Lisa nodded.
“So, it was someone familiar. And you said he sounded older?”
“Older than me, at least. Smoker’s rasp. Utah accent. You had a lot of friends back then, and I only met a few of them, but he was definitely older than you.”
“Details get jumbled when you’re afraid, baby.” He responded, “Best-case scenario, this whack job is long gone.” Splice eyed her, sensing hesitation.
“That brings me to the third thing I wanted to discuss. My vandalized car, then the accident. Nina and the girls wondered if it was the same person. I’m uncertain, but it’s worth noting.”
His brain must be drifting, as he’d usually connect those dots. He sprang up, electric spine, cursing furiously. His fury was so intense that he felt he could throw the bench for miles.
“It could be a total coincidence, Ryan,” she pleaded, holding his little and ring fingers until he faced her. Her eyes, full of sweetness, held a hint of doubt, as though she expected him to leave.
How little faith his girl had in him.
Splice would belly crawl over hot coals to get to her, and that wasn’t him speaking out of his asshole. That dedication tied them together.
Taking Lisa’s hand, he pulled her to her feet.
“It’s cold; let’s get you home.” He spoke hoarsely, holding her tight, replaying every detail in his head.
If someone were actually trying to toy with Lisa, he would have to be held back from causing the craziest fucking chaos.
She glanced at him as she unlocked the door after their silent walk home.
“You’re working from home today, yeah?”
Lisa nodded. Splice tapped a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back later, sweetheart.”
He gave her the briefest goodbye in two months, then turned and walked to his motorcycle. He sat on the seat and gestured for her to go in, her expression remaining unsmiling as she did.
Splice was barely hanging on, and without knowing how the drive went, he reached the clubhouse, ignoring everyone.
He needed to get his anger out before he could think straight, and violence was the quickest way, besides sex.
After changing into shorts, he pointed at Price. “Get over here, and hold these pads.” Barefoot, he waited for the probie to set the punch pads. The kid held up the pads, and Splice immediately attacked, imagining a stranger.
“Fuck, Splice. I’m dying, man.” Groaned Price, however long later. Dripping with sweat, Splice cleared his eyes and motioned for Price to raise the pads. He didn’t care if the kid was fatigued. He panted, his lungs burning, as he continued punching until his arms were exhausted.
“For the love of God, let me tap out.” Whined the probie, and Splice took pity on the cry baby. Price immediately planted his ass on the floor, groaning like he’d taken the punches to his face.
“What’s going on here?” A rough-voiced Tomb strode over.
“He’s tried to kill me,” complained Price, rolling onto his back.
“Do you wanna go again?” Splice growled.
“No. Fuck no. I’m dead.”
Tomb threw a towel at Splice, who caught it and wiped off his soaked face. “Beat feet, probie.”
Price got gone. Tomb straddled the weight bench. “What’s going on? I watched you for five minutes, and you looked like you were battling demons.”
“Me and Lisa got together today.” He said, grabbing a water bottle from the glass-front drinks fridge, and downed half in a long gulp. Now that he’d worked through some of his anger, he felt calm enough to explain. “She also told me why she left me back then, and it’s a whole fucking shitshow.”
Tomb had the deets seconds later, and he whistled through his teeth. “What are your initial thoughts?”
“Two things happening a week apart don’t seem like chance or bad luck; it feels like someone’s specifically doing it.”
