CHAPTER 21 #2
“Graycie?” I hear Opal’s voice, but it’s muffled. Like I’m under water.
Am I drowning?
Is this what that feels like?
The buzzing in my head is getting louder and before I can stop myself, which would have been ideal, and before I can think twice, I rip open the envelope.
This time there’s no card.
The only thing that falls out is a lock of hair.
A lock of my hair.
I think I scream?
Is it me screaming or is it Opal screaming?
“What the fuck is going on?” Ryker’s bark, filled with authority and a hint of anger, snaps me out of it.
I clamp my mouth shut and look at him, then down at the hair, banded and then tied with a fucking purple ribbon. Purple is my favorite color.
Please don’t ruin purple for me.
I shake my head because that is not a thought I need to be having right now. It takes some effort, but I force myself to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“No, I’m sorry. I’m okay,” my voice shakes, but I’m able to say words which feels like a really big win at the moment.
“You are not okay,” Ryker’s voice is hard as he crosses his arms, looking every bit the motorcycle club president that he is.
“You’re not okay,” Opal’s voice is far more incredulous.
She’s looking at me like I’ve sprouted a tit in the middle of my forehead.
I almost giggle; almost. She turns toward Ryker and points at the hair and the envelope in my hand.
“Snake asked me to get her mail. I did. When I handed it to her, it was mostly junk,” she presses her lips together for a moment before continuing, “except for that.”
Ryder takes a step closer and then his eyebrows are up to his hairline as he rushes forward and crouches down in front of me. He looks at the hair and then the envelope which he takes from my hands and looks at the postmark the same way I did.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath before pulling his phone out his pocket. He scrolls and selects a name. It only rings twice before someone answers and he growls, “Get your ass to the common room. Graycie got another delivery.”
I think I hear a curse on the other end of the line, but Ryker has already hung up. His eyes are fierce as he picks up my hair and puts it back in the envelope and then stands.
Whiskey practically skids into the room, takes one look at the scene and heads right toward us with his hand out. When he opens the flap, his face morphs into cold fucking fury.
“That’s my hair, isn’t it?” My voice is shaky as I ask the question.
Then something like resolve hits me. But not resignation.
I straighten up in my seat a little more and nod toward the offending item in the room.
“I’m sure it is. But what I can’t know is when he got it.
It could really be a smoke screen of some sort.
To send me running or scrambling or something. ”
Ryker nods once and respect blooms on Whiskey’s face. “I don’t want to freak out over this,” I mutter more to myself than anyone else.
Opal reaches over and grips my hand to the point of pain. But I welcome it. I need it to ground me.
“Whiskey will look into it. I already have brothers checking everything out and going on frequent runs through the county. We have feelers out to people we know and trust in the area. If he pops up close by, we’ll know it.”
“Okay,’ I breathe out. A thought hits me and I open my mouth, but Ryker is already putting the phone to his ear again.
I can hear my man’s voice, frantic, on the other end of the line, “What’s wrong? Is Graycie okay? I got this weird feeling, brother.”
Ryker pinches the bridge of his nose and shoots me an apologetic look.
Was I going to ask him not to call Turner? Yes. Was he going to listen to me? Hell no, and, honestly, he shouldn’t have.
“Opal picked up her mail?” Ryker phrases it like a question and I swear I can hear Turner grunt in response.
“Your woman got another envelope.” He pauses before shouting, “Snake, calm the fuck down and listen to me. She’s fine.
She’s sitting in the clubhouse right now.
I’m looking at her with my own eyes and Opal is sitting right next to her. ”
He listens for a moment and then huffs out a breath and rolls his eyes. As he puts it on speaker, I hear some sort of scuffle on the other end. “Fuck, brother,” Turner’s tone is chastising, “calm the fuck down. I’ll put it on speaker.”
“Turner?” My voice wobbles slightly and I hate it.
I clear my throat and try again, this time stronger, “Turner, I’m fine.
I mean, I’m shaken up and it’s really fucking freaky what is in that envelope, but I’m not some messy puddle on the floor right now with tears and snot and whatever,” I blurt out the words like I’m a damn stream of consciousness poet or something.
Turner’s breathing changes into something choppy. His words are clipped, “What was in the envelope?”
I freeze and look up at Ryker with eyes the size of dinner plates.
“Uh oh,” Opal breathes out, “he’s going to detonate.”
“There was a lock of hair,” Ryker tells my man without any preamble or warning. He doesn’t mumble it like he’s trying to hide the truth or make it less fucked up.
I’ve got to respect a man like him.
Pride filles me at being part of this family.
And I’ll fight like hell to keep them.
“I’m on my way,” Turner growls and the line goes dead.
Opal pats my shoulder and teases, “‘Twas nice knowing you. You’ll be in a coma, one I don’t want to think about, because he’ll have to reaffirm his claim about a million times. I’d recommend hydrating now.”
Ryker chuckles and smirks. “She’s not wrong.”
I face palm and peek at the two of them through my fingers. But it’s mostly for show.
I’ve felt possession that only destroys.
If my man wants to claim me a million different ways, I’m not going to complain. Not when he worships as he possesses.