I'm sitting in a biker clubhouse with a bunch of women I don't know, kids playing on the floor in front of us with Disney movies on a giant television, holding the keys to a man's bedroom that I don't deserve, all while he and his entire family, blood and extended, try to figure out how to protect me from my psychotic, crooked, ex-husband.
And I have yet to call Rebecca and let her know everything.
That's partly because, for the first time since being in WitSec, my gut tells me not to call or trust her right now. She's a United States Marshall. How is it that Antonio got out of jail, found me, attacked me, and she hasn't called, texted, nothing?
"Whatever you're thinking about, stop," a firm voice says, making me look up just as Faylinn comes up to the back of the sofa and puts
