Childhood friends were forbidden to come to her house because their parents were afraid of letting Brad and Tony around their children. Her teachers questioned her safety at home. High school counselors interrogated her, believing she was abused, both sexually and physically because of the people who frequented her home. There were rumors going around the town of an underaged girl being around bikers as if she was personally responsible for inviting the Moroad members to her house when they came to talk with her brothers.
Used to no one believing her, telling the truth no longer mattered to her. People would believe what they wanted, and she stopped fighting to be understood a long time ago. It was probably why she couldn't remember anything before the age of six years old. She'd told too many lies, creating a life for her that was opposite of what she'd lived.
So, if Brage wanted to question her. She was ready.
As if she conjured him into arriving by thinking about him, noise came from the other side of the door. She turned in the middle of the room. Tony wasn't around to help her. She was on her own.
The door opened. Brage filled the doorframe.
"Come on," he said.
She hurried out of the room, adrenaline filling her. He could keep his reasons for the shitty treatment and shove them up his ass. She was leaving.
He grabbed her arm and turned her from heading toward the stairs. "You should use the bathroom. Keep walking straight, take the turn, and it's the third door on your left."
She peered over the railing to the main floor of the clubhouse. There were Slag members downstairs, gathered in groups around the tables.
"I don't want to use the bathroom. I want to leave."
"That's not happening." He widened his stance and looked down.
She realized her mistake the moment he grabbed her wrist and took her phone. Upset over Tony not answering her call for help, she forgot to hide the cell in her pocket.
"Hey." She tried to snatch the phone from him and missed. He held her back with one arm, and she slapped out at him. "You can't take my phone. You can't keep me here. Have you lost your mind?"
"Ja, the moment I met you." He turned her around and gave her a nudge. "Go use the bathroom because I don't know when you'll have another chance."
She snuffed her gasp and glared at him. "I will fight you with my last breath. You're not holding me prisoner here."
"What were you doing with a Moroad member?" he said.
"What were you doing following me?"
"Answer the question."
She turned and walked away from him. He'd taken her phone and left her with nothing. Her purse was down in her Jeep with the keys still in the ignition.
Looking over her shoulder, finding him still standing where she'd left him, she went into the bathroom and hurried to pee. She'd do what he asked, put him at ease, and make a run down the stairway on the other side when she finished. Hopefully, she'd reach her Jeep before he could catch her.
She flushed the toilet, ran her hands under the faucet, and dried them off on her hips, then peeked through the crack in the door. Expecting Brage to be on the other side of the hallway, it took her a moment to realize she stared at the back of his leather vest.
He blocked her exit.
Heart pounding, she acted without thinking. Pushing him as hard as she could, she squeezed past him.
And, tripped on his boot.
Landing on her hands and knees, she cried out in pain. Breathing heavily, tears filled her vision. This couldn't be happening.
Chapter 10
Roar stood at the head of the table in the meeting room. Brage wanted nothing more than to end the talk between the officers of Slag Motorcycle Club. He understood the threat posed on them by having Dinah right under their nose.
He understood that if Dinah somehow gained the information they had as they pulled the groups being extorted by Moroad away from the other club, it could put all their lives at risk.
He understood that she couldn't have her freedom until they decided what they were going to do with her.
That's where the conflict came in because Slag Motorcycle Club wouldn't kill a woman. There were better ways to hurt someone.
In the past, when they wanted to make someone pay, they always hurt the person closest to their enemy—normally, a family member. For their enemy to know they caused the scarring, the pain, the traumatic experience, or the death of the person most important to them caused a lasting impression that would never go away. An agony they needed to live with for the rest of their life.
There was no greater punishment.
"We know we can't let her go because she'll run back to Idaho, and whether she has information that will compromise our plan or not, it's a sign of weakness on our part. Brage will remain in charge of overseeing she doesn't escape until we get more of an idea of what the hell is going on." Roar dumped a heavy sigh in the room. "Let's close this meeting."
Brage stood and walked toward the door when Roar called his name. He stepped out of the way of the others. When the room cleared, he looked to his president.
He and Roar had grown up together in the Slag Seattle Chapter. Only a year apart in age, they'd experienced all of life's stages together within an organized motorcycle club. The bonds were tight. They were family.
Roar pulled on the braid containing his beard. "I see what this is doing to you."
"I knew something was off the first night I met her at the party." His gut churned. "She slid onto the seat of my Harley like she'd done it a hundred times."
Roar grunted. "I hired her."
Damn women. Norwegians had a weakness for the prettier
