ALESSIO
The office across from the clubhouse has become strangely familiar. Not comfortable. Just... familiar. The owner grunts as he hauls another wooden crate across the floor. Bottles clink softly inside.
"Looks like business is picking up," I remark, still staring at my phone.
He laughs. "Wedding season."
He pats the crate. "People'll spend five hundred bucks on a bottle they can't pronounce if it means impressing the in-laws."
I grunt. Good for him. Personally, I'd rather spend the money on ammunition.
Across the street, Beccs is tending the bar.
Exactly where I don't want her, even though I’m the one who sent her there.
I practically had to drag her out of the penthouse today.
Usually, I try to keep her away from the Reapers.
Today... she wanted to stay home. Stare at her phone.
Wait for Charly's call. I wasn't about to watch her go insane.
Waiting is poison. Working at least keeps her moving.
My phone buzzes against the table. Damiano.
I glance across the street—where Beccs is still hopefully upright, still pouring drinks for bikers who'd sell her for scrap metal—and pick up. "What."
"Nice to hear your voice too, brother." A pause, too long. He's grinning. I can hear it. "So. How's that girl of yours?"
"What girl?"
"The girl you're supposedly dating." He pronounces each word slowly, savoring it. "Word travels fast."
"It shouldn't be traveling at all."
"Relax." The click of a lighter somewhere on his end. "Nobody's talking. Yet. But you know this crew, somebody always knows somebody."
I rub a hand over my jaw. "Keep it on the downlow. I don't want the whole world knowing yet."
"You know that's not how this works."
"It works exactly as long as I say it does." The wine merchant hauls another crate past the window, oblivious to everything. "I need it contained a little longer."
"Contained." Damiano drags out the word like he's tasting it. "That’s what we're calling it."
"Damiano."
"Fine, fine." Amusement bleeds through the line. "Your secret girlfriend stays a secret. For now." A pause, quieter. "For what it's worth—good for you."
I don't answer that.
"I mean it," he says. "After everything. Good for you."
"Don't make it weird."
He laughs, low and easy, the sound of a man who hasn't been shot at yet today. "Call me if you need anything. Or if the Collector calls you first. You're due, aren't you?"
"Overdue."
"Lucky you." The line goes dead.
As if his words had been prophetic, my phone vibrates. Unknown number. I know who it is. "The Collector," I greet sarcastically.
"I prefer El Recaudador," the familiar voice corrects smoothly.
"What do you want?"
A soft chuckle. "You still haven't accepted my offer."
"I still haven't considered it."
"You should."
I lean back in the chair, keeping an eye across the street where Flea is getting off his bike.
"I'm getting bored." The Collector complains.
"So am I," I admit, not even trying to suppress a yawn.
"Leave Massimo." The words are almost conversational. "Walk away from the war."
"And?"
"I'll send you a gift box with your mother inside."
Now he's got my attention.
"I know you've been looking," He baits. "I know about Luciana." He lets the name linger. "I know where she's been." His tone is teasing. Just like the timbre of his voice is teasing the corners of my mind. I swear I've heard his voice before. "I know what she's become."
I roll my eyes, "So do I."
"Imagine it." His voice turns almost gentle. "A little bow. Wrapped neatly. Delivered to your front door. Just like all the Christmas presents she didn't send."
"Go fuck yourself."
Another chuckle. "I expected more originality."
Movement catches my eye. A black sedan rolls into the parking lot across the street.
A man climbs out. Something about him feels familiar.
Before I can get a better look, the wine merchant wanders directly in front of the window carrying another damn crate.
I have to physically stop myself from putting a bullet through both the bottles and the idiot carrying them.
I wave at him to get out of the way. He keeps walking. By the time he moves... the man is gone. The clubhouse door closes. Damn it.
The Collector is still talking. "I wonder..." his tone turns thoughtful, "did your little mechanic enjoy my present?"
Ice shoots down my spine. "What?"
"The investigator." Charly! "He should be in Arizona by now."
My heart stops. "What did you do?"
"I?"
He sounds genuinely offended. "I merely pointed him in a very interesting direction."
My phone vibrates again. This time the screen reads: Grease Monkey.
The Collector laughs. "Go ahead. Answer. I think you're about to have a much bigger problem."
I disconnect without another word. Immediately answer. "Hey, Grease Mon—"
"Somebody just dragged Audra into Razor's office."
Everything inside me goes cold. "Gabe's Audra?"
"Yes." Across the street...
The war I've been expecting finally begins. "You're sure?"
"I'd bet my life on it."
Fuck. Not what I wanted to hear. Not today. Not with the Collector suddenly taking an interest in Beccs.
"What do you want me to do?" she asks quietly.
"Nothing." The word leaves my mouth before I even think about it. "I'm handling it."
"But—"
"I mean it, babe." I shove past the wine store owner and head for the door. "Get out."
"I can help."
"No."
The heat hits me especially hard after the cool temperatures inside the wine store. With the phone pressed against my ear, I dodge suddenly increasing traffic. I can feel time slipping through my fingers.
"I've got men around the corner." She knows where the SUV is. I've made damn sure of that every single shift. "They'll take you straight back to the penthouse."
"I don't need a babysitter."
Normally I'd argue. Normally I'd threaten to throw her over my shoulder.
Normally I'd let her fight until she realized I wasn't changing my mind.
Today... today I don't have that luxury.
Because I know her. I know exactly what she's thinking.
She's going to stay. She's going to investigate.
She's going to convince herself she's helping.
And she's going to walk straight into whatever the hell is unfolding inside that clubhouse.
"You do today."
Stubborn quietness hits me from her end. Damn it. She's thinking. The worst possible sign. I make it across to the median, getting honked at in the process. I nearly shoot the asshole.
"Please." The word surprises even me. I don't beg. Ever. But I also don't lose people I care about because they're too damn stubborn to run.
"I don't like this," she whispers.
"I know."
Running in a figure eight, I dodge two more trucks and a convertible blaring loud music. "Promise me."
I hear her breathing, hear the wheels in her head turning. Make the right decision, babe. Please make the right decision. I don't have time to fight with her right now.
"I promise."
I close my eyes for the briefest second and nearly get run over by a biker. I want to believe her, even though I'm not sure I do.
"Good."
I disconnect. Stare at the phone for half a heartbeat. She didn’t lie…exactly. She fully intends to keep that promise right up until she decides she has a better idea.
I stop by the door and take in a deep inhale to ground myself.
It's not going to help anybody to walk in there, guns blazing.
I need to know what's happening inside before I call Gabe.
If I tell him the wrong thing... he'll come in shooting.
If I wait too long... Audra dies. I'm about thirty seconds away from finding out.
I step inside. The stink of stale beer, cigarettes, sweat, and weed slams into me.
The same old rock music still plays on the ancient jukebox.
Like the world hasn't just shifted under my feet.
I sweep the room automatically. Rattler sits alone at the bar.
A whiskey in front of him. His beard is dripping.
I glance at the puddle beneath his stool.
"Did somebody throw water at you?"
He snorts. "Your girl."
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. Of course she did. I walk behind the bar, grab a beer from the cooler, and leave a five on the counter.
"What'd you do?"
"Told her she'd get better information if she took her shirt off."
For one dangerous second, I seriously consider introducing his face to the bar. It'll have to wait another day. Right now, Audra comes first. I twist the cap off my beer, nearly breaking the bottle's neck.
"So," I force myself to sound even as I take a pull from the bottle. "What's going on?"
His expression sobers. "Some asshole dragged a woman in." He takes another drink. "They took her straight into Razor's office."
"And?"
"Flea went in there too."
Almost on cue, the office door opens. Flea steps out. He doesn't notice me. The door hangs open for a second. Long enough. I catch sight of copper hair and a woman tied to a chair. Blood. Bruises. Audra.
Fuck.
The door closes again. I don't hesitate. I head straight for the restroom. Lock the door and pull out my phone.
Gabe answers before the first ring finishes.
"Gabe, I'm at the MC's clubhouse. They brought Audra in, do you—"
"Stay where you are." His voice cuts across mine like a blade. "Don't move. I'm on my way."
I lean against the sink. "They took her into Razor's office, Gabe. This isn't good."
Something hard hits something metallic on the other end. Gabe's breathing is controlled. For now. But we've all seen him lose it. Hell, the last time somebody took Audra, he killed men with his bare hands. When his fury takes over, there's no stopping him.
"I know exactly where they dragged her. And if you go in there, you'll get her killed."
I don't answer immediately. Every instinct I have is screaming to ignore him. I've got the element of surprise. I've got men outside, not that I'll need them. I could be through that office door in under ten seconds. Probably kill everyone inside before they knew what happened. Probably.