“Well, I did and you’re not,” Cash scowls and continues with the introductions. “You’ve already met our resident prankster, Hunter. This is Harley and his name says it all. The guy has major connections with the biggest motorcycle club in the region, Dauntless MC.”
I look up to view a guy with shoulder length, blonde hair, a mustache, and whiskey colored brown eyes. He is burly but it’s evident it is all muscle. He pushes his hair out of eyes and ogles me. “You can ride on the back of my bike anytime.”
“Sorry,” I shrug, “but I work for my man. He’s my boss and he is crazy jealous or I’d take you up on it.” I wink at him and the group bursts out laughing, including Cash.
“This is Axle and we call him that because he can take a car apart and put it back together again. He’s a little shy but he’s a damn good shot and one hell of a fighter.”
Axle wipes his hands on a rag he’s still holding from when he’d been doing exactly that—working on one of the cars with the lights out on it. Cash had a massive garage set up just for him. I know he would rather be under a hood than anywhere else, especially a meeting full of people. He has short, cropped hair, cut military style, and eyes that look like they could change from green to blue depending on his mood. He looks at me shyly and holds his hand out, “Sorry ‘bout the grease, ma’am.”
I shake his hand, smiling as I say, “I don’t mind it. I may need you working on that Hummer of mine if that son of a bitch who’s got my sister did anything to it to purposely fuck it up.” I hear Cash’s raspy voice behind me, “Fucking better not have.”
He continues speaking as he introduces one more of the guys. “This is Sniper. His name says it all. I look up to see a very serious faced man with reddish brown hair and bright green eyes. I can tell by looking at him that he is the type who would have no problem taking the kill shot.
I feel good about meeting the guys and getting that out of the way. It has been weighing kind of heavy on me and I’ve been wondering just how they would feel about having a woman on board. I know they discussed it at length but discussing it and doing it are two very different things. It has gone well so far and I am happy for that.
Cash goes over the plans for getting into Steven’s estate. Hunter has been able to get the blueprints for the man’s home and I am impressed. It is clear that this is a professional team who knows how to get the job done. I am lucky to be a part of it and I have every intention of proving myself worthy. The last thing I want is for them to have any regrets about bringing me on board.
Chapter Twenty Five
Rhonda
“Where is your thief of a husband?”
I hear his voice right before I feel the cold steel barrel of his gun pressing against my temple. My head is lying to the side on my pillow and I lift my eyes to look into the face of the man who now holds my life in his hands. He is Colombian and his face has the scars and pockmarks of someone who had borne the curse of terrible acne in his adolescent years. His eyes are cold, black orbs and the serious look on his face lets me know that he would have no problem pulling that trigger.
“He has a mistress. He didn’t come home last night.”
“Is that his kid?” he asks, nodding his head in Talia’s direction.
“It’s my kid. Fuck him. I don’t care if you blow his fucking brains out but please don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything.”
A very sinister smile comes over his countenance. “Get up, get some clothes on, and, lady, if you try anything, I can promise you that it will be a blood bath up in this motherfucker.”
I very cautiously get out of the bed and do exactly what he commands me to do. I make my way over to gently pick up my daughter, making sure to bring her blankie and the doll she brought to bed with her last night.
He doesn’t need to force me down the stairs and into the foyer; the gun in my back is doing a fine job of ensuring my compliance. I swear to myself that if I make it out of this predicament alive, I am getting away from Steven and starting a new life for my daughter and myself.
I am led out to a black car and placed in the backseat with the man who is still holding a gun on me. I assume he’s just waiting for me to make a wrong move and he’ll happily blow my brains out.
“You don’t need to hold a gun on me,” I whisper in his direction.”
“Mommy, where are we going?”
I am relieved when he places the gun down beside his leg so my daughter can’t see it.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Go back to sleep.” The only thing I care about right now is my daughter getting out of this without being traumatized. I hate my husband for putting us in this situation and I hate myself for allowing it.