Page 58 of Kneeling to Candy

He frowns but nods. “I had a feeling you’d swing this way. Already told the crew you seemed willing. I don’t like it, but I won’t stop you. They’re waiting for us whenever you’re ready.”

“Lead the way.”

With his hand in mine, we walk to Atlas’s office and knock on the door.

“Come in,” Atlas’s baritone voice rumbles through the heavy wood door.

We enter the office, finding him, Gauge, and Piero sitting around his desk, waiting for me.

Atlas’s hard dark eyes soften seeing me. Gauge looks broody as usual, perhaps a little more than his average. And Piero examines me with curiosity, cocking his head as he takes me in.

Gauge gets up from his chair, offering it to me. He gives me a tight smile as I take the seat before he moves to stand behind Atlas’s chair.

Butch stands close behind me, laying a comforting hand on my shoulder. Having him with me through this process will make anything they ask me bearable.

Atlas folds his hands on his desk and gets right to it. “We appreciate you doing this, Candy. I’m glad Butch talked to you about how instrumental any of your intel may be to our investigation. Anything you share could be the break we need.”

I give a curt nod. “I’ll share what I know.”

“Only share what you feel comfortable with,” Gauge pipes in with a stern voice, eyeing the rest of the men in the room in challenge. “Your comfort comes first. If you need breaks, take them. If you need to stop altogether, then say enough. You control this, okay?”

The VP’s concern is touching. Not so long ago, Gauge was an ass who used me to hurt his now wife—for stupid reasons, of course. He selfishly put his needs first before considering the ramifications for me. His actions caused a lot of unnecessary tension between me and the rest of the MC. And although he’s apologized profusely to me and told the rest of the club it was his fault, it didn’t make up for what he put me through. He seemed to know it, too.

However, the VP has learned from his mistakes and is a better man for it. Gauge has my back today, and his actions are showing how sorry he is for what he did to me back then. I appreciate having him in my corner, especially when I have no idea how in depth this questioning will go.

“Christ almighty,” Piero groans in his thick accent. “We’re not grilling her like an interrogation, Gauge. Stop acting like we’re the bad guys for asking questions.”

“And you know shit-all about what your cousin put her through,” Gauge snaps back at the don. “You don’t get to determine what is or what is not intrusive questioning—she does.”

“Enough,” Atlas orders, bring the bickering men to heel. “Fighting amongst ourselves does nothing to help our current predicament. The clock is ticking. Each second wasted is another second of hell for these missing women. Let’s get to work.”

The room falls silent, understanding what’s at stake.

Atlas hits a button on his computer. “We good on your end, Chase?”

“Ready when you are,” Chase drawls, his husky voice filtering through the speaker.

“The rest of the crew is listening in from the tech cave,” Butch informs me. “They may ask questions, too. We thought keeping the people present at a minimum during questioning may be easier.”

“Okay,” I say, my voice shaky.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” Gauge says to reassure me. “You’re safe here.”

I nod in understanding, but I remain nervous. Needing something to anchor me, I grab Butch’s hand on my shoulder, clutching it. He squeezes me back.

Atlas clears his throat, getting right to business. He hits another button on his computer, possibly recording our discussion, like he does when questioning anyone. “State your legal name.”

“Leslie Williams.”

“How did you meet Lorenzo Bianchi?”

“I was working my corner along East Colfax in Denver, Colorado, when a yellow Lamborghini rolled up curbside. It was Lorenzo Bianchi. I didn’t know who he was at the time, assuming he was another paying client looking for a quick fuck, like any other businessman I serviced. I climbed into his car, excited I’d landed a high-paying client. He took us back to his office above his restaurant and asked me to show him what I could do.”

Behind me, Butch mutters a curse. I pat his hand, trying to soothe him. It can’t be easy hearing the woman you care about talking about servicing another man from the past. He’s never judged me for my history, and he hates that my choice was taken away from me, forcing me into a sex slave ring.

“Don’t worry about me, Candy,” he whispers in a terse voice. “I’m not upset with you. I’m only angry I wasn’t there to stop this all from happening.”

Hearing him openly support and not judge me means a lot. I continue.

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