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“Visiting club and all. She’s not patched as yours.”
Trax felt the tense ripple through his spine. What the fuck is he talking about?
Dobbs backed away, smirking, and held his hands up in defense. “Calm down, brother, just offering to keep eyes on her while you’re gone.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Dobbs?”
He furrowed his brows and tilted his head in confusion. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Your girl. Cheyenne? Came in about fifteen minutes ago with another chick.”
His heart pumped faster than it had in the last seven days. Cheyenne is here?
“You sure it was her?”
He chuckled and rubbed the end of his goatee. “Trax, man, I don’t want a punch to the throat for saying it but…” He paused. “Your girl? Not the kinda woman a man forgets.”
Trax spun around, double stepping to the door. He pushed aside a group of men from the visiting club and made his way down the hallway. The place was packed, wall to wall people. How the hell was he supposed to find her in this mess? A hand gripped his shoulder, and he jerked around. Rourke, who had been out back earlier, was now standing, towering over him with a grim stare.
“What’s going on? Saw you bolt in here.”
Trax turned around. “Dobbs said Chey was here. I just can’t find her. You see her?”
He glanced around the room. Even at six-five, towering over everyone, it would be hard to pick out Cheyenne, or so he thought. Rourke gestured to the bar and took the lead with Trax following. Maybe she’d had a change of heart and wanted to see him, or maybe she was there to tell him to back the fuck off. He’d been watching her since their fight. He couldn’t stop himself. She may have been done with him, but he wasn’t ready to let her go without a fight. He’d convinced himself she just needed some time, and he would give it to her. He’d do anything to get her back.
A small opening to the bar had Trax coming alongside Rourke and a clear view of the bar with Macy chatting it up with Meg in the corner. He passed by Rourke and hurried to Macy, grasping her shoulder lightly, getting her attention. She turned.
“Where’s Chey?”
Macy spun on her chair, and her gaze traveled over his shoulder to who he assumed was Rourke. The corner of her lip curled, and she darted her stare back to him. She leaned forward and shouted over the music. “Bathroom.”
She grasped his hand when he moved, and he glanced over his shoulder.
“Don’t screw this up with her. I know ya like her and that’s good, but she’s special, Trax. If you’re not in it for the long haul, let her go.”
He clenched his jaw reactionarily. This was her best friend, of course she would look out for her, but he didn’t need advice on it. He loved Cheyenne and wanted her forever. He nodded and focused on the hall leading to the bathrooms. Where was she?
Chapter Seventeen
The bathrooms were packed, and she was pretty sure someone was having sex in one of the stalls. As she washed her hands, a bleach blonde with a low-cut top and boobs on full display stumbled out of one of the stalls. She blinked a few times and nudged Cheyenne as she fell forward to the opposite sink.
“Sorry.”
“You’re good.”
The woman laughed, turning to face Cheyenne. “Damn right, girl. Ask anyone in this house with a cock, and they’ll tell ya exactly how good I am.”
Wow, someone is completely blitzed. Cheyenne smiled and dried her hands before squeezing through the crowd and walking down the hall. She glanced back and slammed hard into a solid wall of flesh. She stumbled back, but hands gripped her arms to straighten her.
“This is what I love about this place. I’m looking for sweet pussy, and she falls right into my arms.”
Cheyenne gasped, whipping her head to the man with the crude mouth. She was inches away from his cackling laugh, and the smell of his breath turned her stomach. She pulled back, but his grip was tight. She followed her gaze from his chest to his face and lost all air in her lungs.
It was an odd sensation. For all the times she’d tried to remember, she only had bits and pieces come back to her, until now. She stared longer and clarity struck, sending her heart up to her throat. She spoke without thinking.
“I know you,” she whispered in shock.
He laughed. “Yeah? You sure, ’cause I usually don’t forget the hot ones.” He shrugged. “Let’s refresh my memory.”
The eyes, the hair, and more predominantly, the scar running down his forehead. This was the man from the car that had struck Mick, and ultimately killed him. She gasped for air and jutted back into the arms of another man. She froze, glancing over her shoulder and staring into the last set of eyes she’d hoped to see.
