There was also a huge basement that was not a torture chamber, but a ‘safe room’ that was fully carpeted, with sofas, bathrooms and a small kitchenette. These guys obviously didn’t fuck around.
But when I looked around at the small children, at the women who loved each other like sisters, at the family here, I understood why the men didn’t fuck around. Why they didn’t hesitate in riding off without guarantee of coming home.
I got it.
I also met another woman, Lizzie, who had more adorable kids, was also beautiful, but older and had been around the club longer than even Gwen. Her and Evie were some of the longest serving Old Ladies. Both of them were calm, serene, faces not unlike those serving in battles I’d been a part of all over the world.
Well, Evie’s version of serene was to yell at people for not cleaning up after themselves, but it worked.
The meet was at noon. Liam had not told me this because I didn’t have the courage to ask. Me. I didn’t have the courage to ask the fricking question. Scarlett told me. Because hard as she may be, she sensed softness in others.
Sometime after eleven, the doors opened, and Mia stopped trying to keep her little boys from shaving each other’s heads with the disposable razors they’d found. She was not happy at the beautiful woman walking through the door.
I recognized her, despite the fact I shunned most popular culture. It wasn’t exactly great for a reporter to be ignorant of the happenings in contemporary society, but I was a conflict journalist, my career didn’t hinge on which Kardashian got a new husband this week.
That was all soft news for people that needed to be comforted, who needed a mental binge on the emotional version of mac and cheese.
Whereas I needed the hard stuff, to make sure I was never comfortable, always starving for comfort.
Jesus, I was so fucked up.
But in a biker compound, locked down with all the women I’d met in the past twenty-four hours, I’d say fucked up was a pretty relevant term.
Apparently, in the middle of this biker compound was a rock star.
Lexie Decesare was the lead singer of Unquiet Mind, one of the only popular bands I actually liked. Because they had real talent. They weren’t auto-tuned within an inch of their lives and they looked like real, down to earth people. Apart from Sam Kennedy. He was pretty much your quintessential asshole rock star. But even the way he did it was charming. Honest. And I recognized honesty more than anyone else. Their music meant something.
I didn’t listen to it for that exact reason.
Because it called up emotions. It was heartbreak in a melody. In a song that tugged at all those things I thought I’d tied up tight.
But I followed their career with interest.
And now, here was the lead singer, walking into the clubhouse, a baby perched on her hip and a hot guy to end all hot guys trailing her holding another baby.
I recognized him too. It was her husband, Killian. And the head of her security detail.
Another hot as shit guy who looked at his woman as if he were terrified she might fall off the face of the earth.
“Lexie!” Mia demanded, her voice shrill as she rushed toward her daughter. “What in the flipping heck are you doing here?” she demanded, glaring at the woman who was only more beautiful than she seemed online. Which was an anomaly. Everyone ‘famous’ never looked better in person.
But she did.
Though looking at her mother, it wasn’t a surprise.
“I’m here because this is where I belong,” Lexie said calmly, putting an absolutely adorable little girl down who immediately ran into the rest of the gaggle of beautiful children playing in the common room, oblivious to everything around them.
I watched the children with the same empty womb feeling I’d had when I first met Macy’s boy. Every single one of them was adorable. And not every kid was adorable. It was just the truth. But it seems the Sons of Templar and their women bred well. Which wasn’t exactly a surprise.
I was overcome with pure and naked worry for these beautiful children. What ugliness would befall them today? Who would they lose?
I thought of my beautiful little nephew miles away, in a warm and lovely and most importantly, uncomplicated and safe home. Neither my sister nor my brother in law were going to get involved in an international war with a human trafficker.
But that didn’t guarantee him insulation from pain. My mom was a fricking school teacher and my dad ran a furniture business. Our home was happy. Safe.
And I still ended up here.
“You belong in a fortress in L.A. filled with security personnel and far away from here,” Mia snapped, putting her hand on her hip.