Holding Out: Hawks MC Ballarat Charter #1

Chapter Nineteen

Pick drove for a long, silent, fifteen minutes. He seemed to have something on his mind and any other time, I would have asked about it to see if I could be of some help, but I was beat. We pulled onto a dirt driveway that wound around to a massive ranch-style home. It was the prettiest white weatherboard house I had ever seen, with a large deck surrounding it.

"Wildcat, wait here a sec before we go in. I need to make a call." Without an answer, he climbed out of the car, shut the door, flipped his phone open, and placed it to his ear. I couldn't make out what was being said. He was speaking in a hushed tone, but whatever it was, Pick didn't seem happy about it at all. He waved his free arm wildly in the air, trying to get some message across that, obviously, someone wasn't getting.

I turned my attention back to the house. Most lights were off except the porch, and what I presumed would be the lounge. How had Talon afforded a place like this? It looked as though—from what I could see in the dark—along with the house, there was some mighty big acreage going on.

"Fuck," I heard yelled, bringing my gaze back to Pick just as he pounded the bonnet with his fist. He swung the door open and snapped, "Let's move."

Undoing my belt, I got out and met him at the front of the car. "Pick, are you okay?"

He grabbed my upper left arm and pulled me toward the house. "No, Wildcat, I'm not. I hate my fuckin' life right now. All I ever do is try to protect my ma, but she just keeps bringin' shit into her life, and then I have to fuckin' fix it. It sucks." We stopped just outside the front door as he turned me to face him. "Shit, Zee, sorry."

"Don't worry about it. You need to talk to get it off your chest, and maybe when I'm not so dog-tired, I could have some great advice for you, but right now, I doubt anything that came out of my mouth would be understandable."

He hunched and looked to his feet. "You're a great person, Wildcat...and, I'm sorry—"

What?

The front door opened to a smiling Vic. "Come on in, sweet stuff." He reached out and grabbed my hand, dragging me forward, but I couldn't move my gaze from Pick. He seemed truly worried and remorseful. His eyes moved from the floor to me rapidly.

Finally, he met my stare and whispered, "I would never have done this if it weren't for me protecting my ma. Never. I'm sorry."

Shaking my head, I smiled. "Pick, what are you talking about?"

"Momma."

I spun so fast I would have fallen if Vic still didn't have hold of my hand. "Maya—" It was then I took in the scene in front of me, and I felt sick to my stomach. "W-what's going on?" I asked with wide eyes, staring at Julian and Mattie sitting on the floor near the far wall, cradling a scared Maya and Cody. I turned to Vic and noticed for the first time he held a gun.

"Have you worked it out yet?" He smirked.

"Not really," I hissed, ripping my hand from his grip. "But please, enlighten my tired brain."

He chuckled. "I can see why Talon likes you, showing balls in the face of danger. Please, have a seat while we wait." He shoved me to the couch near my family.

Straightening my clothes and myself, I looked over to the children. "It's going to be fine, okay?"

"Yes, Momma," my brave Maya said. Cody nodded.

Looking back at Vic and Pick—yes, any other time I would have laughed at the rhyming; instead I said, "I can sort of understand your reason, Pick. But, Vic, why?"

He shrugged. "I need the money."

"What's he paying you to deliver me?"

"Smart girl."