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  If they could pull that off, Adelia could find the money. She always could eventually. The time crunch made her sweat though.

  Seven’s fingers already flew on her phone.

  “You got a hold of someone?” Adelia asked.

  “I know a place to store a group of people.”

  “Sweet.” All they had to do was handle transport and calm them down. Then they eased into the harder finds like clothes or medical care.

  Adelia and Seven worked side by side, texting and conferring, comparing their quick thoughts and what they’d lined up.

  “I think we’ve got everything covered,” Adelia said with an anxious building excitement. “I’m going to pull the trigger.”

  “Do it.” Seven gave her the last needed push.

  She sent the text to the distributor with her offer. “Now, we wait.”

  The strumming of an electric guitar jammed from outside as her heel bounced on the scarred tile floor.

  “Let’s wait to hear outside.” Seven jumped off the couch, always offering that first step of encouragement. “Let’s go watch Skull.”

  Members, old ladies, and guests had filtered out to the large asphalt lot to watch the jam session. The cool night’s air rushed over her skin, and Seven had been right that she needed a breath of fresh air in addition to ridding themselves of an extra seat for unwelcomed, uninformed new recruits who wanted to join them.

  Skull and friends shredded. The crowd hollered and spurred on the band. Adelia and Seven moved close to a speaker, and the music traveled through them. Base thumped hard. It vibrated through her clothes and made her feel alive—untouchable—knowing a web sworn to silence was ready if she was awarded the shipment.

  The phone lit with the offer acceptance and payment instructions, and she held it for Seven to see. “We did it.”

  “Let’s do this.” Seven broke away first, but Adelia swiped it open and read the coded message for the merchandise. She hated that word, but this was what they needed, and she turned to catch up, linking arms with Seven.

  Anticipation pulsed in time with the quickening pace of the music. It paid to have a criminal lawyer step-mom who lived with this secret too. She’d never tell Tex. It was the one thing they both kept from him, and maybe one day, it would make them feel like a real mother and daughter.

  Adelia and Seven stepped from the crowd, watching Skull as Hawke stepped from the back row and grabbed Seven’s shoulder. “Haven’t seen you since you’ve been back.”

  “I just got back,” Seven pointed out, inching away.

  “Seven.” Hawke stepped closer. “We need to talk.”

  “Now isn’t the best time, Hawke.” Seven layered on her most princess-like manners, and that was one of the nicest smiles that Adelia had ever seen. “Can you give me a few minutes?”

  Hawke grumbled, and Adelia heard the countdown clock ticking for the distributor’s payment. It had to go through within a certain amount of time, or they’d move to the next buyer. Every second they waited for Hawke to spit out what he wanted was a moment wasted. Adelia’s foot itched to bounce, but she kept both feet planted on the ground. Everything was fine. They had conversational-wiggle room. All she needed to do was get to the computer, find and move money quickly while Seven acted as a lookout or provided a distraction for anyone who came their way.

  His hard eyes turned her way. “See ya, Adelia.”

  Shit. “But we’re headed to the bathroom, Hawke.”

  “It can wait.”

  “No, it can’t,” Seven snapped.

  “Piss your pants for all I care. We’re talking. Now.”

  “And we have to discuss female things. The type that would make you very uncomfortable,” she continued.

  “Cry, bleed, or rant later. We’re talking. Now.”

  Fucking hell. Hawke never acted like this, and Seven knew that as much as Adelia did.

  Seven turned to Adelia. “You go on without me. It’ll be fine.”

  Hawke rolled his eyes. “Yeah, go take a piss without each other. It’ll be fine. For fuck’s sake.”

  Adelia’s knees wobbled, but she sneered an appropriate fuck-you response to Hawke, who’d expect nothing less. “Catch you two soon.” She headed inside.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Why did timing suck? No big deal; that was the mantra for the night. Lenora gave Adelia a tip. It paid out in a huge way. Everything happened for a reason, including Hawke needing to speak with Seven. Still, it’d be much easier if Adelia’s legs didn’t feel like Jell-O shots and her stomach as if she’d spent the night before with her mouth attached to a beer tap.

  No Seven, no problem. That was a better mantra than no big deal because she couldn’t fool herself. Using Mayhem’s computer wasn’t really allowed but playing with their finances was beyond that.

  She threw open the heavy, tinted sliding glass door, and walked into the parlor from the asphalt court and dragged it shut behind her. The other entrance that emptied into the back hallway was easier to use, but she liked knowing who was on other side.

  It’d been that way since she was a teenager when Mayhem first brought her to the United States and stood her in the parlor. They’d had no idea what to do with her, and she thought the same thing about them. All she knew was they’d saved her from her father—though he didn’t deserve the title.

  Her shoulders bunched as a cold, sick shiver cascaded over her skin. Adelia could close her eyes and smell the scent of his whores and his cologne of choice. His business. Why she thought being his daughter would make her any different from the girls he bought and sold, fucked and pimped, she didn’t know.

  Ethan walked across the parlor, breaking her from the past. He made her skin itch in an unusual way. He could end her life if he ever organized himself in a way that a CPA or auditor might want. His disorganization and personal systems kept her alive. But there was another layer of her distrust that she couldn’t pinpoint.

  Or maybe there was too much marijuana in the air, and she was paranoid. Who knew, and what did she know? She had no financial background. Mayhem ran local chapters’ money through giant accounts set up to look like a corporation, and if he understood what was what, with the various accounts and sub-accounts for their chapters, more power to him.

  The best Adelia could tell, the only way anyone outside the MC would ever know what moved around was if they knew that Mayhem was purchasing and selling making illegal shipments. So long as the Club looked very profitable, she didn’t think anyone would look too hard.

  Adelia crept down the hall and kicked a half-empty can. It clattered against the wall, and she nearly had a heart attack, finally laughing at herself. No one else laughed with her. She was alone, as she needed to be, and she snuck into the dimly lit office and into the chair, burying her face in her hands. “I need you, Seven.”

  She split her fingers, and her best friend hadn’t magically appeared. Maybe she’d prayed to the motorcycle gods for the wrong thing, and her hopes should have been that they all stayed far, far away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Praying that Mayhem would stay outside would be as useful as letting more time slip by, and Adelia fired up Mayhem’s computer, typing in the password that hadn’t changed in years: Mayhem1234.

  She’d even pointed out to Tex years ago, even when she was using it for school projects, that even basic computer safety protocol said they shouldn’t use that combination. A certain amount of hubris kept them vulnerable. Their response had been, “Who would be stupid enough to hack Mayhem’s computer?”

  Apparently, she was. She typed in Mayhem1234 and opened a browser to log into their bank accounts. This was the right thing to do, and she especially knew it. She had nightmares about growing up in Brazil and the day she was sold. It did no good to turn these people over to the cops. They’d never learn, unlike in her sweet dreams where she made them pay for their life decisions. In real life, she was much more logical—just like Tex had been when they saw her for sale and b
ought her. She purchased others—like father, like daughter— and gave them a better life.

  A large transfer of money was pending deposit in multiple batches under $10,000. She scrolled up then counted down. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…” She didn’t need to count anymore. This was perfect timing, and she tilted her head back to glare at the red-painted ceiling with Mayhem’s giant emblem painted in the middle. “Thank you.”

  Whatever higher power of motorcycle gods and Mayhem energy were out there, she needed them right now because without Seven, she was flying blind, and no amount of BS-ing would let her live if she were caught in the next few minutes.

  Quickly, she made transfers from the cash-on-hand accounts, knowing that the pending payments would hit the accounts at midnight, and in a day or two, there would be some business completed somewhere in the country to cover her loss. “Playing with imaginary money is fucking hard.”

  Her finger clicked all the buttons and reviewed the amounts before agreeing they were correct, and then the transfer confirmations appeared.

  “What are you doing?” Ethan’s voice interrupted.

  Her fingers splayed as her heart lunged into her throat. She rolled out of her chair, shooting the old thing back, momentarily forgetting the emergency backup plan she had if this ever happened. She tipped forward as though shaking off how startled she was, hand landing on the keyboard and the mouse shielded by a row of file folders. “What the hell, Ethan? You scared me!”

  “Adelia,” he snapped. “What are you doing?”

  The screen didn’t face the office door, and he couldn’t see the start menu pop up. Her mouse-hovering hand clicked the shutdown-and-reboot tile she’d created and pinned to the top of the start menu.

  “Nothing much.” She crossed her arms as though she were pissed. “Besides trying to check my email.”

  “No one is supposed to be back here.” His suspicious eyes narrowed, and he edged toward the desk.

  The rush of blood in Adelia’s ears roared like Harley tailpipes as she waited for the old computer to reboot. She hadn’t noticed how loud Skull’s music was as it filtered into the building, but she’d never been so happy for noise pollution to cover up the sound of the old computer clicking as it turned on.

  The sign-on screen surfaced. “But I couldn’t.”

  He rounded the desk. “You couldn’t what?”

  “Check my email.” How much faux-annoyance did she need before her lying was totally awful?

  Ethan studied her and the screen before throwing his thumb toward the door. “Don’t come in here again.”

  She sauntered toward the door, tossing her purse over her shoulder dramatically as her heart galloped. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll remember next time.”

  “Adelia?”

  She froze, terrified that he somehow knew what she’d done, even though she’d used an incognito browser. “Yeah?”

  “There will never be a next time.” Ethan sat down, and his fingers typed in the password as her stomach lurched.

  He hadn’t believed her, and why should he? She didn’t trust him. Never had, and today might be the day she found out why.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Stale tobacco clung to the walls and stained the floor. It had been only hours since Adelia ran out of the compound last night, terrified what Ethan might find. She had no idea what to do, and was she was too worried to tell Seven. After a night of pacing in her apartment, she decided to ask Colin for advice, only to find a text from him when she thought he’d be asleep. He had to unexpectedly work overnight but would be in touch soon.

  The only person she could talk to was Tex. It wasn’t as if she’d have to explain exactly what she was doing on the computer, just that she’d been in the Club’s office without permission when Ethan walked in. That wasn’t a big deal.

  None of it would be a problem if Ethan didn’t figure out what she’d done with their money.

  The heavy front door to the compound had closed with a thud that still echoed down the empty hallway, and somehow, the stomach-turning odor of last night’s party felt like coming home. Adelia hadn’t been raised inside the compound, though they’d spent many nights here. Pops had done the best he could with her. Never once did he complain about his unexpected venture into fatherhood. It was a role he managed much like Mayhem handled their club recruits. He gave her advice, explained the confines of strict rules, and promised hell if she ever screwed up—which she never did.

  Until now. But only if Ethan figured out what she did.

  Her leather boots clicked as she walked down the hall, trailing her finger along the blood-red-painted cinder blocks as she passed one MC room after the next until she came to Tex’s.

  Adelia knocked twice, nudging the cracked door open with her foot. “Hey, Pops.”

  The door opened. A burning cigarette hung off Tex’s lip as he stared numbly at Ethan on the floor with a knife in his chest and all the color draining away.

  Tex’s cold gray eyes had gone bloodshot, and his balance swiveled as he looked from the ground to the nearly empty bottle of bourbon pinched between his knees. “Adelia,” he rasped. “What the fuck have you done?”

  The air was stained with death, booze, and blood. She didn’t know how long ago this had happened, but it was too long to give Ethan a fighting chance.

  “I- I,” Adelia stuttered. “You know?” Her eyes dropped. “He knew?” Ethan had figured everything out. But what did that mean? “Wh-wh—”

  She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.

  Ash dropped from the cigarette still hanging on Tex’s lip. “Spit it out.”

  “Why’d you kill him?”

  “Because he wanted to kill you.”

  Her throat knotted, and tears burned. She didn’t know if it was fear, gratitude, or the look of disgust on Tex’s face. “I can explain.”

  “No.” Tex braced his hands on his knees, staggering up. The bottle of bourbon fell, splashing onto the stained carpet, sloshing out next to Ethan’s pale cheek.

  The metallic tinge of Ethan’s blood tainted her breaths. “I can explain. We—”

  “We? We.” Tex kicked the bourbon bottle, and liquor sprayed like a fountain until it smashed against the wall, cracking the bottle. “I don’t wanna know who did what, don’t wanna.” He swayed when he shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Pops—”

  “No.” He held out an unsteady hand. “Don’t call me that. You’re no daughter of mine.”

  Hot tears of guilt streamed down her cheeks. He was her Pops. Tex too. But Pops. He was always her father, even if she didn’t call him that. “I want to explain.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” The end of his cigarette glowed red as ash shook free. Smoke drifted out his nostrils. “You know that. I know that. There’re rules.”

  She’d always known. But she’d thought it wouldn’t hurt because dying didn’t matter. The disappointment was unexpected though. Her bottom lip quivered.

  She shouldn’t cry and couldn’t look beyond the top of his leather-covered shoulder. His tattoos mapped the history of his sacrifice for the club. Everything he’d done, he’d dedicated to Mayhem. Tex knew nothing but Mayhem. “What are you going to do?”

  “You stole from us.” His head shook.

  Her question was stupid to even ask. There was only one answer. Betraying the club was a crime punishable by death.

  He’d saved her, brought her into the Mayhem family, and this was how she repaid them. Maybe Tex was going to kill her too. He would be the type to feel responsible. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “Eyes up when you speak to me,” he ordered.

  Defeated tears blurred her vision, and she wiped them away, knowing sobs would make this worse. “I never wanted to disappoint you.”

  “You did.”

  “I know.” Adelia choked. “I’m sorry.”

  She wanted to thank him for the life he’d given to her, the years of freedom she’d had, and the years more she’d given to
others.

  Vivid reminders of Colin surfaced, and she wanted to thank Tex for a life long enough to meet a man who could make her feel like her life might have more than a singular purpose.

  She drew in a deep breath, trying to calm her mind and find meaning in the moments she had left.

  “Sorry’s not going to do shit for you when they’re all coming for you.” He rubbed his exhausted, glassy eyes. “I should kill you.”

  “I know.” Her legs trembled as fear and respect held her in place. “I just wanted others to have the chance you gave me.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Every muscled ached with tight she tensed. Time ticked too slowly, too painfully. Execution was terrifying, cruel. And she didn’t want to die.

  “Get the fuck out of here.”

  Her chin jolted up. Her eyes flew open. “Wh-What?”

  Tex spat on the ground, stomping an old cigarette butt as he ignored her, grinding the tobacco into the ground next to Ethan. “Get gone, Adelia. Disappear.”

  “Pops…”

  “Ethan emailed me and Hawke, couple others, before he came in here to see me. Mayhem’s coming for you, and I can’t stop ’em.”

  A desperate need to hug and cry overwhelmed her. She couldn’t breathe—couldn’t see past the loneliness. But he’d let her live. He’d betrayed the MC. It was the ultimate act of love, one that maybe she didn’t deserve and that no one might understand. Aching for what she couldn’t have, her father, her future, the girls they were saving, the friends she’d made a life with, Adelia breathed in the strength that Tex taught her she had from the first day he’d found her and forced herself to run out the compound for the last time.