Chapter 72
SEVENTY-TWO
NJ Legion Iced Tea - A Day To Remember
Normally, I like driving. But Logan’s car is quiet. I can’t hear the wind roaring through the door, and it’s getting to me.
My leg is shaking. I opted to sit in the back seat with Dakota. And by I opted, I mean Logan stuck his rifle and bag of supplies in the front seat ‘for easy access’ and told us to get our ‘sexy asses’ in the back seat. I told him I drive better than him, to which he said this isn’t a cruiser. I neglected to say I’ve hit a few things with my cruiser.
I wouldn’t say I’m nervous, but I’m definitely nervous. Logan did a deep dive on Callum and Vox before we left. I mean, deep enough that he found out Callum wore a doped-up hoodie with STFUATTDLAGB on it to Tomorrowland when he was 16. Oh, and that Callum has a boo thang, Ryan Fairview. Who, get this, owns a funeral home.
Logan was very interested in Ryan, which ruffled my feathers because Ryan is cute. I mean, red-headed freckles all over cute . Logan just rolled his eyes at me and said that Ryan was Callum’s weakness, which means that Ryan is the most important player in this situation.
I say the most important player is Buffalo. I have the ripped part of his body with me, tucked into the seatbelt. And the silence reminds me of how much I miss him. Of how much I want to burn the world down to get him back.
My skin feels hot, and my gut twists. We’re meeting Callum in the same woods where Dakota shot him. I still can’t believe Dakota shot him. Fucking mental. And it makes me fucking hard.
Pleased warmth shoots through me, and I glance over at my own freckled man. He gives me a quick look, then his gaze darts away. Is he…nervous?
I reach over the seat, grabbing Dakota’s hand. He looks at me in surprise, his body stiff. I squeeze. “I’ll do the shooting today, freckles.”
“No shooting.” Logan’s voice is tense as we approach the woods. “I’ll be the only one who shoots if this goes wrong.”
I want to roll my eyes. “You’re the one who has a Callum turtle bite on his arm.”
“What?” Dakota looks at me, a crease between his eyes.
“We’re here.”
Fuck.
The other cars are already here, and I can see Mr. Cocky himself leaning up against the passenger door of a murdered-out G-wagon as if we didn’t shoot him just a little bit ago. And I have to say, I kind of admire him for it.
“Dakota and I will cover. You talk.” The back of Logan’s neck is red.
We already discussed—argued—about who would be talking. Logan wanted to cover and talk at the same time, which earned him a lecture from both the cops, saying that was stupid and that you can’t focus on threats and negotiating at the same time. Logan said I’m shit at talking to people—rude—and that Dakota better not open his mouth because Callum has every reason to return the favor.
So we unanimously decided that I would be talking, and Logan and Dakota would be covering.
We roll up slowly, and I pop the door open while the car is still moving.
“Ronan,” Logan hisses, but I’m already out.
“Hey, I see you met my hole-puncher.”
Callum immediately narrows his eyes on me. Someone tries to push open the passenger door of the G-wagon that Callum is leaning on, but he shoves back against it, forcing it closed.
Behind me, Logan and Dakota get out of the car.
“I said stay in the fucking car, ginger snap!” Callum snarls to whoever is trying to get out of the vehicle.
“Oh, is that your boo thang?” I try to peer past Callum.
Callum’s eyes darken with rage. “None of your fucking business, pig.”
“Cal! Let me out! This is ridiculous. We’re supposed to be here making an alliance. Vox is going to be pissed.” Cal’s (not so) secret passenger whines from inside the car.
“Fine, but keep the mask on, baby. I don’t want to have to add more people to my fucking kill list if they see your face.”
I snort. Callum assumes we haven’t done a deep dive into any possible threat? “You mean this guy?” I pull up the funeral home directory with Ryan’s smiling, freckled face and turn my phone around to face him. “He’s cute.”
Cal takes one look at the phone and groans.
“Jesus fuck, Ryan! I thought we talked about reducing your digital footprint! You told me you took that photo down!”
“By all means, keep having your lover’s quarrel. All we need is Buffalo.” I cross my arms.
Cal rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah. Fine.” He steps away from the car, and the ginger-haired funeral director scrambles out of the front seat. My eyes zero in on the fuzzy orange head clutched in Ryan’s hands.
“Here,” Ryan says, his voice gentler than I would have expected from someone who’s supposed to be my enemy. “We cleaned him up as best we could. He was a little bloody after the accident.”
“Cute and thoughtful, what a guy,” I coo, stalking up to Ryan. But Callum darts his arm out to shove me back, which makes Logan yell something, and people scramble behind me.
I just dart my hand out and snatch Buffalo’s head, immediately moving back from the two strangers.
“Touch him again, and I’ll rip your head off next, bitch boy.” Callum snarls at me, and it immediately makes me want to touch Ryan again.
On instinct, I wait for Buffalo to make a snarky comment. Buffalo’s head is back. He’s back.
I wait, but there’s nothing. I try not to immediately panic. I just need to reattach his head to his body, and it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine, right?
Cal’s eyeing me warily. I wait for him to say something shitty to me, but maybe my change in mood is showing on my face. His expression softens imperceptibly, and he cocks his head to the side.
“What’s wrong?” Cal asks, and if I didn’t know any better, I would say there was legitimate concern in his voice. “Isn’t he happy to see you?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I back away toward the car. There’s nothing wrong. I’ll just reattach Buffalo’s head, and it’ll be back to normal. It’ll all be back to normal.
Right? It has to.
It fucking has to.