“Keep monitoring the area around the safe house. If anyone so much as looks sideways at that street, I want to know about it.”
“Copy that. I've also got something else for you—ran a deeper dive on Charlotte's background like you asked. Found some interesting connections.”
My jaw tightens. “What kind of connections?”
“Her ex-husband? Terrance Roberts? He's got ties to some unsavory characters in LA. Money laundering, loan sharking, the works. Guy's been flying under the radar, but his name keeps popping up in federal investigations.”
The elevator dings as we reach the parking level. I guide Minny toward my bike, processing V's words. “You think this is connected to her divorce?”
“Maybe. Or maybe someone thinks she knows more than she does. Not to mention Ace’s meeting with the band of guys who tried to drug her, it’s either the ex-husband or Ace. Either way, it’s not good.”
“Keep digging. I'll be back at the safe house in twenty.”
I hang up and turn to Minny, who is staring at my motorcycle with wide eyes.
“I am not riding on that back of that thing.”
“Wasn’t going to ask you to,” I snap. My bag is one thing, but there’s no room for her and both of their suitcases. “There’s a car coming for you and the bags. Should be here soon. I’m following you there.”
My phone vibrates, and I check the screen—a text from V with details on the car service.
Black SUV, three minutes out. Driver's name is Marco. He’s a friend. Don’t kill him. Fucker owes me a favor.
We wait in tense silence, my eyes constantly scanning the garage. When a black Escalade pulls up, I approach cautiously, hand on my concealed weapon. The driver lowers his window—mid-fifties, salt-and-pepper beard, ink peeking from his collar.
“Marco?” I confirm.
He nods.
I load the suitcases into the trunk while Minny climbs into the backseat. “Follow me,” I instruct Marco. “If we get separated, head straight to the address V gave you. No stops.”
“Got it, brother.”
I mount my bike, kick-starting the engine with more force than necessary. The rage I've been suppressing threatens to boil over, but I push it down. Rage makes you sloppy. Rage gets people killed. And Charlotte needs me to think clearly.
The ride back to the safe house takes longer than I'd like, with me constantly checking my mirrors to ensure we're not being followed. Every red light feels like an eternity, every car that follows us for more than a few blocks sets my teeth on edge. But we make it without incident, Marco pulling into the driveway just as I cut the engine.
I'm off the bike and at the front door before he's even parked, Minny not far behind, punching in the code with shaking hands. The door swings open, and Charlotte appears in the doorway. She runs to her the second they lock eyes. The reunion is a mess of tears and frantic questions, both women talking over each other. I give them their moment while I help Marco with the bags, slipping him a roll of bills for his trouble.
“Anything else you need?” he asks, eyeing the quiet neighborhood.
“Just keep your mouth shut about this place.”
He nods, understanding passing between us, “V's good people. Anyone who's got his back has mine too.”
After he leaves, I lock up and reset the security system, then turn to find both women watching me expectantly. Charlotte's eyes are red from crying, but she looks steadier now with her friend here.
“We need to talk,” I say, gesturing toward the living room.
They follow me, Charlotte perches on the edge of the sofa while Minny hovers protectively beside her. I remain standing, too wired to sit, my body vibrating with tension as I try to organize my thoughts.
“You were right. What happened at the club wasn’t random. They are targeting you.”
“Why me?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out, but for right now, you going back home is off the table.”
Minny paces behind the couch, her hands twisting nervously. “What about me? What about my family? Are my kids and husband in danger, too?”
