Free Masters of Menace: A Biker Erotic Romance by Sophia Hampton Page B

quickly read through it, reminding myself of my shocking claims, re-experiencing all the emotions and turmoil of the past three years of research and grief. I felt a tear run down my cheek and I hurriedly brushed it away.
     
    This was everything I had worked for so tirelessly since Dad’s death—and, I realized, since the death of my mother. I let my mind flit back to that tragic night. The man who contributed so horrifically to my current existence had shown up again at the trailer my mother and I lived in. He wanted money. He started beating my mother, demanding it. I ran out of the house to the neighbor and asked for their phone, but by the time the police arrived he was gone, and so was she. One of the cops on the scene was Dad, and I couldn’t have been a luckier girl for that.
     
    My cell phone rang, shocking me out of reverie. I didn’t recognize the number, but answered anyway. “Hello?”
     
    “Sarah Pruitt?”
     
    “This is she.”
     
    “You better stay away from us, bitch, or you’ll deserve what is coming to you.”
     
    The line disconnected and I pulled the phone away from my face. This wasn’t the first time I’d received threats from the CCA, but this was the first time they had called me. All other threats had been through email. Every once in a while it would be on a social media site, but increased security prevented that from happening again. How in the world did they get my number? Unless one of my little spies spilled on me. I paid them good money to not do that. Next they would know where I lived and… I didn’t want to think about that. I had known for a long time they were tracking my publications and research on them, but they had never been able to track me down to my house.
     
    The threats kept coming after that call. I reported them to the police, but there wasn’t much they could do. After all, they hadn’t been able to get Michael Lawrence yet—how could a couple of anonymous threats change that? Dad had taught me how to defend myself when I was a teenager and I had a gun, but the thought of using it made me sick.
     
    I would be doing exactly what I hated the CCA for doing: needless violence and killing. But no one had made any attempt to find me or contact me in any other way except through the phone threats. So I tried to push the matter from my mind and focus on the more positive results of my article.
     
    I had some major news organizations contact me about doing interviews. I had some publishers ask me about book deals (obviously with some more research). My story was getting nationwide coverage, as it was shared through every single social media outlet. I enjoyed simply tracking the story as it spread. I wasn’t up to speed on all the intricacies of the Internet, but one of my more tech-savvy friends was able to embed some sort of tracker on the post so every time someone shared my article online, it would pop up on a little map.
     
    For a while I enjoyed watching new blips appear, but then the map of the U.S. was so densely covered I couldn’t even tell when a new one appeared.
     
    I was laying in bed one evening, almost two weeks after my article was published, binge-watching some Netflix and eating Chinese takeout—it is the glamorous life I lead—when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I silenced my phone and carried on with my current activities. My phone vibrated against my leg. The same number. I declined the call, annoyed. A few minutes passed on and my phone vibrated again, this time with a text message.
     
    We need to talk – Michael Lawrence.
     
    I paused my show and sat up, staring at the innocent black letters. What could this mean? How did you get this number?
     
    I have my ways. That’s not important right now. Where can I meet you?
     
    Tonight?
     
    Yes.
     
    Should I meet him? My first thought was that this was a trap, but it could also have been my only chance to actually speak with the man himself. I had never met him or