Page 13 of Ricochet

CHAPTER SEVEN

Everyone who was leaving for Jax and Seven’s bachelor/ette party from Mayhem’s compound had already left.Almost. The only straggler besides Adelia was the bride-to-be, who wouldn’t leave her side, which earned Adelia the title of most irresponsible bridesmaid—though the tardy party foul wasn’t entirely her fault. They’d gone back and forth, and Adelia threatened to tie Sevento the back of a Harley-Davidson dragster but relented when her best friend pointed out the ticking clock.

“You’re lucky it’s your special day,” Adelia grumbled.

“If I’d known how easy it’d be to get my way, I would’ve agreed to get married sooner.” Seven’s pink hair swept across her eyebrow bar, obscuring the mischief in her gaze. “Pretty dresses and you giving in easy.”

Adelia hummed asshe concentrated on the computer screen in front of her. “Are you watching?”

Seven poked her head out of Mayhem’s business office. “Yes, of course.”

“’Kay. Then we’ll get out here.”

“Relax.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She scrolled through the screens.

“They can only have so much fun without me.” Seven toyed with her tongue ring. “Even if Jax is there. I’m fifty percent the guest of honor.”

True enough.A bachelor/ette party could only start so much without her, and she’d throw a rare hissy-fit that only true Mayhem royalty could if anyone said that she was late to her event. Forget that she was the bride-to-be; Seven was Cullen Blackburn’s daughter. That mattered to more people and places in their world.

Adelia didn’t know how someone so sweet and caring could be Cullen’s daughter. But itdidn’t hurt that her best friend was a MC princess—even if her father, the founder of Mayhem, gave Adelia the shivers. He was one guy she didn’t mind spent more time behind federal bars than not, and neither did Seven.The asshole.

Adelia’s fingertips hovered over the keyboard. Each fingertip had a pulse. She’d made hundreds of bank account transfers over the years and funneled funds out of Mayhemwithout raising suspicion. But the risk was still there. If the Club’s treasurer cleaned up his messy accounting, there would be too many loose strings that had no answers.

“The seller is expecting the money,” Seven pointed out. “No one’s going to walk in.”

True. This was the least risky time they’d ever spent in Mayhem’s office with everyone at Seven’s party. “I know.”

Seven’s boot heelsclicked as she crossed the office, and her hand rested on Adelia’s shoulder, a reassurance that the same thing would happen as always. They’d remain anonymous buyers and use their faceless network of angels who’d sweep trafficked people into a better life. “I double checked right before Victoria did my makeup.” Seven squeezed Adelia’s shoulder. “We have our ladies ready for the incoming girls. Makethe purchase and be their savior.”

No one knew how to do this part like she did. “I love ya, Seven.” And with her best friend’s confidence, Adelia keyed in what she needed to access Mayhem’s bank accounts.

Mayhem had large sums of money in hundreds of bank accounts, though the clear majority of it was amassed in a few dozen bigger ones. On paper, their main source of income came from automotive-relatedbusinesses: car repairs, renovations, custom work, et cetera. But in reality, they bought and sold weapons. Since before she knew how Mayhem made their money, Adelia had been privy to sensitive information—like when they expected bursts of income. That was part of life as Tex raised her. He taught her how to shoot and fight, how to work with Mayhem as a productive part of the Club, andthe higher he climbed into leadership, the more she was brought into the fold.

Mayhem had a simple code: be loyal. Their consequences for failure were equally simple: death.

Stealing from Mayhem was a death sentence, one that she had already escaped long ago in Brazil when Adelia had been trafficked. Her father was a pimp and sold her—twice.

Ending up with Mayhem had been nothing but luck,and from the day they took her away, she’d lived on borrowed time, eventually figuring out why she’d evaded the sex trafficked life she’d been meant for and what she was going to do about it.This.Her wrists rested on the edge of the desk as her finger clicked the mouse, hopping from one account to the next, searching for the right bank account with the words she needed to see—pending transfer—andenough money to cover the purchase of new merchandise. “Almost there.”

Seven perched on the edge of the desk, and her leather skirt inched closer as she read over Adelia’s shoulder. “Check the Las Vegas chapter. They just had a big classic car show down there.”

“Legit money.” Adelia bit her lip and clicked into that account.Bingo.

The sum of money displayed in the bank account. Seven hoppedoff the desk, throwing her arms into the air. “Woot, woot. Our plans haven’t been spoiled yet, and I won’t even be noticeably late.”

“Thank you, Jesus.” Adelia made a wire transfer to finalize the purchase of the women she’d agreed to buy earlier and initiated bank transfers to cover her last transaction. “Let’s go.”

A burner phone pressed to Seven’s ear as she made the untraceable phone call,reading the wire confirmation number to the seller. They’d been a team for so many years that they flowed. Adelia did the procurement, funding, and rescue. Seven would help with calls and mobilizing the unnamed network of Mayhem’s old ladies across the country who would wordlessly help whoever they saved.

Clunk.

Adelia opened her eyes, not realizing she’d shut them, and stared at the burnerphone on the desk. Money would disappear the way it appeared, and women and girls would be saved when old ladies she didn’t know pretended to be the buyers of terrified women and naïve girls.

She’d seen the scene, sometimes much worse than others. The merchandise, as the women were called, was sweaty and exhausted, with curling hair that had frizzed into knots and straight hair that was nothingmore than tangles. Their clothes were dirty or rags, and they were packed into dank light-less boxes where the air was heavy and hot with the breath of too many people in too small of a space, speaking too many languages.

Seven’s eyes glistened as though she knew where Adelia’s mind went. “It’s done, hon. We’re good.”

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