41. Logan
logan
CT, Mitch, Stetson, and I climb out of my truck and approach the building, our tension thick as we do so.
This could go one of two ways.
The old as fuck president could be gracious and willing to help us, given that this technically had another club involved.
Or he would tell me to fuck off.
I check my phone quickly, wondering if Annmarie or Juniper have gotten any news from Thea or, hell, from the piece of shit we know took her.
Nothing.
My gut has been in a knot since she went missing, and as it neared pitch black outside, I was growing increasingly worried.
“Stop where you are,” a deep voice barks at us from somewhere I can’t see. “Show your hands.”
I raise my hands, as do the boys. None of us are holding weapons on our person, leaving them in the truck, knowing that these guys wouldn’t take too kindly to us packing while we were trying to ask for their help on their turf.
“Who are you?”
I clench my jaw. “It’s Logan Cash.” I almost sigh, wishing I could see the person in the shadows and only getting a glimpse of the tip of a burning cigarette. “I need to talk to the prez.”
I know most of these guys, some I went to high school with. Some have joined from out of town, sure, but there was a larger percentage of them I grew up with.
Mad steps out of the shadows, and I grow even more tense. He was definitely one I knew. Unfortunately, his road name came a little too easily because “Mad” is actually insane.
He used to be called Bradley.
“Logan Cash,” he says to someone I can’t see, and Mick, the sergeant at arms of the club, steps out of the shadows and heads confidently in our direction.
Being in charge of the brewery the MC owns, we see Mick all the time.
I reach my hand out to shake his, and he eyes me with concern, returning the handshake.
“Cash, what’s going on, man? What brings you here this late?”
I cut to the chase. I don’t have time not to. “My girl was taken.”
His brows rise in shock. “The bar owner?”
I nod. “Thea.”
“This have anything to do with that piece of shit you told me about?” he asks, referring to what I told him back at CT’s wedding.
I nod again in confirmation.
He shakes his head, looking from me to my brothers. He’s a big ass motherfucker at six foot four and probably three hundred pounds of solid muscle, seeing a concerned look on his face is slightly off-putting. “I’m not sure how I can help.”
“Her ex is part of the South Roses.”
He bites his lip and nods. “Those pricks are evil, man.”
It’s almost funny coming from a man who is a part of an MC that most people are terrified of, but I don’t contradict him.
“I’m gathering that. He just got released from prison and found her.”
He nods and claps my shoulder. “Come on, let’s talk to Prez.”
We’re standing in a small office before we know it, an old, aging man sitting before us. I’m not sure if he’s really as old as he looks or if he’s just lived a really hard life.
Hard to say.
“Prez, this here is Logan Cash. His girl had gotten mixed up with another club and left it behind, but it seems trouble followed her anyway,” he starts, and the president of the club just stares at us, no change in his expression as the situation is explained to him.
“Since we have the contacts, he came to us for help.”
Again, the guy says nothing, so I take a step forward to say my piece. “I’m not asking your boys to go to battle for me, sir. I’m just asking that you give us any kind of guidance or a contact we can use to find where he took her.”
“No.”
“Prez—” a girl to his left starts, she’s wearing a cut too and looks to be a member herself.
“No, Temp. We don’t involve ourselves in civilian matters.”
“It’s not strictly a civilian matter,” I start. “A member of another club took an innocent person. Doesn’t that fall under your jurisdiction?”
I have no idea what the hell their jurisdiction was, but I did know that if they got crossed, they handled it.
“We don’t owe anything to anyone,” he states, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “Go home, call the police, let them handle it.”
“The police?” I didn’t doubt our town police, but they were two old geezers and a deputy who didn’t have to deal with more than a dispute between disgruntled neighbors.
They weren’t cut out for this.
“Let’s go,” CT says to me, nudging my arm. I glance at him, and he gives me a look like he knows something.
“Fine.” I turn and we’re led out of the office and then left on our own as we head out of the worn-out building, heading for my truck.
“What’s the plan, CT?”
He leans against the hood of my truck. “All we can do is follow his steps. We retrace where he went. We know he snatched her at the bar, do they have security cameras?”
I clench my fists in frustration. The longer we drag this out, the harder it will be to find her. “We have to get to her.”
Right now, I didn’t care about the fact that she dumped me, that she ran away when she got scared, or that she hurt my daughter’s feelings.
We would work that out after.
But I need there to be an after.
I don’t know what I will do if there isn’t one.