I could tell, and before long it was fun for me, too. I didn't have a lot of girlfriends. I'd always been sort of shy, more into my photography than anything else. I was more of an observer of the world than a part of it, I realized. I spent a lot more time watching people and concocting stories about them based on what I saw than on actually interacting.
When I first met the girls, I had made up stories about them. They were tragic figures. I couldn't imagine why they'd want to be part of this life. Abuse, maybe, or daddy issues. And while there could have been a little bit of that-Tyler's father came to mind, and the wistful way she told me he never had a son-for the most part, they were smart, strong women. I had the feeling they could have left if they wanted to. They weren't hopeless drunks or junkies. I admitted to myself that I'd assumed that about biker chicks.
What was more surprising was the way I got along with them. They were so quick to welcome me in. At first I had told myself it was for Vince's sake. They wanted to be nice to his guest. Now I knew that they were just that nice, that welcoming. I had never known people like them. If the girls in high school and college had been so sweet and inclusive, I might have made more friends.
I wondered as I played hand after hand whether I could make a life here, among them. I saw myself doing what they did-taking care of the guys, just not sexually. I would only be Vince's. Would I be expected to do the other things they did, as an old lady? Fetching drinks and changing sheets? Or would being the old lady of the club president give me special privileges?
I wouldn't want them, I decided, even if Vince and I got together for the long haul. I wasn't any better than anyone there. I finally realized that, and it gave me a sense of peace.
"I'm out," I finally said. I'd played three hands and won one of them. To my happy surprise, the men cheered for me. Wow, I thought. I actually feel like a part of something. Maybe we all needed to feel that way. Now I understood the pull this lifestyle had. It really was like one big family. As an only child, it was seductive.
"You sure?" Brett looked concerned. "Honey, he'll be back soon. I'm sure of it."
"I know, I know. I just … I'm a little antsy is all. I can't concentrate on the cards."
Sam patted my back. "I'll make you a mug of my world-famous hot chocolate," she offered. "It'll help you feel better."
I doubted that a cup of hot chocolate could do so much, but I couldn't help smiling. "That would be super. I'll be in the office." I went inside and shut the door behind me, then sat down at the desk.
I couldn't shake the foreboding. Even as I sat at the poker table, laughing, it was always in the back of my mind. Something's coming. Something bad. It'll never be like this again.
I had never paid attention to superstition or curses of the world of the unseen. I did believe there was a force working behind the scenes, but I didn't get much deeper than that. So why couldn't I get rid of the feeling that we were all in danger? Why did I feel like I'd never see Vince again?
I was feeling particularly morbid by that point, and I opened the laptop to get another look at my pictures. Something inside told me to take a look at the person who chased me.
There he was, looking just as he had that night. Just as he did in my dream. I shuddered at the memory. What had it meant? That was another thing. I wasn't the type to have vivid dreams. But I felt like this one meant something. I just didn't know what.
I stared at the picture, focused on the Wolf. If luck was ever going to be on our side, Vince would have found whoever he was by then. I prayed he had, and that it would help us somehow. We needed a little help, for heaven's sake.
I started flipping through the images, looking carefully at them. I remembered taking them like it just happened. I could feel the cool air, could smell the dank stench of the air in the alley. The wall I leaned against was cold. It was so dark. Water dripped from some unseen place. I heard it plinking against the ground.
I heard the voices, too. The voice of the man defending himself, saying it wasn't right, what they were doing. He never wanted things to go that far. He was the tall, slim man with the Fury Riders kutte. He was Lance.
Poor Lance. He did look scared, I realized as I went through the images. He knew he was in trouble. I remembered from what I overheard that he felt guilty, and he must have known something was going to happen when he pushed back at the Vicious Wolves.
He had done something wrong when he went against his club, yeah, but he had been brave in the end. He was all alone with the man who would kill him just moments later.
Only … was he alone?
As I went through the images, I noticed something I'd missed before.
Someone.
I heard the door to the office open and close, and assumed it was Sam. But I ignored her, transfixed by what I saw on the monitor.
In the shadows, just beyond Lance and the Wolf who killed him, a man. He stood and watched the two of them as they talked. He stood there, unmoving from one photo to the next. He didn't do anything to stop what happened. Was he a guard for the Wolves?
He'd stepped out of the shadows just a little toward the end of the series of photos, until the light hit his face.
His scarred face.
"No." It was the only word I was able to say before the chloroform-soaked cloth covered my mouth and nose.
I struggled for a minute, holding my breath, fighting Onyx with all my might. It was useless. He was so strong, his arms were like iron bands around me.
I was frantic. Now it all made sense. It was him. He let me get away so the Wolves would catch me. That was why he didn't like me. That was why he stayed behind to watch over us. He was waiting for this. Poor Vince. He never saw this coming, any more than I did. How would he feel when he knew?
My lungs felt like they were about to burst. I had to take a breath. As soon as I did, the world started to go foggy. Oh, Vince. I'm sorry.
Onyx's breath was hot on my ear. "Couldn't stay out of it, could you?"
They were the last words I heard before everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-One
Vince
I remembered the first time I ever rode on the back of a motorcycle. I used to see them in my neighborhood, growing up. Mom's face would always screw up when she saw them pass by, the men on the backs of their bikes. I learned then and there, without her ever having to say so, that men who rode in gangs were bad news. They weren't good people. My brain made the association, and it stuck.
The older I got, the better I knew. Mom was right. They intimidated people on the street, started fights in bars. Eventually, they were asked to stay away from the bars, period. Then, rumors flew about the local club being involved with drugs somehow. They were bringing them into the neighborhood, putting dope in the hands of kids. They were mean and violent. They didn't care how their actions affected the people around them, people who worked hard and paid their taxes. Whenever police dragged a body in from the river or found one in an alley or ditch, they blamed the club. Even if it was a random homeless person or something totally unrelated to the club, everybody wanted to believe the bad guys who rode motorcycles around the neighborhood had something to do with it.
Then I rode my first bike, and I was hooked. Mom died long before then, so the guilt went with her. Sometimes I still wondered what she would think of me if she saw the person I had become. Would her face screw up in distaste, the way it had when the gangs would ride down our block? Or would she understand that sometimes a bad man could be a good man who had to make big choices?
I didn't know why I was thinking about any of this as I raced to the clubhouse. It was something to think about other than the mental image of Erica in a pool of blood.
I broke just about every traffic law in existence on the way-it was worth risking being pulled over if it meant getting to Erica just a minute sooner. A minute could make all the difference.
A plan was in motion. That was what Harrison told me. There was something already going down. Why did Alexander York always think he was smarter than me? Maybe because he was. I had the book smarts. He was cunning. I needed to be cunning in a time like this.
I'd thought I had the bases covered. Leaving Onyx behind to take care of things. I hoped Onyx was safe-the only way to get to Erica was to get around him. He'd have to be dead or unconscious to let that happen. He might not have liked her, but he would have protected her for my sake. We went back that far.
I rode on autopilot. My body was just going through the motions. All I could do was think about the club. I realized it might not have been just Erica they were after. I might walk into my clubhouse and find the entire club dead, taken out by the Wolves. What then?