The MC President’s Wanted Woman: Iron Saints MC

Claire

I found the USB because Grant had too many damn shirts.

One slipped behind the dresser while I was putting his laundry away. I reached for it, caught my fingers on tape underneath the back edge, peeled it loose, and a black USB dropped into my palm.

“Mommy!”

I shoved it into my leggings before Lilly came into the bedroom wearing one pink sock and enough chocolate around her mouth to tell me why she’d been suspiciously quiet. Her auburn curls were everywhere.

I pointed at her mouth. “What did you eat?”

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

“Mr. Pickles ate it.”

“Mr. Pickles is a stuffed rabbit.”

“He gets hungry.”

“Apparently he also steals socks. Where’s your other one?”

She looked down. “I don’t know.”

“Go wash your face before Daddy gets home.”

“But—”

“Bathroom. Now.”

She wandered off defending Mr. Pickles, and I pulled the USB back out. Grant didn’t lose things or tape them underneath furniture.

Put it back.

That would have been smart.

Instead, I slid it into the zipper pocket inside my leggings and finished his laundry.

I kept feeling for it while I finished in there, pressing my thumb against the zipper to make sure it was still there. Once, I started to take it out. Then I pictured Grant finding me with it in my hand, and I zipped the pocket shut again before I could talk myself into doing the sensible thing.

By six forty-five, dinner was done and I’d checked my face twice in the bathroom mirror. My strawberry-blonde hair looked almost completely blonde under the light. I twisted it up and checked the makeup over yesterday’s bruise. Nothing showed.

Grant walked in at six fifty-two.

Lilly ran for him. “Daddy!”

He picked her up, kissed her cheek, then looked toward the stove. “Chicken?”

“With rice.”

“We just had chicken.”

“We had pork.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

He frowned at the table. “Thought that was chicken.”

I picked up the jacket he dropped over a chair. “It wasn’t.”

His eyes stayed on me.

I hung the jacket up without saying anything else.

Dinner went the way it usually did. Lilly talked. Grant checked his phone, asked about the electric bill, and told me the rice needed salt. Every time he looked at me, the USB pressed harder against my hip.

After dinner, Grant went upstairs while I cleaned.

Lilly sat at the end of the kitchen table coloring when something slammed above us.

I stopped wiping.

“Baby, take your markers upstairs.”

“But I’m not done.”

“Take them with you.”

“Mom—”

“Lilly. Please.”

She looked toward the stairs and started shoving markers into the box.

Grant came down holding the strip of black tape.

My hand tightened around the wet cloth.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Don’t.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The fucking drive, Claire.”

Lilly stopped.

I looked at her. “Upstairs, baby.”

Grant snapped, “Go.”

She ran.

He waited until she disappeared. “You cleaned our room.”

“I clean our room every day.”

“So you found it.”

“Found what?”

He crossed the kitchen before I got one step back, grabbed my neck, and drove me into the refrigerator.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

He threw me sideways. My hip caught the island, and the floor came up hard under my hands.

“Grant, stop.”

“You went through my shit.”

“I was putting your clothes away.”

“So you did find it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

His fist twisted into my hair and pulled me up. I grabbed his wrist, but that only made him pull harder.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

The first hit snapped my head sideways. The second sent me into the living room.

Lilly screamed upstairs.

“Mommy!”

Grant grabbed my arm. “Stay up there!”

“Grant, stop. She can hear you.”

“Then tell me where it is.”

“I don’t know!”

Lilly came flying down the stairs before he could hit me again, her auburn curls bouncing around her face.

“Stop hitting my mommy!”

“Lilly, go back upstairs.”

She ran straight to me and wrapped herself around my waist.

Grant reached for her. “Come here.”

“No!”

“Lillian, now.”

She clung harder.

“Grant, leave her alone.”

He grabbed her upper arm.

Lilly screamed.

My hand hit cold iron.

The fireplace was beside us. I grabbed the poker and swung before he could pull her away.

It caught him above the ear.

Grant stumbled into the wall and let go.

For a second he stared at me.

Then I dropped the poker, grabbed Lilly, and ran.

No shoes, purse, or phone. Just my keys and the USB zipped against my hip.

I nearly dropped the keys trying to unlock the SUV.

“Mommy!”

“I know, baby. Get in.”

“Daddy’s bleeding.”

“Get in, Lilly.”

My hands shook so badly I missed the buckle twice. Grant came through the front door before I got it latched.

“Claire!”

I slammed Lilly’s door, ran around the SUV, and locked mine the second I got inside.

Grant hit the hood with both hands.

“Get out of the goddamn car!”

I threw it into reverse.

He followed, shouting through the windshield. I nearly clipped the mailbox before I hit the road.

Lilly was crying behind me.

“Is Daddy gonna die?”

“No.”

“Why’d you hit him?”

“Because he grabbed you.”

“He was hurting you first.”

I looked in the rearview mirror.

No headlights yet.

“Where are we going?”

There was only one place Grant would never think I’d go.

I hadn’t seen Nick Salazar in years. I knew him before Grant, and when I was little, he stepped in when somebody messed with me.

That was all I let myself think about.

“Mommy, I’m cold.”

I turned the heat higher, checked the mirror again, and kept driving.

“Are we going to Grandma’s?”

“No.”

“Where then?”

“To see somebody I used to know.”

The Saints Ironworks sign appeared ahead. I checked the mirror again.

Still nothing.

I turned onto the access road and stopped at the gate.

A camera moved toward the SUV. One of the men inside looked toward Lilly.

The gate opened.

A minute later Nick came through.

He was broader than I remembered, his cut open over a black shirt. PRESIDENT sat over his chest.

He got close enough to see me and stopped.

Then he came straight to my door.

I unlocked it.

Nick pulled it open. “Claire?”

“Hi, Nick.”

His eyes went over my face, my torn shirt, my bare feet, then Lilly in the back.

“What happened?”

“Grant.”

His face went still. “Your husband did this?”

I nodded.

Nick looked down the access road, then back at me. “Get out of the car.”

“He’s going to come looking for me.”

“I figured.”

“You don’t understand. He’s the sheriff.”

“I know who Grant is.”

I looked toward the road.

Headlights turned onto the access road.

My fingers locked around the steering wheel.

“Oh, God.”

Nick looked over his shoulder.

Two men near the gate moved before he said anything.

“Teo. Shut it.”

The gate started closing.

“What if that’s him?”

Nick stepped away from my door and moved between my SUV and the approaching headlights.

He glanced back at me.

“Then Grant and I can catch up.”