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When we finally clear the bedrooms, we head back toward the common room. When Gloria grabs the doorknob to the entertainment room, I glance worriedly at Dice. He just gives me a smug grin. “Allow me,” he offers graciously.
Gloria glares up at him before shoving past him and glancing around the room. “What is this place? Is this where you keep kids before you sell them?”
Dice stiffens, his smile replaced by an angry glare. Gloria takes a few steps back before stiffening her spine.
“We don’t traffic kids,” he growls at her. “This is the playroom Puma built for his kids and Chill’s son.”
“You have kids hanging out in the clubhouse? I see. Maybe I should file a report. They can’t be safe here.”
“Based on what?” I ask, giving Dice a chance to calm down. The last thing we need is him decking the bitch. Even though I’mnot wholly against the idea. Someone needs to smack the smug, condescending look off her face.
“We’ll see, won’t we? We’ve checked everywhere but behind the locked doors. Let’s see what’s there, shall we?”
“Actually, you won’t,” says Puma, handing Gloria a sheet of paper. “According to your superior, the judge canceled the warrant. She’s outside and would like you to join her.”
Gloria snatches the paper to read it. Her face growing angrier and redder with each line. “This is ridiculous. He’s her father.”
“And according to this document, he’s a danger to her well-being. Angelica will stay with a foster family for the time being while the police follow up on the accusations made against him,” Puma gestures for the woman to precede him out the door. I expect her to balk, but after glancing at each of us, she at least has the brains to realize we’ll carry her ass out if she doesn’t get moving.
Outside, I see Desdemona and Alisa’s father, Diego, standing with the Director of CPS, Monica Capon. She’s wearing a dark red suit with a black silk shirt. Her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. I’ve met Monica frequently, and while we rarely see eye-to-eye, I’ve never been on the receiving end of a glare like the one she’s giving Gloria. Gloria hunches her shoulders but marches forward until she’s directly in front of her boss.
“We haven’t found the child yet. They’re hiding her somewhere inside that building,” she informs her boss, waving her arm to encompass the clubhouse.
“The child is safe and under the care of Desdemona Konstantin and Diego Perez,” Monica informs her. “You can return to the office.”
“But…” Gloria starts, but a lifted eyebrow from Monica has her turning on her heel and almost running to her car. She’s moving so fast, Smooth, who is manning the gate, barely has time to open it.
I glance around the area to find Wayne and Viper glaring at each other. My only thought is to get the bastard away from her, but Puma beats me to it.
“Get the fuck off our property,” Puma growls at Wayne.
I can see Wayne gearing up to argue, but Puma doesn’t waste words. Instead, he grabs Wayne by the collar, lifting him up off the ground as if he’s a trash bag. Striding toward the gate, Smooth stops the gate from closing so Puma can toss Wayne out into the street. He growls at Wayne before nodding at Smooth to close the gate.
I consider going after him and arresting him for what he did to Angelica, but I know the charges won’t stick. Not yet.
“Is Angelica here?” Monica asks Puma.
Before he can answer, the clubhouse door opens. Out walks Hunter with all four children.
CHAPTER THREE: VIPER
My mind reels as I glance around at the surrounding chaos. Angel, no Angelica, my half-sister is flitting around, giving everyone hugs as if she’s never going to see us again. She gives Max an extra-long hug, and that’s when I see the tears pool in her pretty green eyes. Eyes that look exactly like his. Max. My twin brother. I’m uncertain how I feel about discovering that my favorite prospect and good friend is really my twin. Something he obviously knew all this time. Okay, scratch that. I know exactly how I feel. Pissed off and betrayed.
Glancing away from my siblings, my eyes land on Rafe. He steals glances at me while trying to contain the craziness surrounding us. Is he looking at me with concern? Or is he considering arresting me for attempted murder? I didn’t miss the shock on his face when my father announced I had tried to kill him. I repress a shudder as I consider my sperm donor. All this time, I thought he was dead. I believed I had killed him. But he isn’t dead. He’s back in my life and looking for another way to hurt me. My attention shifts to Puma, who studies me with concern.
“Give her a minute,” Puma says to Max, who is standing next to me. “She’s still processing. We’ll talk it through soon.”
I blink at Puma’s words and realize the truth. He knew. Puma knew the truth and didn’t tell me. Just like Max. Who else? Who else knows more about my life than me? Who else has been keeping secrets and laughing at me behind my back?
“I need to get out of here. Please. I need some time to come to grips with all this.” Locking eyes with Puma, I fight to keep back the tears that threaten to form. “I need some time alone before I deal with this.”
Puma studies my face before giving me a slight nod.
Turning, I rush back into the clubhouse. Gathering my gear, I run back outside to my bike. I hear people shouting my name, but I don’t stop. I have to get out of here. People handle stress differently. Some use retail therapy. Others binge-watch Netflix. For me, it’s nature. Camping is how I unwind. You’d think after living on the streets for so many years, I’d find sleeping under the stars unappealing. But there is a world of difference between sleeping in a dirty alley under bright lights and sleeping under the night sky out in the middle of nowhere.
My favorite camping sites are in Red Rock Canyon, so that’s where I point my bike. Once there, I follow a few dirt roads until I find a place to stash my bike and pitch my tent. My preferred spots are further in, but with the light fading, I have to make do with this location. After setting up my tent, I gather enough wood and kindling to keep a fire burning all night. With the fire going, I pull my gun from my waistband before stripping down to my underwear. Pulling out a pair of thermals, I slip them on before folding my clothes and putting them into my backpack. I place the kutte on top, fingering the logo. For the first time since joining the Demon Dawgs as a prospect, the feel of my kutte doesn’t give me a thrill. I’m numb.
Since I didn’t have time to hunt for my dinner, I pull out a granola bar and a package of beef jerky. Heating a kettle of water, I make myself tea and settle down to read. I carry severalpaperbacks with my camping gear. Mostly thrillers or ghost stories. Maybe it’s crazy to sit alone in the dark reading books meant to scare the pants off me, but I find them soothing. I know the real world can be more terrifying than words on a page. Someone else’s fear is better than thinking about my fucked-up situation. Discovering my murderous bastard of a father is still alive is scarier than any ghost story.
