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Begging them to take me with them was a split second decision. I just wanted to buy myself time and I didn’t think about what it meant for them. If I could go back in time… I don’t know what I’d do. But I can’t. So whose side do I take?
My father runs a drug empire. One that’s killing people. I wish I could talk to Mom, find out why she really ran away and never contacted him about me. But even if I could, I wouldn’t risk scaring her while she’s recovering. My gut says these guys are the only ones that don’t have a reason to lie to me, but at the same time, Vincent is my own flesh and blood. That counts for something—doesn't it?
“He might be an asshole, but I don’t like asking her to turn on her own father,” Lighting says, mirroring my own thoughts.
Thunder nods. “Me either.”
Outlaw's expression is grim. “But what’s the alternative? Hoping he doesn’t ask to talk to her?”
“I'll do it.” I force it out before I change my mind. “I won’t set him up myself, but I’ll pretend to be a good little hostage.”
Shadow's deep hazel eyes feel like they're staring right into my soul, and he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just nods. “Good. No point in putting this off. Harper, call your father and hand me the phone.”
I hope I don’t regret this.
12
SHADOW
“Give me one fucking reason not to send a squad of guys to bring you the fuck home, Shadow.” Eagle-eye's gravelly voice is grim on the other end of the line. “You were supposed to get in, hit him in the heart of his little empire and then get the fuck out.”
“Your old lady would kill us both,” I say dryly.
He chuckles. “Ain’t that the fucking truth? I’m too old for this, man. I barely remember what it was like when my ex was pregnant with Faith. And everything’s fucking changed even though it’s the same shit humans have been doing since we figured out what dicks and pussies were for.”
“Look, this situation is fucked three ways from Sunday, but give us a chance to try this. I don't like this Carnell fucker, but he’s our best shot. We’ve already arranged to meet with Mesner tomorrow.” I'm pacing the hotel room in what little space we've got.
“Twenty-four hours. If I don’t hear from you, we’re on our way. And don’t fucking test me, Shadow. I promoted you to officer, I can bust your ass right the fuck back down to prospect if I want.” He lets out a sigh. “Alright, do what you gotta do to keep breathing, you got me? I’m going to be pissed if any of you ugly bastards don’t make it home.”
“I’ll do my best, Prez.” I drop my phone into my pocket, then look at the others. There isn’t anyone I’d rather have at my side when shit goes south, but the girl… fuck, she really stepped in it when she asked to come with us. We shouldn't have fucking taken her, but done is done. “Alright, he's up to date. We’ve got a day to clean this up before the cavalry rides. You gonna hold up until then, Harper?”
She licks her lips and nods. I’m not easy to impress, but she’s got a lot more spine than I thought when we first met. She was shaking like a fucking leaf when we talked to Mesner, but it just made it sound more believable when she told him she wasn’t hurt. He, on the other hand, sounded like he wanted to reach through the phone and break my fucking neck. Jury’s out on if it was because he was worried about her, or if he was just furious at having something of his taken.
“I’m hungry, though,” ventures Harper.
“Yeah, I could use a bite.” Outlaw jumps to his feet and stretches. “I checked, there's a bar like fifteen minutes away. Our kinda place. Cheap grub and they won’t ask questions.”
Harper looks worried. “What if my father sees you?”
“Not likely where we’re going,” Outlaw says while cracking his knuckles like he's itching to punch something. “We got our bikes back. Let’s ride. I’m going to jump out of my fucking skin if we have to keep sitting around in here.”
“What about me?” Harper asks, her fingers twisting and turning in the hem of her shirt, giving away how much she hates that idea of being alone.
I make an executive decision. “You're on my bike. No more splitting up, and I got itchy legs too.”
Lightning grins. “Sounds like a fucking plan.”
Twenty minutes later we're at Chainsaw Charlie's, a bar on the edge of town with a dirt parking lot filled with parked motorcycles. I feel at home immediately. This isn't one of those touristy dives for the weekend warriors in designer leathers, riding Harleys that spend most of their time getting shined in a fucking garage. This is the real fucking deal—dirty and loud with the thick scents of motor oil, leather and cigarette smoke hanging in the air. The beer's cheap, the food’s cheap, and over on one end there's a barely dressed girl swinging around a stripper pole on a stage, shaking her hips in time with the steady rock beat coming off the crackling speakers.
