The last voice rings out and the front doors instantly bolt, locking into place. Only to be opened by a special key. Next, a thin layer of metal shutters descends over the bullet-proof windows, bolting secure.

  I glance across the expanse of the clubhouse. The brothers are visibly ready for action, to take on the world, to protect what is ours, just like they are supposed to. One of the many reasons I am proud to call them my family. Debbie’s hand reaches out to hold mine, her other secured in Dallas’s. We lock eyes for a moment, a silent passing of information. It’s time for me to play my part. It’s time for me to stand front and center, the pillar of strength and wisdom among the old ladies.

  The door to the hall crashes open, and the women jump, frightened. There stands a monstrous Big. Brothers don’t hesitate to leave the comfort of their women with a kiss on the cheek or lips and join ranks behind their stalwart president. Gunz, his equal, stands to his left.

  “We are under lock down, until further notice,” Big booms gruffly, shattering the club’s eerie silence.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a topless whore scurrying toward Big. I snap into action, hauling my drunken ass off the stool and grabbing hold of her wrist. She immediately tries to yank it away.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I chastise, tightening my grip, and she winces.

  “I—I—oh—Big…” She ignores me completely, her hazel eyes pasted to him.

  This is not happening, not when I’m around. I am in charge.

  Without thought, I slap her cheek. Not enough to hurt, but enough to alert her obsessive self, to snap out of this haze and acknowledge that I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to her.

  It works! She steps forward in challenge, and I press my free hand between her exposed breasts.

  “Don’t,” I warn, and something apparently clicks. Once her eyes go wide in realization, she disengages.

  “Big—” she starts again. I feel him close in. The heat of his body is intimately crowding my space. I don’t have to look to know he’s here. I feel him. I smell him. It’s like a sixth sense. All of my nerve endings spark to life. In hushed tones, he converses with the brothers, not addressing the disrespectful whore, who’s huffing in frustration an arm’s length from us.

  “Bi—” she starts.

  “No,” I brashly cut her off, lightly shoving at her chest. “We are on lockdown, you do not have the privilege of addressing the President himself. What do you need?” I know I sound like a complete bitch, but I don’t give a shit.

  “But, I slept with him before. He should spe—”

  I step forward, crowding her space, getting right in her stupid face, my breasts pressed against her uncovered ones.

  “I don’t care if you’ve fucked him. Most of the whores here have fucked Big Dick. You are not some special piece of ass to him. If you were, he wouldn’t be standing at my back. He would be holding you, and being a man who takes care of his woman. You are not his old lady. You will respect me. You will speak your business then you will… Back. The. Fuck. Off. Ya got me? Because little girl, I will kick your ass, if you piss me off again,” I seethe in a harsh whisper, allowing my venom to permeate the air between us. She best take my advice.

  “My son,” she takes a step back, “he’s with my mom. I can’t stay for this lockdown.”

  I nod, my understanding and release her wrist.

  Raising my hands into the air to attract attention, I loudly explain, “Those of you who wish to leave will be afforded safe passage. But realize that once you are beyond these walls, we offer no further protection. And you will not be allowed back until the lockdown is over.”

  The whore sighs in relief, her shoulders relaxing. And I search the room for Dixie, the club whores’ unofficial den mother, boss lady, whatever you want to call her. Pinning her with a sharp gaze, I candidly point to the disrespectful whore.

  ‘I’ll take care of it,’ Dixie mouths, and I curtly nod my thanks, mouthing ‘Good’ in return.

  Spinning around on my heel, I come face-to-face with a massive wall of powerful, sexy, man. I guess he really was standing as close as I thought.

  “Big,” I whisper.

  Engrossed in club talk, Big holds up a finger, telling me to wait a moment. Then that same hand snakes out and wraps around the back of my neck, tugging me to him. Trying to be respectful of club business being discussed out in the open, I take this time to listen to the dominant pounding of Big’s sturdy heart.

  Minutes tick by, and I fall into a trance listening to Big’s lub-lub. Another warm arm curls around me, snapping me from my fog.

  “Hey,” Big finally speaks to me, way calmer than I ever expected.

  “Hey.” I glance up, resting my chin on his chest, my eyes locking into his intense ones. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  I know asking him is going to warrant me a nasty response that’ll go something like, ‘It’s club business. Be a good little girl and let the boys handle this.’ Oh, yeah, I know Big like the back of my hand. Sexiest control freak of the year, but still the same man I’ve known forever. Can’t blame a girl for trying though.

  “Prez…” Runner skittishly interrupts.

  Saved by the dipshit.

  Big connects eyes with his fellow brother. Well, one eye. Runner’s other one is still swollen shut.

  “Water under the bridge, brother,” Big huskily states, and Runner exhales in relief, loosening up. Evidently he was concerned about their brawl that went down this morning. Not that I blame him, it wasn’t his finest moment.

  “Go help Dallas with the K-9’s.”

  Runner pats his President on the shoulder, an affirmation of appreciation and jogs into the hall. Big turns his full attention back to me and genuinely smiles. “I can’t tell you now. Not until I know more.”

  What? What did he just say?

  I crinkle my nose at this, my brows furrowing with age lines. This is way beyond puzzling.

  He grins, adorable single dimple and all. “What?”

  “You’re—you’re actually…” I shake my head. “Actually going to tell me?”

  That warrants me a full on mocking laugh, fine creases by his eyes smiling and bright humor sparked irises…the whole shebang.

  What a ridiculing asshole!

  “Yes,” he blurts, his laughter smoldering to a grumble rumbling in his chest.

  “Okay, so what do you want me to do? Families stay here? Or in their houses? Do I need to arm the women? Pull out the cots? Head for the cellar?” I rattle off everything in a single breath, getting down to business. No more horsing around.

  Big smirks, both of his hands cupping my hips. I can’t figure out why, but this man has some kind of hip fetish.

  “You’re something else.” He shakes his amused head, tone light. Under the circumstances, I am shocked by it, along with the way he’s been acting. We are supposed to on lockdown. Although in the past five minutes, you’d swear it’s just another Sunday. Minus the hip holding. This is sort of new.

  “What?”

  “You’re good at this.”

  A flash of confusion washes over my features. “Huh?”

  “You’re a fuckin’ amazin’ club queen.”

  “I—”

  “And,” he speaks over me. “Houses are acceptable. Whores in the clubhouse, ladies shackin’ up for support in the houses. You and the two new old ladies at my house, in the basement; it’s furnished and it’s safer than the clubhouse. You’re in charge of the estates. I’ll cover the rest. Oh…and,” he licks his dry lips, “Axel, Bulk, or I will be takin’ a rotation in guarding the house.”

  “Are the other brothers on guard duty for the other old ladies?”

  “No.” He’s firm. Unrelenting.

  “Then what about Debbie and Candy Cane?” I know I should probably be worried about the other group of old ladies present, but they are not sisters. They are outsiders, and like I said, I’m kind of a stickler for my close-knit family. That may sound like I’m a bitch. So be it.

  “What about ‘em?” he asks nonchalantly.

  “Hell-O, they’re old ladies too. And my friends. It makes sense to protect us all, if we’re in that much danger to need guard duty.” I throw out my attitude in spades.

  “Bink.” Big runs the back of his knuckle across my cheek and down to my chin, where he holds it sweetly between his thumb and forefinger. I swallow hard when he bends down. His warm, minty breath wafts sensuously over my skin, flaring tiny goose flesh in its enticing wake.

  “You are my only priority. Not Candy. Not Deb. Not Jezebel and not Pixie. I only offered the other two so you’d have some company, and they’ve yet to get a house. But if you’d rather all of ‘em stay, then they’ll stay. If that’s what you want. But Debbie’s kids will be taggin’ along, yeah?”

  Why is he being so nice and strangely accommodating?

  A jolt to my inebriated memory has me forgetting my manners.

  “Not Lindy Sue,” I blurt. I don’t care if we are on lockdown or not. I’m not staying with my mother. No way, no fucking how.

  Big cocks a partial grin. “Not a problem, Sugar Tits. The cunt ain’t even here. She’s vistin’ your sisters.”

  Good to know. Dodged that bullet.

  We speak for a few more moments tidying up any loose ends. When we’re finished, I have my duties laid out.

  Big jams a hand into his jeans pocket. “Here.” He places the suspiciously pink and black zebra printed key into my outstretched palm. “It’s to my house.”

  “Thanks.” I wrap my hand around the cool metal. “But…um…why is it pink?” I have to ask.

  “It just is… See ya, be careful, and call if you need anything,” Big sweetly says, kissing my forehead and quickly strolling back into the hall, headed toward his office.

  This is going to be a long night.

  “Home sweet home,” I attempt to sound enthusiastic to the group of Sacred Sisters behind me, luggage clutched in their hands. We’re standing on Big’s wraparound front porch, which is complete with a swing, two wooden whitewash rockers, and empty Bud bottles. Definitely a man’s house.

  Unlocking the front door and pushing it open, it breaks the seal with a whoosh of air, and the pleasant aroma of cedar, leather, and fresh outdoors blasts us hard in the face.

  “Hot damn,” Jezebel blurts, crossing the threshold into Big’s house. I’ve only ever been inside a handful of times in my adult life. The last time was probably on my twenty-first birthday.

  Inside, I’m the last to enter, and I make sure I bolt the door before I join the ‘Oooo’s and Ahh’s’ coming from the living room.

  “Holy fuckin’ shit!” I exclaim, entering into a man’s paradise.

  The living room is a great room with vaulted ceilings. It’s attached to a modern kitchen and dining room. It’s like a masculine mesh of outdoorsman meets classy biker meets romance novel.

  The couches are a black buttery leather; yes, there are two. They both face a stone, gas-burning fireplace. Black bookshelves line one wall, bursting at the seams with books. I realize most people think a biker and books don’t typically go hand-in-hand; however, those don’t surprise me one bit.

  The kitchen cupboards are a smooth cedar with spectacular, truly awe-inspiring, black, brown, and golden granite countertops, complete with matching island. A state-of-the-art double wall oven and six burner gas stovetop wrap together the whole, I’ve-died-and-gone-to-heaven cooking package. Even the dining room is magnificent from the rustic chandelier to the long, thick, solid walnut table that seats ten.

  Each of us wanders the single story ranch at our own leisurely pace. Not that I’ve forgotten we are on lockdown, but for a moment I feel transported into my dream home, complete with three bedrooms, attached en suite baths, and a tiny sunroom off of the kitchen that overlooks a well-maintained flower garden.

  How did I never know about this? I’ve been asking myself repeatedly, drinking in my new surroundings.

  Once we’ve all sort of gathered our composure and washed away the initial shock, we meet back in the living room.

  “He said we’re to stay in the basement for safety reasons.” I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m following strict orders.

  Grumbles and whines are light but ever present with this newfound knowledge. Walking into the hall, I open the basement door, and the women and the two boys ascend the stairs behind me, luggage in hand. At the bottom, we are greeted by a massive steel door. I turn the knob. It’s unlocked. One forceful shove swings the door wide.

  My eyes nearly bug out of my head, and the ladies behind me gasp at the sight. The basement is gorgeous. Possibly even more so than the upstairs. It’s dimly lit, almost romantic, as can lights illuminate us from above, casting whimsical shadows upon the walls; that could only be described as a deep blood red color.

  I wander the expanse of the full basement that runs the entire length of the house. Four bedrooms, two baths, a small kitchen, living room, laundry room, and a little office space, all done tastefully. The décor might not be as elaborate or decorative as the upstairs. However, there is something old-world and heartwarming about the basement that the openness of the upstairs doesn’t encompass.

  After much deliberation and arguments with the old ladies, I take the master suite, into which I am shoved face first as the door is slammed shut behind me. Giggles from the naughty old ladies penetrate through the door, and I smile. This is going to be quite the lockdown, if I am with constant female companionship. I don’t think I’ve ever been in that position before. I’m not even sure if I know how to be a ‘girlfriend.’ I’ve never done the gossiping shit or the caddy nonsense that a whole lot of women submerge themselves in. I’m a straight shooter, no holds barred, what you see is what you get, kinda gal.

  Dropping my bag onto the bed, I unzip and unpack. I wasn’t able to go home to gather my usual toiletries, clothes, and such. My room at the clubhouse provided me with some essentials. Due to the late hour, I’m just glad to be here and rest. It’s after two in the morning.

  I spent the better part of the night delegating. Eight club whores are shacking up in the main clubhouse. The seven remaining old ladies, including Chelsea, are using my biological brother Brew’s house. Seems as though his is the only one that isn’t rank, has plenty of sustenance, and clean sheets. Not all that shocking, my brother is a clean freak. Now we are here, my buzz has worn off and I’m ready to catch some Zzzzz’s.

  I finish unpacking my luggage, and place my folded clothes on top of the black dresser. This room is the epitome of a man’s bedroom. Black leather padded headboard, gray comforter. No windows because it’s a basement. The walls are light gray, with dark hardwood floors partially covered with a gray and black striped rug.

  Laying my bag next to the bed, I fold back the comforter and climb in.

  My phone goes off.

  Well, shit!

  Climbing back out of the bed, I dig into the bag, retrieve my phone, and then hop under the covers once more.

  I have three texts.

  Big: How’s the house? There should be plenty of food. Axel is on the porch. Holler if ya need me.

  Big: Yo, Sugar Tits, get back to me.

  Big: Bink, don’t make me call you or come down there.

  Control freak at his finest. And we’re back to normal Big vs. Bink, let the battle royal begin.

  Me: I was getting settled in. I’m tired. I’ll talk to you in the morning.

  Curling onto my side, I leave the dim can lights on for mood lighting. It’s soothing, like a womb down here. I genuinely love it.

  Big: No. I’m wide awake, and I’m going insane.

  That’s not good. This is not good at all. I know what is going down has something to do with the run. None of the brothers, including my daddy or my actual brothers, have been killed or injured. I would know if they have. That shit isn’t kept quiet. But something is going down, something big. Something that has the President texting me. Scaring me. Big Dick is not a weak man; he does not admit weaknesses. Not to me, not to anyone. This text right here is him calling out for help. I can feel it, deep down into my soul and that scares the ever-living shit outta me. I don’t know how to help him. And worse, he needs someone to.

  Me: Do you need me to come up to the clubhouse?

  Big: No.

  Me: Big, if you need someone I’m here.

  Big: No. It’s not your job. Sorry I messaged.

  A siren is blaring in my head. Something’s not right.

  Me: Are you okay?

  I stare at my phone for five minutes. No messages.

  Me: Big, answer me.

  Five more minutes and my nerves are about shot.

  Me: I’m worried about you.

  Two more minutes of silence. Fuck this!

  Hauling my ass out of bed, I change into a fresh pair of skinny jeans and one of Big’s old black Harley t-shirts. Exiting the room, I see Debbie and Jezebel on the chocolaty brown couch talking.

  “Going to see Big at the clubhouse. Be back later,” I tell them, opening the door to the basement.

  “You sure?” Debbie inquires.

  I faintly nod. “Yeah, Big needs my help with something.” Climbing the stairs two at a time, I don’t wait for her reply. I walk down the hall and to the front door, which is unlocked when I open it. Axel and Pixie are seated on the front steps, holding hands, taking in the sparkling star-filled sky. Where we live, we always have the crisp view of the world above. No smog or lights to obstruct the pristine view. It’s pure, untarnished. Something I don’t appreciate as much as I probably should. I’m glad they are.

  “Big needs me.” I don’t ask for permission, when I stroll past them and down the front steps, to head out.

  “Prez said to keep you here. Not to let anyone leave,” Axel explains to my back. I’m already down the front lawn.

  Turning to peer over my shoulder, keeping pace, I blurt. “Well, I’m going to see Big. If he wants to chew me out, then he can do it in person. Keep down the fort. Don’t let anyone else leave, or I’ll have your balls. And the front door needs to stay secure. Which, Axel, means locked.”