Page 56 of Jezebel's Liberation

It was a chore to complete everything in time, but I’m thrilled with how it turned out. Monitors line all four walls, and comfortable gaming chairs surround the table. Brand new encrypted computers with all the software I’ve developed andthe programs the others designed have been installed as well. Everything has top-notch security that no one but my hackers could possibly get into. Not even Fort and Lock have access or have any clue on how to hack in. Everyone starts filing in and taking their chairs, and I grin at the memory that surfaces of Possum asking why gaming chairs were necessary when the club already had enough chairs to accommodate my team.

“Have you ever watched a hacker work?” Phantom asks.

Possum nods. “Sure, I’ve seen Jez on her computer hundreds of times.”

“You’ve only ever seen the fruits of my labor, when I already have everything ready to show you,” I correct Possum. “You haven’t seen what leads up to that. Think of it like when you tattoo someone… You want to be comfortable, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“These chairs help with those fifteen to twenty-hour days,” I explain.

Possum blanches. “Fifteen to twenty hours? I thought you just whipped out your computer and typed some shit.”

Phantom smacks his back as he laughs at him. “Oh man, you have so much to learn.”

A throat clears, knocking me out of my trance. “Jez, we don’t have all day,” Soul growls.

I flip him off and move to the head of the table. It’s the seat normally reserved for the president, but this is my kingdom for the time being. Soul scoffed when he discovered he’d be in a chair lining the outside of the table like everyone else. He also wanted Fort and Lock to run backgrounds on everyone which I refused. I did that before I hired them. If I trust them enough to work for me, he needs to trust me that I’d never put anyone in the club in jeopardy.

“Keep talking, Soul,” I taunt. “You’ll find out exactly what skills I have, and I don’t mean just behind a keyboard.”

He waves me off. “Whatever, can we get to it? I have shit to do,” he says with no heat in his words.

Phantom sits on my right, and Diabla is on my left. I lift my chin to Diabla indicating for her to bring up the intel we collected on Ted McCormick. Every monitor lights up, and all the brothers turn to stare in awe as they take in everything we show them: Ted’s aliases, the way he’s changed his appearance through the years, the properties he’s had in his various names along the way, vehicles registered to him, and the police reports that were taken in Massachusetts and other various states before he dropped off the map. In short, it’s a lot of fucking information.

Malice whistles. “Fuck, you did all this, Jez?”

“Not all of it,” I admit with a smirk. “My team is the best.”

“Team?Sure,” Diabla says snidely. “Until someone decided to govigilanteand not informthe teamof what the fuck she was doing.”

“Diabla, that’s enough,” I chastise.

Diabla pushes away hard from the table, jumping to her feet. “The fuck it is, Jez. You think that because we’re all here playing nice for your biker family that we’re not pissed as hell at you.”

Everyone nods at Diabla’s confession.

“Glad we’re not the only ones pissed as hell at you,” Soul mutters.

I sigh and flop into my chair. “Look, I’m fucking sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I can’t keep apologizing over and over. I get that you’re angry, and I deserve it, but I was doing what needed to be done. I should’ve handled it differently, I admit that. I swear, though, there’s no more secrets. That’s why we’re here today.”

Diabla huffs and reluctantly sits back down. The tension in the room is palpable, but soon the chatter surrounding Ted resumes.

Possum strolls over to Diabla, placing his hands on her shoulders, and she stiffens under his touch for a split-second before spinning and popping out of her chair. She moves so quickly that no one clocks the knife she’s wielding until the tip of the blade is pressed under Possum’s chin.

“Don’t touch me,” she grits out.

Grim moves quietly to disarm her, but I shake my head and sign. “She won’t hurt him.”

“You sure?” he asks.

“No,” I admit with a shrug. “But I think if she wanted to cut him, she would’ve already done it.”

Possum raises his hands in surrender and grins down at Diabla not caring about the knife digging into his skin. “You’ve got a lot of pent-up rage, don’t ya? Maybe some tattoo therapy could help with that,” he suggests, and I don’t miss his flirty tone.

Diabla slowly removes the blade, and we all take a collective breath of relief.

“You offering?” she asks, jutting her chin.

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