Page 84 of Fox (Road Rebels MC 4)
I paced around my apartment in the dark, till I cracked open a can of beer to calm myself down. It was four in the morning and all I’d been fueled by in the last few days was alcohol.
My phone rang in the bedroom, making me nearly jump out of my skin. I rushed to it and answered on the fourth ring. It was a collect call from the local prison, and I knew immediately who it was. I accepted it and waited for Enzo’s deep calm voice at the other end.
“Did I wake you, Thorn?” he said, and I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes.
“I don’t remember what it feels like to be sleeping,” I said, and when I heard Enzo chuckle, my shoulders relaxed a bit too.
“I could say the same. Anyway, they’re transferring us to County jail tomorrow,” he continued, and my eyes flew open.
“I’ll set up a protection ring inside for you and the others,” I said, still pacing around the apartment as I spoke to him.
“That won’t be necessary, Thorn, we’re already on it,” Enzo said, and I was surprised again by how calm he sounded. By how calm he had been through this entire thing. It was like he trusted me to handle all this completely. I didn’t even trust myself.
“What I need you to do is handle things on the outside,” he continued, and I gripped the phone tighter in my hand.
“I’m going to figure out a way to fight back. Those assholes in Mexico need to be shown that nobody snitches on us,” I was gritting my teeth hard as I spoke, and instead of Enzo agreeing with me, I was surprised to hear him clucking his tongue. Like he disapproved.
“See, that is exactly what you need not to do, Thorn,” Enzo said, and I stopped pacing in my tracks. My brows were crossed. I was confused, and my veins were pumped with adrenaline.
“I need you to lay low. You think you can do that?” Enzo’s voice sounded firm and hopeful at the same time. I shook my head, my eyes small and burning with rage and confusion.
“You want us to lay low? You don’t want us to fight back? What are they doing to you in there, boss?” I asked, and I heard him take in a deep breath.
“Nothing. We took a big hit. Four of our guys are dead. Six of us are in prison. What do you think is going on, Thorn?” he sounded angrier now and I gritted my teeth.
“Our club is under attack,” I said, in a low deep growl.
“That’s right, and now is not the time to launch our own attack. You hear me, Thorn?” Enzo said. I said nothing.
“You are President now, and I picked you as VP for exactly a situation like this. I need you to be calm, to lay low, stay away from weapons and all the other bullshit, so the whole club doesn’t end up here,” he continued.
“What do we do then? You want us to just sit around and do nothing?” I was barking into the phone, but Enzo was still calm.
“I know you’ll figure something out, Thorn. This is what you’re good at. You know how to figure shit out,” he said, but I could hear the worry in his voice. He might have been pretending to be calm and like he was in control of what was going on around him, but underneath the surface, he was just as fucked up about this as I was.
“Yeah, I’ll figure something out,” I replied in a deep quiet voice.
“Good. I’ll see you on the other side, soon,” Enzo said, and with that, he had ended the call.
I waited for a few moments, listening to the white noise of the disconnected call and then, in anger, I threw my phone to the ground. Stopping myself just in time from stomping on it. I wasn’t mad at Enzo. I was mad at myself. Mad at those fucking assholes in Mexico. Mad at the ATF.
I should have been there. I should have looked into the new contacts. I should have sniffed out that something was up.
I picked up my phone again and sent a text out to my core team. I was calling for Church first thing in the morning. We needed to figure this shit out. If laying low and staying away from trouble was what Enzo wanted, that was what I’d give him.
Picking up my discarded can of beer, I sat down on the couch in the living room and waited for the sun to rise.
Chapter 2
Ensley
I walked back towards my dressing room, with the sound of receding cheers in the background. It was my third late-night talk show of the week, and just like all the other ones, this one too had been a complete success. It was surprising how comfortable I had gotten with being in the public eye. I enjoyed the attention and the love that people around the country were showering on me. It made me feel like every decision I had made till now, had been the right one. They had all got me here, to this moment, when I was on national TV.
I had been assigned a personal stylist, ever since I landed the new role on the sitcom. I didn’t particularly like the idea of someone dressing me on a regular basis, but I was trying to persuade myself to appreciate all the things that my newfound fame had to offer.
So, I had put on the tight red dress, the pearls at my neck and the super high black stilettos that my stylist had picked out for me for that evening. She was gone now, as was my personal makeup artist and I returned to the dressing room on a high. Still reeling from the success of the interview.
When I shut the door behind me, I could hear the live audience clapping. It was still a crazy thought to accept that these people were falling in love with me. I just couldn’t wrap my brain around it.
Until a few weeks ago, I was nothing more than a faintly familiar face on television. I’d bagged a couple of roles on soaps and a few smaller roles on TV movies in the past few years. None of those roles had been even close to being as big as the one I had now.
The sitcom, Failing at Love, had its whole series out on popular streaming service. Maybe the show would have gone unnoticed if it was aired on any other cable network, but with the streaming service quickly becoming one of the most popular ways for people to watch their shows in the country now; Failing at Love received rave reviews. Within weeks I had already become a household name before I even knew what hit me.
I had always wanted to be an actress. Ever since I was four years old, I had dreamt of being a well-known and well-loved face on TV. Acting in films, on the big screen hadn’t ever been my end objective. I had always believed that being a daily presence in people’s lives on TV was more personal. That I would be better appreciated by an audience that way. Now, at the age of twenty-five, I had my big break, and all my Hollywood dreams were coming true.
It had definitely been a good decision to move to LA.
The thought made my fingers twitch, as I sat in front of the lit mirror in the dressing room. I was working away carefully at taking off my makeup. The red lipstick came off, as did the thick layers of mascara from my eyelashes and the foundation from my face. I didn’t want to think about New York and the life I had left behind there. I’d had a good night, just like every other night these past few weeks. Thinking about New York would only make me anxious, and that was the last thing I wanted right now.
I stared at myself in the mirror, my face was makeup free and yet there was a glow on my skin, my blue eyes were wide and bright. A smile creased the sides of my mouth, and I knew I was content. I was happy with the direction my life was taking.
I undid the sleek bun that the makeup artist had tied for me earlier, and my long blond straight hair came tumbling down. I touched the strands with my fingers; they were slippery smooth, and I thanked myself for remembering my grandmother’s advice and brushing my hair a hundred times every night when I was growing up.
Standing up from the chair, I started changing out of the dress into the clothes I had arrived at the studio in. A pair of skinny jeans and a silk blouse. That smile was still on my face. I couldn’t stop being excited about the rest of my life. This sitcom was only the beginning, very soon I’d get more offers and then some more. All I had to do now was work hard and show my fans some love. I could do that. I was already doing that. I was trying to attend as many talk shows as I could before the next season was released.
Apart from being giddy with excitement, I w
as also tired. I didn’t want to admit it but the last few weeks had been a rollercoaster ride; leaving me exhausted now. I hadn’t had a moment to myself; I hadn’t had a chance to breathe. Before I got ready to leave the studio, I skimmed through my calendar on my phone. I had the night off on Saturday. My face lit up at the thought that maybe finally I would be able to spend some time with my girls, out of the public eye.
Popping my phone back into my bag, I picked up my car keys and was ready to go.
It was at that moment when the feeling returned. That familiar dark feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt like I was being watched. My limbs froze, and I stood stock still at the back door of the dressing room. It was the door I had come in through earlier and the door that would lead me out into the parking lot. All these weeks, I had a chauffeur driving me around, but tonight, desperately craving some privacy, I had asked him to take a break, and I had driven myself to the studio.
Now, I was beginning to regret it.
Who could be watching me? I looked around the silent dressing room. The windows and the doors were shut, there were no cameras around. I was the only person here and yet, I felt like there was someone else here with me.
A deep pit formed in my stomach when I realized it was Ryan I was thinking of. For the past five years, since I left New York and left him, I had always been a little paranoid. There would be days when I’d go without once thinking of him and then suddenly, out of the blue, I’d be hit by this nauseous feeling that he was here with me.
It was a ridiculous thought, I knew that. But he had gotten so deep under my skin that I knew I would always be afraid of him. Even though I hadn’t been in touch with him, and I hadn’t seen him in five years, he was always somehow in the back of my mind. I hated how he affected me the way he did.
