Silas
Axe, Cole and Tate are here. While Sabrina packs a bag in her bedroom, I put Tate’s tech skills to work on sweeping the apartment and her phone for bugs. By the time he makes it through all the rooms, Tate has come up with a handful. He drops them into a small plastic case and tucks it into a drawer in the entryway console table. Cindy called it too while she was here earlier, which is why I kept my voice down. But that’s not enough. Whatever was said is already out there. It’s no surprise to me, given who her father is, but more so because of Giovanni. He’s exactly the type who’d get off watching and listening to Sabrina’s every move in her own private space without her knowing.
“Is everything else okay?” Sabrina calls from her bedroom. She comes out into the living room dressed in her black leggings and a blue striped button-down shirt. Her fashion sense isn’t enough to make me forget she’d lied to me about her family connections, but I can’t deny how fucking hot she looks. She’s probably right that if she came clean back when I met her on the elevator, I would have walked away with no second thought. The fact that her condo was being monitored means that whoever is after her saw me leaving with her, and for them, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe she was at my clubhouse. The only question that’s still unanswered is if Giovanni or her father had something to do with both her attempted kidnapping and some connection to what happened at the clubhouse.
Did Sabrina already put two and two together?
If she did, she’s still not being forthcoming about it.
“We’re good here. It’s time to go.”
“All right. But, are you okay?” She takes a hesitant step forward.
“Never better. You’ve got some serious shit going on in your life, and now it’s on the MC’s doorstep, but I can handle it. Let’s go.”
I stop the conversation there, and head to the front door where my men are waiting, with Sabrina in tow. She’s coming along willingly, which probably doen’t sit well with her, but at this point, she must realize she doesn’t have a lot of options.
This time as we leave, we all take the stairs.
* * *
Itoywith an unlit cigarette in the clubhouse meeting room the next day. All my brothers’ eyes are trained on me like a hawk now that I’ve just finished my debrief of the full story that is Sabrina Temple now Rizzo. Everyone has an opinion.
“Yeah, so this is way more complicated than I thought,” I add.
“No shit, Pres.” Tate pushes on the edge of the long table with his feet, leaning backward in his chair until the two front legs rise up in the air. “Is it ever simple when rich broads are in the picture?”
“True.”
Tate runs his hand over his bright blue Mohawk. “Well, now that we know the lay of the land, just let me know who I have to shoot, maim, or kill, and we’ll be golden.”
Cole jumps in next. “Let me get this straight. You want us to take on the entire Italian mafia under Rizzo. That’s almost as dumb as sticking your fucking nose where it didn’t belong in the first place.”
“And your hand…And your dick,” Axe says cynically, directing the comment at me with a smug smile I’d like to stomp off his face.
“Shut it, smartass.”
I slouch back in my chair, wondering what Sabrina is up to in the guest room. I have no intention of letting her stay in my room, although staying away from her now will be one of the hardest fucking things for me to do. Letting her addictive smell infuse into my room and my belongings is too much temptation. I can’t keep fooling myself. There’s no happy ending for us. I’ll consume her. If we’re not killed first.
Clearing my throat, I get back to business. “Anyone else have something to add? Speak now or…you know the fucking drill. And I need a few drinks so I can figure out this mess.”
I glance around the table at Cole, Tate, and Axe. Dean, the prospect, is out there tending bar while the sack demons pull their weight by helping to clean up some more from the explosion. There’s a lot left to do to make the clubhouse feel like home again. But it’ll take more than a cleanup team and a construction crew for that to happen.
Tate excuses himself and heads to the bar, returning a few minutes later with two bottles of whiskey, a stack of glasses, and an envelope. He passes me the envelope and one of the bottles.
“This is for you.”
My eyebrows narrow. “Thanks. What the fuck’s in the envelope?”
“No idea. Dean said someone dropped this off while we were gone. Apparently, we had an interesting visitor.”
“Does our visitor have a name?” I frown, turning the clean but creased envelope over in my hands. I don’t recognize the neat, cursive writing on it.
“Well, it was mostly just a hand, Pres. Some guy drove up in a limo and rolled down his window enough to give it to one of the officers working on his ride. He didn’t have time to ask the person who they were. By then, the limo was already rolling out. So no, not enough time to ask about the who, what, where, when, or why.”
“Fuck,” I grumble, shaking my head as I rip it open.
I read it once, then another time. Yes. We’re all royally fucked. Rubbing the side of my head, I fold the envelope and place the note face up on the table.
