Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
SLONE
Istood behind the bar for the first time since Trey came to EDGE. I hadn’t missed it a bit. Maybe I needed to cut my role down to administrative tasks for a while. Or maybe I wouldn’t give a fuck if I got to watch my boy out on the dance floor shaking his ass like he had while we were in Nashville.
“When’s Trey coming back?” Ewen asked.
I shook my head.
“What does that mean? You don’t know, or you don’t want to talk about it, or Ewen, you’re an idiot, shut the fuck up?”
“How about all the above?” I asked.
“Prick,” he said with a smirk.
“Yeah, I love you too, jerkface.”
“But seriously,” he said, handing over the drink he had just poured to the dewy-eyed little staring up at him with awe, “When’s he coming back?”
“What can I get you?” I asked the Dom standing at the front of the line on my side of the bar to avoid telling Ewen I had no fucking clue when or even if Trey would be returning to Manchester.
Once I passed the drink over, Ewen cocked a brow at me, and I sighed. Fucking Devil Dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let it go, resigned to hashing out my relationship with Trey and the lack of any solid plans about when or even if he would return.
“I’m not—”
My watch buzzed with a text.
Trey
911
Answer
Please
My phone started ringing immediately.
“Hey, baby boy. You okay?” I asked.
“I fucking hate it here,” Trey whispered through the cell connection.
Storms were ravaging the Livingstone area and were fucking with cell service.
Static and a glitchy connection made it hard enough to hear him, but add in the whispering and how tiny and vulnerable he sounded, and the fact I put myself on the schedule at EDGE to distract myself from the fact my boy flew halfway across the country at his asshole father’s request, also known as psychological and emotional manipulation and torture.
Waving at Ewen and pointing to my phone, I told Trey, “Let me get somewhere quieter, baby boy.”
“Okay,” he muttered, and I realized he must speak Russian at home at least partially because the slight accent I’d caught once or twice had grown thicker. “Can you just talk?”
“Sure. What do you want me to talk about?” I asked, skirting kinksters and looky-loos. Tonight was one of the few nights of the month we opened the club to non-members. Usually, we only allowed non-members to join us at the munches hosted by a childhood friend of Ewen’s.
“What are you doing? It sounds like a party,” he said hesitantly.
Jesus. Again with the small voice that gutted me.
What had they done to the kid in the two days he’d been back in New York?
“Working. Tending bar, actually. And yes, I have people for that, but I enjoy being busy, so Ewen and I put ourselves behind the bar several times a week. Normally on the slower nights, but a bartender called off, so we’re filling in for them. ”
The line—other than the shitty connection sounds—fell silent. I closed myself inside the office and locked the door behind me. “Baby boy, if you’re nodding, I can’t see you.”
“Sorry.”
Sorry, not oops like he would’ve normally said.
“No need to be sorry. Now, tell me what’s going on.”
“Can we video chat?” Tears clogged his voice, which worried me even more.
Before we started seeing each other, every spiral I witnessed from Trey regarding his family had resulted in erratic, self-destructive, and sometimes violent behavior. Most of that lessened after we talked and agreed to our arrangement, but this was something else. Something more.
I pressed the button, and the moment his face came into view, blood filled my mouth from the hole I bit in my cheek. Trey had a bruise, one he hadn’t had when I last saw him or in any of the photos he’d sent me since. I could be jumping to conclusions, but…
“It’s not what you think.”
Yeah, that didn’t reassure me at fucking all. “Looking at that bruise, I think someone hit you,” I said as I pulled up the contact info for Taz.
Me
Hey Gunny. I need a flight to NYC, and I need to be there yesterday. Can you help? I’m on the phone.
He shook his head. “Someone was a puck.”
Taz
Get your shit together. I’ll text you with the info. Your boy okay?
Loaded fucking question.
Me
Thanks.
“You took a puck to the face? Did you get checked out?” I asked, thinking of Sasha. He’d taken a puck to the head that cost him his NHL career and half of his hearing and vision.
He nodded. “Mama sent the Wardens GM a message, and they had me come in for an evaluation. I’m fine.”
Relief flooded my system until Trey spoke again.
“Is it bad that I wish they’d just hit me? Sometimes I think it would be easier to deal with.”
Rage engulfed me, making tears burn through my nasal passages and the backs of my eyes.
“Sometimes, physical pain is easier to deal with, baby boy, so it’s not good that what you’re dealing with makes you feel the need to make the wish.
The making it isn’t what’s bad,” I said, thankful for the shitty connection because as hard as I tried to sound normal, I knew I probably didn’t.
Me
And no. He’s not.
Taz
Let me know if you need bail money and remember you’re a trained killer. Don’t go Con Air on me.
He nodded but stayed silent except for some sniffling and a few sobs he wasn’t able to contain.
“What can I do?” Sometimes people didn’t want fixes. Sometimes, they just wanted to be seen and heard, but I was a fucking fixer, goddammit, and my boy sounded broken down in the worst way.
“Would you come to New York? I’ll pay for…”
As if. “No need. And yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright. I’m leaving for the airport as soon as I pack.”
Trey had a full-blown, ugly-crying meltdown.
I had to remind myself that I couldn’t take a weapon on the plane and that killing people was illegal.
Luckily for me anyway, I didn’t need a weapon to take someone down, and I could inflict a lot of fucking damage without leaving a single fucking mark on my target.
“Baby, I need to go so I can get packed and on a plane. Can you take a few deep breaths for me so you don’t get sick?”
He nodded, shook his head no, then nodded again.
All while still fucking bawling. I made my way out the back door of the office for the stairs, taking them two at a time, and doing the same to the ones in my loft.
I grabbed my garment duffel and roller bag, filling them both with casual wear and several suits and my tux since I had no clue what kind of shitstorm I was walking into.
Taz
Nothing today, but give me a minute.
“When…” he hiccuped, then continued, “…when will you be here?”
Fuck it. I’d take my bike if I had to.
Taz
Okay. You’re good. You’re hitching a ride with Katie and Jackson. They’re flying back to PA from LA. Walker’s handling the logistics. You just get to the private terminal.
Thank fuck.
Me
Thanks, man. Can you pass that along to Walker?
“I’m walking out the door with my bags now, baby boy. I’m hitching a ride with Bauer and Asher’s cousin, who’s flying back from LA.”
That got his attention, and he asked, albeit with still a few sniffles and tears, “You’re flying on Katie Carter’s private jet?”
“Baby, I don’t know who owns the plane, only that they’re giving me a ride,” I explained, disappointed my boy was too upset to make jokes about riding me like he had every time I used the word since our first night together.
Taz
Will do, but no thanks needed. Family takes care of its own and I’m sure Walker would say the same. Meet you outside. I’ll drive you to the airport then take your place behind the bar.
Me
Shit. I’m on the schedule for the next week.
Taz
No worries. I’ll handle it. And Grigor when he has a meltdown because you left without telling him.
I laughed. Taz had had Ewen’s number from the moment we got assigned to his unit. Hell, he’d had all our numbers.
“Baby, I’m hanging up now, okay? I’ll text you once I’m in the air and have an ETA for you, okay?”
“Okay. See you soon.”
“Text me your address so I can get to you once I land, okay?”
Trey
Trey started sharing location with you.
“Thank you, baby. I’ll text you soon.”
“Bye,” he said, his voice less distressed but still not back to normal.
Stuffing cables, blocks, and my tech gadgets into the pockets on the duffel, I zipped everything up and hightailed it down the stairs. Taz sat in his truck, waiting with the engine running.
“Thanks again.”
“You’d do the same for Wade and me. You already have.”
Katie and Jackson’s jet was pulling toward the FBO when Taz pulled his truck into the parking lot. He got out, helped me with my bags, and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. “I meant what I said. Don’t go all Con Air on us, got it?”
I laughed, but I knew he understood how I felt. His boy, Wade, didn’t have the best family situation either when they met.
“Thanks, Gunny.”
I checked in, handed over my luggage, and boarded within minutes, only to come face-to-face with a confused Jackson Holt holding a whimpering infant with two little voices chattering about why the plane quit flying in the rear compartment.
“Do you realize how hard it is to get three babies to sleep at the same time on a damn plane?” he asked.
“I hope everything’s okay. Dad didn’t give many details when he messaged. ”
“My partner is in New York. There are issues.”
“The city?”
“Just north.”
“Well, let me or Dad know if you guys need anything. Pittsburgh isn’t close, but it’s the closest any of us are to the city, and Charlie’s got connections there.”
“Charlie?” I asked.
The flight attendant cleared their throat and said, “Gentlemen, if I can get everyone settled and buckled in, we’re ready to take off.”
I sat down and buckled myself in only to be surprised when Jackson held out the baby in his arms to me. “Take him. Katie will need help with Cal. The boy is a holy terror. Oh, and that one’s name is Landon.”
Jackson disappeared into the sleeping compartment, or what I assumed was a sleeping compartment, while I settled his youngest against my chest and texted Trey one-handed.
Me
On the plane.
Trey
Photos or it isn’t real.
Fuck, my poor boy.
Me
[IMAGE]
Trey
Holy fuck! Is that Katie Carter’s new baby?
I laughed out loud, startling the infant in my arms, who pushed away to scowl at me while sucking frantically on the pacifier in his mouth. “Sorry, little one. I’m not so good at this shit.”
“Oh goodie, yet another person to expand their vocabulary.” The soft, melodic tones of the woman Trey seemed to be a huge fan of drew my attention, and the baby in my arms seemed content to stay with me.
“Katie Carter—”
“Ahem!” Jackson cleared his throat, then said, “Katie Holt. She’s not on fucking stage.”
“Jackson, quit being a possessive ass and buckle Cal in so we can get back in the air.”
Moments later, they strapped their little girl in, and she dozed off while sucking on a pacifier like her younger brother when the plane raced down the runway and lifted into the air. Their oldest boy tugged at his ears and said, “Hurts, Mama.” I grimaced.
“Here, Cal,” Katie said, offering him the pacifier he’d pushed away several times already. “This will help.”
“My apologies, Katie, for hijacking your trip and disturbing the little ones.”
She smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it. Cal’s a horrible flyer. Has been since conception.”
That didn’t make me feel any better. “Still, I am sorry, but I need to get to New York tonight.”
She looked at me while still soothing the little one. “So Walker said. Anything we can do to help?”
“You wouldn’t know the owner of the Wardens, would you?” I joked.
Jackson snorted and said, “As a matter of fact, we do. Charlie—”
“Charlotte.”
“Same difference,” Jackson argued with his wife, who rolled her eyes at him with an indulgent smile.
“No, it’s not, but to answer your question, Slone, we do know the owner of the Wardens. Why?”
Holy shit. Talk about six degrees of separation. If that.
“Would they talk to me?” I asked, giving nothing away.
“For a member of the family, yes,” Jackson said. “I’ll get you her number. But, just so you know, she isn’t really involved in the day-to-day things.”
Wheels turned. I wouldn’t talk to her about Trey, but I would offer her contact info to Trey so he could do what he wanted with the information. It was his life and his career, and something fucking told me there was some sneaky shit afoot.