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“How the fuck is this on you? If you hadn’t recorded that conversation, we’d never know Chop was the one who killed Brian. He was Prez’s best friend.” I’m not in the mood for this shit today. I wanna go back to wallowing in my own self-pity.
“Yeah, and if I hadn’t sent a copy of that recording to Chop to try and fuck with his head, he would never have come back here looking for it that day he killed Carly,” he points out gravely.
“Prez wouldn’t have had to lie to his VP to try and keep his head on straight, and neither would Maddy,” he adds, blowing out a deflated breath.
“You can kinda understand why they did it though. Shit’s hard enough when you got one man with a score to settle. Jessie is gonna want Chop’s head on a spike for this.”
“He’s gonna have a lot of emotions kicking up the demons in his head right now, and that’s fucking dangerous. We need to find him, Squeal.”
“I’ll ride with you.” I slap him on the shoulder and go in search of my cut. He’s right, and I need to get out of this stink pit.
“Have you spoken to Alex?” he asks, rapidly changing the subject.
“I don’t want to talk about that. It’s history.”
“Don’t look like history to me. I’ve been where you are, I tried letting Gracie go once. Thought I was doing best by her.”
“And what made you change your mind? I mean, apart from her getting kidnapped by the leader of a pedophile ring shit?” I laugh half-heartedly, and Brax looks at me like he wants to put his fist through my face.
“Seriously, man, what made you realize you weren’t doing best by letting her go?” I ask, needing to fucking know.
“When I realized there was no other man on this planet that would love her the way I would. When the thought of me not being the person who got to protect her from all the bad shit, and share all the good with her, drove me crazy enough to forget everything I thought was important,” he answers, standing on his feet and taking my shoulder in his hand.
“If you can tell me you think there’s someone out there who’ll love her better than you, let her go, man. But you gotta live with knowing that all those times, good or bad, are gonna belong to him.” His words strike me hard, and I realize that's not what I want at all.
“Sorry Brax, you're gonna have to get someone else to help you find VP.” I pick up my keys and head for the door.
“Figured.” The smug son of a bitch shrugs his shoulders at me. When did I become so fuckin’ predictable? I need to find out where Alex is, but from the sounds of it, Mads needs to take a day off. I head straight out for my bike, kick-starting the engine and riding into town to find the man who I hope can help me.
I march through reception and straight into Roswell’s office, knowing he’ll be there. A Sherrif without a deputy is a busy one, and I open his door without knocking.
The old man is sitting in his chair with a tumbler in his hand, and he doesn’t look all that surprised to see me.
“Wondered how long it would take you to show up here,” he utters.
“I need to know where Alex transferred to,” I get straight to the reason I’m here. I don’t sit in the chair opposite when he gestures for me to because I’m not sticking around. Soon as I know where my girl is, I’m going to get her. Not just to check she’s okay, but to make her realize that she belongs with me.
“It ain't a good idea for you to be digging around and trying to find her. She’s moved on, Squealer.” Roswell sighs, placing his tumbler on the desk and topping it up with more cheap whiskey.
“I don't wanna get forceful, you're a friend of the club, and you're a friend of mine. But right now, you’re the only person standing between me and the woman I wanna be with. So you better find your fucking vocals.”
Roswell laughs, confirming that he’s drunk.
“It ain’t me that’s standing between you and your girl, Squealer,” he chuckles, and I stare back at him waiting for a fuckin’ explanation.
“I could tell you where she is, and you could go get her, but if you do that, you put your club at risk.” I feel the color drain from my face, I don’t have a fuck what this old man’s talking about, but I ain’t liking how it sounds.
“Alex’s dad, you ever met him?” he asks, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass.
“No, but I spoke to him. I asked him to come help when she was arrested.”
“He’s a powerful man, Squealer. He got his little girl off a murder charge without raising any hairs.”
“Yeah, and that's exactly why I called him,” I hit back sarcastically.
“You think that was an easy thing for him to do? Foster ain’t just a powerful man, he’s a proud man too.”
“Do you wanna get to the point, Ros, ‘cause I’m failing to see what this has to do with the club.
