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“And then that was that?” Incredulous, I shuffle closer to the girl. “You just said you’d get around to telling him, and you’ve been living with him ever since?”
She nods, like this is completely normal.
“How long ago was that?”
“Six months,” she replies.
I have no idea how this man’s mind works, or his sister’s now that I know that’s who she is. But they’re both as strange as each other. “So he has no idea? After letting you live with him for six months?”
“Probably not.”
Wow.
A dull thump at the door prevents me from asking any further questions. I answer—our takeout finally arrived—and decide to let the matter drop. We eat in silence, Lacey laughing quietly at the rom-com playing on the television, while I sit and stew on the news that I’m not the only one with a sister in trouble. And mull over the irony of the fact that I am taking care of Zeth’s while he attempts to take care of mine.
******
I can’t get that girl out of my fucking head. The sounds she made on the phone, the things I told her to do to herself, and the way she caved like a landslide as soon as I got her past the first gate. Not to mention the horrified silence when that toilet flushed. I’m still pissing myself every time I think about that little gem. Somehow makes it even more taboo. Especially since that sort of thing, getting busted, makes me harder than fucking tempered steel. I’d had to spend a considerable amount of time working my own hand on my dick, trying to erase the fucking sexy visual from head.
After that, I’d spent the rest of yesterday making plans with Michael. The guy had more photos, confirmation that Alexis definitely is somewhere in that compound. The girl was curvier than her sister and dressed well in all the images, but there were shadows beneath her eyes and a haunted look to her wherever the camera had caught her face. She’s definitely in trouble, but I can’t go sneaking around the compound looking for her today, though. That would seem too suspicious. Going around asking for specific girls when I kicked back Alaska, Julio’s top girl, who’s stormed around the place like a goddamn tornado since the moment I said no to her, would not go down well. No, today I’m headed to Anaheim to meet with Rick. I’m taking the dossier on that DEA agent, Lowell, that Michael also had for me, so I can ask Rick a few choice questions. I mostly want to know what he’s heard from back up north. Tossing my phone was smart—Charlie would have found some way of contacting me through someone else if I’d kept it—but it also means I have no idea what kind of holy hell has been raining down on Seattle since I bolted.
Rick is waiting in a fried chicken joint for me, a box of cold, greasy fries sitting in front of him, untouched. I picked the place on purpose just to piss him off. Rick’s a big guy but he didn’t get that way through genetics or, gotta hand it to him, steroids. He eats healthy. Like, eats like a fucking chick kind of healthy. Even sitting inside these four walls is probably making him sweat kale extract.
“Took your time,” he complains as I sit opposite him, dropping the file onto the table. He lifts the thing open with one finger, grimacing at the contents inside, then letting it fall closed. “Why the hell am I in Anaheim sitting in a fried rat shop?”
“Because I told you to be.”
He nods slightly, accepting that. “Charlie’s gone off the deep end,” he advises me from under lowered brows. “Looking everywhere for you.”
“The boys know you’re alive?” I ask him.
“No. Heard that from the DEA bitch. Gave me a contact cell back when I started working for her. She. Is. Pissed.” He emphasizes each word, just to make sure I understand how pissed. “Was screaming ’bout arresting me for reneging on our arrangement and all. I told her I got out of town before I got dead. And I’m no good to her dead.”
“True enough.”
“She wants to know where I am, though. Wants me to work some of the biker charters around here instead.”
“Not happening.” I shake my head. “The biker charters that deal with Charlie see you, they’re gonna run their mouths and suddenly you’re resurrected. And Charlie knows I didn’t do what he asked me to.”
“You ran.” Rick rubs the back of his hand against his broad, twice-broken nose. “Figure Charlie probably suspects something’s up already. Lowell said another guy told her the old man is on the rampage, looking for some girl who was living with you. Wants to lay a few questions on her regarding your whereabouts. The DEA are keen to scoop up this chick, too. Seems they’re mighty interested in what you got going on, Zeth.”
I had expected that, the DEA to poke their noses into my business, but I hadn’t expected them to go after Lacey. Charlie knows all about Lacey. He pretends not to take an interest in my personal shit, but he’s up to his sticky fucking coke-rimmed nose in my business by all accounts. Must have listened in on a thousand conversations when the girl was asking me where I was, panicked, begging me to come home. The idea makes me angry.
But then something even worse hits me. If Charlie is serious about snatching Lacey up then that means…that means he’s likely to snatch up Sloane at the same time.
And there’s no way I’m gonna let that happen. My muscles stir, wanting to take immediate action; my fists throb with the need to hit something, to smash and pound, to make someone hurt. The rest of me twitches with unspent adrenalin, lighting fires in my joints, readying them to fight. I’ve never been this wound up from a single thought. Not ever. I’m worried about Lacey for sure, but when I think about Charlie laying hands on Sloane…
