Page 3 of Welker

“Yeah. That one.” She didn’t prevaricate. “Tormentor went down, sentenced to ten years for grand larceny, but his next available lieutenant—the bastard who should just be gleeful over not getting caught, and over his pending, elevated status to president—decided he needed to make an example out of me for my part in busting up their little gig.”

The gig wasn’t really little at all. Moira had dug deep for the better part of six months, and found that the MC was making use of the off-season to break into empty mansions in Bar Harbor. They’d strip them of everything they could carry away, including all the copper plumbing and wiring in the walls, leaving nothing but destruction behind. The bastards.

Moira had broken the case open while posing as housekeeping for several estates, surveilling the ring and subsequently gathering enough evidence to put a number of the MC members behind bars; the highest profile one being Tormentor, today.

“Which means?”

Moira could hear the impatience in Mason’s voice, and got right to the point. “They broke into my house a little while ago, and are currently destroying the place.”

“Where are you?” he barked.

“On the roof, waiting for Welker. He says he’s coming in with sirens blaring, so he’ll either scare them away, or…” She trailed off and shrugged, even though Mason couldn’t see it. He’d know what she was saying.

“Or get his ass shot,” Mason finished up with a growl. “I’m calling the team. I assume you’re still on the line with Welk?”

“I am,” Moira answered, snorting at the sound of furniture below being smashed. Oooh. Big, tough men. Her stuff was the cheapest box-store shit available, so the particle board construction wasn’t putting up much of a fight.

“Tell him not to engage,” Mason ordered. “He’s to stand by until we get there unless you alert him that you need immediate assistance.”

Moira sighed. “That’s going to go over well.”

“You want me to call him, instead?” Mason was clearly on the move.

“No. I’ll take care of it. See you soon.”

“You will Moira, and stay safe.”

She disconnected, then relinked with Welker. “Mason and the team are on their way,” she told him without preamble. “And Mase says you’re to step down until they get here.”

“Not happening,” came the angry reply. “I’m not leaving you on the roof to get shot.”

Moira was doubting with every passing minute that getting killed was in the cards. “They’re too busy trashing my place to look for me outside my four walls. You’ll be in more danger driving up to confront them.”

“You let me worry about that,” Welker grunted.

“And when Mason demotes your ass?” she leaned into her argument, pissed at herself now for calling him when she’d known he would fly to her aid. What had she been thinking? Oh, yeah. That he was not only the closest member of her team to her location, but that she…trusted him to get her out of her jam.

Fuck. That realization didn’t sit well. Why him, when so much of what she knew about the man pointed to him being just as big of a philandering asshole as…? Nope. She wasn’t going there. In her current life, she tried to expend as few brain cells on her father as possible.

“I’ll handle Mason,” Welker snarled. “Just keep yourself hidden. I’m hanging up now, and coming in hot. You’ll probably hear my siren in the next minute or two.”

“It’s your funeral,” Moira grumbled, also disconnecting, but if Welk thought she was going to let him take all the heat of the MC entirely upon himself, he was delusional. That’s what teams were for, right? Having each other’s backs? That’s all that was motivating her, she told herself sharply.

Moira inched away from her chimney hidey-hole, edging back to the front lip of her roof where she had a view of her entire front yard and walkway.

She took a few, calming breaths, seeing a bunch of her shit having been tossed out of her house and onto the lawn. The assholes would pay. She’d make sure of that. Just not right now, with Welker putting his tight, provocative glutes on the line.

In a matter of seconds, she heard the low wail of a siren to the east. The sound grew exponentially louder, and she heard a cessation of the destruction going on in her house.

“What the fuck?” someone from within, swore. “Who would have called the cops? There’s nobody else living on this shitty dirt road.”

“The bitch must be hiding somewhere,” another angry voice declared. “We have five minutes before we ride. Find her.”

CHAPTER TWO

Welker was uncustomarily nervous. And wasn’t that a bitch. Normally when on a call-out, no matter the circumstances, he was cool and decisive. The things that happened here in Maine were never, even remotely, as intense as the majority of his SEAL deployments, and since opting out of the service, he’d always been able to keep any concerns he might have during a job, compartmentalized.

But this, with Moira, felt…personal.

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