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“No word?”
“None,” I growl back. Trent nods, setting the bottle down and watching carefully as I drink it in one swallow, slamming the glass on the wooden bar top.
“Another?”
“No.” I wave the bottle away. “I need to stay alert in case I hear from her. I might need to be ready to ride.”
Trent nods slowly, returning the bottle to the shelves behind the bar. “Listen, I’ve been asking around the South Side. So far, no one has heard anything about a woman going missing. Well, no more than usual.”
“Thanks, kid.”
Rapping my knuckles on the bar, I stride away, flexing my fingers, itching to punch something to get rid of this pent-up energy. The longer it goes from anyone hearing from her, the worse this feeling in the pit of my stomach gets. It’s like I have an entire lump of twisted clay sitting there, weighing me down.
As a flash of tanned skin, colorful tattoos, and black hair block my way, the growl rumbles out of me unbidden. Fucking Joey. She keeps trying to corner me. Unless the next words out of her mouth arethis is where Naomi might hole up if she spookedor some variation, I don’t want to hear it.
“Still haven’t heard from her?”
“No,” I grunt, starting to sidestep her. Joey moves with me, her hand landing on my bicep.
“Me either.”
Then why the hell are we having this conversation? I shrug her hand off, stepping around her again. She grabs my arm again. What now? I have places to fucking be.
“Come to the bar. Have another drink.Talkto me.”
I don’t want another drink, and I don’t want to talk to Joey. I want Naomi in my arms.
“Unless you know where your sister is, fuck off. I don’t have time for this,” I snap at her. Joey flinches back, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling into a sneer.
“You know, you’re better off without my snake of a sister. One day, you’ll realize that, and then you’ll come crawling back to me, begging for this pussy.”
Fixing her with one last glare, I stalk out of the clubhouse, my fingers flexing. I need to get far away from this damn place before I do something I have never done before in my life – hit a woman. Right in the fucking mouth.
Throwing my leg over my rig, I roar out of the compound, turning north. I’ll bug Nan Parson to see if her hacking has come up with anything. She hasn’t had much luck so far. Maybe that will have changed in the last two hours since I spoke to Strafe.
The hot wind off the Mojave ruffles my hair as I roar through the wide streets. Fucking Joey. What the hell did she mean that I would eventually realize I was better off without Naomi? Either she’s delusional – which wouldn’t be an impossibility – or she knows where Naomi is, and she knows she’s not coming back.
Grinding my teeth, I rev my engine. I hope Strafe is at home. I’m potentially going to need someone to stop me from going back to the clubhouse, cornering Joey, and making her fucking talk – one way or another.
Chapter 19
NAOMI
The bus groans to a stop, settling as the never-ending vibrations below my ass cease. Standing, I stretch, following the seven people seated ahead of me off the bus, blinking and looking around.
There is a line for the small toilet block, but I join it, hopping from foot to foot until it’s finally my turn in the small, none-too-clean cubicle. Doing my business, I wash my hands and scrub my face the best I can in the small sink, staring at myself in the dingy mirror.
After two days on this damn bus, I feel like a zombie. I look like one too. Dark circles are under my eyes, and Vicky’s amazing blow-out hangs lankly around my pale face. I have no idea where my glasses are. Joey probably took or broke them or something when she managed to haul ass and leave me on the bus.
It’s not too bad. I can see without them. It’s just that anything more than a few yards away is hazy – like I’m looking at it through the heat waves rolling off the desert.
I avoid sniffing my armpits – I don’t want to know – and let myself out of the cubicle, stepping aside to let the next bus passenger enter. Following the trickle of people, I step inside the convenience store, the bell buzzing over our heads.
Since I've been conscious, this is the first time we’ve stopped somewhere other than a trucker rest stop to use the facilities. My stomach is aching with hunger, but the knowledge that I only have twenty dollars is burned into my brain. I don’t dare spend more than three dollars buying an egg sandwich and a bottle of spring water.
Stepping back outside, I suck in the fresh air, stumbling to a stop, my heart thumping as my eyes land on a pay phone. Thank god. Hurrying across to it, I pluck it up, my fingers hovering over the keypad. Shit. I don’t know any phone numbers. Who remembers phone numbers? They’re all saved on my damn phone!
Groaning, I set the handset back in the cradle, walk inside, and join the small line again. The bus driver emerges from somewhere out the back, his eyes lingering over the line.
