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“Why?” I asked, turning back to the plans, making a few notes. Fuck me. If it wasn’t Scribe, it was King. What the hell was wrong with them? Didn’t they know I had a deadline to meet?
“He wouldn’t say. Just told me to find you, tell you he wants you at the clubhouse and he also said turn your fucking phone on.”
Sighing, I muttered, “I’m busy. Tell him I’ll be there when I get done here.”
“Uh,” Scribe muttered, backpedaling. His eyes widened as he shook his head. “I’m not telling him that. He’s still pissed at me for fucking with Bailey.”
“Guess you shouldn’t have hidden her birth control pills then, huh?”
“It was a fucking joke! How many times do I have to say it?”
“Scribe, do I need to have the talk about the birds and bees with you? Were your parents incapable of giving a coherent explanation about the process of conceiving babies? You’re just lucky Venom didn’t end up pregnant.”
My whole body shivered as I thought about Bailey being pregnant.
Yeah. That wasn’t a pretty thought.
“Asshole,” Scribe groaned. “I know how they’re made. Just turn on your phone and call King. I’ve got to go find a place to crash for a few days. Bailey’s out for blood.”
“Serves you right,” I chuckled as Scribe walked away. Though best buds, Bailey and Scribe had an ongoing war between the two.
It started when Scribe lied to Bailey about being gay, just so he could get the information the club needed to help her, and it just steamrolled on from there. Their latest friendly feud had Scribe walking around with fading pink hair and Bailey safeguarding her birth control pills as if they were the Holy Grail. Of course, when my brother Gunner found out that he impregnated his woman Sarah with triplets, well,Bailey went off the rails and made Dr. Claudia prescribe her a second set of birth control pills as a secondary precaution, a diaphragm, which Scribe got ahold of and painted the face fromScreamon after he poked several holes in it, and now there were rumors of a possible IUD.
In retaliation, Bailey slashed all the tires on Scribe’s VW Van after she had it impounded and painted black with varying sizes of dicks all over it. But she hit it out of the ballpark when she talked one of the brothers into putting training wheels on Scribe’s custom Harley Lowrider.
Reaching for my phone, I turned it on.
Ignoring the incoming text messages, I called my brother.
The second the call connected, I muttered. “What?”
“Club’s got another special request. Call came in on the landline an hour ago.”
“So, hand it off to a brother.”
“Thought you might want this one.”
“Nope. I’m busy.”
“A kid named Cameron called in. Asked for you specifically.”
I smirked, remembering the filthy little varmint. Since my return to Rosewood, I hadn’t given the young boy or his sister a single thought. “Let me guess. Kid’s sister is trying to give him a bath again, and he wants me to save him.”
“No,” King said carefully. “Kid found his sister beaten. Said she’s hurt pretty bad.”
“I’m on my way.” I immediately hung up, yelling, “Enigma! I’m heading to the clubhouse. Finish up here, then send the boys home.”
“Will do!” my brother shouted back.
Heading for my new bike, I started it up and kicked dirt as I peeled out of the site.
I had to admit I didn’t give the kid and his sister much thought after I left JuniperHollow. All I cared about was getting home. I still can’t remember how I ended up in their neck of the woods. Not that I really cared. I just chalked up the experience to being drunk off my ass and thankful I was still alive.
By the time I made it back to Rosewood, I was exhausted, hungry and I needed a shower badly. Since then, I just tried to forget about my missing time and my experience in Juniper Hollow.
I wasn’t like the rest of my club brothers.
While they went about their days happy and carefree, I carried a heaviness within me. Sometimes the weight of what I lost bogged me down, almost crippling me. The nights were the worst. It was then, when I was alone in my room, surrounded by her things, that the weight of what I lost crushed me, making it impossible to breathe sometimes.
