Possession(Sons of Odin MC)(38)

Vincent had emailed her twice already.

I can still taste you. Call me after work.

Followed by Complicated situation at the club, may be here all night. I’ll call when I get a break.

The elevator dinged and Tina moved aside to let traffic by without looking up while she scrolled through other messages.

“Ms. Bethel?”

She didn’t need to see who that voice came from. Just the sound of it made her stomach roil and the hairs on the back of neck stand up. Kline’s citrusy cologne nearly made her gag. She gazed at him.

“Good afternoon, Tina.” He stepped into the corridor.

Her mouth opened but she didn’t know what to say.

“Happy to see I still have an effect on you. Did you enjoy your playdate with the biker last night?”

Tina shifted uncomfortably on her heels and frowned. The audacity of this man made her sick. “If I haven’t said it enough already, stay away from me, Mr. Barnes.”

She started to retreat, but he grabbed her wrist tight. “That’s my arm.”

He leaned close. “Be glad it’s not your neck.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat, her flight instinct battling to take over. But several coworkers were within sight. In the confines of her office she couldn’t lose control. She simply yanked her arm free and growled at him. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

The elevator doors parted again and she half jumped inside and pounded the basement button repeatedly until the doors closed. With her heart pounding in her chest it was hard to think clearly. Had he just threatened to choke her? Not in so many words. But the icy fury in his eyes translated perfectly. He wanted to hurt her. Only sociopaths could appear calm and collected, be perfectly attired and friendly, while they articulated the way they wanted to kill you at the same time.

Overreacting? Maybe. But she didn’t care as she rushed out of the elevator and ran for her SUV parked in the underground garage. One of the things she’d learned in self-defense class was to never make herself an easy target. Parking in remote, dark places was number one on the no-no list. She’d have Madeline research street-level parking options next week.

Safely inside her Cadillac tank, she locked the doors and gripped the steering wheel tight, still panicked. Just seeing him unwound her like a ball of yarn. Something needed to change. Maybe Kline enjoyed her reactions and didn’t really want to hurt her. Predators often liked the chase more than the kill. She’d researched cases where women were practically held prisoners in their own homes because their stalkers spent years closing them in. Making threatening phone calls, showing up wherever they went, watching them from a close distance, but never actually touching them.

Thank God laws were changing in the United States, but so much more work still needed to be done still. Tina refused to give up. If Kline persisted, she’d fight back. She started her engine and revved the gas a little, like Vincent did whenever he pulled his Harley into a parking lot. Undeniably, it made her feel good.

Just as she was about to throw it in reverse, her cell vibrated. Another blocked call. But several of her clients had private numbers, so she had to answer.

“Hello?”

“I don’t like your incendiary language, Ms. Bethel.”

Tina’s mouth went dry. “I aim to please, Mr. Barnes,” she shot back.

He chuckled. “I stepped into the hallway after speaking with Madeline so I could call you in private. It seems the two of you are meeting up for drinks tonight, though she wouldn’t disclose where.”

Pleased her assistant had the sense to protect their privacy, Tina let out a relieved breath. “911 is on my speed dial.”

As she’d hoped, the line went dead.





Chapter 18


Time that Vincent wasted coddling prospects and errant Brothers meant less time fixing the problem with the Man-o-Wars. He’d been seated in the dining room of the clubhouse for all of five minutes when the questions started flying. Nothing about the issue at hand—stupid shit, like monthly dues and what Prospect got to go on the next beer run. The old ladies had been dismissed for the next hour so an emergency church meeting could be held while the members broke bread. He eyed the tins of lasagna and baskets of French bread on the tables, his mouth watering for a taste.

Unable to maintain his façade of patience any longer, he slammed his hand on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Enough. Maybe I should send you bitches to the bar and bring the old ladies back—they’re making more sense lately than you.”

The room quieted down instantly.

J.T. cleared his throat and sat in the chair next to Vincent. “Pretty sure the Prospects give better head than the pass-arounds.”