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Boomer has to know it only makes him more obvious.
Knowing I’ve done too much already where the two of them are concerned, I do my best to force the thoughts of them from my head.
It isn’t a difficult task because thoughts of her have been fighting to take over all day.
I’m considering calling it an early night, wanting to close my eyes in private and let the memories commandeer all of my attention. Fighting that urge is the same as fighting for my status quo. Hyperfocusing on a single woman can’t happen. Hot sex is hot sex. She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.
I lick at my dry lips, nodding and smiling when I sense one of the guys looking in my direction as if I’m actually paying attention. I grin when others laugh at a joke Legend tells, but it feels awkward even to me.
Fighting it is useless, and eventually I just give up.
I may be questioned eventually about why I’m so distracted, but I know I’m not the only one who can’t focus.
We all have a lot to think about.
It’s been weeks since we’ve gone on a mission.
Aro is back from Albuquerque, having spent weeks there in recovery and working through physical therapy. He and Slick started something, and from the looks of it, they plan to stay together.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I look around the group.
I must’ve said it low enough no one noticed because I don’t get a single questioning look.
My mouth hangs open as I realize that if Boomer and Drake end up together, I’m the only single guy left in the group that entered Cerberus together.
Bishop, Legacy, and Stormy, the three newest guys who joined the team, are all single, but hell, that probably won’t last very long. We also have three more members coming over the next few months, but those poor souls are going to end up exactly the same way.
I shake my head, my internal battle waging war and making it impossible to experience the struggle solely in my head.
There’s a superstition about joining Cerberus. Those in the know talk about how Cerberus is where every wildcat man and woman goes to settle down. It’s as if walking through the front door of the clubhouse marks you as next, and it’s only a matter of time before fate sends your soulmate in your direction.
I never believed it. Hell, I still don’t believe it, despite the proof smiling and laughing all around the campfire.
I glance back over at Drake, and he seems to be in the same boat as me. He’s faking a smile as he tries not to be too noticeable, looking around while waiting for Boomer to show his face.
I want to tell him that the man he’s looking for is to his left, not his right, which is the direction he keeps looking, but Drake isn’t skilled at tracking people the way we are.
“Another beer?” Spade asks, knocking my shoulder with the back of his hand.
“Perfect,” I tell him, taking the proffered drink.
Maybe getting drunk and passing out will keep that woman and sickening thoughts of settling down out of my head.
I’ll be the one to break the curse. I’ve never had any intention or desire to end up like all the rest of the sappy people. Heart eyes and secret smiles aren’t my thing, and they never will be.
Chapter 3
Lennox
I clench my teeth in frustration after checking my email.
The information I’ve been waiting on for days is sitting in my inbox, and it has been for hours.
I was very specific when talking to the tech team about letting me know when they had something. Many would argue that the email is the notification, but I was fully expecting a phone call or even a text message.
The information provided would’ve been best if I’d gotten it exactly when it was sent.
Elizabeth Burr’s last known location was at Jake’s bar, a local tavern where the Cerberus MC is known to hang out regularly. Her debit card was swiped for under twenty dollars, and according to the coroner, it matches up to being the same night she was murdered.
My frustration triples when I look at the time in the bottom right corner of my computer screen. Jake’s closed over an hour ago, and I know going there will be a waste of time.
I feel like I’m wasting time as I put in a call to dispatch, hoping they can track down the information on the owner or the bartender. I’m almost certain that Drake, the guy I saw most often when responding to drunk and disorderly calls when I worked patrol, lives above the bar, but he’s not the only one that works there. I don’t want to waste a second of effort chasing a dead end.
It doesn’t take long before Tabatha shoots me a text letting me know that a woman named Rochelle ran the bar last night because Drake is out of town on a camping trip. How the woman gathered that much information so quickly is beyond me. I’m left wondering if she’s ever considered becoming a detective when she sends me another text with Rochelle’s home address.
