A pause. Heavy with warning.
“Understood?”
Santiago narrows his eyes, and then smiles, but it’s far from pleasant. He knows there is no other choice for him. “Understood,jefe.”
The ice in Arcangelo’s gaze doesn’t melt. “Well, this was fun. Call me when the next party starts.”
He glances at Bones, but doesn’t wait for an answer, and strides out of the room just as Bones’ phone buzzes.
“Fuck,” Bones curses, staring at the screen like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he drags a hand through his hair, fingers curling tight at the ends.
“What’s wrong?” Reaper and I ask at the same time.
He lifts his gaze to me, then shifts it to Santiago. His jaw hardens. “You need to get out. This is club business.”
There’s no argument, no hesitation. Santiago’s gone in seconds, the door slamming shut behind him hard enough to rattle the walls.
Those seconds are all it takes for my pulse to spike, blood roaring in my ears. Whatever just came through that phone, it’s bad. Really bad.
Fuck. I don’t need this — not after everything.
“Dom,” Bones says quietly, regret filling his eyes. “The feds picked up all the dirty cops.”
“But?” I whisper, my chest tightening like an anvil’s been dropped right on it.
“Tank collapsed on the way to Bowie,” he continues, swallowing hard. “Fang had to take him to the hospital. He’s going to be okay, but—”
The room bends. A high-pitched ringing fills my head, drowning out everything else.
“Bowie got away,” I murmur, numb spreading through me.
Bones nods slowly, watching me like he’s waiting for an explosion. Mindfuck and Reaper start cursing angrily under their breath, but I barely register it. I shut everything down. The rage, the pain, that sick feeling in my gut. I lock it all away and feel myself go cold.
“That’s fine.” My voice is flat. Dead. Stripped of anything human. “I’ll get him later.”
I straighten, already moving, already calculating. “We need to clear out. We’ve been here too long.”
Adora
“Why isn’t he moving?” I mumble, staring at my phone like it might spring to life any moment now. Then I spin my chair toward Domino and point at him across the counter, accusing, my arm shaking. “You said he was on his way here, but the dot isn’t moving.”
Domino looks at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. He’s currently lounging in the reading corner of my bookstore, flipping pages lazily, his calm demeanor in sharp contrast to how I feel.
“I don’t know. He’s probably waiting at a traffic light or something,” he says slowly, blinking just as slowly. Like he has no idea what the fuck is wrong with me.
Sucks for him. I have no idea what the fuck is wrong with me either.
Actually, that’s not right. I do know what’s wrong.
I need to see Ghost alive with my own two eyes. The dot on the tracker app isn’t enough anymore. That stupid biker went after a whole cartel, and I know — Iknow— he put himself in unnecessary danger. Domino says he’s fine, but what the fuck does he know? He was with me all weekend at the clubhouse, just repeating whatever he heard on the phone.
Damn it, I miss my old bubble of ignorance. My stomach feels like it’s churning butter. Not even my jog this morning managed to bring my anxiety down.
…And then there’s my mother. They’re bringing her here, to Silverpine. That alone is enough to mess with my head. In a twisted way, it feels like her life is in my hands, like I could save her if I wanted to.
But fuck it to smithereens — I don’t want to, and I don’t know if that makes me a bad person. I didn’t cry when I found out my father died. Not one tear. I just erased him from my mind like he never existed.
But it’s different with my mother.
