Page 21 of Never Wed an Outlaw

My heart went wild, banging against my ribs. I peaked around the corner, pressing the phone to my ear, wondering if he already had his men outside. They could've been waiting for the faintest signal to come crashing through the window and slash my throat.

“Dom, that's a little paranoid, don't you think?” I asked, trying to sound sweet instead of petrified. “What reason would I possibly have for going to the police? I'd lose out on my money, my house, probably wind up in a jail cellright next to you. Besides, my brother's in the Deadly Pistols, and working with cops isn't really in our makeup.”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Shut up, you lying fucking cunt. I'll have my boys run a check on every fucking file you've sent, every text, every voice mail over the past couple months. If I see anything suspicious – anything at all – you're coming cross country for another face-to-face. Don't bother flying, we'll send somebody for you, and it'll be a one way trip.”

“Go ahead, do it, if it'll make you feel better,” I whispered, like a woman trying to tame a lion preparing to pounce. “I've got nothing to hide. If anything, I'm trying to work with you, figure out how we can hide the routing junk in the app so neither of us gets busted.”

“That's your goddamned problem,” he growled. “You think we loaned you several mil just so you could drop the fucking ball when you got your pretty little head into some coding quagmire you couldn't handle? You oughta be working your little fingers to the bone instead of jerking off those biker fucks you call family. If you don't, every single one of them is dead, and you'll wish you were by the time we get done with you.”

I stood like stone, desperately searching for my happy place. Anything to send my psyche somewhere else before he reduced me to a sobbing, whimpering mess.

“Stop fucking crying. Tell me you'll fix this, peach. Tell me you know exactly what we're doing, and that we didn't make a big mistake wasting all this time, thinking you'd pay us back. If we're not getting our money, we'd might as wellsettle this shit now, the hard way.”

“I'm on it, Dom. I promise. Whatever it takes. Just...please. Have your team look things over. If they have a better fix than I do, you know I'll put it in. I'll get it right. I'll keep anybody who shouldn't be looking off both our asses, just like we agreed.”

“Yeah, Hannah. Just like that. You've got three days, and not an hour more.”

By the time I realize he killed the call, I'd dropped to my knees. I hovered over the floor, tears splashing the handcrafted tile, lovingly installed to complete my home after I hit my first quarter million week in revenue.

No denying it anymore. I hated this house, this fucking prison, a fancy cell I'd built for myself with the finest materials.

That little trailer Huck and me grew up in didn't seem half bad compared to this. The neighborhood meth creeps never fucked with our place as long as we flew the Pistols flag. And I never needed to install several locks on my bedroom door, a tiny deterrent that still wouldn't be enough to stop them from killing me in my sleep if they really wanted to.

Hell, I'd probably count myself lucky if they did. Dom's style was never quiet. I doubted he understood, much less respected, the fact that I was trying to save both of us from somebody with an eye for app development and an ear to the Feds from noticing a whole lot of damning transactions.

How many weeks had I worked on the fix? It had to be a solid month, except for four days where I wiped my eyesto go to a computer conference in Florida.

Now, I was back in my jail, wishing I could throw my trusty laptop on the counter straight off the deck and into the gardens below.

Knowing I had a few days wasn't going to make me feel better. I couldn't work with so much venom in my system. Fear, hate, and disappointment turned me into a fucking zombie, not a genius.

Wiping my red, angry eyes on my sleeve, I bent down and looked at my phone. I rolled through my contacts, debating whether or not I wanted to bother Huck or Cora. Talking about the baby on the way added a smile to my stressed-to-hell face.

No, not today. They didn't need to hear me breakdown when they told me about a beautiful little niece I might never live to see.

There was another number on my contacts, staring me in the face. Maybe it was finally time to take Dusty up on what he'd said the last time we'd spoken, when he let me off here after that unbelievably tense night in Georgia.

If you're ever in a bind again...

His words stuck in my head, one of the few promises any man had ever made me, that I knew wouldn't be broken.

A simple bind didn't begin to describe this slavery. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to tip him off just yet because it would put the club in serious peril.

Still, if that man did nothing else, he'd make me feel better. And right now, feeling like I wasn't about to die counted a whole hell of a lot.

“Hannah? It's been awhile,”he growled, as soon as the phone connected. “Too fuckin' long, darlin'.”

“Yeah.” So long I had to stop myself from spilling my soul through the phone. “Come over,” I told him.

“The fuck? Are you in trouble, woman? Tell me.”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Dusty.” I sighed after a long, tense pause. Another lie. “I want to catch up. I need you.”

“Give me ten.” All he said before the phone clicked dead.

I waited on the ivory painted bench outside my front door, looking across the fireflies dancing in the evening darkness. It wasn't even ten minutes when I heard a motorcycle rumbling just past the front gate.

I punched the code next to my front door to let him in, standing in the doorway while he approached, bringing his Harley and his gorgeous self to my doorstep like it was the most natural thing in the world.

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