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And that was good too, superb, apparently. Nobody would be able to crack it or see it was fake. Hell, they knew a guy who’d hacked into the system and created a new social security number for me. With that, they were able to get me a legitimate ID and, hence, a bank account.
Even so, I was terrified they might discover me. Simone had spent days trying to acclimatise me to freedom and reassure me I was safe. Butch came and went, mostly a silent, lurking figure but also solidly dependable. Between the two, they were determined to keep me safe, thanks to Seraphine. They’d slowly taught me how to use a phone as, by God, they were different from when I got locked up. They showed me all the new technology and made sure I understood things. Tragically, it must have been like teaching a child.
On top of it all, I’d spoken to the keeper of the package for the first time; that’d offered some relief.
That first month of freedom had been terrifying—overwhelming—and I clung to my normal. I kept waking up expecting guards, or someone to be standing over me, and realising they weren’t, was a shock in itself. Nobody made decisions for me anymore apart from me. Without undermining myself, I struggled for at least eight weeks until I settled. Then I broached Simone and Butch about buying a house with the money they’d ‘reassigned.’
We’d narrowed down what type of place I wanted, which Simone insisted was in South Dakota, either in or near Rapid City. Butch explained they had an army there if they needed back-up, and while not sure what he meant, I accepted his confidence in his ability to call on friends. Apart from Seraphine, I had no one. Simone let me speak to her twice weekly, scrambling the line so nobody could track me. And it wasn’t a far-fetched idea that those I was running from might indeed hack the prison lines; they’d discovered my early release.
They wanted me dead because, with me gone, the bitch they were protecting would be forever safe. I knew it. Simone and Butch did, and so had Warden Mackles. The file he’d given me was enough to challenge my sentence, but Simone seemed hellbent on revenge beyond this.
Butch had made and hidden several copies of the file with people he trusted. How he explained what he was asking them to hold… I’ve no idea, but he assured me that everything was cool. Should I die now, Simone and Butch held a copy, as did a lawyer they trusted and three other individuals.
They’d got the entire sad story from me and immediately started working on a plan. The first requirement was to understand where the main players were. The conversation was seared into my mind. Simone had sat me down, and her face had a sympathetic expression.
“Jax and Arlo have gone home, Amberlea. Arlo to his house, and Jax…” Simone broke off and looked uncomfortable.
“Go on,” I replied, having some inkling of what was coming.
“Jax returned to his wife.”
“Let me guess, his wife’s name is Cordelia Wellspring.”
“Afraid so, honey; they married three years after you were sentenced,” Simone said softly.
“Well, that bitch always got what she wanted,” I whispered, heartbroken. Cordelia had not only stolen my life but my love.
“Her parents, Mr and Mrs Wellspring, are at home too, as is Mr Cask, Abbi’s father,” Simone announced, and I nodded as she spoke their names. “But they are actively searching for you.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt. How can love turn to such hatred?” I asked and gazed out of the window of the safe house.
“Easily. What’s shocking is how the lies were believed by so many,” Simone mused.
“Baby, that doesn’t shock you. Nothing surprises you. It just pisses you off,” Butch teased with a small laugh.
“Yeah, it sure as hell does,” Simone replied. “We’re tracking down the lawyer you were assigned. Seems he’s on vacation and has been since your release. Done well for himself, but that piece of crap has a lot to answer for.”
“You’re telling me,” I responded bitterly.
“But the package was safe, and they have searched, trust me. Luckily for you, Seraphine made sure there was no trace of it,” Simone soothed.
And that was my one saving grace. The thing that kept me sane during my entire incarceration. Knowing it was okay and nobody would ever have their filthy, traitorous hands on it. Shit, I didn’t even know anything about it until I was freed. Seraphine had taken care of everything. The only contact I had was through letters that Seraphine sent.
The sound of bike pipes tore me from my thoughts, and I moved to the window to see three Harleys pulling in outside a house opposite. Like mine, there was a winding drive leading to the home. Mine had a wide drive, so I could see the front door of the house opposite. Huge, handsome men rode the bikes—the type of guys you saw on magazine covers. I watched as an older woman who wore a welcoming smile threw the door open. Happily, she greeted each one as they stopped by her and dropped a kiss on her cheek.
The last held her tightly in a hug before she patted his back and slapped his ass to go inside. And what an ass that was. Jesus, he made jeans look illegal. They had all worn a waistcoat with a logo on it, and I recognised them as belonging to an MC. That was most definitely trouble I didn’t need in any way, shape, or form.
As I gazed outside, a removal van turned up, and I scurried out to meet them. The furniture that I’d ordered was finally here. The house I bought was huge and took up half of my inheritance, but I wasn’t too bothered. I never planned to leave there, anyway. It was a large rambling place with a two-storey building with a one-storey extension. The bottom half was stone, and the top was wood-panelled with huge windows letting the light in.
It boasted six bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, two further half baths, a huge kitchen and dining area, two lounges, and six other rooms. I had no idea what to use most of them for. One I’d marked as a study as it overlooked the gardens, and I was quite happy to work with that scenery. As for the empties, I was sure I’d fill them one way or another. Simone and I had been on a shopping spree, and we’d organised everything to arrive today.
The van parked up, and four men climbed out.
They were here to move everything in but also put items together, such as the beds and dining table I’d bought. As they brought each item in, I directed them where to go, and they got down to it. They were moving the beds in when another van pulled up carrying what I called my essentials: kitchen equipment, lamps, and so on.
“Hello!” a voice shouted from the street.
Warily, I peered around the van and spotted the woman from across the street.
