68 - You're Not Alone

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Although Ezra didn't know the man, he couldn't bear to walk away now. He may never have been in a relationship serious enough to have marriage plans, but he could perfectly well imagine how horrible Juice felt and he didn't want to leave him alone. Having a stranger around was still better than no one.

"I'll get you coffee." Ezra gave him an encouraging squeeze on his shoulder and walked to the coffee machine, where he filled two cardboard cups. With the hot beverage, he sat back down next to Juice, who made a frantic attempt to wipe the tears from his face.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Ezra asked after handing him the coffee. "Is anyone on the way? Club members, maybe?"

Juice took a few deep breaths. "My best friend is on her way with his sister."

Ezra nodded approvingly. They would be more helpful than a complete stranger.

"But..." Juice stopped talking. Sighing, he rubbed the tattoos on his head. "I don't know what to do. Whether he's safe here." The coffee threatened to spill over the edge as his hand began to tremble.

Ezra felt the urge to place a reassuring hand on his knee. Although he suspected that it would scare Juice less than other men, he didn't dare. Instead, he tried to reassure him with words. "Do you know who did this?" he asked cautiously. Maybe talking would help.

Juice bent his head. He folded both hands around the cardboard cup. "My club," he muttered. "His club stole from us. They thought Raine and I exchanged information and that he could give them answers."

"You're not in the same club?"

The man sighed deeply. "No."

Ezra didn't know much about motorcycle clubs–or maybe gangs was a better word since this was about more than a cozy club of motorcycle fanatics–but he could imagine that getting engaged to someone from a rival club wasn't something they would be happy with.

He glanced to the side. All sorts of emotions flashed across Juice's face. Finally, the man set his coffee on the floor and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He called someone to ask for the number of someone called Phantom; then they talked briefly and ended the call. Although it was midnight, the biker also called the new contact.

. . .

Phantom grabbed for the phone on his bedside table as it began to buzz. He suppressed a sigh as he had to bend over a body. Tamara had just fallen asleep. It was one of the club girls he took to his room once in a while–just to make the others believe he was sleeping with her. He didn't want to stand out, didn't want others to suspect anything. Not now he had seen how shitty his brothers treated Raine. It was the same everywhere–everywhere people looked down on people like him. When you were in a relationship and got some nice things in return, he guessed it was easier to ignore all the remarks than when you were alone. 

He only let the girls he took to his room suck his cock; then he mumbled that he was tired and pretended to fall asleep. He had been able to do that trick twice now with Tamara; he knew he couldn't keep doing that. 

His attempt to get his phone caused her to crawl even closer to him in her sleep, and he gently pushed her away. Finally, his fingertips brushed his vibrating phone and he got hold of the thing. It was an unknown number.

Who would call him, in the middle of the night?

He slid aside and sat on the edge of the bed, hoping Tamara didn't wake up from the call and he would soon have to reject her advances again without her getting suspicious. Maybe he could blame it on a headache, or something.

"Yes?" he asked in a muffled voice when he answered the call.

"Hey, it's Juice. I..." There was a shaky sigh. Immediately Phantom sat up a little straighter. "Mayans raided the warehouse where we stored our guns. My club blamed Raine. They tortured him and ... and he's almost dead. He's in the hospital. And I ... I'm afraid my brothers are coming to finish him. But I... I don't trust yours either. Someone put a tracker on my bike; one of them wanted Raine to be the scapegoat."

"Jeez." Phantom rose to his feet and put on his pants with his phone clutched between his ear and shoulder. He knew nothing about an attack on the Sons' armory. Of course, as a prospect, he did not participate in the club meetings and they could have done it behind Raine's back, but carrying crates around was exactly a task they would give a prospect like him. Instead, he and two of his brothers had visited another charter the day before to get acquainted with these men. He could not imagine they would have done that when such a large-scale operation was planned.

Something is obviously off.

"I'm coming. Are you sure you don't want me to talk to Alvarez to ensure nothing else will happen to Raine?" He hesitated. "Of course, I can't be sure, but I can't imagine that our charter attacked. My brothers would have been much more observant today. After all, stealing from your club asks for a counter-action. They surely would have warned Raine."

"I don't know." Juice's voice sounded fragile. "I really don't know what to think anymore, Phantom. My own brothers–people I trusted with my life–almost killed him. I really don't know who to trust anymore."

A stab struck his chest as he heard the man sob.

"I'll make sure there's adequate security," Phantom promised. "Don't worry. You're not alone in this."

. . .

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