Page 67 of The Keeper

“I don’t want to be scared,” she said, catching my hand as I slipped one of my T-shirts over her head. The dark bruises on her skin stood out in stark contrast to the pale blue fabric, each one a reminder of how I’d failed to protect her.

“You’re scared?”

She mashed her lips together before nodding. “Not of you, exactly. But of what being with you means.”

I knelt in front of Piper, taking her hands in mine. “Listen to me, baby. What happened today—that’s not normal. Not for me, not for the club. I know it’s scary as hell, but I swear to you, I’m going to find out who’s behind this and make it right.”

My old man often said that if you put enough people down, the others quickly learned their place. That bastard had signed his own death warrant the second he entered the bakery, and I was willing to flood the streets with blood to send a message to anyone stupid enough to think they could lay a finger on my family and get away with it.

TWENTY-ONE

GHOST

Ivy & Piper’s Guide to Life Rule Number Thirty-Two:

Always question the rules.

“You going to be able to keep your shit under control, or do you need to wait out here in the truck?” Carnage asked as we pulled into the bakery parking lot.

I shook my head at the irony of getting a lecture on control from the man who’d waltzed into the Crows’ territory five years ago and abducted a woman against club orders.

“That’s real fucking rich coming from the guy who lost his goddamned mind when his Ol’ Lady gave me a lap dance,” I drawled with a hard smile, dropping the visor to block out the sun glinting off the windshield of his truck. “She wasn’t even your Ol’ Lady then…just the stripper you drugged and chained up in your basement like a fucking serial killer.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth before shifting his neck from side to side. “Really? You want to go there right now? Because I’m more than happy to provide a repeat performance if you don’t watch your fucking mouth when it comes to my wife.”

A sane person wouldn’t try picking a fight with their boss and theclub’s Sergeant at Arms—a guy who was six-foot-six and built like a fucking tank—but I was craving a release. It had been two weeks since the robbery, and we didn’t have a single goddamned lead.

“Let’s just get this shit done,” I muttered, reaching for the door handle only to find it locked. “Seriously?”

He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back. “What’s your old man always saying, huh? Better to have the enemy thinking you’re weak while you come up with a strategy than to run in and get your fucking head blown off.”

I mashed my thumb against my knuckles, cracking them one by one. “And making this douchebag a client is your strategy? The guy who leaves notes and chocolates for Piper when she’s on the rag?”

“Unless you have video evidence, then yeah, that’s the fucking strategy,” Carnage bit out. “Why would you automatically assume Derek knows when her period is? Are they fucking?”

My jaw flexed at the thought, rage bubbling to the surface. “No. She said their relationship is strictly professional.”

He tilted his head down, his gray-blue eyes boring into me. “Then fucking drop it. Derek’s our best bet to finding out who’s behind this, so we do this by the book. No accusations, no threats. Got it?”

I nodded tersely, swallowing the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Going in guns blazing wouldn’t get us access to the security footage.

Carnage unlocked the doors, stopping me when I reached into the backseat for my kutte. “Leave it. We’re not here on club business.”

The bell chimed as we entered, but unlike my last visit, nobody gave me a passing glance. Then again, I wasn’t dressed like a biker. The scent of fresh-baked bread and cinnamon normally would have made my mouth water, but today, it just turned my stomach.

Staff bustled in and out of the double doors leading to the kitchen, refilling the glass display cases and taking orders, oblivious to the tension crackling through the air. Everything looked normal, but my skin crawled. The threat was here somewhere. I could feel it.

Derek materialized from the back, all fake smiles and nervous energy. “Let’s talk in my office.”

The sleek, modern furniture and chrome accents clashed with theretro vibe of the rest of the bakery. He settled behind his desk, gesturing for us to take the two leather chairs opposite him.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me so quickly,” he said, his fingers tapping out an erratic rhythm against the polished wood of his desk. “I’ve heard nothing but great things about Phoenix Security, and that’s why I’d like to hire you to investigate the robbery. The police have been completely useless, and I need someone who can get me answers.”

I made a conscious effort to unclench my jaw and forced a smile as I noted, “Funny, you seem pretty jumpy for a guy who claims to want answers.”

Before he could respond, Carnage’s boot connected with my shin under the desk. I bit back a curse and forced myself to lean back in the chair.

“What my associate means is that we understand how stressful this situation must be for you,” Carnage said smoothly, his eyes flashing with an unspoken warning for me to shut the fuck up. “Why don’t you walk us through everything you know.”

---