Family Ties (Ashby Crime Family)

“Thanks, I think.” Madison was a funny chick with a sharp tongue, but she was fun to be around that made her the perfect companion for endless wedding festivities.

“You look good too, almost like a real adult.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “Right? I’m playing dress up today, but I kind of like it.” She leaned in and wrapped her arm around mine. “Tell anyone I said that and I’ll make you a soprano,” she whispered.

“Noted.”

“Good,” she shot back with a satisfied grin.

“Just remember, Madison, we’re required to dance together at least twice and things could go the easy way or the hard way.”

She gasped and then grinned. “You play dirty, pretty boy.”

“Damn right, I do.”

“All right, then let’s just make fun of everyone else and have a good time, yeah?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Shhhh!” The wedding planner hushed us with an angry glare as she pushed us forward. “Okay, go, and no more jokes until the ceremony is over. Got it?”

“Aye, aye,” Madison said with a mock salute.

“Come on, smart ass. Time to act like grownups.”

“I guess I can do that much, for the next forty minutes, anyway.” Surprisingly, Madison kept her word. Aside from a few snickers at a few unfortunate word choices.

Chapter Twelve

Savannah

Withdrawal was the worst. The absolute fucking worst. And it was made worse by the fact that Charlie locked me in a room with nothing or no one except my thoughts to entertain me.

Fucking Charlie.

He could say this was for my own safety. But I knew I was locked in a room based on my last name, and the name of my father.

A bitter laugh escaped at that thought. I wasn’t worth anything to anyone anymore, least of all Ronan Rhymer. He and Brendan were probably busy working on plans to obliterate the Ashby family and take over all the illicit business in Glitz before they moved on to Mayhem. I was nothing but a footnote in the Rhymer family history at this point, which made me pretty fucking worthless.

A fact Charlie would find out soon enough.

In the meantime, I needed to get out of this room. Between the cold sweats and the constant nausea gnawing at my gut, I was climbing the walls. And my claustrophobia—which was a precursor to losing my fucking mind—was off the charts. I was thisclose to my freedom and there was no way in hell I’d go crazy now. I just wanted the withdrawals to stop, so I grabbed a cigarette and lit it, sucking in the toxins until I heard some people outside the door.

“Who do you think is in there?” The scratchy voice came from a woman, one who smoked more than she should judging by the hacking cough that came after the question.

“Don’t know. Must be someone important or special if he put her in his room.”

His room? I took a slower, more careful look around the room, and realized this must be Charlie’s space. His safe space when he was doing motorcycle club business and didn’t want to be disturbed. There was a photo on the nightstand of Charlie with a man I’d bet was his brother. In another photo, he had his arms around an older woman who wore the proud smile of a mother.

Above the bed another photo showed Charlie with his almost-twin and a man who had to be the father. All three wore Reckless Bastards insignia. It’s a family business.

“You think it’s a woman?” The voices on the other side of the door grew louder, a clear sign they were right outside and wanted me to hear them.

“It better not be,” another woman growled like a feral animal. “We don’t need any more Bitches around here, not with all these guys taking outside bitches as their old ladies.”

“It’s probably some stupid whore and Charlie’s just trying to get info from her. It’s what Cross used to do before he and Moon hooked up.”

I rolled my eyes at the shit-talking going on out there. The women were upset about me being here. Well, that made two of us. I didn’t want to be here anymore than they wanted me here, but the door was locked. And I was stuck.

Or am I?

When we were teenagers, Brendan had taught me a thing or two about picking locks, and this door wasn’t as complicated as the ones on our family estate. This was a simple lever handle. Though I didn’t think to have Tits buy me a lock-pick, she had bought me a switchblade and an off-brand Swiss Army kit.

I kneeled on the hardwood floor to get a good look at the lock, armed with the knife and a hairpin. It wasn’t a secure lock, then again Charlie probably didn’t need airtight security in his own clubhouse, which made it easy to pick. As soon as the women’s voices faded, I jiggled the mechanisms until they gave way, and a loud click sounded before the door opened.