Page 7 of Sean Collins

S.C.’s eyebrows rise. I don’t think this is the reaction he was expecting from me; he seems to expect me to bolt the minute I notice his presence. It’s evident in the way he is poised to pounce if I move the wrong way.

“You aren’t going to try to run?” he asks.

I shake my head slowly. "This is actually quite nice because I have some questions to ask you."

The look of astonishment on his face makes me grin. I am not what he expected, indeed. I love to throw people off, and S.C. is no exception.

“I hear that you had a little trouble with a local judge and the Russian mafia? Can you tell me a little about that?”

S.C. leans back with a stony expression on his face. "What, are you a reporter or something?"

I tap my lips with a finger and smile at him. "Or something. From my intel, you have been cleaning up this town and going straight." I lean across the table and reduce the distance between us. "Tell me, is that some kind of trick? Do the people of Truth and Consequences just cover for you because you treat them decent, and they don't want a group worse than you to come here?"

S.C. stares a hole in me, trying to intimidate me. His muscles bulge under his tight shirt, and I can see the hint of a tattoo peeking out of his collar. "We are really going straight – not that it is any of your business,” he utters grimly. “You stole from me, and now you have the gall to sit here and pepper me with all of these questions? Aren't you scared I am going to scoop you off that chair and carry you out of here, put you in a little room, and let my guys have their way with you before dumping you in a ditch? If I have this town on lockdown like you say, no one will look twice or care if you scream."

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of my throat at his words. "S.C., you don't scare me. I see right through your bluster; you would not hurt a woman."

His lips twitch a bit, but the rest of his face remains stoic. I notice that he has deflected most of my questions, and that's alright for now. He has no idea how persistent I can be when I am after something, especially when it comes to any information about my parents.

S.C. leans forward and gives me a smoldering look designed to make me quake in my boots. It doesn’t work because I have him figured out. From the reports and the way that he has treated me so far, he is a marshmallow deep inside. S.C. might be tough on the outside – and there is no doubt in my mind that he has already killed someone – he is putty when it comes to women and children.

"You don't know me or what I am capable of, so you better be careful what you ask for." His voice resembles a growl that makes my lady bits pay attention. Somewhere in my head, I register how strange it is to be turned on by his threat. But the feeling is there, telling me that there is no way he would hurt me, that I am safe from him. I really want to believe that his motorcycle club had nothing to do with my parent's death. He would have been just a teenager at the time it happened, but as I learned first-hand, even teens could do horrific things.

In all fairness, I know that S.C. didn’t pull the trigger on that fateful night. They all had Russian accents so thick you could have cut them with a knife. Still, we can sit here all day until I get the answers I need.

Chapter Ten

Sean

What the hell is wrong with this woman? First, she breaks into my businesses and robs me blind. Then, she rifles through my documents and interrogates me in my own town. None of my intimidation tactics work on her either. Still, a part of me loves that she is standing up to me and that she can meet me stare for stare, growl for growl.

"Pick a question, sweetheart, and I will answer it. Just one," I concede, crossing my legs.

Her eyes narrow at me as if trying to see what kind of trick I am playing.

That makes me smirk. "No trick, sweetheart. Pick one out of your dozens of questions, and I will answer it.”

Finally, she sighs. "Why are you taking the club towards the righteous path?"

I raise my eyebrows. Of all the things I thought she would ask, that is not what I would have thought she would choose. But I gave her my word, so I try explaining it to her. "At first, it was because we are getting old and tired of spending our time dodging the cops, dealing with lowlife drug dealers, and fighting. Then, the guys started finding their women and settling down. Not one of us wants to worry about some asshole breaking into the house in the middle of the night and killing our families, so we are going straight before it’s too late. Don't get me wrong; the women in this club are strong and will undoubtedly put up a hell of a fight, but it's hard to fight a bullet in your brain."

Something flashes across her face. "Sometimes, it doesn't matter if you are straight or not. The monsters come for you anyway," she replies knowingly.

I let that comment go for now, but if she thinks that is the last time we are going to talk about that, she has another thing coming.

She continues, “How do you make all that money if you are going straight? I know that what I took was nothing for you, based on the brand-new bikes and gleaming trucks parked in front of your bar."

I sigh. "We make our money through legit businesses. We have an expert financial manager, and I don't care if you believe that or not. It has been an uphill battle to go clean. Our suppliers don't want to lose a valuable client; other clubs perceive us as weak because we have taken this path. We haven't had a moment's peace since we made that decision. Not to mention, we have this town to protect from our enemies. With all the other clubs gunning for us, that has become a full-time job. I have guys patrolling Truth and Consequences 24/7, making sure that the residents and businesses are safe. When a Steel King makes a promise, we keep it."

She opens her mouth to respond, but I hold my hand up. “Now, sweetheart, I have answered your question. I have a few of my own,” I say.

She just nods, although it is apparent that she is itching to throw more questions at me.

" What is your real name? Why did you steal from us? What are your plans for my money? Can you at least give me the guns back? They have been in my family for generations,” I utter without a pause.

The woman stares at me, her arms crossed over her chest. After some time, she straightens in her chair. “My name is Elora Northwood. I stole from you because I like the thrill. You can decide for yourself if it is real; meanwhile, my plans for the money are none of your business. If you are really as straight as you claim, I will have no problem giving your heirlooms back."

I chuckle. All her answers are vague; all it did was make me itch for more information about her. The more time I spend with her, the more intrigued I become.

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