet.”
“What kind of plan?” she asked.
“We’re going to pay off your bounty and promise that you’ll be silent. If you can get that article into the paper, it would help seal the deal.” Hunter didn’t look at her and kept his eyes on the front door of the house.
Grant had called her the day after the explosion. She’d feigned ignorance and said she’d left before anything happened and that she was taking a week off to go see family. Her editor didn’t need to know she was holed up with a biker gang. Holly was sure he’d go for a story on the Irish Sons, but she’d have to call him later to discuss it in further detail.
“Why would you do that for me?” she asked.
He angled his eyes on her then. “Because I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”
She let his words hang in the air. He cared. That made her feel safe, but it also scared her a little. What was she getting herself into?
His phone buzzed. “Let’s go in.” Hunter opened the door for her and took her hand. They walked up the stairs like a normal couple.
When she stepped inside, her heart dropped. Someone had been in her house.
Hem wore a mask of apology and held a black handgun pointed at the floor. “Maddox is checking the garage, but the house is clear.”
Kol stood in the kitchen looking out the back window.
Hunter whispered, “I’m sorry.”
The framed print over her couch had been smashed. Glass glittered on the cushions and floor. The television had been knocked off the entertainment center. Someone had written obscene words with a red marker over her breakfast bar. Slut. Cunt. Die Bitch.
Her stomach turned, and she thought she might vomit. The house had been her sacrosanct after leaving her parent’s home. It was the place she felt safe, and it had been violated.
Hunter put his arm around her shoulder, and she flinched. “It’s okay, Holly. Let’s just get your stuff. We’ll have all of this fixed. I promise.”
Tears stung her eyes as she walked down the hallway to her bedroom. The quilt had been shredded, and the vase on her dresser was now shattered on the floor, the flowers dead. Drawers stood open, and her underwear had been pulled out and scattered about. The nightstands had been overturned, and the ceramic lamps were cracked into pieces.
She walked past the carnage and wiped the tears off her face. Don’t you dare cry. Holly stuffed clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag. Getting back to the comfort of the clubhouse was her priority. This house didn’t feel like her home anymore.
Maddox stood in the doorway. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Holly shook her head. “I can’t believe this.” She leaned over her nightstand and pulled the top drawer open. “My gun is gone.”
She charged past Hunter and Maddox and into her office. The sadness was segueing into anger. How dare those pieces of shit do this to her? “My god damned computers are gone.” Holly threw her hands up. “This is great.”
“So all your info is lost?” Hunter asked.
“No. I’m not stupid. Everything is backed up on a flash drive that’s in my purse.” The filing cabinet beside her desk was open, and files were sticking up. Someone had gone through her papers.
“Are the letters still there?” Hunter pointed at the cabinet.
“I don’t keep confidential stuff in there.” The carpet was loose in the corner, and Holly pulled it up to reveal the hidden cutout in the floor. She removed the board and pulled out the steel box. “The letters are in here.” She opened the box and pulled out the folder from that interview. She held up the pages of handwritten letters
and notes. “Got them.”
The damage to her house was mostly cosmetic. There were no holes in the walls or floors. But it was still really bad. It hurt to see everything toppled over and gone through.
Hunter took the metal box from her. “Let’s go.”
Kol locked up the house, and they loaded back into the van. So many emotions circled in her head. Fate wasn’t something she gave much consideration to, but she couldn’t shake the thought that if she hadn’t met Hunter, she’d probably be dead now.
It was nice to shower and put on her own clothes afterward. She’d managed to make herself at home in the clubhouse. She knew where to find food and drinks in the kitchen. It had been quiet and empty over the weekend aside from the meeting that had been held that morning. Hem had loaned her a laptop that she could use to pull up the info from her flash drive.
Hunter sat on the bed reading the letters that Bobby Quinn had written from prison. “Jesus. This guy was a creep. I hope you didn’t send him the kind of pictures he kept asking for.”
“Yeah. No. I had no ambition to be on that prison wives show. He was polite in person aside from talking mostly to my boobs. I chalked that up to the fact that he’d been locked up for a long time and hadn’t been around many women.”
“He liked the way you smelled,” Hunter commented and put one page behind another to keep reading.
“Don’t remind me. He had a swastika tattooed on his wrist. Made my skin crawl.” Nervous energy coursed through her body, and she stood next to the bed and stretched. “So being an old lady is like being a girlfriend, right?”
Hunter didn’t look up. “Yeah. Some guys call their old lady their bitch.”
Holly stared at him. “I’m nobody’s bitch.”
“I don’t use that term, Holly.” He set the letters down. “I’m an asshole, but I’m not a misogynist.”
“I don’t know what to do with this anger,” she said. The urge to hit something or someone boiled in her, but she couldn’t be like that. She couldn’t be like her dad. “Everything they broke or stole can be replaced though. But it feels like shit to be violated like that.”