“Oh God. The gym was full of people, are any…” My lips shook and trembled.

“Ninety percent were my people,” he said, unable to meet my gaze. “There are a couple scrapes and bruises, nothing major—we were prepared.” My mouth just hung open as I continued to let him pull me along with him. “They waiting for us out back?” He asked his friend who jogged next to us.

“Yeah.” He pushed the double doors open and they swung wide, slamming against the side of the building and causing me to jump.

There was a black BMW parked outside with its motor running. “Get in,” Deacon yelled at me as he swung open the back door to the car.

I froze for a second. He was the police. I thought he’d been my friend, but he had lied. I was angry, and I was scared. Thinking about the gun shots and the way the windows of the gym had shattered, and now I was running for my life—again.

I felt my body being lifted off the ground and stuffed in the backseat of the car, but my mind was in a haze. I didn’t fight. I just let Deacon maneuver me so he could climb in behind me and slam the door shut.

The ride was fast, Deacon kept a hand on my head, holding it down and out of sight. I’d finally gathered my thoughts and was ready to turn around and rip him a new one just as we stopped. I looked up, we were outside mine and Rose’s apartment.

“No one followed us. Let’s go inside,” he said, releasing his grip on me and sliding out of the car. I sat there. “Come on, Chelsea. We’ve got to go inside before they come around. We’re sitting ducks.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I sneered, pressing my back against the door like a caged animal. “Take me to the club,” I demanded, not knowing where else I could go, but knowing I would be safe there with the brothers.

“No doubt they’re already on their way, and you and I have shit to discuss before they barge in,” he told me earnestly, leaning in the door. I tried to push myself further away from him but the door behind me suddenly opened and I fell back. Someone hooked their hands under my arms and hefted me from the vehicle. I squirmed, trying to get free but they held tight, pulling me toward the staircase that lead to the front door. Deacon followed, his face serious and stern.

I finally found my feet at the top of the stairs. “Open the door, Chelsea.”

“Fuck you, Deacon,” I spat, folding my arms across my chest.

He sighed. “Gavin, open the door.”

I heard keys rustling behind me before the door swung open and Deacon herded me inside.

“You have keys to my apartment?” I gasped.

He shrugged, closing the door behind us and walking past me into our small kitchen. “I have a job to do, it was necessary.”

Gavin moved to stand in front of the doorway, blocking any exit I had. I stared him down. He was a good looking guy, broad shoulders, trim waist, tattoos that swirled up his arms and contradicted his fancy shirt. All he did was smile at me like he was enjoying this shit.

“Chelsea, we need to talk.”

I stormed into the kitchen, throwing open a cupboard, finding a large glass and filling it with water. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” I told him as I down the whole glass in practically one gulp. “Is that why you’re here? You think I’ll tell you shit about the club just because you helped me out,” I scoffed.

He planted both hands on the table and leaned in. “Right now, I don’t give a flying fuck about the club. I give a shit about you and the fact that you need to be safe.”

I laughed. “This is a joke. Take me to the clubhouse. I’ll be safe there.”

“I’m glad you find this so funny. Hanging out with the same club that killed your parents.”

My heart stopped and the glass fell from my hand, clattering into the sink.

“What the hell did you just say?”

He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed deeply. “This is not the way I wanted to have this conversation.”

“This is not a conversation. This here is bullshit because you’re wrong,” I said pointing an angry, shaking finger at him.

He shook his head. “You know what, I wish I were. But evidence points to exactly that.”

I glared at him. Not believing it for a minute. My parents weren’t bad people and the club never went after anyone unless they were a threat to their family. “Who are you?”

“Sit down, Chelsea,” he murmured, his posture now completely beginning to sag as he hung his head.

“I don’t—”

His hand slammed on the table. I flinched and stepped back. Even though the kitchen table was between us. Deacon wasn’t the man I thought he was. I wasn’t sure what he was capable of.

“Sit down...please.” I swallowed and pulled one of the chairs out from the table and shuffled into it. He did the same, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. “Gav, head back outside will you.”

“Sure!” I heard the door open and close and the lock flick closed again

“Talk,” I said sternly, trying to muster up some sort of strength.

He clasped his hands together in front of him. “Do you remember much about your parents?”

I felt the familiar turning in my gut, dredging up old memories is not something I enjoyed doing. Sure there were a few things, little snippets of what my life had been like before they died, but never enough to really put anything together. “I remember some things. My mom in the kitchen cooking, them racing in the backyard, the night they were killed. Other than that, no not really.”

“I knew them.” He cleared his throat. “I knew you.”

I frowned. “That’s not even possible.”

“Our dad’s worked together. They were friends.” He rolled his shoulders like he was trying to release some sort of tension. “We met a couple of times, but my parents were separated so I was more with my mom than my dad.”

“Why are you telling me this, Deacon? I don’t understand where you are going with this crazy talk.” My legs jiggled underneath the table. Hearing him speak of my parents was strange. I’d never met anyone who knew them. My mom was an only child and both her parents had passed away. My dad’s family, from what I gathered, didn’t have a great relationship with him and didn’t want me.

He didn’t say anything until I looked up again and our eyes met. “Your dad was with the DEA. Just like mine was. Just like I am now.”

My mouth went completely dry. “He was...I don’t...I don’t remember.” Tears started to well in my eyes. Talking about my parents was hard enough, but having someone sit here and tell me things about them that I didn’t even know, was sending my mind into a tailspin.

Was this real? Was he telling the truth?

“Our dads were very much alike. They chose not to bring their work home. Their jobs were dangerous and they tried their best not to let it affect us.”

I wanted so desperately to remember. Just something, a tiny flash that told me that he was telling the truth. I gripped the edge of the table. “How do I know? How do I know you’re telling me the truth, and this isn’t just some ploy to take the club down?”

I saw anger flash in his face and his fists clench. “My dad had to live through one of his best friends being murdered. Your father and your mother died because of that fucking club.” He slammed his fist on the table. “The same club that you’ve been whoring yourself out to for the past few years!”

I pushed back from the table and stood sharply. “It’s not true! I know them! You have no idea who they are or what they stand for. They wouldn’t do that!”

He laughed, but it wasn't filled with amusement. It was dark. “You’re so fucking wrapped up in their president you can’t see past the fact that they are criminals—fucking murderers! How would your parents feel, knowing you’re sleeping with the men who took them away from you?”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You have no fucking right to speak for them,” I screamed.

“Whether you’re with me or not, the evidence doesn’t lie. I’ll fucking prove it and I’ll destroy them,” he sneered, his lip curled in disgust. “You’ll thank me when you know the truth.”