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Yarder’s expression hardened with determination. “Now I’m going to make the next move,” he declared, his voice tinged with resolve. “Stay here with the dogs and try to get some sleep.”
“But you’re leaving?” I questioned; the thought of being alone in the clubhouse was unsettling.
Yarder shook his head. “Not right now. I’m gathering the guys to search the area and figure out our next move,” he explained, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“You’ll tell me if you leave, right?” I implored, not wanting to be left in the dark.
Yarder pressed a final kiss to my lips. “I promise I’ll never leave without telling you where I’m going. Try to sleep, babe,” he urged gently before exiting the room, leaving me with Harley and Davidson as my only companions.
As the puppies played on the floor, I couldn’t shake the lingering sense of unease. With Yarder’s words echoing in my mind, I sighed heavily. “Looks like it’s just me and you, guys.”
Chapter Nineteen
Yarder
My frustration burned like wildfire, fueled by the simmering anger that had been building inside me for weeks. I couldn’t stand the thought of just waiting around for Boone and Gibbs to make their move, leaving me and the club vulnerable. But what really set me off was the realization that Poppy had been in danger right under my nose.
The guys were gathered around the table, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion. Pirate and Stretch were the only ones who knew the full extent of what had just happened, and I wasted no time in filling the rest of them in.
“What the hell is going on?” Compass demanded, his voice tinged with urgency.
My jaw clenched as I recounted the events, my hands balled into fists at my sides. “Poppy took the dogs outside, and when she tried to bring them in, one of them had disappeared,” I explained tersely. “And then I found her outside, alone, with a note pinned to the other dog’s collar.” I slammed the crumpled note onto the table, the words staring back at them like a silent threat. “You should be more careful,” it read, a chilling reminder of just how close they were to danger.
Compass grabbed the note, his brow furrowed with concern as he read it aloud.
“What the fuck?” Dice exclaimed, his voice echoing the disbelief that rippled through the room.
“Is Poppy okay?” Aero’s voice cut through the tension, his concern for Poppy obvious in his tone.
I nodded tightly. “Everyone is fine,” I assured them, though the memory of finding Poppy outside, vulnerable and alone, still gnawed at me. “But we’re not going to sit around and wait for them to strike again. We’re making the next move.”
“Good, great,” Compass laughed bitterly. “But what is that going to be? We’ve been trying to figure this out for weeks, and we’ve come up with nothing.”
Smoke chimed in, his frustration apparent in his voice. “Yeah, it’s not like we’re going up against some small-time gang. It’s the fucking US and Texas attorney general, for Christ’s sake.”
I felt my temper flare at the reminder of just who we were up against.
“At the end of the day, I’m sure these guys put their pants on one leg at a time like we do,” Aero replied, attempting to inject some semblance of optimism into the situation. “Maybe Yarder is onto something. We should try talking to them.”
“Yeah, let me just call up the US attorney general and ask him to swing by the clubhouse for a chat,” Fade drawled sarcastically.
I shook my head, knowing that wouldn’t be possible. “But Russ Finley can,” I replied, my tone grim. Russ was at the root of this whole mess, and as much as I hated to involve Dove’s father any further, I knew Russ was our best shot at getting an audience with Boone and Gibbs quickly.
“Dove will be thrilled to hear about this,” Throttle grumbled.
“She’s not going to hear about it,” I stated firmly. “At least not until after we meet with Boone and Gibbs. We’re not letting any of the girls get involved in this.”
Dice raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. “So, what? You’re just going to ask Gibbs and Boone nicely to stop trying to kill us?”
I shrugged. “Something like that.”
Poppy
The door creaked open, and Yarder’s silhouette filled the room, his presence a comforting yet heavy weight in the darkness. Harley and Davidson were nestled in their kennels, finally sleeping peacefully after their adventurous outing earlier. Despite the chaos swirling around us, the puppies seemed blissfully unaware of the danger that lurked outside.
“Yarder?” I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He shrugged off his shirt and kicked off his boots, the weight of the day visible in the tired slump of his shoulders. His pants dropped to the floor, and he climbed into bed beside me, pulling me close into the warmth of his embrace.
