Page 47 of The Rebel Billionaire

"You two know each other," she said. "How do you two know eachother?"

I cleared my throat, trying to think of the best way to explain who I was. Evers took care of the problem for me, the interferingbastard.

At least he told her thetruth.

"You remember the president of the Raptors motorcycle club who killed Big John when he went after Abigail?" Evers askedCharlie.

Her eyes went comically wide. I would have laughed if my heart hadn't been trying to pound its way out of mychest.

Charlie wasn't mine, but I wasn't ready to give her up yet. And that Lucas Jackson, the Lucas Jackson who'd been president of one of the most notorious biker clubs around—he wasn't me. Notreally.

"That was a temporary thing," I said. "I'm out of the Raptors. I have been for a while, and you fucking know it,Sinclair."

"You have a motorcycle?" Charlie asked, her head tilted to the side, curiosity alive in her sparklingblueeyes.

What?

Of all the things I'd imagined her saying after Evers's revelation, asking about my bike wasn't onthelist.

"In the back of the house, under a cover. Actually, I have two. The Harley was my brother's. He's the reason I was working with the Raptors. The Triumphismine."

"I'll do you a favor," Evers said to Charlie. "I'll wait until the end of the day to talk to Aiden. We need to get the security system up and running. My team should be here any second. Let's talk about what we're goingtodo."

Evers ran through a list that included everything we'd already discussed, plus a gate on the driveway, cameras inside and out, and a handful of other things that would guarantee no one would get to Charlie while she was in herhouse.

The Sinclair team arrived and got to work. Evers took charge of the installation, which kept him too busy to bother Charlieorme.

I thought about going home. I had plenty to do and no reason to stay. Charlie was safe. I had workpilingup.

Instead, I found myself following her into the living room where she was stripping paint from an old mantle. It was a beautiful piece, made of oak with intricate carving that had been all but ruined by multiple coats ofpaint.

"Are you stripping all the paint off the trim?" I asked, turning around to study the rooms in the front of thehouse.

All of them had wood trim that had been painted dark brown. Why you'd paint trim like that a dark brown instead of just staining it, Ididn'tknow.

The trim in my house had been the same, and returning it to its natural state had been abitch.

"I'm planning to," Charlie said. "This paint stripping stuff is awful though. It stinks and it takesforever."

I crouched in front of the fireplace mantle beside her and picked up the paint stripper andarag.

"This isn't the best way to strip paint off wood. Not on the regular trim anyway. The way this mantle is carved, it's pretty much your onlyoption."

"There's another way to do it?" Charlieasked.

"Yeah, heat. I've got a thing at my house. I'll lend it to you when you're done with the fireplace. You plug it in, hold it over the paint, and the paint bubbles up—practically lifts right off the wood. I'll show you how it works when you're ready to move on from themantle."

"That sounds awesome," Charlie said. "I really wanted to stain all of this trim, but after working on the mantleyesterday. . .ugh."

Between the two of us, I figured we could have the mantle knocked off in an hour or two. We worked in silence for a while before Charlie got up to open thewindows.

When she came back, she asked, "So why were you with the Raptors? Was itajob?"

"No. That wasn't a job. That wasrevenge."

"Will you tell me about it?" Charlie asked, sneaking a glance atmyface.

I thoughtaboutit.