We’re sitting ducks. I need to keep sharp, and yet my mind is elsewhere. All day I’ve been calling and texting Josie.
All. Fucking. Day.
After the first hour, I caved and texted Pierce, told him to have Lexi reach out. Within minutes, I had the same answer Harlow gave me. A lovely load of horse shit, dumped at my feet like a present.
Logically, I know she could’ve gone into the salon on herday off. She’s done it before, squeezing in a last-minute client or staying late because someone’s sob story reels her in. That bleeding heart of hers she likes to pretend doesn’t exist is one of the reasons I love her so fucking much.
That’s my Josie. Always fixing everyone else.
But the salon’s security system, which I insisted we install, and she knows I have access to, said otherwise. I checked it twice, just in case it was frozen or lagging. It wasn’t. The salon was closed, just as I expected.
Instead, our home cameras showed her SUV sitting pretty in the driveway. The dog on the porch, tail wagging at nothing. Henry, in his pen, chasing the chickens, bleating away. There was no glass from broken windows. No doors hanging off their hinges. Everything looked normal, and that’s what has me itching to get tonight over with.
I’m tempted to leave the guys and hit the road before morning because she still won’t answer me.
I could be overreacting. I know that. Maybe she’s pissed about something and decided to let me stew. God knows I’ve given her reasons before, but what the hell happened since yesterday when her tone was light, and she left me with images of her sexy as sin body spread out on our bed?
I know I’m not exactly easy to be married to. But icing me out like this? No heads-up. No “I need space” or “I’m fine.” I don’t do well with deliberate silence, and she damn well knows that. Plus, my woman usually loves a good fight when she gets to point out the shit I did wrong.
I’ve already made the call. We’re heading out first thing in the morning. A day early, and the guys are pissed. They muttered about missing out on one last night to party, logistics, and how we don’t cut trips short without reason.
I don’t give a shit, and as president, what I say here goes. Idon’t care if I have to back track and make some shit up about the warehouse getting broken into.
I need to see her. Need to look her in the eyes and figure out what the hell this is. If she’s angry, fine. We’ll deal with it. If she’s hurt?—
My stomach twists. No, I refuse to believe that’s it. She’s right there on the cameras. Well, at least her car is.
Then why the fuck won’t she answer?
“You might want to fix your face before the other clubs arrive,” Si says, stepping up beside me at the head of our group.
I don’t look at him. I don’t need to. I can feel his heavy stare glued to the side of my face. Observing and calculating what’s behind the pissed-off glare in my eye.
“It’s the only one I got right now,” I mutter. “So it better not be a fucking problem because I’m not in the mood tonight.”
He studies me for another second. “Whoa, everythi?—”
There’s no disguising the steady roar of engines, cutting across the blacktop like thunder rolling through the night sky. It cuts him off and leaves his questioning for another time—or hopefully, after this meeting, never.
Our Tallahassee and Covington chapters roll closer, filling the empty lot with more bodies than it’s probably seen in the last twenty years. Their headlights flare, catching tiny night bugs excited by the spark of extra light.
Si checked in earlier after I flew out of the diner, like I had somewhere important to be. In reality, I ended up pacing the stained carpet in my motel room until I wore a clear path from the front door to the bed. He let me know everything with Patch was squashed and that it shouldn’t be an issue tonight.
I don’t believe for a second that Silas wouldn’t gut the guy if he made another move toward Harlow, but tonight isn’tabout the ego of a single member. It’s about the survival of our chapter.
I clock every face as they dismount, hooking helmets on their bars and grouping up to cover their Pres’s backs. I don’t miss the way Patch’s gaze flicks toward Si, but his reaction’s tucked tight behind a sheet of indifference.
At least the distraction isn’t here to stir shit up tonight. I made sure of it.
The night fills with low voices, the scrape of lighters after a ride, and the rough thud of boots against pavement.
I shove my hands into my pockets to keep them from curling into fists for no reason. Si’s right, I need to get myself in check, or they’re going to pick up on my unrelated anger.
“Steel.” I step forward and hold my hand out to the newest president in our ranks.
He’s younger than me, but not green. He took over last year when his old man died of a heart attack behind the wheel. I still remember the call. The disbelief and anger rearing from the depths after everything we’d been through a couple of years back. A man like him, with good years still ahead, isn’t supposed to go out like that.
“Hey, man. Good to see you.”
