I pull the stool up to the bar with a sigh as I sit down. Hayden left this place immaculate last night. I glance over at Fish who is on babysitting duty for the day. He looks up, giving me a grin before he goes back to his phone.

I’m sure he’s playing a game or something, whatever it is, it looks intense. It’s slow this afternoon, but I don’t mind. Reaching toward the shelf beneath the bar, I pull out the payroll, and checkbook to finish up what I started yesterday.

Walking into my office this morning, I felt a rush of sexy memories from last night, that is, until I opened the drawer for my books.

That fucking envelope was there, taunting me.

They’re starting to pile up, one in my panty drawer, one in my bathroom, and now this one.

They’re all around me, reminding me that I’m not safe and that I’m being watched. Fear claws at my throat and as much as I want to ignore it, I know that I can’t.

“Hey there darlin’, good to see you back here again,” a familiar voice calls out.

My body jerks and I look up to see Clyde, one of the regulars, belly up to the bar. Closing my paperwork, I shove it all beneath the bar. With a smile, I slide off of the barstool and make my way over to him.

Setting down a coaster, I reach for a glass and fill it with his favorite draft, which is always the house draft of the week, doesn’t matter what it is. “How are you doing, Clyde? The factory treating you okay?” I ask.

He nods, taking the glass from my hand. I watch as he takes his first sip, sighing as the liquid passes his lips. “Cut me back to thirty hours a week,” he mutters shaking his head. “Don’t mind it too much though, they’re giving the young guys with families a little more than me.”

“You going to be okay?” I ask him.

I’m not a bartender asking a client, just to be nice, I’m speaking to my friend. Clyde is in his late fifties, he’s worked hard all of his life, but he’s single, never married, and as far as I know, he’s never even had a steady woman.

He shrugs, taking another sip from his glass. “I’m always okay, darlin’,” he winks.

I can tell that he’s not talkative today, he’s contemplative, so I go back to my paperwork and finish it quickly.

Hayden won’t be in today, or anytime soon. She also won’t be around to pick up her check, so I stuff it in an envelope and text Crooner that I have it behind the bar with me.

Traci and my nighttime bartender, Ned’s, checks I stick in their cubbies at the end of the bar. It feels good to be caught up on my work, and I’m glad that I came in and was able to focus all day yesterday.

I keep Clyde’s glass filled all day long, knowing that whatever is bothering him today, won’t be solved at the bottom of the glass, but he needs it for whatever reason. Fish continues to play on his phone as the hours tick by, and I find myself daydreaming about my baby girl’s nursery.

A few hours later, something ugly slithers over me, and my body shivers as I look toward the door. When my eyes land on the figure in the doorway, I’m frozen solid.

No.

It can’t be.

I blink, praying that the figure disappears, but it doesn’t. He’s tall, bigger than I remembered. His head is shaved bald, and his blue eyes are bright and directed straight toward me.

I stand from the barstool that I’m resting on, backing up until I hit the wall behind me. The bottles on the glass shelves above me rattle but I don’t look up, I can’t.

Tipping his head to the side, he glances at Fish, then back at me with a grin. I watch as he sits down nonchalantly, like he isn’t a fucking monster.

My hands shake, so I clench them in fists at my side, my eyes unable to leave his cold blue ones. He masks the monster well behind his gaze, but I know it all too well. I’ve seen it in action.

“Ginger, have you received my notes?” he whispers.

It’s bold of him to show up here, so fucking bold. But that’s him. He feels invincible, untouchable. He isn’t. Prescott will kill him, and I’ll watch. I shrug, attempting to seem cool, however, I’m anything but. I’m not sure I want to say anything to him, afraid that I’ll have a tremble in my voice.

“No words for me? I thought we were friends?” he asks, then clucks his tongue.

“Never,” I hiss.

He smirks. Then his hand shifts and I watch as he places another fucking envelope on the center of my bar. I glance down at it, imagining that it’s going to get up and attack me. When my eyes go back to him, he gives me a fucking smile. He looks like the devil in the flesh.

“See you soon,” he whispers.

Then he stands up, and just as you please, walks out of my bar. My heart hammers against my chest as I continue to watch him. That is until Fish is in the place he vacated with his hand on the envelope that he left.

“No,” I breathe.

Fish’s eyes meet mine and he shakes his head once. “I know who that was, girl. I’da shot him in the back of the head, but I ain’t no pussy. Now that I see this, I’m thinking I shoulda,” he mutters.

Clyde clears his throat, and I glance over at him, horror assuredly written all over my face. “Whatever that was, you better face it, girl, don’t hide it away,” he states.

I hate that he’s so right. I’ve been avoiding it all, hoping it would go away. Seeing that monster here, right in my face, in my bar, I realize it’s not going anywhere. Not until someone is dead, and the only person I want to die, is him.

“Free, Motorhead, and Snake are all on their way,” Fish announces. “Motorhead’s watching the bar, Free and Snake are comin’ for you,” he rasps. “Best get your ass to your office and wait for them.”

I nod, knowing that the time has come. I knew it would. I was just hoping to avoid it—forever. I feel like I’m walking the green mile as I make my way toward my office. It’s unlocked, and I flip the light on before I go inside.

“I’ll be right outside your door,” Fish mutters, closing the door to my office behind me.

I look around the room, sucking in my lips and closing my eyes. I walk over to the desk and pull out the envelope from yesterday morning knowing that Prescott will want to see it.

What little freedom and personal strength I had is now gone.

I should have given Pres the first note, and I definitely should have handed him the second. I was lying to myself, trying to be strong or trying to protect him. I don’t know which.

Whatever I was thinking, it was stupid, and now I’m scared shitless, and Prescott is going to be so fucking pissed.

The minutes tick by and they feel like hours. I wait for Prescott and I know when he’s arrived. I can feel his anger as it surges throughout the entire building. Gulping, I back away from the door, standing against the opposite wall, and I wait.

Seconds later, the door flies open and he’s there, a ball of fury, his face so red that it’s purple. I don’t blame him, not one bit. I lower my chin, casting my eyes to the floor in shame.

The door to my office closes, the click of it locking into place, the only sound I hear in the otherwise quiet room. He didn’t slam it, he closed it quietly, which is absolutely terrifying.

“I haven’t opened this. I’m trying to decide if I should throttle you now, or at home later,” he whispers.

I gulp, again. “I’m sorry, Pres,” I admit, lifting my eyes to look into his green ones.

He nods. “Why?” he asks. The question is only one word, and yet, it feels so complicated.

Inhaling through my nose, I exhale and try to keep from crying the buckets of tears that threaten to fall down my cheeks.

“I thought it was just to scare me. I figured they were all dead, or in hiding. I thought it would be giving in to fear, and letting them win if I told you,” I whisper.

Prescott turns his head, inhaling a deep breath then turns back to me. I see the pity in his gaze, but that anger is still simmering right beneath the surface. I know that I’m not free of it yet, nor do I deserve to be.

“I’ve been letting you just come and go as you please, not keeping a man on you at all times because I thought you were safe here. Safe in our town, safe in this bar, and safe in our motherfucking house. You weren’t, were you?” he asks.

I shake my head. The truth on the verge of my tongue, but the look in his eyes causes me to bite down on my tongue instead. “Free is your shadow. Motorhead is running the bar from now on during the day until Hayden is back,” he spits.

“What about you?” I ask weakly.

He snorts, his eyes turning a frosty green that I haven’t seen since my return. “Don’t you fucking worry about me, Ginger. You haven’t given a single fuck how I feel, why start now? You’re on house arrest. Free will take you to your doctor’s appointments, other than that you don’t leave the house. Fish’s wife will do your shopping so you don’t starve my baby.” I watch in horror as he turns away, opens the office door and storms out.

As soon as the door slams closed, my body jerks and I run after him. Swinging the door open, I turn the corner, going as quickly as I can. Free and Motorhead are right there and they block me. I put my hands on their shoulders and try to move them out of the way so that I can squeeze between their bodies, but they don’t let me.

“Prescott,” I scream toward his retreating back. “Snake, Prescott,” I scream as tears stream down my face.

He’s walked away from me. Left me. The pain that slices through me is greater than anything else I’ve ever felt before in my life.

It’s so great that my knees buckle and I start to fall to the floor. Free is in front of me, his arms slide beneath my armpits and he hauls me to my feet before I hit the ground.

“Calm yourself,” he whispers.

I shake my head, my hair flying all around me. I can’t calm myself, he’s just left me, walked away without even glancing back at me.

Free reaches down, slipping his arm beneath my knees and carries me back into my office. He sits down on the sofa and settles me in his lap.

Pressing my face into his neck, I cry. My body shakes with sobs, but he doesn’t say a word, nor does he move a muscle. I don’t care, I use him to cry on anyway.

I cry until I have nothing left inside of me, until my eyelids are heavy and sore. Closing them, I allow myself a few minutes of reprieve, knowing as soon as I open my eyes again, I’ll cry more.

I rip the envelope open, my jaw clenching when I see what the note inside says.

Two words, but their meaning is clear. This fucker is going after my wife, my wife who is carrying my baby. Fuck him and fuck her for not telling me.

It’s obvious that this isn’t the first note, and Fish overheard what he said to her, asking if she’d received his other notes.

She knows who he is too. All it means is that he’s one of them, one of the men who took her, or held her, or fucked her—or all of the above.

“Snake, don’t you think that was a little harsh. She’s pregnant, and the doctor already was concerned with her blood pressure,” Fish mutters from next to me.

His words make my stomach twist. Fuck yeah, it was harsh, but I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t look at her right now, my anger is too fucking great. I can’t be in the same house as her either.

I’m protecting her from my anger, from myself. Nothing she could tell me right now would make keeping these threats from me, acceptable. I don’t know that I will ever forgive her.

Ignoring Fish, not giving him any kind of answer at all, I walk into the clubhouse. It’s quiet today, and I glance behind the bar to see Hayden there.

She’s made herself our club bartender, and she’s doing a better job than any prospect we’ve had behind there. While she’s on lockdown, that’s where she’ll be.

I grunt, turning from her, and make my way toward my office. Slamming the door behind me, I walk to my desk and sink down in my chair.

I don’t see anything as I stare off into the room. I feel betrayed, lied to, and pissed the fuck off.

“What happened?” my father asks, closing my office door behind him.

I clench my jaw, refusing to answer him, he’s not my friend and he’s not my mentor. He’s just some man that I’m biologically related to. Nothing more—nothing less.

“You may not like me, son, but I know something is wrong and I know it has to do with your woman and the Aryans. So how about you let our personal shit go for a minute and tell me. I might be able to help,” he offers, sitting down on the sofa across from my desk.

Lifting my eyes to his, I tip my head to the side. “Ginger has received threatening notes, I don’t know how many, and I don’t know where. She didn’t tell me about them, and she wasn’t going to. The man who has been leaving them for her appeared in the bar today, hand delivered this one,” I state.

Taking the envelope out of my vest I throw it across the room. My father reaches for it and I watch as he reads the few bold words, then his jaw goes hard. He lifts his gaze to meet mine and he nods.

“Did she tell you why she kept them a secret?” he asks calmly.

I snort. “She didn’t want his scare tactics to work. She refused to show fear.”

Saying it all out loud, I kind of understand it. Doesn’t mean I agree, doesn’t mean I forgive her, but I understand her logic a bit.

However, she isn’t in control of just herself. She has our baby inside of her, my daughter, and she’s put her life at risk too. That I cannot forgive, that I cannot think about logically.

“Strong woman you got there,” he murmurs. “Strong, but not smart.”

I grunt in agreement. She’s strong sure, but she doesn’t realize there is strength in admitting that you need help. Hiding shit from me is not the way. Not even close. She doesn’t trust me, and that’s where the problem lies.

“What do you know about this motherfucker?” I ask.

Pulling up my phone, I scroll through the picture that Fish sent me of the man that entered the bar. My father takes my phone from my grasp and I watch as a scowl appears on his face, he looks up at me, his jaw set. I have no doubt that he knows exactly who that man is, and what he knows isn’t good, not at all.