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“Tempt,” I growl.
“I swear I heard a noise. It sounded like someone was trying to break in. It was so scary.”
She doesn’t sound the least bit scared. She doesn’t look it either—her eyes are bright, and her expression is cheery and happy. I watch as she takes a step backward, but I don’t walk into the place.
“Call me again like that, for anything that isn’t real, and I’ll take your ass to the middle of the desert and leave you there. I do not give a fuck, bitch,” I snap.
Turning around, I walk away from her, back down the stairs and toward my bike. I climb on, start my engine, and ride straight toward the clubhouse. I cannot deal with this shit, not right now, and not sober.
Once I’m at the clubhouse, I park, throw my leg over my seat, and head straight for the bar. Climbing onto a stool, I slam my palm down on the hard wooden surface. The prospect hands me a beer almost instantly.
Wrapping my fingers around the cool bottle, I close my eyes as I bring it to my lips, sucking down at least half of the contents. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I let out a heavy exhale as I take it out.
The name that flashes on the screen is not Tempt or Piper, it’s Duke. Eagerly, I slide my thumb across the screen and bring it to my ear.
“I should be pissed off at you for not giving me at least a goddamn heads-up about that shit,” I snap as my greeting.
He laughs, as though this is some big joke, which it fucking is not. “Sorry about that, brother,” he murmurs.
“Are you, though?” I ask.
He hums. “I am, but I couldn’t stop her, and she was coming whether I did or not. But this isn’t about her. This is about Cyrus.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
There is a moment of silence before he clears his throat. “Cyrus is dead.”
I open my mouth, snap it closed, then reach for my bottle and bring it to my lips, taking a long pull from the amber-colored glass before I speak. “How?” I demand.
“Someone didn’t want him to talk. We didn’t even have to do anything. I don’t know who did it, but it wasn’t us, and he was set to go to trial in one month. They wanted to keep him quiet.”
“Good,” I grind out.
I open my mouth to ask him about Raul and Dutch but decide against it. I’m doing my own thing when it comes to them, and I hope it works because any other way I go about it is going to cause an all-out war and possibly cost me my wife.
“One down, two to go,” he says. “You need any help with Tempt, you let me know. I do feel shit for just leaving her there.”
“It’ll be fine. Probably not my kid anyway, and then I can be done with her in a few months.”
He snorts. “Yeah, I hope that’s the case, too.”
Ending the call, I shove my phone back in my pocket before I motion for another drink. I sit on that stool, at that bar, for far too fucking long, and I drink far too fucking much.
PIPER
Itch doesn’t come home. I don’t eat, hoping he’ll appear so we can have the dinner he cooked together. After two hours, I package it up for another night and place all the food in the fridge.
When the clock reads midnight, I take myself to bed and lie on my pillow staring at the dark ceiling.
My phone buzzes on my nightstand. Sitting straight up, I suck in a breath and glance around the room, unsure of when I fell asleep or what is making the buzzing sound, until I realize where I am.
Reaching for the phone, I frown at the number on the screen. I don’t recognize it, not that I would. I only have a few names saved in the phone, and this isn’t one of them. Sliding my finger across the screen, I place the device to my ear.
“Hello?” I say, my voice filled with obvious confusion.
There is a moment of silence, then I hear a voice I recognize a little too well on the other end of the phone.
“He’s dead. You’re probably happy about that.”
