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“Yeah.” Liv chuckled and gave a sheepish grin. “We may have gone a bit overboard on a few things.”
“No. I didn’t mean that as a bad thing.” Brenna swiveled her head to take it all in. “It’s a fantastic room for a bunch of people. You could hold cooking or baking classes for your clients. I imagine that would be valuable for some of the women transitioning to living independently, maybe for the first time.”
“Dayum,” Liv said, laughing. “Look at you with the incredible ideas. We should mention that to Harp,” she added, speaking to Brooke.
Brooke nodded. “Harper is our social worker. I bet she’d loved the idea of incorporating that into her educational plans.”
Brenna beamed. How good did it feel to have her input appreciated?
“I bet a lot of the women you’ll serve would benefit from… oh, excuse me,” Brenna said as her text notifications chimed three times in a row. “Let me just check that real fast.”
“Please, take your time,” Brooke said, releasing Brenna’s arm to take a step back. “I’m actually going to text Harper your idea right now.” She pulled her phone from the pocket of her denim shorts.
“Thanks.” Brenna walked three steps away as she dug her phone out of her bag. A barrage of texts always made her nervous. Her parents weren’t living, but she had a few cousins around her age. They stayed in relatively close touch despite living in different states. One of her cousins had serious health issues and occasionally needed assistance. Brenna always tried to be available in case of a medical emergency. With quick fingers, she swiped the screen and read the awaiting texts.
Her blood ran cold. She’d been right to be nervous, but not for the reasons she’d assumed.
Oliver: I’m sorry.
Oliver: I had no choice.
Oliver: I can pay the rest now.
Oliver had the money. What the hell did that mean? Was he going to try to trade for her or some shit? Like she was a piece of property to be partnered over. Did he expect the club would let him repurchase her like she was a returnable product?
“What the fuck?” she whispered. Her brain stalled, unable to process the insanity that had become her life.
“Bren?” Liv said, concern thick in her voice. “Are you okay?” She hurried over and placed a hand on Brenna’s arm. “Shit, your skin is cold, even though it’s about a million degrees in here. And you’re pale as hell. Brooke, c’mere.”
Brooke rushed over. “Brenna! What happened?”
She looked up into the concerned faces of her two—what? Acquaintances? Clients? Friends? She needed to tell them, if for no better reason than to erase the fear in their eyes, but words failed her. Instead, she held her phone out to Brooke.
The ladies huddled together, reading the fucked-up texts.
“Oliver?” Liv asked with a frown as she read who the messages were from. “Is that…”
She nodded.
“Oh shit.” Liv’s eyes grew stormy.
“We need to go.” Brooked snapped to attention. “We need to take this over to the guys. Now.”
Nodding, Liv said. “Your right. The quicker they see this, the better.”
“I don’t know…” Brenna’s brain couldn’t catch up with the conversation. She was still stuck in the shock of Oliver assuming he could hand over some cash and get her back.
What kind of monster was he?
Gripping her upper arms, Brooke leveled her a grave stare. “Look, I know this is crazy, and we barely know each other, but you need to trust us right now. The best thing we can do is take this to the club. They’ll work together to figure it out in a way that keeps you the safest and makes sure Oliver can’t hurt you now or ever.”
Hurt her? “I don’t think he’d hur—”
“He basically sold you to the club, Bren. I say this with love, but don’t be stupid. If our men weren’t as honorable as they are, your situation would be very different right now.”
Beside Brooke, Liv nodded with a solemn expression. “She’s right, Brenna. You know she is.”
Right. Why did she insist Oliver wouldn’t hurt her when the evidence proved otherwise?
