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“Keres didn’t kill them.” She frowns in my direction. “If someone in Keres murdered them, then Larrick, the president, didn’t order it. I get the vibe that he’s more of a businessman than anything else.”
“This is too much,” she says, a tear running down her cheek.
“We’re wasting time. If they recognize your car then they probably know where you live. The boys aren’t safe.”
“I’m not just going to hand my nephews over to you,” she argues.
“I don’t give a shit if you tag along, Mila, but those boys will be with me.”
Her cheek twitches in irritation.
“Are you really going to let your pride put them in danger?” I challenge.
She continues to glare at me.
I tell her the address and room number of the hotel.
“You have three hours to pack their shit and bring them to me.”
She doesn’t say a word when I turn around and walk out of the house. She isn’t a stupid woman, and her fight right now is with Keres. I know she can accept me for the ally that I am. Our fight can happen later. The safety of those boys is all that fucking matters right now.
Chapter 10
Mila
My hands are trembling as I step outside and lock up the house. Keres isn’t to be messed with. Anyone paying attention in St. Louis knows that they’re the most dangerous group of men, and getting tangled with them is always a bad idea.
Vincent’s truck is at the curb, and I hate him a little more for this fake show of chivalry that he’s displaying, waiting for me to climb inside my car and back out before pulling away himself. The man is either incredibly brave or insanely stupid for standing his ground and facing off with Adrian Larrick a few moments ago. I recognized the man the second I peeked out of the window. Although brutally violent according to rumors, I can’t argue that the president of the Keres MC is also devastatingly handsome. There’s a rugged, bad-boy vibe that swarms around him that has led so many women to their clubhouse. They literally have a fandom of horny women who fight each other in order to spend time with them. I had a friend in school who was obsessed with them, yet she was never able to gain access to their clubhouse.
I pull my car past Vincent’s truck, watching in my rearview mirror as he slowly pulls out behind me. He gave me instructions and a timeline to get the kids to him, but I’ll scream if he follows me home. When he turns right at the third stop sign after I turn left, a strange sense of foreboding fills all the crevices inside of me. I would never get involved with such a dangerous group as the Keres MC, but it looks like I’m a target simply by association.
My chin is quivering, tears threatening to spill from my lashes as I drive around my apartment complex without stopping in an effort to see if anyone is following me. I’ve never had to be so diligent in my life, and I’m not certain I’d be able to identify the signs of someone trailing me even if I saw it. I accept that Adrian and Keres know exactly where I live, considering they recognized my car even when I hadn’t been to my sister’s house in over a year.
Instead of immediately climbing out of my car, I park and pull out my phone. My search of Keres brings up all the things I would expect—news articles, trial information for men being picked up for petty crimes but nothing that would keep them incarcerated for very long.
Cerberus MC, the name on the patch of Vincent’s leather vest, is a different story. They’re touted as angels on earth, saviors in their own right, for the number of men, women, and children they’ve helped in returning to their families after they’d been kidnapped, trafficked, and sold in the human skin trade. Their president, Diego “Kincaid” Anderson, has won more than a handful of awards for his part in fighting sex traffickers.
As much as I wanted to point fingers and place blame, accusing Vincent of being as bad as the members of the Keres MC, it’s clear he’s nothing like them. It niggles in the back of my mind that this could be a front for a dirty business, but Vincent was never that type of guy. My crush from all those years ago was based largely on the fact that he wasn’t like the other guys who Carlen would bring around when visiting Janet. They’d leer at me, try to get me alone and away from everyone else. They’d talk suggestively even before I was old enough to understand what they were referencing. Vincent was protective, and as much as I hate to admit, he was brotherly. He’d walk between the road and me. He’d open doors for me, checking on me if he got a sense that something wasn’t quite right with me.
I think it’s those instances that made me, what I thought at the time in my adolescence, fall in love with him. While other girls in school were fawning over movie stars and boy bands, I was equally obsessed with Vincent Chilton. Only the guy I’d fantasize about marrying would come over to our house regularly. He’d let me cut in front of him to make my burger first if we were having a cookout. Granted, he did the same thing with all of Janet’s female friends, but in my head, what we had was special.
I keep scrolling, finding more than one article that showcases people who aren’t as pleased with Cerberus. They haven’t been able to save every person they’ve set out to, and as understanding as that is, it’s also heartbreaking for the families who weren’t able to see their loved ones again.
The sun is so low in the sky, I can no longer see it directly around the apartment building on the opposite side of the parking lot. Being caught in the dark with the kids isn’t a smart idea any day of the week around here, much less after discovering we’re in real danger.
I climb out of the car and head to my apartment first, packing up what I need before heading to the babysitter’s apartment. I use the term babysitter loosely because she has already mentioned that I needed to find someone else.
I want to cry as I lift my hand to knock because I know this could be the very last time the boys will be here. Vincent will not give up on them, and if he digs too much deeper, he’ll no doubt form the opinion that I’m not worthy of taking care of them. As hard as it is to admit, I know I’m not financially capable. My last trip to the grocery store was evidence of that. Without some major windfall or winning the lottery, I’m the captain of a very rapidly sinking ship, and I’m not so prideful that I’ll drag those innocent boys down with me just because of something as stupid as pride.
If I had any doubt that Sammie was losing patience with me, it’s gone the second she opens the door after I knock.
“Hey,” I say, hating that I’ve put such a strain on our friendship.
We aren’t exactly close, but she’s the only person I’ve had any sort of meaningful conversation with in the last six months.
“The younger one broke one of my plates at dinner,” Sammie mutters.
“His name is Luca, and it was an accident,” Jace snarls, his tiny fists clenched at his side.
