Page 87 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

I give her a tired look. “I’m queasy, Ellie. I doubt I can keep any food down.”

“A slice of toast at least?”

“I can try.”

I sound downright defeated. Then again, I’m in a terrible spot. The clubhouse isn’t safe anymore, and I know it’s killing the guys. Ellie’s place is fine for now, but I doubt there’s enough Rider manpower to keep Calvin and Marlo from getting to me if they really want to.

I keep waiting for my worst nightmare to come true. I’ve already seen a preview of it yesterday when the guys were taken away in cuffs.

Ellie’s voice echoes from the kitchen. She’s on the phone. “…Spalding’s investigation...”

I hear a bit of what she’s saying, and my interest is suddenly piqued. Without thinking, I get up from the sofa and tiptoe down the hallway toward the kitchen door. I hold my breath and keep out of sight, listening.

“I don’t really care, Jack. He wasn’t supposed to do that… Well, find out. I’ve got my own thing going… Yeah, sanctioned accordingly. So who gave that asshole the green light to do it?”

Silence.

Footsteps.

Oh, shit.

I move away from the door and run back into the living room.

“Are you okay, Robyn?” Ellie calls out.

“Yeah, just sitting here,” I say aloud, my mind reeling.

“I’ll be with you in a sec. I’m on the phone with my uncle from Detroit, family drama.”

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” I reply.

It’s the truth. I’m not going anywhere. A shitstorm is unraveling across Redwood, and I’m trying not to get dirty. My daughter deserves safety and so does my unborn child. My heart aches as I think about Diesel, Jagger, and Knox. I worry about them. I want to see them again.

And what the hell was Ellie talking about?

My phone pings. A text from Samson.

Meeting with club lawyer at Nyla’s Diner in 1hr. Can you come?

I immediately text back with shaky fingers. Yeah.

Take Ellie’s car, not yours. Keep a low profile.

Ellie returns to the living room with a steaming mug and a single slice of toast on a plate for me. “Here we go. You need to keep your strength up, girl.”

“Thank you; you’re too kind, Ellie,” I say and put the phone down, taking the tea and plate instead. To my relief, I manage to eat the whole slice, washing it down with a lemony jasmine tea. I can’t shake the thought that something else is going on, something I can’t see. What exactly was she talking about on the phone?

“Feel a little better at least? Still queasy?” she asks.

“Not as bad as earlier,” I say. “Thank you so much for everything.”

“All I did was put the kettle on and toast a slice of bread.”

“You said you’ve got family drama going on in Detroit?” I ask, carefully analyzing her expression.

Her gaze drops for a moment, hands clasped atop her knees. She nods slowly. “Yeah. Nothing pleasant or worthy of sharing; trust me. Just someone getting involved in something they shouldn’t. But we’ll get it straightened out. We always do.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Families can be complicated.”

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