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“Patience, Gracie, we gotta get out of here. Every second we spend here is a risk.” I think back to the night those men came for me, and nod my head, clutching the briefcase tight to my chest as he leads me back through the house. I don’t contemplate screaming for help, or how easy it would be to tear myself out of his grip and run the second we make it out the door. Whatever the secret I’m carrying in my hands right now is, I feel like Brax is the only person who can protect me from it. I’m relying on him, and as much as I hate to admit it, it’s becoming much more instinctive than it is necessary.
We make the ride home with the case acting as a wedge between us, though I still cling on to him tight. I may not be used to riding but I decide somewhere on the journey back to his cabin that it’s something I want to do again. Even if my legs are a little wobbly when I place them back on the ground.
“So how was it?” Brax asks, pushing his bike back into the shed. I look back at him blankly.
“Your first ride?”
“Oh that, I liked it,” I admit, unable to hide the smile from my face.
“Yeah, well that was a first for me too,” he tells me, standing the bike beside the others then squeezing through the gap between me and the door.
“What do you mean?” I chase after him, still clutching the case in my hands and trying to catch up with his fast strides. He ignores me at first, opening the screen door onto the porch and letting it slam behind him.
“Brax… What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps. “Let’s just open that damn case and hope it tells us what all this is about, so I can fix it and things can go back to how they were.” He seems agitated, and as much as his constant mood switches are starting to piss me off, I decide to let it lie.
I follow him inside and place the case on the table. Then as I open it up, we both peer inside with the same apprehension.
I’m surprised at what we find. A gun, a badge, and a brown official-looking file.
I pull them out and lay them on the table, and watch Brax’s face grow as suspicious as mine.
He picks up the badge and examines it.
“Special Agent Scott. Why didn’t you tell me your mom worked for the CIA?” Brax says, sounding pissed.
“She doesn’t,” I laugh back. “She’s a…” I pause because actually, I’m not really sure what she does. I know she does something protecting kids, but she never really talked about her work.
“This says differently,” he hands over the badge and I examine it properly. Sure enough, the photo ID is of my mom, but it can’t be genuine. How can it be?
“This can’t be true, Brax. If Mom worked for these people I would have known, and why would they want to hurt me?”
“That’s what we need to find out.” Brax picks up the brown file, his eyes scrunching together as he reads through the paperwork.
“Looks like she was on a special task force,” he tells me, without looking up. “Working to take down a large group of people.”
“People like you?” I ask, petrified that this is the explanation. The reason Prez ordered Brax to take me.
“No, darlin’, not people like us.” His face suddenly turns white, and he drops the file like it's just set alight in his hands.
I have to wonder what could possibly make a guy like Brax look so disturbed as he swallows thickly and looks up at me.
“It’s a pedophile ring, Gracie, your mom was working at taking down a pedophile ring.” He says the words like they taste bad in his mouth, and I quickly snatch up the paperwork and read it for myself.
“There’s a name of another agent, one my mom was working with,” I flick through more documents. “And a photograph.” I hold up a black and white photo, one that looks as though it has been taken from a distance, with the lens zoomed in.
“Fuck.” Brax drops his head, then quickly pulls his cell out from his pocket.
“Brax, what is it?” I’m starting to panic, the photo is of a man, one with white hair and a mean face, and on closer inspection, I see what’s got Brax so riled. The man is wearing a black leather cut, almost the same as the one Brax showed me a few nights ago.
“Is this your Prez?” I ask him, hearing the shake in my voice.
“No, darlin’, that ain't my Prez… this is my Prez.” He turns the sheet of paper he’s holding in his hand so I can see it. It looks like a police report, the older man in the corner photo holding up a number, and looking just as mean and dangerous as the man in the photo I’m holding.
“So who is this?” My hands shake.
“That there is Clunk, President of the Bastards MC.” Brax does a shit job of hiding the concern from his face. “And you’re in a whole lot more trouble than we thought.”
