Although the sex last night had been consensual, filming it had not. She’s underage, and that’s probably how it would be marketed. The thought of how she’d been used makes me so angry, I hope Owen will appear. I can almost taste his fear and surprise when he finds me waiting for him. In my mind’s eye, I can already see him strung up in our brig, and Salem going to town on him.
All my brothers are of my way of thinking—none of us would allow a woman to come to harm. Kink may have peculiar tastes, but he’s so hung up on obtaining consent, no one could ever doubt what he puts his pets through has all been discussed and agreed to prior.
I sit on the couch, ruminating, running everything through in my head. Owen needs to be found and stopped, and Devon, while his part in the proceedings isn’t completely clear, there’s got to be someone behind the male model. The discreet cameras Alicia had described, and their positioning suggests they were placed by someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Would Owen know where to start with distribution? I doubt it, which means even if it’s not Devon, then someone else is behind him. It’s my job to find out who. Am I missing anything?
I trust my brothers to be doing the investigating while I’m here to provide protection. While I’d rather be doing something more positive right now, being here in case Owen makes contact again is just as important.
It’s in my role of protector that I cautiously approach the door when there’s another loud knock on it.
Mary appears, but I wave her back, looking through the peephole. When I see it’s a guy carrying pizza boxes. I open the door, take the delivery, exchanging the boxes for some dollar bills, adding a hefty tip in the process.
“You didn’t need to do that,” Mary admonishes, taking the pizzas from me as I replace my wallet in my cut.
I wave off her objection. When my stomach, sensing food, growls, she shakes her head and stops arguing, going to the kitchenette and taking some plates from a cupboard.
Unlike the evening when I ate here before, the conversation doesn’t flow easily. Alicia, predictably, is quiet. She eats mechanically without enjoyment, and my gut twists for her. Mary, too, seems lost for words. After we’ve eaten and Alicia’s taken the plates into the kitchen, she returns, stifling a yawn.
“I’m going to my room, Mom.”
“If you need me…”
“I know where you are.” Alicia permits her mom to hug her and place a kiss on her forehead.
To my surprise, Alicia comes over and puts her arms around me, resting her cheek against my chest for a moment.
“Thank you, Grumbler. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”
I hold her close and then release her. When she disappears down the hallway, I say softly, “She’s a good girl.”
Mary’s tight smile toward me confirms she knows it. “I doubt she got much sleep last night. She must be tired.”
I doubt she’ll get a good one tonight. Things like that tend to go around and around your head not allowing you to switch off. But I don’t point out the obvious to Mary.
“I was going to suggest you take her room, but…”
But she needs her familiar things around her to take the first step to restoring the balance in her life again.
“I’ll be fine here.” I indicate the tiny two-seater sofa.
“Don’t be silly, Grumbler. You take my bed and I’ll sleep out here.”
It’s still early, we don’t have to finalise the arrangements right now, but it doesn’t stop me smirking at her. “What is it about me being here as your protection that you don’t understand?” I point to the door. “Point of entry, darlin’. I’ll be out here as your first line of defence.”
She grimaces. “You really think there’s a chance he’ll come around?”
I shake my head in answer. “No, I don’t. But we can’t take the chance I’m wrong.”
“Want a beer?”
“Sure.” I take a seat on the couch, feeling that it dips one side more than the other, presumably the favourite seat in the house. It adds to the fact I’m facing an uncomfortable night for sure. My old bones are going to be complaining in the morning.
Carrying a bottle and a glass of white wine, Mary returns and takes the chair. She picks up the remote and points it toward the television.
“Er…?”
“Put anything on.” I’m easy. It will just be background noise while I listen to the thoughts in my head.
She clicks on Netflix and pulls up a series. Despite my intentions, it catches my interest, and I settle in to watch. Mary replenishes my beer halfway through the episode.
“Your prez and his old lady surprised me,” Mary says conversationally, when the action on the screen stalls. “Lost wasn’t what I expected as an MC prez.”
“Our last prez was more what you’d think of. Rough, ugly looking bastard with a snake tattoo winding around his neck. Lost came to the helm three years ago. He’s a good man and has got all our interests at heart. He’s got what it takes to command respect without demanding it, you know?”
“A natural leader?”
She’s summed it up well. “Yeah.”
“I always expected it to be young men who were in a MC. Youngsters tearing around on motorcycles and getting into trouble.”
“Us old-uns can do that well enough.” I chuckle.
“You’re not old, Grumbler.”
“Babe, I’m staring sixty in the face. I’m fifty-seven.”
“You don’t look it.” She sends me a glance that can only be described as
