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She wouldn’t say what the note said, but she did tell him that the person who left it had been caught on her Ring camera. She was adamant that he come immediately. She was terrified—rightly so. Jaime was a bitch, but she didn’t deserve to have a creepy fuck terrorizing her. If she’d caught him on camera, his bullshit with Jaime could very well be over much sooner than he’d hoped.
Armed with that knowledge, and pissed off that Jaime’s punk stalker had made a move, Patriot grabbed black tar coffee from the clubhouse kitchen to help wipe the booze haze from his brain, and headed out.
Jaime’s house was in Chinchilla, just outside of Clarks Summit where she worked, which was a forty minute drive from the Unchained clubhouse, especially during morning traffic on I-81.
On his bike, it took him twenty-five minutes, and when he pulled into the lot in front of Jaime’s tiny one-story bungalow, he wasn’t surprised to see her racing toward him from her open door, her hair wild, her face pale, her eyes wide and full of fear. He barely had the time to dismount before she threw herself into his arms.
Stunned at the violence of her reaction, he planted his feet and leaned in to keep from toppling over backward.
She sobbed into his chest. “Oh God, Patriot!” she cried. “I’m so scared!”
Uncomfortable at their closeness, he patted her back in a “there, there” motion, and then gripped her shoulders, pushing her back so he could look down into her face.
She’d been on her way to work, so her full face of makeup had been destroyed by the tears gushing down her cheeks. She looked a mess, and he couldn’t blame her.
“Come on,” he said, his voice coaxing. “Let’s get you inside.”
Sobbing, she snuggled her face into his chest and allowed him to walk her into her house. His gaze caught on the doorbell camera, and he hoped that whatever it had caught, it would be clear. He’d send the footage to Red, and Red would do his thing. The man had “access” to every PA database, so finding out who the creeper asshole was wouldn’t be difficult. Maybe, though, now that Jaime realized how serious the situation was, she’d give up the asshole’s name, and he, Horde, and Locust could stop by the man’s house for a visit.
Once inside, Patriot closed and locked the door, then helped Jaime to the overstuffed loveseat in her tiny living room.
She sat down and he went to sit on the coffee table, but she grabbed his hand, her fingers like clawed vices, and she pulled him down onto the seat next to her.
Leaning into him, she sniffled.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Patriot. I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice cracking. She lifted her hand from her lap and placed it against his chest.
He immediately tensed.
Before Cilla, he wouldn’t have minded her touch, especially since she was a beautiful woman—Stallion’s sister or not. However, now that he’d determined to have Cilla as his ol’ lady, his mind and body were both in agreement—no one else touched what belonged to his woman. Everything he was and everything he would be belonged to Cilla St. James—body, heart, and dark, ugly soul.
When Jaime’s hand began a descent to his abs, Patriot bit back an annoyed grunt and snagged her wrist.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” he suggested, though his tone was all command. Yeah, he felt bad for Jaime, was angry for her and her situation, but he was frustrated at the timing. Just when he got his shit together and decided to claim an ol’ lady, things got complicated.
So uncomplicate them, that demanding voice in his head intoned.
That’s what he was working on doing.
Get the note. Get the Ring footage. Get the asshole. Get shot of Jaime and her blackmail.
Easier said than done.
It took another ten minutes of Jaime crying into his kutte, her mascara drenched tears leaving streaks in his leather, but she finally calmed down enough to tell him what happened.
She’d gone to bed at 11 PM because she had work the next day. She slept fine, didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. She got up at 6:30 AM as usual, got ready for work, and she was headed out when she caught sight of the note stuck to her door.
“Here it is,” she murmured, lifting a post-it sized piece of paper in trembling hands.
He snagged the note by the corner and turned it over.
you can’t fool me. i know you aren’t with the biker. you will always be mine.
Well, shit.
“See!” Jaime cried out. “He knows we’re faking it because you haven’t been doing your part, Patriot.”
What the fuck?
