His Property (Iron Bandits MC)

Brian’s reappearance today hung over my soul like the weight of the world. On top of all of my worries about Peter, I did not need to be thinking about the cray-man again. What was worse, he had really freaked me out today, with his bat and his gun—and just when I had finally been feeling safe, here in the cocoon of Jack’s goodwill.

But now I felt like everything was back on the line. Would Jack kick us out? He didn’t need this shit knocking on his door—hell, crashing through his window. And according to all media outlets, scary stalker behavior escalates. Today’s events were not a sign of good things to come.

Jack and all his MC guys went into the front hall and had some kind of manly circle-huddle away from me and Peter. I didn’t mind. It was his house, those were his people, and I was the center of the problem.

By this time, Peter was beginning to fuss again. Poor little guy was hungry. So I settled us both down with the nursing pillow, tossing a blanket over my shoulder and his head, just in case all the guys came back in again, and began thinking.

I mentally prepared myself to get booted, frantically searching my mind for where to go and what to do next. Two things seemed clear: one, that I should get out of Jack’s house ASAP, so I didn’t bring more crazy to his life; and two, that I had to go far away, to a place where Brian would not be able to track me and Peter again. He was clearly mentally unhinged and posed a clear and present danger to us both.

Fight or flight. Considering Brian’s obvious violent tendencies and my experience with them, I was going for flight. I had a baby to protect, and Peter had to be my first priority.

I heard the men all making wrap-up noises, and a bunch of ‘later’s, and sensed the house clearing out. Jack returned to the living room alone, and came to sit down on the coffee table right in front of my seat on the couch, his elbows on his knees. He looked me straight in the eye.

“Tell me what you know about this guy, Ellie.”

“Can you just give me a few minutes before we get into it, Jack? I don’t want to talk about it while I’m feeding Peter.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.” He looked around and wandered into the kitchen. I figured he was getting a drink. If I hadn’t have been nursing, I would have requested a stiff one for myself, too.

After Peter had had his fill, burped, and drifted off again, I put him down in my room, made sure the monitor was on, and returned.

It was time to lay it all out for Jack. He deserved to know what a shit storm my life was and have the choice to opt out fast, if he was smart.

When I reentered the living room, Jack was ready for me, and he offered me a beer. I took it.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Talk to me.”

“Okay, well, I only dated him for a few weeks, as I said, more than a year ago. I was bartending in Portland, he came in, we seemed to hit it off. I liked him at first—he was funny, witty, attractive. He’s a computer geek. I think he’s actually a hacker, but I don’t know that for sure, just my impression. Definitely into IT.

“After we’d been out a couple of times, I just started feeling like he was getting really into my business—too much. He started asking me where I was going, who I was seeing, how I spent my hours away from him. It felt invasive, suffocating. And then, one night, he didn’t like that I had been flirting with one of my regulars at the bar—I didn’t know he was even in there, that night. I didn’t see him. Anyway, he showed up at my place after I got home and he got really in my face, and when I yelled at him to back off, he hit me.”

Jack’s hands fisted, his jaw flexed, and his eyes narrowed. Wow. He was pissed. Seeing that, I knew he wasn’t going to enjoy this any more than I did, but I needed to get it out. I hadn’t talked about this since that night, and it felt good to be able to share it with Jack, even though it was awful to revisit. Somehow, I felt like sharing with Jack was important. So I kept talking.

“It was full on, fist to cheek. I went down, hard, and he stood over me just seething, and that was it. I kicked his knee as hard as I could, and he went down too, and I—my head was all jumbled, my cheekbone and eye were pounding, but I was trying to just figure out a way to get him gone, ya know? So I scrambled up when he went down, and I grabbed my phone and called nine-one-one and then tossed it somewhere so he couldn’t end the call, and I just hoped that cops or someone would figure out where the call came from—you know, through GPS or location services or whatever.