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Ziggy, Butch, and Candy hover nearby at a different table, giving me space while monitoring me. Their company on my heartbreak journey is comforting, but family can’t fix a bleeding heart.
I didn’t think much of Butch riding out with me—it’s what our crew does for one another. He saw my pain and wanted to help.
However, I raised an eyebrow when Candy came bounding out the door with him and climbed on the back of his hog like it was old hat. The sad look on her face told me Butch informed her of what had happened between me and Simone. It bothered me slightly having my old lady’s friend along with us, but I appreciated her keeping her thoughts to herself.
The biggest shock was when Ziggy climbed on the back of my hog to join our road crew. Ziggy and Candy flew out, meaning he didn’t have his motorcycle. We couldn’t take the SUV, because Punk needed a ride home.
To Ziggy, sharing a bike with a man is no biggy. He does it all the time with his husband, Jared. For me, it was awkward, never having had a man on my hog before. The only one who’s ridden with me is Simone—it’s her spot. But I had to leave Sacramento before I burned down the city, and the crew wasn’t going to let me ride alone.
Shrugging, I said fuck it and rode out with Ziggy sitting bitch and Butch and Candy riding beside us. We had a lot of vehicles lay on their horns when we sped past on the eight-hour drive to Vegas. I suppose seeing two big, burly motherfuckers riding one hog down the highway is worthy of a few honks. It didn’t help that Ziggy waved like a member of the British royal family each time we passed a car. Punk will never stop giving me crap about it once he finds out.
My best friend should be with me on this journey. I hate how Punk agreed to stay behind, but I’m grateful to him as well. There’s no way I could have left Simone without someone watching out for her, at least until she’s settled back into her old life. And there’s no one I trust more than him. Punk will make sure she’s safe before coming home.
Though I’m surrounded by flashing bright lights, beeping slot machines, a card game in front of me, and my MC family nearby, it’s not enough to take my mind off Simone. I cannot shake her memory. She lingers in the recesses of my mind like her natural perfume on her pillow, faint but present. Never fading.
The more I recall her alluring scent, the stronger it gets, pulverizing what little remains of my tattered heart.
“Chase,” her voice echoes in my head.
Desperate to dash away the ghost of her memory, I knock back the last of my drink, hating how the burn does nothing to soothe the ache in my body.
“Chase,” her ghost calls out again.
Christ, I’m losing it. I grab at my head, my fingers digging into my tangled hair. Her scent grows stronger, burning my nostrils. “Please,” I beg helplessly under my breath. “Go away.”
“If you think for one damn minute I let Punk drive like a NASCAR maniac for eight hours to bring me here just to have you tell me to go away, then you have another think coming, Shawn Brighton.”
“What the?” I mumble, raising my head slowly from my hands. I dare not breathe as I peek over my shoulder, too scared to believe what I’m seeing is real.
Simone stands directly behind me, looking angrier than a hellcat thrown into a tub of water. She pushes right into my space, the storm clouds in her eyes rolling dangerously. She jabs a sharp fingernail into my cut.
“How dare you take off and leave me in Sacramento? You honestly think I’d choose Trent over you? After what he put me through, you thought I’d go back to him? You wouldn’t even give me the opportunity to clear the air by answering my calls or text, you asshat.”
I grab her wrist to stop her from bruising my chest. Her skin is warm under my touch, pliant and soft. I’m not imagining things. Simone is here, reaming me out.
Unable to speak, I stare at her, confused as fuck.
Simone cups my face with her free hand, leaning into me. “There was never a competition with you two. It was always you, Chase. You’re my endgame.”
My brows pinch together. The visual of her walking away with Trent still fresh in my mind. “You left with him.”
“Christ, you’re dense sometimes for having such a brilliant mind. Cynthia was a scapegoat. Trent was the one who stole the Oldani funds.”
“Is that what you were saying in your sleep? Trent. Oldani. Stole?”
“It’s what Cynthia struggled to say right before she passed.”
Simone explains how Trent was the mastermind behind the pilfering operation. Cynthia was guilty of stealing from clients, but Trent was pulling the strings the whole time to distract us while he took the Bianchi mob funds.
“What she’s saying is true, bro. The FBI is hunting Trent as we speak,” Punk confirms, coming to stand behind Simone.
Trent took Bianchi’s money? Why, that little prick!
“Fuck the feds,” I snarl. I yank out my cell, calling the one man who’d be the most interested in knowing where his money is.
Piero Bianchi answers on the first ring. “Chase? To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“You want the funds your cousin, Lorenzo, had stashed away at P.L. Moore Financial?”
