HIS PROPERTY: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Iron Bandits MC) Page 6

  This woman. So fucking stubborn.

  Still, the story lacked completion. I dug. “I still don’t have the whole picture, babe. What made him leave, if he was so ramped up to get to you today?”

  “I screamed at him that I was calling the cops, that they’d be here any minute. He’s allergic to the concept—I think I told you that before, right? Cops freak him out. So, he’s yelling and muttering out there like the complete deranged psychopath that he is, and about a minute or two later he threw a rock through your bedroom window and took off. He must have figured I’d gone to the back of the house—I’m really sorry about your bedroom—God, I was so scared he’d made up some kind of a bomb, or that it was a grenade, or something. I heard the window crash, and just huddled in the bathtub for forever, waiting for some huge blast. Thank God it never came. They said it was just a rock. A big rock.”

  Grath caught my eye again, and tipped his head toward my room, then walked in that direction. I kissed the top of Ellie’s head, did the same to Peter, and handed him off to her to cuddle on her own. When I got to my room, I found the window glass shattered all over the carpeting, and some shards had reached as far as the bed itself. What a huge pain in the ass that was gonna be to clean up, but at least neither Ellie nor Peter had been touched by it. That woman was smart. Awesomely smart. Thank Christ.

  Grath reached behind me, to the top of my dresser cabinet, where a grapefruit-sized rock had been placed, probably by one of my club brothers. “I thought you should see this before she does. Not sure if you want to show it to her or not. It came with this wrapped around it.” And he handed me a dirty, wrinkled receipt. I turned it over, and read the note.

  You made me do it once. I’ll do it again and again. For you. For us. Forever.

  What in the hell did that mean?

  Chapter 8

  Ellie

  When Jack and Grath returned to the living room, their faces were hard. I knew his bedroom was a mess. I felt guilty, even though I knew it wasn’t me who had thrown that damn rock. But there was glass all over, and it would take a massive effort to get it cleaned up. Beyond that, a new window wasn’t going to come cheaply, either.

  Brian’s reappearance today hung over my soul like the weight of the world. On top of all of my worries about Peter, I did not need to be thinking about the cray-man again. What was worse, he had really freaked me out today, with his bat and his gun—and just when I had finally been feeling safe, here in the cocoon of Jack’s goodwill.

  But now I felt like everything was back on the line. Would Jack kick us out? He didn’t need this shit knocking on his door—hell, crashing through his window. And according to all media outlets, scary stalker behavior escalates. Today’s events were not a sign of good things to come.

  Jack and all his MC guys went into the front hall and had some kind of manly circle-huddle away from me and Peter. I didn’t mind. It was his house, those were his people, and I was the center of the problem.

  By this time, Peter was beginning to fuss again. Poor little guy was hungry. So I settled us both down with the nursing pillow, tossing a blanket over my shoulder and his head, just in case all the guys came back in again, and began thinking.

  I mentally prepared myself to get booted, frantically searching my mind for where to go and what to do next. Two things seemed clear: one, that I should get out of Jack’s house ASAP, so I didn’t bring more crazy to his life; and two, that I had to go far away, to a place where Brian would not be able to track me and Peter again. He was clearly mentally unhinged and posed a clear and present danger to us both.

  Fight or flight. Considering Brian’s obvious violent tendencies and my experience with them, I was going for flight. I had a baby to protect, and Peter had to be my first priority.

  I heard the men all making wrap-up noises, and a bunch of ‘later’s, and sensed the house clearing out. Jack returned to the living room alone, and came to sit down on the coffee table right in front of my seat on the couch, his elbows on his knees. He looked me straight in the eye.

  “Tell me what you know about this guy, Ellie.”

  “Can you just give me a few minutes before we get into it, Jack? I don’t want to talk about it while I’m feeding Peter.”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah.” He looked around and wandered into the kitchen. I figured he was getting a drink. If I hadn’t have been nursing, I would have requested a stiff one for myself, too.

  After Peter had had his fill, burped, and drifted off again, I put him down in my room, made sure the monitor was on, and returned.

  It was time to lay it all out for Jack. He deserved to know what a shit storm my life was and have the choice to opt out fast, if he was smart.

  When I reentered the living room, Jack was ready for me, and he offered me a beer. I took it.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Okay, well, I only dated him for a few weeks, as I said, more than a year ago. I was bartending in Portland, he came in, we seemed to hit it off. I liked him at first—he was funny, witty, attractive. He’s a computer geek. I think he’s actually a hacker, but I don’t know that for sure, just my impression. Definitely into IT.

  “After we’d been out a couple of times, I just started feeling like he was getting really into my business—too much. He started asking me where I was going, who I was seeing, how I spent my hours away from him. It felt invasive, suffocating. And then, one night, he didn’t like that I had been flirting with one of my regulars at the bar—I didn’t know he was even in there, that night. I didn’t see him. Anyway, he showed up at my place after I got home and he got really in my face, and when I yelled at him to back off, he hit me.”

  Jack’s hands fisted, his jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed. Wow. He was pissed. Seeing that, I knew he wasn’t going to enjoy this any more than I did, but I needed to get it out. I hadn’t talked about this since that night, and it felt good to be able to share it with Jack, even though it was awful to revisit. Somehow, I felt like sharing with Jack was important. So I kept talking.

  “It was full on, fist to cheek. I went down, hard, and he stood over me just seething, and that was it. I kicked his knee as hard as I could, and he went down too, and I—my head was all jumbled, my cheekbone and eye were pounding, but I was trying to just figure out a way to get him gone, ya know? So I scrambled up when he went down, and I grabbed my phone and called nine-one-one and then tossed it somewhere so he couldn’t end the call, and I just hoped that cops or someone would figure out where the call came from—you know, through GPS or location services or whatever.

  “He…he’s got this issue with being around cops. I don’t know his history, but there were a bunch of red flags that I didn’t really put together ’til it was too late—that was one of them. Twenty/twenty, right?”

  Jack grunted and squeezed my leg to get me to keep going.

  “Anyway, as soon as he realized who I had called, he was ready to bolt. He was still yelling at me as he left, calling me a bitch, saying I’d pay and that I had no idea what he was capable of, or who I was messing with, and that I was making a huge mistake, but that I’d learn better soon.

  “I just kept yelling at him to get out, and that it was over, I never wanted to see him again. And then—this is the weirdest part—he said he knew I loved him, and he loved me too, and we’d work it out, and he’d see me in a few days, after I’d had time to miss him.

  “Finally, he left, and I was shaking so hard I didn’t even get up to lock the door behind him. I didn’t want to move.”

  Jack still radiated pissed-off badass energy, and it was actually comforting to me. It somehow made it easier to tell this craptastic tale from hell.

  “Later, I heard sirens approaching, and then a knock on the door and the bell rang, and it was the cops. And I think an ambulance. I wasn’t really thinking well, you know? But they got his name, said that I could press charges, checked me out. I was okay, though; I didn’t n
eed to go to the hospital or anything. Just hit the one time. So anyway, they left after that, I locked my door, and that was it.”

  “Hold on, Ellie. Did you press charges?”

  “No. Maybe I should have, I don’t know. But I just wanted it to be over, you know? I just wanted the whole night to go away.”

  “You should have pressed charges.”

  “Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I didn’t. You want me to go on, or do you want to fight about it?”

  “Babe…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Go on.” When his eyes were on me again, I continued.

  “Well, after that night, I didn’t see him for a few weeks. I thought it was over. Thought that was the end of the story, and good riddance.”

  Jack had been paying close attention, and he grunted as he ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking. “Okay. He’s got some payback way overdue, then. This is the same guy my brother beat up that night you told me about, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Good on Keith.—So, what more do you know about Brian? Full name, height, weight, contact info, anything you can give me, any details about where he might hang out or what things he’s into. Everything you know.”

  “Jeez. You do know you sound like the cops right now, right?”

  He only lifted an eyebrow at me, and his nose twitched. I guessed he didn’t love that comment.

  “Okay. Brian Patrick McAfee, I’m pretty sure he’s thirty-one, maybe thirty-two years old. He’s around six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes, wears glasses, black plastic frames. Man-bun, scruff on his jaw.,,”

  Jack’s eyebrows shot up and he was clearly repressing a laugh. “Are you describing one of those hipster dudes? That’s what you go for?”

  “Shut up. I lived in Portland, Jack. Fuck you. Do you want me to go on, or are we done?”

  He squeezed my knee, still smiling. “No, babe. It just surprised me; shouldn’t have, I guess. Go on. Don’t get mad.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him for a moment, then let him off the hook and went on. “Okay. He’s a mountain biker, outdoor-enthusiast. Likes to camp, climb, hike, all that stuff. So he’s pretty fit, strong. He comes off really confident, good-natured—or at least, he used to. I don’t see that at all anymore when I think about him. But that’s how he might seem to people who don’t know him. Um, what else…?”

  “Does he look like anyone famous? Give me an idea of his face.”

  “Oh, okay. Um, maybe a little bit like a younger, darker-haired…oh, that guy that was the president in Independence Day. What was his name?”

  His mouth ticked up. “Bill Pullman?”

  “Yeah, that one. But obviously, younger. And fit.”

  “Okay, that’s helpful. Good. You got anything more? Contact info? Friends he might have in the area here? Employer info?”

  “No to the last, he’s a freelance consultant, or that’s what he told me. I deleted and blocked his number ages ago. I know it started with area code 503, but I don’t remember the rest. I deleted him from my contacts, so I don’t have anything else on him. And no about the people in the area here—that’s one of the reasons I picked Tucson to move to. I was trying to start all over, somewhere I didn’t think he would come. He always said he loved the northwest climate so much, he didn’t want to ever leave it. Tucson, I figured, was the exact opposite of Portland. The jerk came here anyway. Lucky me.”

  “Okay.” He thought for a minute, rubbing his own scruffy chin. Pot, meet kettle. But I kept that thought to myself.

  “Hops said this guy had a gun. You saw it? Could you identify it?”

  “Yeah, I saw it. It was a handgun, black. I didn’t get a great view of it, but it resembled what you see on TV, like what cops and feds always carry.”

  “Okay.” He was nodding, thinking to himself. “So, go back to last year for a minute. After he followed you down here, do you know where he was staying? You didn’t leave as soon as he showed himself then, so I figure you didn’t feel totally at risk, right? Or am I missing something?”

  Gah! There were so many parts to this whole story, and I wasn’t sure how best to tell it. I was starting to get tired and frustrated with this whole thing. But having gone this far, I knew the best thing to do would be to just keep barreling through, and give Jack every detail he needed. I felt like Hillary Clinton at the Benghazi hearings.

  “You’re right, I didn’t leave. I couldn’t think where else to go, and he’d followed me this far, I figured there was no getting rid of him by running, and I just hoped I’d convince him of my complete disinterest and rejection better if I stayed. So I stayed. It might not have been the best move, but I liked it here, and I didn’t come up with any other better plan.

  “Can we move along to another thing now? There’s another part of this that figures in, that I haven’t told you about yet. But you should know.”

  “Jesus. This is like a fucking novel.” Jack shook his head.

  “I know, right? I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Get it out. Tell.” He shifted onto the couch, put his arm around me, and pulled me into his side, getting us both more comfortable for the next part of the download.

  “So…Brian’s a hacker or something, right? I’m pretty sure he hacked into my email, because after I broke things off with him, my grandmother died. Like, a few weeks later. It was a year ago this month.”

  “Sorry for your loss, Ellie.”

  “No, don’t—it’s okay, we weren’t close. I didn’t even know her, really. She and my mom—they fell out years ago, when I was a baby. Well, probably long before I was born. But they cut off contact with each other when I was a baby, so I have no memory of ever meeting her. I only really learned about her last year, when Mom got the call about her death. Mom told me, and we figured we should go to the funeral, be respectful. Ha. Well, I wanted to be respectful; Mom wanted to dance on her grave. I think half the reason I went was to stop Mom from doing something crazy like that.

  “My mom is…eccentric. Total seventies’ hippie, you know? Earth woman, dances around bonfires, drum circles, big beads.”

  Jack started laughing. “I think I got that picture. And let me guess, your grandma, she’d have been a woman of the fifties, right? Conservative…?”

  “Exactly. Anglican church, sweater sets, pearl necklace. The whole nine yards. They were oil and water.”

  “That was why they didn’t talk?”

  “I think the thing that really broke it between them was me. Mom was way into free love, you know? I didn’t grow up with a dad, but I had a lot of loving uncles. Still do. They’re awesome. But I didn’t grow up in a typical nuclear family situation. My grandmother hated my mother for that, not being willing to name a father on my birth certificate, not marrying, not being respectful, not going to church, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Got it. So what’s this all have to do with Brian?”

  “Getting to that. Turns out, Grandma is loaded. Or really nicely well-off. Family money, East Coast richies—think, like that movie, Philadelphia Story? That old one, with Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn, you know it?”

  “Babe. Not into old movies like that. But I can follow your plot. So who inherits all this fabulous wealth? Your mom?—No. It’s you. Yeah?”

  “Yeah, but only on condition. This is classic. You ready? I have to be married for six months before I get the money. And if I turn twenty-eight still single, the money goes to charities, and I get none of it. Which I would be totally fine with—really—except that now, with Peter and all of his medical bills coming in the future, I just think—I wish…” I lost words.

  Jack was serious now. “I see what you mean. I get that. I totally do. You need that money, you’re right. You really need that money.”

  “Yeah, but here’s the kicker. I’m pretty sure—and I have no idea how, other than that he hacked his way into my email to see the stuff my grandmother’s lawyer sent me—Brian knows about the trust and the marriage requirement. And I think t
hat’s why he’s latched on to this idea that he wants me. I think it’s why he was stalking me.”

  “Not sure that stalking usually works that way, El.” Jack shook his head. “I always thought it had more to do with obsession, like psychotic love or something. Which, gotta give it to him, he’s got good taste. You are hot. You’re beautiful. You’re smart. I see the logic.”

  He gave me a light squeeze around the shoulders, then poked me in the ribs and chuckled. I jumped and yelped at the surprise tickle, and he cracked up. The jerk.

  “This isn’t funny! Stop it!”

  “Come on, you gotta laugh a little, babe…But maybe you’re right, maybe there’s also a fantasy about the money tied in with it, too. Makes you that much more attractive—a future with you plus full bank accounts. Yeah, I could see that. No wonder he’s holding on like a dog with a bone.”