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After seeing Layna with the kids a few days ago, I had every confidence in the two of them. Especially because they were going to do a movie with milkshakes and popcorn with the kids, not something crazy.
So, yeah, that led to me parking down the street, sitting in my car, literally sweating through my clothes. I had to tie up my hair because it was getting so damp.
The worst criminal ever.
Absolutely no chill.
No poker face.
But pure determination.
The search on the dark web had told me that I had literally two options if I wanted an illegal gun in the Navesink Bank area.
A club called the “Vultures.”
Or another one called “The Henchmen.”
I’d chosen the latter simply because I knew the location, had driven past it many times before.
It was a long, low, inconspicuous building that seems like it might have been a repair shop once upon a time.
There were a few newer additions, it seemed. A big one off the back, and a weird glass room on top toward the front. For looking around, maybe? Seeing if enemies were approaching? I mean clubs who sold guns had to have enemies, right?
I shook those thoughts away as I got closer to the gate, knowing they weren’t going to help with the whole about-to-sweat-through-my-clothes situation I was dealing with.
I couldn’t even blame the heat.
I mean, yeah, it was summer, and summer was hot. But it was a tolerable hot. Not a “I look like I just got tossed in the pool” kind of hot.
As I got closer, I saw a couple of guys standing out front. Tall, built, tattooed.
I knew it was wrong to judge someone on their appearances, but, God, they were intimidating.
Alright, fine. Maybe if I saw them in the grocery store or something, I’d think they were hot. But this wasn’t the grocery store. This was an outlaw arms-dealing club. These guys were actual criminals. I had every right to be a little scared of them.
“You looking for someone, sweetheart?” one of the men called, surprising me with a Texan accent, as he moved closer.
“Oh, ah, no. Or… yes,” I said, trying not to fidget or show signs of fear.
Jesus Christ, these were men, not dogs.
But, well, couldn’t predatory men sense fear too? And then use it against a woman? Wasn’t that something I knew a lot about?
When I glanced down, one of my feet was facing forward. Ready to do this. The other was turned toward my car. Ready to run.
“Well, it can’t be both at the same time, can it?” he asked, giving me a small smile.
“Ah, no, but, ah, I’m not looking for a person, actually,” I said. “I’m looking for… you know…” I said, waving.
“No, sugar, I’m afraid I don’t know unless you tell me,” he said.
“Well, ah, I heard that you’re who to go for if I want to find a, ah,” I said, voice so low that I could barely hear it. “A gun.”
“Oh,” he said, brows pinching as he looked me over, making me instantly self-conscious about my sweat. “Is that so?” he asked, taking a step back, almost as if to let me pass.
And maybe I would have followed.
But a flash of bright yellow caught my eye, making me look over and see a familiar profile as he was coming out of the door, holding it open for someone behind him.
A familiar profile wearing a bright yellow Hawaiian shirt.
Sully.
“Sully?”
My head was racing to try to process this information as he suddenly looked forward. Right at me.
“You know Sully?” the man I was speaking to asked.
“I, ah, sort of.”
“Lana, hey, you looking for Seth?” Sully asked, all smiles, completely freaking oblivious to the fact that there must have been a continental shift right under me or something, because everything felt like it was shaking, like it was coming apart all around me.
Because the man who was following Sully out… was Seth.
Seth?
How was it Seth?
“No,” the man I’d been talking to said. “She’s looking for a gun.”
“What?” Seth’s voice called, making me look at him, then Sully, then the Texan guy, back and forth, over and over, until I felt dizzy.
What was happening?
“Whoa,” the Texan said, reaching out to grab my elbow, like he sensed that I was spinning, spiraling, completely losing touch with reality.
Because there was no way this was the reality.
The one where my sweet landlord that I was starting to have some pretty serious feelings for was… an arms-dealing biker.
That just… that didn’t make any kind of sense.
“Lana, hey,” Seth said, suddenly in front of me, even though I hadn’t been aware of him moving toward me. “You okay? Hey,” he tried again, a little firmer, then snapping in front of my face.
“Maybe get her out of the heat,” Sully suggested.
Then, well, Seth took my other elbow, and these two outlaw bikers led me right into their clubhouse.
