Chapter 5
NOAH
It smells like shit in here. My lip curls at the stench of men, booze, and other wretched fucking scents that I don’t care to identify. The door slams shut behind me, and I’m left trying to adjust to the dim, yellow glow of lights flickering overhead.
Even after a decade, the Iron Traitor Clubhouse looks the same—ratty pool tables, decrepit bar, and couches that reek of unspeakable things.
I scan the lounge and shake my head. Not a soul in sight.
My arm is throbbing, and the fingers on my left hand have gone numb. I don’t know if it’s the bullet wound or the cold. Or some mix of the two.
Could also be an infection setting in.
Nasty lake water in an open wound probably isn’t the best mix.
I make my way around to the back of the bar, leaning over to rifle through the contents stacked on the shelves below. I grab the first aid kit and a bottle of alcohol, then set them on the counter. As soon as I go to unlatch the plastic box, a throat clears.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Shit. I shut my eyes and then slowly straighten, gritting through the pain as I hold my hand out in a low surrender. “I just need a little help.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Turn around.” The deep, raspy voice is one I recognize as Netty, the Vice President back when I was here—but I don’t know if that’s going to work for me or against me. They all washed their hands of me years ago.
“I said, turn around,” he reiterates.
“Got it,” I mumble, slowly making a one-eighty-degree turn to face him. He stands in the doorway leading to the office, his menacing six-foot-something shadow filling the frame, and his gray hair pulled back in a low ponytail.
Our eyes meet. He blinks twice. And then his expression shifts to almost disbelief. “Noah?”
I wince at the pain as I nod. “Yep. In the flesh.”
“Damn.” He stares at me for a long few moments, and I brace for what’s to come, his hand still resting on the pistol on his hip. “You made it out of the lake.”
“Yeah,” I swallow the copper taste filling my mouth. “I guess I’m a better swimmer than I thought.”
He nods and then drops his hand from the gun. “I have to admit, I was rooting for you. You should’ve never got slammed with first-degree over that piece of shit.”
That I didn’t even kill.
He runs a tatted hand over his face, and once again meets my gaze, his expression shifting. “But you gotta go, man. You can’t be here. I almost lost my patch over trying to be your goddamned alibi. And the fuzz is thick right now.”
My eyes drop to the place his VP patch used to be. “You lost your chair?”
“Yeah…” His voice trails off, like he wants to add more to the story, but then stops himself, his eyes dropping to the watch on his wrist. “You seriously gotta go. They’ll hand you over, just to get the pat on the back. Things ain’t how they used to be around here anymore.”
“I just need—”
My voice is cut off by the roar of an engine outside.
Fuck. Rue.
I grab the shit off the counter and make an awkward step toward the door.
“Nope,” Netty has a firm grasp on my good arm before I get too far. “I’m not kidding, kid. They’ll either hand you over for a reward, or they’ll shoot you dead for the hell of it. Take the back door.”
“I got someone waiting for me out there,” I counter, jerking my arm from him.
“Whoever is out there stands a better chance without you.”
I hesitate for a moment, my eyes flicking to the door. But then I hear the cut up of at least three to four men.
And I’m only like one-half a man right now.
I couldn’t take them even if I wanted to.
But Rue. I have to keep her safe from these assholes.
“Let’s go, now.” Netty jerks me toward the back hallway that leads to the emergency exit out back. “Your ride will be fine.”
The door swings open, just as I’m lugged backward into the shadows, and my gut knots.
Fuck. This is bad. What was I thinking, letting her come?