Page 5 of Treachery

The man she loved, the man she’d fallen so hard for, had tricked her. He was a liar. A deceiver. He’d targeted her because he and his club wanted something from her. Something her brother took from them.

Money.

Once again, it came down to money. Money her brother apparently stole from someone associated with the Unchained MC. How could he be so stupid?

How couldshebe so stupid? It wasn’t the first time someone had befriended her, acted like they cared about her, because they wanted a hand in her wallet. It was the first time, however, that it wasn'thermoney they were after. But there wasn't really a difference, was there; James had still presented himself as someone who was interested in her, but what he was really after was cold, hard cash. For the first time in three years, she hated that Lady Luck had shined upon her, because she didn’t feel lucky, she felt cursed.

The MC wanted their money, they saw that she owned her house and had a newer car, and immediately assumed she had something to do with whatever the hell her brother had done. So, they sent in a sleeper, someone to seduce her, spy on her, violate her privacy, fuck her into compliance, and—once theylearned where her brother had hidden their money—he’d drop her, not giving a shit about the devastation he’d leave in his wake.

God, she had to get out there!

Pushing off the wall, she stumbled back toward the stairs, toLocust’sroom, and grabbed her purse and duffel bag, one she’d packed because she was so freaking excited to spend the day with her “boyfriend.” She internally sneered that word—it was a falsehood.

Locust—like hell would she use his real name again—and the Unchained wanted her brother, but she had no idea where he was. And, from the last time she’d heard from him, and he’d asked for money, she could assume he didn’t have their cash. More than likely, the casino had it.

What the hell am I going to do?

She didn’t have the club’s money, she didn’t know where her brother was, and?—

Nadia didn’t have time to think about it, she needed to leave, get home, change the locks on her doors—because like a too trusting fool, she’d given Locust a key—and then she’d curl into a ball, and die inside.

Then she’dfigure it the fuck out, just like she did every time life handed her grenades painted to look like lemons.

It took her six minutes to get back downstairs. Using her cell to order a Lyft, she hurried through the common room, thankful that Locust was nowhere in sight, and that the two men in the main room had disappeared.

Nadia ran from the Unchained MC clubhouse, praying she’d never had to step foot inside it again.

THREE

Locust stareddown at his cell and cursed.

No new texts.

Not a single call or response in five days.

Cursing again, he shoved the cell into his jeans pocket, and climbed back on his bike.

He and Cluster were on a two-day run to Pittsburgh that had taken an extra two days because their meeting with the steel fabricator had to be rescheduled due to the man having a family emergency. So, Locust and Cluster had been stuck with their thumbs up their asses for another two days. Cluster, the nasty fuck, spent those two days at the nearest dive bar, getting drunk, and fucking barflies. Thankfully, Locust had the forethought to get two rooms at the motel, because like fuck was he sharing with Cluster; the man was a walking pigsty, and he didn’t give a shit if you were in the room when he was fucking some random skank. The last thing Locust needed was an eyeful of Cluster’s hairy, white ass as he was pounding into some chick.

Especially since Locust didn’t have his own chick to fuck—not that the women hadn’t tried. That first night in Pittsburgh, he’d joined Cluster at Blaster’s, thinking he’d down a few beers, watch the Steelers game on the TV, and then head back to themotel—alone—to hit the hay once the road weariness finally hit. He’d texted Nadia, apologizing for leaving town so soon after the party, and telling her he’d be back by the end of the week. He’d been annoyed that she’d left his bed the morning after the party without so much as a fucking kiss goodbye, but he’d been so caught up in dealing with Cluster, and then meeting with Frost, that he hadn’t had time to think about it. They’d planned to spend the day together, and he’d been eager as fuck, too, but once he realized she was gone, he was already knee deep in club shit that needed handling. So, he’d texted her, telling her good morning and that he’d miss her that day.

She hadn’t texted back, hadn’t even read the message, but he’d been so busy, he hadn’t had time to think about it.

Now that he did, though…something wasn’t right.

And now, after four fucking days, they were headed home, and an hour into their journey back to Wilkes-Barre, he still hadn’t heard a goddamn thing from Nadia. The last time he’d seen her, she was naked, her creamy skin still flushed from their night of fucking, and she was asleep in his bed. By the time he’d made it back upstairs that next morning, the bed was empty, and she was gone, Tony at the gate telling him she’d jumped into a Lyft. Right after that, Locust had gotten the summons from Frost, and he’d been given the order to head out on the run.

It wasn’t like her not to respond to his texts, and it certainly wasn’t like her to not at least text him twice a day to just check in on him, tell him she loved him, or just share a link to some stupid fucking meme she thought was funny. Sometimes the memes made him laugh, more often than not, though, he’d just roll his eyes, ignoring the slight smile curving his lips.

She hadn’t texted or called in five days.

Another three and a half hours later—breaking speed limits, they pulled through the gates of the clubhouse, and Patriot and Tornado glanced at them from the side yard beside the mainbuilding. It looked like they were having an intense discussion, about what, Locust didn’t know and honestly didn’t care. He just wanted to get to Frost, give him the report, grab a shower, then go find his woman.

Heading into the clubhouse, he ignored the “come hither” looks from Kiki, a clubwhore, and continued across the common room and toward Frost’s office. Knocking on the door, he waited until he heard, “Fuck, come in—shit!” from the other side.

Opening the door, Locust paused at the sight of his prez inspecting a pair of glasses; one of the lenses was cracked, and the frame was twisted. It wasn’t unusual to see Frost in glasses; the man was pushing forty-five, and hadn’t been all that nice to his body in the last few years—but it was the first time Locust had seen such a disgusted look on his prez’s face.

“Mad about something?” Locust asked, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him.

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