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That’s when something hits me, slams into me, really. “You’re working with the Russians,” I state. “These call girls, they’re theirs.”

I don’t have to ask a question because I already fucking know. There’s a reason why the Russians have been trying to entangle us in Vegas, because they’re probably entangling us all over the fucking country, and we were too fucking focused on our own shit to realize it.

“Fucking shit,” I hiss when he just stares at me. Normally, I wouldn’t assume shit, but clearly, I can with this, because he’s not denying or confirming it. Likely not confirming it in case I try to shut their shit down.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter at this point, because we’re all in bed with those vodka-drinking bastards,” I grind out. “Though, if I were you, I would definitely loop the original chapter in on this shit.”

He clears his throat, shifting in his seat, and for just a moment, I think he’s going to be cool with me figuring out his scheme— well, his club’s scheme. He’s offered me this information, and I have a feeling it’s going to come at a price, one that I don’t think I’m ready to pay, especially since I’m here, in his clubhouse, without anyone to back me up.

“We’re not giving the Arizona chapter a fucking penny more than is required, and you’ve lost your fucking mind if you think any of us are going to do that,” he states.

I hold up my hands, showing him my palms. This isn’t my fight. It’s not my fucking business, really. Definitely not worth getting killed over. Except that they’re not being honest with the original chapter, which means they're not being honest with the other chapters around the country and are likely cutting everyone out of money.

Though I’m sure there are plenty of other chapters that aren’t being held accountable for their dealings or to the standard they’re supposed to be held to. But that shit doesn’t make it right, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s time to do a little accounting.

“You do you,” I say. “It’s not like I’m here on a fucking vacation. I just delivered a whole box truck full of women for the Bratva, transporting across state lines and everything. Not to mention I highly doubt a single one of them is in this country legally.”

“So, we have an understanding?” he asks.

I want to tell him to fuck all the way off. He doesn’t scare me in the fucking slightest, doesn’t intimidate me, either, but I don’t because while he doesn’t do any of those things, I also know when I’m outnumbered physically and firepower-wise.

And I’m definitely outnumbered here. All I have to do is get the fuck out of Washington safely, and then I’ll go from there. Which, to be honest, I don’t know what my play will be. But all I want is to get to my woman and baby.

“Understood. We leave tonight.”

“Good.”

He stands, turns from me, and walks away—buh-fucking-bye. Holy fucking shit. I need to get the hell out of here. And I don’t really care if Hippie gets pissed off or what. He can fuck someone back home, or if he wants to buy one of the Russian girls, he can do that. All I give a fuck about right now is getting home as soon as humanly possible.

CHAPTER

FORTY-SEVEN

KEELY

Stretching, I look over to the bassinet and smile. I don’t know how the hell I got so lucky, but Thea is a dream baby. Maybe all babies are this way, but as much as people complain about them, I can’t imagine they’re all this perfect.

Pushing up to a sitting position, I reach for my phone and begin to thumb through my notifications. A lot of junk emails have come through, and then something causes me to pause.

It’s an email from my father. A freaking email. That just tracks for him. It shouldn’t surprise me. In fact, what should surprise me is that he’s waited almost a week since I’ve mostly moved my things out to send it.

Keely,

It would be in Thea’s best interest if you moved back to the family home. I’m offering this olive branch in hopes that we can avoid legal proceedings.

Father.

My heart slams against my chest, beating wildly and rapidly at the words that stare back at me. Legal proceedings. What an absolute asshole. I press my lips together tightly, worrying them back and forth as I think about the words and their consequences.

They want to take Thea from me.

Well, they won’t be able to. I won’t let them. I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, then let it out slowly. I need to discuss this with Brock, and I need to do it quickly. Glancing at the time on my screen, I wince. He won’t be awake yet. It’s early in the morning, too early.

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed, I slip out of the bedroom and tiptoe to the bathroom. Once I’ve taken care of business, stared at my reflection, and winced at the sight of my pale complexion, I make my way back to the bedroom, only to see someone standing in front of my open bedroom door, their back to me.

I open my mouth to ask what the hell is going on when she turns around to face me. It’s her. Honey… or as I know her, Tits Out. But this time, she’s wearing a top—a see-through white tank top, but a top nonetheless.

She frowns, her eyes finding mine, then she replaces her expression with a smile. It’s fake. But whatever. I don’t really care. She’s inserting herself in front of me again, and I have to wonder if her warning wasn’t about anyone other than herself.