Page 86 of Thug

I locked the door and returned to the bar. After pouring myself a beer, I leaned against the side of the bar opposite where he sat. I gave him a flippant look. “I’m all ears.”

He exhaled a long breath. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with whatever is going to make you attracted to me again.”

“Gray.” He shook his head. “You have no idea.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “I’ve got several ideas. One is that you’re the one who’s broken. After all you’ve been through, you need to rough me up to get it up. If that’s the case, I’m fine with that. The other is that you’re just a big pussy, and you don’t want to have some chick hanging around your club. If that’s the case, I’ll live. I won’t like it, but I’ll live. Maybe I make you feel sorry for me from time to time and get you to throw me some sympathy dick. That’s be a nice change of—”

“Stop!” he demanded. “We just need to have a talk. Can I start?”

I swallowed my nervousness and took a drink. “Sure.”

He sat down. “I don’t need to explain to you what an outlaw motorcycle club does,” he said. “Are you okay with knowing that I’m in an outlaw club?”

I mentally laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. “If anything,” I replied. “I’m with you because you’re in an outlaw motorcycle club. Here’s a newsflash for you. Bad boys make my pussy wet. You are one. Next question, please.”

He seemed relieved. “Okay. There’ll be times when I can’t tell you things. I won’t be able to talk about some of the things that I’m doing, or that I’ve done. I won’t lie to you, but I might not be able to give you details or tell you the entire truth.”

Lying was a deal breaker. I needed to make sure we were both singing off the same page. “But you won’t lie? Ever?”

“I won’t.”

“Give me an example of how you’d tell me something but not everything.”

He pressed his balled fist into his open palm. He rested his chin against his knuckles and studied me. “Randall Holderman. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back. Ever. After this discussion, he will never be discussed again. Are you okay with that?”

He could elude to whatever he wanted. I wasn’t a fool. Gone and not coming back meant he was dead. I was okay with that. Well, kind of.

“Did he deserve it?” I asked.

“Deserve what?”

“What happened to him.”

“He and two of his running mates raped a patch’s sister. Two of them held her down while the other raped her. They took turns. I’m not convinced it a good thing that she lived through it. She’ll be a lifetime of recovering, if she ever recovers at all. Yeah, they deserved it.”

My stomach churned. Fire ran through my veins. I wanted to scream. I balled my fists until they ached. “He’s not ever coming back. No matter what, right?”

“No matter what.”

“Good. Next question.”

“The night you were kidnapped?”

I thought we were making tremendous progress. Much to my chagrin, Price’s worried look returned.

“What about it?” I asked.

Price fidgeted in his seat. I’d never seen him so nervous, and I didn’t like it.

“We’re both adults,” I said. “Stop looking like that. Just say it.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “I had no idea what was going on. I had nothing to do with it, I knew absolutely nothing about it. You were actually kidnapped. For real.”

I was confused. Really confused. “What do you mean?”

He got out of the chair and took a few steps away from the bar. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You asked about Randall Holderman. One of the club’s patches found out about it, and he thought you were working with the cops. He organized your kidnapping. The two guys who were questioning you were trying to get information about whoever else might know about Randall’s disappearance.”