Dakota felt silly driving in the back of the car, a member of Scarred Angels in the driver’s seat. It was everything Dakota had never wanted to be: a pampered princess who never lifted a finger. She had never wanted to be that dependent on others. She knew how to drive, how to work a budget, go grocery shopping, do her own laundry, cook, clean, and drive. She didn’t understand how people did this. She was nervous and antsy in the car, her leg jiggling in front of her and she kept lowering and raising her window.

 

She was going to talk to Adam. The gentle warnings of her father had pinged through her brain all day, echoing around her brain, making her question everything. But then she remembered she had done this already. She had already put herself through this once before, convincing herself that Adam had no real affection for her. She had been proven wrong then by talking to him. When she worried and overanalyzed, she was only guessing at what Adam could be thinking. It was better to just go and talk to him, sort this all out.

 

There was no reason they couldn’t be together. Yes, they were from different backgrounds. Yes, she had more money than him. Yes, he may have been involved in some illegal activities, but they could still make it work, couldn’t they? Could it be true that what they had was only created by the chaos they were embroiled in? Could that be all this was?

 

Stop it, Dakota. Don’t do this again. Go and talk to him, get real answers to your questions. That’s the only way to know for sure.

 

As they sped down Delaware Avenue, Dakota turned to the river and saw the boats gliding over choppy waters, transport ships bound for Europe and Asia. She lowered her window and breathed in the cool air that flowed over the water. She thought of Adam’s house that wasn’t too far from here. His clean and tidy little house. It wasn't the home of a dangerous criminal; it was the home of a man who had been alone for a long time, a man who had created his own life and worked to keep it going every moment of every day; he was a good man, Adam. A tough man, a hardworking man, she just needed her father to understand.

 

The parking lot for Scarred Angels was empty. It was one thirty in the afternoon, and the club wouldn’t open for several hours. It was strange to see it so quiet and calm. Normally, at night, there would have been cars, puking club kids, and couples making out in dark corners. But at this hour, there were just the bikes that belonged to the Scarred Angels members and seagulls circling the sky looking for anything to scavenge.

 

Dakota stepped out of the car and looked around. There were three members of the club sitting on a low concrete wall smoking cigarettes. She gave them a half-wave, but they only glared at her. Confused, she made her way to the entrance with Mark, her guard for the day, leading the way. As they walked past the smokers, Dakota could see them staring at her and shaking their heads. She wondered what was wrong and why they all looked so angry. Maybe something had happened yesterday when they had attacked the assassin, something Adam hadn’t told her.

 

Mark opened the door for her, and she only got two steps before a wall of Scarred Angels members greeted her. About ten men in leather jackets and stern expressions glared at her over crossed arms. It stopped Dakota in her tracks. She didn’t feel unsafe, but she knew there was something dangerous in the atmosphere, something that would soon fall on her head if she weren’t careful.

 

“What’re you all looking at her like that for?” Mark asked them.

 

But none of them spoke; instead they just stared at Dakota. She could hear one or two of them mumbling under their breath, but nothing was said.

 

“You need to leave, girl,” Dakota wasn’t sure who had said it, but she knew by their nods that the men in the line agreed with the speaker.

 

“Why? Is Adam here?” Dakota asked.

 

“Leave the country, go and don’t come back. You and your kind are nothing but trouble. You got all the money in the world, but you still need us to die so you can live,” a man spit.

 

“What?” Dakota stepped back as if she had been slapped. “I never asked anyone to die.”

 

“No, but a man’s gotta live. To live he’s gotta work, and it’s because of people like you that this is the only work we can get. Putting our lives on the line so you can sit pretty in your mansion.” It seemed to be a different man each time, like a many-headed beast. Each had a different voice, but they were all saying the same thing.

 

“It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven,” a voice said.

 

“You’re no better than us. You’re not worth more,” another chimed in.

 

“What the hell are y’all talking about!?” Mark demanded, just as confused as Dakota.

 

“Get her out of here, put her and her father on a plane. We don’t need their business anymore. It costs too much,” one of the voices said.

 

Dakota stared at the line of faces hurt and confused. Just yesterday that had, en masse, gone on a dangerous assignment to find her father’s killer and now they were standing around and telling her that she wasn’t wanted.

 

“What’s changed? What’s happened?” Dakota asked. Something had happened and no one had told her. What could it be? Was it the suicides of the assassins that had turned Scarred Angels against her?

 

“It’s family business. And you’re not family. You’re just another rich bitch we have to work for, so get in your daddy’s car and go!”

 

“Enough!” a strong voice said. It was Adam’s Uncle Bill. He was walking down a set of metal steps, but he was slow and even. He was in no rush. Like everything he did, his movements were dedicated. “Ain’t the girls fault. No point in blaming her.”

 

Dakota moved past the line of Biker’s who had stood down at Bill’s strong voice. She walked up the metal stairs, meeting Bill at the entrance to the office and following him inside.

 

“What’s happening?” she asked him quietly.

 

“Don’t concern you,” he said.

 

“Where’s Adam?” she asked.

 

“Busy next few days. Might be a good time to give him space.”

 

Dakota stared at the older man in confusion. It was infuriating that no one would tell her anything. Did they think her that incapable? Just the other night she had tricked a man out of information and tracked another to his disgusting home. If they could only see that Dakota wasn’t a spoiled princess, wasn’t a rich bitch, she could help – if they would just let her.

 

Bill’s phone rang, the noise making Dakota jump. He glanced at the phone and held up one finger to her, stepping out to take the call.

 

Alone in the club’s office Dakota looked around at the scattered papers that littered the desks. Security monitors flickered and there was the occasional noise from walkie-talkies sitting in their chargers. Dakota glanced at the door, but Bill was nowhere to be found. Quickly, she began to rifle through the pages on the desk, trying to find out what was going on. There were bank statements, permits, checks, and timesheets. And then she saw it, the edge of a photo sticking out from underneath a copy of last month’s Popular Mechanics.

 

Shaking, Dakota looked at the picture of a beaten and battered Joey with yesterday’s paper, Joey who had saved her that night in the parking garage, and who had chased after her attacker with no concern for his own safety, and the note, the Kanes for Joey. Dakota looked behind her nervously, thinking of the gang of bikers on the other side of the wall. They were family; they would protect each other before anything else. Dakota knew she was a job to them, nothing else, a rich bitch they wanted nothing to do with. She slipped the photo and note back under the magazine and swallowed as she realized the men hired to protect her might just kill her instead.