Chapter 9
Doc
“Fucking four weeks and I can’t find her,” Dirty snaps with frustration and anger, “The street cameras near her home were cut the day she went missing, her car never moved when they got fixed, nothing is flagging up at any hospitals in the area. It’s like she fucking disappeared.”
He growls as he kicks his desk, and I pace his room as I link my fingers behind my head.
Angel sits on his couch watching me as I go back and forth while my phone buzzes continuously.
I ignore it, my frustration, my worry fucking consuming me inside and out like it has since Shadow interrupted church.
My phone stops buzzing then starts again, and I know it’s Cynthia demanding assistance with wedding planning.
Demanding my attention twenty-four fucking seven.
Demanding a fucking date, reminding me we need to make it obvious to the town, reminding me I’m tying myself to her, choosing her and the club.
Reminding me I chose fucking wrong.
Four weeks and I haven’t spoken to her, which has only further pissed her dad off. While mine, according to Stone, is trying to keep him at bay and claim I’m trying to sort club business out so I can spend all my time after the poxy wedding with Cynthia.
I’m ready to bolt.
I’m ready to call it quits. To tell them to fuck off, but the picture I was sent months ago, that made me bend to their will, a picture of Cole and Caleb out in the club's yard playing, a target drawn on their heads, come to mind.
The weight of being pres pulls me down, the weight of the choice Dad made that brought all this shit on because he wanted revenge.
I know it was a message from Jacob, it’s why I chose the club so fucking easily. Why I tore my heart out by not speaking to my girl first, knowing I wouldn’t have gone through with it.
When I told her the club needed to come first, I meant it. Those kids are fucking innocent, and all this started because of my dad, my so called hero who I used to look up to.
“Pres, your pacing is not fucking helping,” Dirty snaps as he types away again, but I don’t stop my pacing. Instead, I grip my hair as I continue.
If I stop, I’m trashing his room.
Four weeks and fucking nothing, not even a slight picture of her anywhere on any security camera.
Dirty is right, it’s like she has disappeared, and according to Thunder, Kathleen has gone into a deep depression.
She is now on fucking suicide watch in Shadow’s room here.
A prospect on her at all times at the order of Stone while I’ve been in here, a room I have spent every minute of my time as I can.
If I’m not at the hospital working my ass off, I’m in here or in church.
I don’t go out. I don’t try to make a show of my so-called relationship with Cynthia. My sole focus is shifting, just maybe a little too late, though.
“Anything, brother?” I ask as I stop near his chair and he shakes his head and admits, “No, the last image I have is outside of the convenience store where Rose was stabbed, and I don’t even know if it's her before the footage stops,” he sighs, “I need Shadow to come take a look.”
“Show me,” I demand, and he frowns but does as I ask, bringing up the footage, and my heart stops.
Hair up in a messy bun, jeans, and my-my…
“It’s her,” I choke.
She’s looking down at something in her hand, but it is definitely her.
“How do you know? It’s the back of a woman’s head, and none of us actually know what she looks like,” Dirty mentions.
I swallow hard and admit, “Because I know what she looks like, I know every inch of her, and that white shirt she’s wearing is mine.”
Does my heart flip knowing she kept my shirt? Yes, it fucking does.
Does regret pull me so hard that I want to vomit? Abso-fucking-lutely.
“Your what?!” Dirty demands as he spins around in his seat, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I look at his monitor with my heart in my throat while Angel meows at my feet, weaving in and out wanting my attention, and I look down at her, my heart fucking hurting.
“Holy shit!” he snaps, “That is why you refused to give the cat back, why you went in on yourself when Shadow said she was missing. Why you’ve barely fucking focused these past four weeks…”
“A year,” I admit quietly, “We’d been seeing each other for a year after Shadow asked me to go grab the contracts for the dance club.” I smile sadly, “She was holding a fire poker, thinking I was coming after Angel.”
“Why did she think you were after Angel?” he asks in confusion.
I chuckle and admit, “Because she stole her as a kitten from work when she overheard the owner brag about throwing Angel to his dog. That was before she word vomited and admitted a dog called Tinkerbell had thrown up on her, and fuck, I was hooked…”
“Ah shit, she’s your one.” Dirty rasps, and I nod. “Then why did you accept that stupid fucking proposal? Why let your dad push you into it?” he demands, and I look at him, showing him my pain.
“Alex, the senator was making our lives hell,” I remind him, and he cuts in and snaps, “But I could have gotten dirt on him!”
I nod and admit, “You could have but brother, I received a picture which made my decision to choose the club over my one a lot easier than it normally would have,” I swallow and admit, “It was a picture of Caleb and Cole with targets drawn over their faces, the words, ‘marry my daughter, or else’ underneath them.”
Dirty’s face reddens with pure anger at the mention of his son. I look back at his computer, my eyes taking in Brit's figure.
“After receiving the picture, I pulled back from her, but I still ended up gravitating towards her. And when she was shown a news article, finding out about my engagement before I could explain things, I begged her to become my mistress,” I admit, “She slapped me and walked away, rightfully so.”
Dirty’s breathing picks up as he demands, “Is that why you disappeared for a few weeks?”
I nod and confirm, “I needed to leave before I tore the town apart, before I burnt the club to the ground at repercussions being pres meant for me,” I shake my head and mutter, “Cops showing up, druggies coming to my place of work claiming I give them their fix. That, I could deal with, but a red fucking target on two kids’ lives, kids I see as my nephews, I had to do something brother.
I chose the club, I chose them over the love of my life, and she walked away, and I left to give her space, and now she’s missing. ”
“Did she know about the picture?” he demands, and I shake my head and deny, “Nah, brother, I just told her that I needed to do right by the club, that it has to come first, which it had throughout our entire relationship. We all made a promise to Shadow, one I broke tenfold the moment I met her.”
“You didn’t claim her,” he whispers, and I look down because no, I didn’t, out of respect for my brother, even though I really fucking wanted to.
“I’m the president, Alex, I have certain expectations I have to live up to,” I choke.
He growls, “Not at the expense of your happiness! Not at the expense of your girl,” he sighs, “Fuck’s sake, Asher, you should have come to me immediately with those pictures.”
“We can’t exactly kill a senator,” I remind him. Jacob Smith is well fucking known in town. Granted, he is hated, but still.
Dirty scoffs, “We could have made it look like an assassination attack.”
“I wasn’t willing to put the club at risk, the kids,” I admit as I take a seat with Angel in my arms, and I shake my head and demand, “Keep searching, brother, please.”
“I’m going to find your girl, if it is the last thing I do. I will find her before you have to walk down that fucking aisle, and then I’m digging all the fucking dirt I can on those fuckers because you will not be marrying that fucking bitch. And if we have to kill him then so fucking be it.”
I swallow hard and look at his screen as he begins typing fast, working on trying to find Brit as he mumbles, “Your dad better keep that fucker away from the club, otherwise I’ll kill him, consequences be damned,” and I frown, something niggling in the back of my mind.
“Brother,” I say, and he looks at me. I question, “Do you think Jacob knew about Brittany?”
The fucker threatened two innocent kids. What’s stopping him from attacking my girl to ensure I don’t keep her around?
Dirty furrows his brows before he shakes his head and says, “He’s not stupid enough to attack a fallen officer's daughter.”
“Isn’t he?” I ask, and he looks at his computer before looking back at me and says, “I’ll dig into him, see if anything flags up about her,” and I nod and watch as he begins typing furiously, all while my heart jumps in my throat while my phone buzzes yet again.
If he hurt her, fuck the consequences with the club, I’ll kill him myself.
Four hours later, I sit on my bed, clutching Angel, my heart shattering into tiny fucking little pieces.
Nothing, no sighting, no pictures other than that one at the convenience store, no medical shit flagging up with the hospital, nothing. The senator seems to be clean, well, clean of harming Brittany anyhow.
There’s nothing in his phone, or any device he has, to suggest he ordered an attack on her. She just vanished, disappeared, something that does not in any circumstances make sense.
She had a job she loved, a family who would do anything for her, and she wouldn’t have just walked away without her possessions, her car – without Angel.
Unless she was taken…
My eyes burn with unshed tears as my door to my room opens and I look up to see Mama slowly walking in, her worried light blue eyes locked on me.
“Talk to me, son,” she whispers as she kneels before me, “You’ve been off for weeks, not acting like yourself. You’re going to work yourself into an early grave.”
A few tears fall, I couldn’t stop them even if I tried, and I choke, “I fell in love and broke her heart for the club, for her dad, and now she’s missing.”
“Shadow's daughter?” She confirms without any judgment, and I nod slowly before murmuring, “I don’t want Dad knowing.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers before she wraps her arms around my head. My tears fall, the pain of losing Brit hurting me so fucking bad that I feel like I can’t breathe. My mama holds me tighter as my body shakes, the reality that I may never see her again hits home, and regret fills me.
I should have told her everything, I should have fucking spoken to Dirty instead of burdening myself with everything, shouldering it all.
I should have fought for my girl, told her I loved her.
I should have claimed her.
Fuck, where are you, Tinkerbell?