Page 64 of The Keeper

Mercy that I would deny again and again.

I’d never gotten off on torture like some of the other men in the club did. But the thought of hunting down the person responsible for hurting Piper and slowly carving his body into little chunks left my heart pounding with a dark excitement.

“Baby, look at me.” I crouched in front of her, my hands hovering uncertainly over her thighs. “Need you to tell me what happened.”

Piper’s breath hitched, her gaze distant as she relived the nightmare. “It was just after four, and I was prepping the pastry dough.”

She described the robbery in halting fragments—two masked men storming the kitchen, a gun pressed to her temple as they forced her to open the safe.

“I did what they wanted. I thought they’d leave once they had the cash, but the taller man—he said he wanted to send you a message. The other guy said they were just supposed to scare me.”

Ice flooded my veins. It sounded as if the entire thing had been orchestrated solely to get to her, but why? Why go after her at all if it was me they wanted?

“He—he tore my coat and put the gun on my…” Piper’s voice trailed off, and she curled in on herself, fresh tears spilling over onto her cheeks.

The air left my lungs in a growl that was more animal than human. My hands clenched into fists, knuckles blanching at the thought of anyone putting their hands on her.

“I thought he was going to kill me, so I tried to fight back,” she continued, her hand unconsciously moving to her bruised cheek. “But he hit me. Said you wouldn’t be able to put me back together once he was done with me.”

My vision tunneled, rage building like a tsunami in my chest. I wanted to tear the room apart—to hunt down everyone involved and rip their throats out with my bare hands. My nostrils flared, the need to send someone to the Reaper threatening to consume me.

But she needed me calm. I pushed the fury back down, letting it simmer until the time when I’d have them on their knees.

“Did he…?” I choked on the word, unable to bring myself to say it.

“Derek showed up and shot the guy before he—before he—” Piper gulped in a breath of air before releasing a strangled sob.

Doing my best to avoid aggravating the injuries I could see, I pulled her onto my lap on the floor, holding her while she fell apart. She hadn’t been raped, but it was little consolation. Cold sweat randown my back as I tried to piece it together, racking my brain for anything that might point to the people responsible.

Our enemies wouldn’t take a piss in our territory without getting permission first, and an attack on an Ol’ Lady was tantamount to a declaration of war. If a rival club were looking to send a message and start another war, they’d go after a ranking officer.

But Piper wasn’t my Ol’ Lady, at least not in an official sense. And that wasn’t the only thing that didn’t add up for me. Aside from GQ, Duke, a handful of the Dallas chapter guys, and our president, Bear, no one knew Piper existed.

“Baby, these men, were they wearing colors?” I prodded gently.

She tilted her head to the side, lips pursed in confusion. “Colors?”

“Kuttes, darlin’. Leather vests with patches,” I clarified, my fingers absentmindedly stroking her hair.

“No, they were wearing all black,” she replied, hiccupping through a ragged breath. “Their faces were covered with those ski mask things. I could only see their eyes.”

I nodded, filing the information away. No colors meant it likely wasn’t a rival MC, but the person had used my road name and made the connection to Piper.

Son of a bitch.

A vein in my forehead pulsed, but I tried to keep my tone calm as I asked, “Why was Derek there so early?”

Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to remember. “One of the afternoon girls quit. He said he was coming in early to rework the schedule.”

“Awfully convenient,” I muttered.

Piper studied my face with a frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I sighed, knowing she wouldn’t like what I had to say. “The whole thing reeks of bullshit. Two guys happen to know you’re connected to the club, and Derek just happens to show up at the perfect moment?”

“What are you saying? That Derek’s behind this—that he’s trying to, what? Set you up?” Her voice rose an octave, disbelief clear in her tone.

“All I’m saying is it’s a hell of a coincidence,” I replied, holding her gaze. “And in my experience, there’s no such thing as coincidences.”

---