Page 9 of Legacy

“I’ll show you to your room.” Jesse grabs a water bottle and walks out of the kitchen, once again not asking me to follow, even if I do it anyway.

“You can stay here.” He pauses at a door at the end of the hall and sets my suitcase just inside. “There’s a bed and a private bathroom. Margaret keeps it stocked with soap and fancy shit, so you should have everything you need.”

“Fancy shit?”

“Yeah.” He digs his fingers into his hair, avoiding my gaze. “Conditioner, lotion that smells like flowers. Fancy shit. You know what I mean. We’ll head to the airport in the morning.”

He shoves the water bottle at me, and I take it.

“Thanks—” The word is barely out before Jesse brushes past me, leaving me standing in the doorway to the guest room, speechless.

Noyou’re welcome.

Nogoodnight.

Nothing.

I don’t know how Margaret has worked for him for so long or why he’s nothing like she described. But I guess that will be a question for her in the morning.

Stepping into the guest room, I shut the door and lean my back against it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying not to think about how badly Jesse wants me to leave. How little he wants my help.

Especially when I need to convince him otherwise.

You can do this.

I take a deep breath.

After all, I have no choice. Jesse might be a jerk, but I can’t go back to Arizona. And if there’s one good thing about a ruthless man, it’s that maybe he’ll protect me from the one I’m running from.

3

Legacy

Throbbing starts between mytemples the second my eyes peel open. A rogue beam of sunlight blinds me through the windows, and my heartbeat echoes in my head. For a second, I think I’m hungover, but then I remember I barely made it through my second beer last night before a honey-blonde tornado whirled through the clubhouse.

Reagan Brady.

The moment I left her in the guest room last night, I had Ghost run everything from a credit to a background check on her. The few things she told me checked out. Her relation to Margaret, the fact that she was a secretary at an elementary school in Glendale, Arizona last year. Her records are spotless—not so much as one past-due payment on a credit card.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something I’m missing. It doesn’t make sense for atwenty-one-year-old girl to just show up at a biker compound and offer to help take care of a five-year-old.

Not when everything about her life in Glendale seems perfectly fitting for a girl like her.

There’s opportunity.

A future.

A better survival rate.

Swiping my palm down my face, I close my eyes and wish I could go back to sleep. I shouldn’t even be in this bed right now. The whole plan last night was to wake up in my room at the clubhouse with a woman beside me—this tension no longer running through my system.

Reagan threw that thought out the window.

A smart man would have dropped her off at a hotel like she offered. I’m still not sure what I was thinking bringing her to my house. Except that when I considered taking her anywhere else, it didn’t sit right.

Downstairs, I hear dishes clattering, telling me she’s awake and making herself right at home.

This is Bea’s home—Margaret’s home.

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