Falling For The Biker: The Vice President's Girl Chapter 83

Wren

My legs turns to lead. Everything screams at me to turn away.

"Leave, Wren!"

Including Ezra. But do I obey the voice? Nope. I waltz my way into the room on trembling legs, and stand beside Ray.

Chin up, I speak. "What do you want with us, Reggie?"

"Get back, Wren," Ray spits. "Torch! Come get her."

"Don't move." Reggie clicks off his safety, aiming it behind me—at Torch, I presume.

Then, he turns to me with that creepy grin. "Wren. Wren. Wren. How do you spell it?...oh, right, you can't spell."

"I can spell, you dimwit," I snap. "I have dyslexia, not a speech impediment."

"Same difference, love."

"Stop talking to him. He's not a chat buddy," Ezra scowls. "Why are you even here?"

"The keys. I came for the keys."

"You should've called."

"I did. Four times—"

"I don't care about that, we don't. We're here to give an ultimatum," Reggie interrupts.

Ray scoffs. "We will only hear you out without the guns."

Reggie nods to his men, and they all lower their guns, prompting Ray, Ezra and his men to drop their guns.

That action forces air into my lungs. I don't realise how wound up I was until the guns are no longer in my face.

My palms are sweaty, heart rate slowly returning to normal.

"Fucking speak, then," Ezra snaps.

I raise a brow at him, but he doesn't look my way. I wish I could tell him now's not the time to be hot-headed, these men are with guns and are willing to be level-headed.

Christ, I hope he doesn't poke the bear—or bears.

Reggie's lips curl in distaste. "Show some respect, boy!"

"You don't deserve even an ounce of my respect!" Ezra barks. "You come into our fucking turf, and start a fucking war! I will speak to you however the fuck I want to, Reggie!"

From the corner of my eye, Ray nudges him slightly, with a subtle shake of his head.

"You killed Tristan, one of us—our brother. And we're willing to overlook that for some money," Reggie says.

Ray frowns. "How much are we talking?"

Ezra scoffs. "You're not getting a dime from us."

I almost want to slap him upside the head.

Let them man speak, Ezra. Wish I could yell that out, but I'd rather not draw attention to myself anymore than necessary.

"I suggest you shut up and let your boss speak, Ezra Jax. There's a reason you're VP, you have no idea what it takes to run an MC so—"

"Oh stop with the bullshit, Reggie," Ray snarls . "Name your fucking price."

"Fine then...fifteen million."

"Ha!" Ezra squawks. It's loud, abrupt and is enough to rile Reggie and his goons up. "Fifteen million dollars because we've got nothing better to do with that amount, right?"

"Your brother raised a hand on my sister."

"But he didn't kill her, your VP killed him."

"I didn't!" Ezra growls. "I don't know what kind of sick game this is, but I didn't kill Tristan."

"You were the last to have physical contact with him."

"You and I both know that doesn't guarantee anything...not in this life we lead and live."

Reggie scoffs. "You had a video of him beaten and bloody—it's going to be a life for a life, Ezra Jax. That, or fifteen million."

"You must think we're dumb," Ezra snorts.

Ray pulls him to the side. They talk for a bit, everyone is quiet, watching.

All of a sudden, Ezra barks, "No fucking way, Ray! No!"

Reggie grins, his eyes shining with greed, power-lust.

"What you're asking for, isn't fair," I tell him.

"Fair?" His face hardens. "Life isn't fair, either."

"If we give you the money, that's it right? We'll never have to see your face again, or look over our shoulders, right?"

His lips lift, and he shrugs. "Maybe."

I narrow my eyes. "Maybe? Maybe?"

Before he responds, Ray and Ezra come back.

"We're not giving you shit!" Ezra spits. "I suggest you turn around and walk back out the same way you came, or you're all gonna end up like Tristan."

"Who's the president in this place? Ray, you let your VP speak for you? You have no power? No say?" Reggie taunts.

Ray snorts. "That tactic cannot and will never work on me or EJ. He's my VP for a reason, I'm not power-drunk because I'm confident in my leadership. Unlike you. So like he said..." he jerks his head toward the door,

"Get the fuck out of my clubhouse."

"You really should pick the fifteen million."

"Is that a threat, Reggie? Did your greedy president tell you to make sure we give you fifteen million all because of Tristan's pathetic little ass?" Ezra laughs. "Tristan isn't even worth twenty dollars, so take your goons and get lost."

Redness creeps up Reggie's neck, his fists clamped tightly against his cane. "You're asking for—"

"By the way," Ezra cuts in, scanning the faces of the men behind Reggie. "Where's Terry?"

"We probably traumatized him." Ray snorts a laugh.

Ezra grins. "Hell yea. I bet he wished it was you, Reggie, that we beat up that day."

"You all should thank your lucky stars that we were lenient."

"Lenient?" One of the men asks incredulously. "He cannot move his left arm. It's been months."

"Isn't is merciful that we didn't light him on fire? We were this—" Ezra slightly touches his thumb to his index finger, "close. We had everything set. He was drenched in gasoline, I had my lighter in my pocket—"

Ray nods. "Yet, we forgave him and all of you for setting our clubhouse on fire. All for who? Tristan? The piece of shit that laid his hand on my sister? Pfft."

"You all should focus on something else. Tristan's been dead for months, his body's already cold in the ground. Let it the fuck go!"

Reggie pounds his cane on the floor.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Everywhere quietens. I feel like I'm watching a show—a horrible, and gut-churning show. My eyes bounce between Ray, Ezra and Reggie.

"Fifteen million to put everything behind us," he says through gritted teeth.

"Do you know the craziest thing?" Ezra asks. "You'll come back for more. We both know it won't stop at fifteen million, and I refuse to let you use us as your fucking money tree."

Reggie nods. It's a slow and continuous bob of his head. "I see. Boys, let's go then..."

I frown, neck tilting as they slowly walk toward the door.

That can't be it.

It cannot be that easy. Or could it?

I may be the only one holding my breath, but I don't mind. I wait for them to walk out, watching every slow step with focus.

And I know I'm not the only one.

No one speaks, not a sound except the click of their polished shoes on the tile.

Once Reggie reaches the closed door, he pauses. Then, he turns.

My stomach twists, a gut feeling settling in my chest. Blood rushes in my ears, my heart pounding.

"Fifteen million, Ray. Consider this—" he lifts the gun in his hand, "a warning."

Everything happens in slow motion.

My eyes widen at the sight of the gun aimed at me, a shot rings out and something hits me in the arm.

It sears through my skin, and I stagger back, my lips falling open either on a gasp...or a scream.

"Wren!" Someone shouts.

"Lock the fucking door, Torch!"