Chapter 11

Burdock's head snapped back at the blow, and his chair went sliding backwards. Hitting the askew edge of a throw rug, the chair tipped over, landing Burdock on the floor with a loud thud.

With a string of curse words, he lifted himself off the floor, righted his chair, then turned so he was facing me. "Okay, I'll give you that one." He followed the declaration with, "You are one of the best Op's I have ever seen, and you are fucking killing yourself. You have become a problem for the other members, and you damn well know it. I had to do something, Torin. I was losing you!"

**~Marlowe~**

Two days had passed since my introduction to the members of Rook's club, and I was now trying to decide if I'd been dropped down Alice's rabbit hole, or picked up by Dorothy's tornado and carried to the land of OZ. The bar where I had been working, as well lived above, had caught fire while I'd been with Rook.

The fire had been a threat against the Sons Of Morning Star from a rival gang, showing them there wasn't anyone they couldn't reach. Not long after, the compound had been attacked. As a result the members of SOMS had gone into hiding.

Rook had sworn to me, he would never tell of my past. But under the circumstances of knowing who I was, he'd felt he'd needed to go to Burdock. Burdock had then ordered I be put under the club's protection. So…here I am, pondering about Alice and Dorothy.

After a few minutes of intense consideration, I decided that both descriptions pretty much summed up my situation. Just like poor Alice and Dorothy, I was in a world that had to be make-believe! No way in hell could the events that had been going on since I'd been dropped, blown into— or whatever the fuck had happened when I'd been introduced to this Looney-toons MC—be anything other than make believe. And I just wanted to get off the crazy train!

~~

As I'd sat in Burdock's office, dawning clarity had blazed across my mind like Haley's comet. My eyes had rounded, becoming huge orbs in my face like Betty Boops. If they had this kind of information, they were not the unruly motorcycle gang I'd been led to believe they were. As such, I'd hissed, "Just who the fuck are you guys? That kind of information is just not handed out to other clubs!"

I'd learned they were Special OPs, and when I'd finally stormed out of Burdock's office an hour after having entered it, Rook had gotten one hell of an ear full when I'd seen him again!

Now, with the knowledge of who these men were circling around within my head, I settled on the fact that, without a doubt, I'd been punted straight down the rabbit hole. For three hours, I'd openly observed those within the walls of my, quote, unquote ‘new' home.

I'd decided Rook was the Cheshire cat, appearing and disappearing at will, and engaging me in his amusing, but sometimes perplexing conversations. Jax, the Hatter, was mad, quite literally disturbed.

Burdock, or rather Prez, was the Caterpillar, strict and not very friendly, but always willing to listen and give advice. Then, of course, there was Satan, the Queen of Hearts—violent, authoritative, dominant and a tyrant!

As for the remaining team members…Well, they all played their part. However, for the life of me, I hadn't been able to remember any of the other characters' names in the 1865 Lewis Caroll's story book of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

As I continued to absently gaze at the people around me, I'd tried to recall exactly how Alice had made her great escape. The sudden chirping of my phone jolted me, and pulling it from my pocket, I frowned down at the unknown number. With a shrug, I brought up my message, my jaw dropping.

***Unknown***: Mills?

My real, last name practically jumped off the screen at me, and after a few seconds of indecision, I quickly typed.

***Me***: Who is this? How do you know my name?

Immediately a reply came back.

***Unknown***: Thank, fuck! Can't talk now! Erase the messages and tell no one of them. I'll be in contact again.

Within seconds, I shot one back at the unknown messenger.

***Me***: Who is this?

I stared at the screen, waiting, but after several seconds passed, I realized the person wasn't going to respond to my inquiry.

Restless, and uneasy from the strange message, I didn't know what to do with myself, so scooting the chair back, I headed toward the bar. *The devil you knew, was better than the one you didn't*.

Ginger was working behind the counter tonight, and as I had struck up a tentative friendship with the easy going red-head, I hoped she'd be willing to let me help her serve the bar.

Four hours later, I found myself fidgeting with the cloth in my hand as I wiped down the length of the bar's countertop once again. I'd felt Satan's eyes on me from the moment he'd walked in, and his stare hadn't seemed to waiver all night.

Now, I was beginning to lose it because I felt like an insect under a microscope beneath his penetrating gaze. It was hot and smoldering, but I didn't feel it was an appreciative smolder. He'd sat in that damn, dark corner, the whole evening, and though I'd been unable to see his face clearly, I'd felt his eyes on me. His damn gaze had felt as if he'd been weighing and measuring me and I couldn't help but feel I was coming up short.