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The familiar click-clack of her high heels resounds through the clubhouse as she enters the building. Everyone watches as her smug expression focuses in on Hurricane.
“Hello, boys, nice to see you made an effort to greet me. Glad some people know respect is still a thing in the South.”
“Constance, how can we help you?” Hurricane asks, gesturing for her to enter further into the clubhouse. Her pristine, tailored white dress suit looks even more pompous and precocious than ever.
Her heels grate on my nerves as she walks in and heads straight for the Chapel, all of us widening our eyes as Hurricane and City follow her.
“I think you shouldallbe in on this. It’s a big conversation we’re about to have.” She enters the Chapel as we all look at Hurricane.
He rolls his shoulders but then gestures for us to enter.
“C’mon, boys, you heard the lady, it’s Church time,” he demands.
I stand quickly, along with the rest of the club, and hurry into the Chapel. I take my seat at the opposite end of the table to Hurricane. The others sit in their positions as Bayou pulls out a chair for the Baroness to sit between him and Hurricane. Her men stand against the walls to the side.
Hurricane bangs his gavel, signaling the beginning of Church.
The Baroness smiles wide, but her eyes tell me more than I need to know—that smile is not friendship, that’s for sure.
“I have always wanted to see you do that, so official, so efficient,” she states before Hurricane can say anything.
The look on his face says it all. He’s pissed the Baroness is here and making a fuss. Whatever she wants, she’s certainly annoying Hurricane before she gets it. “All right, we’re all here. We’re all listenin’. What is it that you want?”
She places her fisted hands on the plexiglass table. “I have information.”
Hurricane clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Information on what?”
“An imminent attack, on Defiance women.”
We all sit taller, looking around the room at each other.
“All Defiance or NOLA Defiance?” Hurricane specifies.
“NOLA specifically.” She tilts her head. “My sources say the threat is coming from the Bratva. They want to hurt you, and to do that…” she pauses for dramatic effect, “… they will come at the people you love the most, your old ladies and key female family members.”
“Jesus!” City growls as the rest of us move uncomfortably in our seats.
“How did you get thisinformation?” Hurricane asks.
“How do I know anything, Hurricane? I’m the queen of these parts. I know whateveryoneis doing.” Her eyes flick to me, and she wiggles her brows, which instantly causes me to tense.
“Do you have a hit list? Actual target names?” I ask, wanting to know more than anything if Ingrid is on said list.
She smirks. “The information I was told was old ladies and family. So I would assume that means Ingrid too,” she confirms, staring at me, then subtly turns her head to look at Hurricane. “So I would ensure you’re protecting mother dearest as well when you send your women away.”
My stomach falls through the floor.
My anxiety spiking tenfold.
If the Baroness knows about Ingrid and me, then who the fuck else knows?
Hurricane, however, doesn’t pick up on the Baroness’ subtle hints as he continues with his line of questioning, “What makes you think we would send the women away?”
The Baroness snorts out a laugh. “Why wouldn’t you? There’s an imminent threat. The Bratva are coming for the people you love. Keeping them here is only going to ensure the Bratva can find them. Surely you would be better off sending them somewhere with protection, somewhere where the Bratva won’t know to look?”
“Let me guess, you have an idea where to send them? Somewherefarout of town?” Hurricane asks.
“Actually, quite the opposite. You know the Civil Defense Bunker out on Pontchartrain Boulevard?”
