“Does he look like anyone I know?” she asks. I bite my tongue to keep from telling her what I think of the people she knows.
“Stay here and try your dad again,” I say then squeeze out the door. Once I’m on the other side, I’m mentally screaming at myself. What the hell am I doing out here? I should go back in and call the police, but I know that when Forsaken are involved, you don’t call the police. I really don’t need to give anyone in or associated with the club ay more reason to have to talk to me about anything. As it is, I’ve been ditching Grady and his buddies who keep trying to give me money for the last few weeks. He’s made it perfectly clear how he feels about my avoiding him. I just can’t deal with him right now, though his world keeps finding ways to impede on my own despite my attempts, and I don’t like it.
“Sir,” I say as loudly as I can bring my voice to get, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises.”
“I have a message for Forsaken,” he says in a thick accent that sounds definitively East Coast. His words are all compressed in telltale spots and then dragged out in others. It’s not Boston, but it might be New York.
“Then deliver it yourself,” I say with a snap. I knew the moment Cheyenne said a man had a message for her dad that this was a club problem, but this man doesn’t look like anybody in the club. They’re all rugged beauty and blue collar, working man’s attire. This guy is sleek and all business in a very expensive way.
“That’s not how this is going to work,” he says. His mouth turns up just slightly in the corner. “Please tell Grady that…”He doesn’t get any farther—I cut him off, totally unable to listen to this crap. My blood pressure is likely through the roof right now. My hands shake, and my knees feel weaker than I’d like to admit, but I don’t show this to the best of my ability. My palms sweat, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest.
“Stop, just stop!” I shout. “This has nothing to do with me or Cheyenne. So just get out of here and leave her alone.”
The man against the car moves his hand in his pocket so the corner of his suit jacket is shoved back. Beneath it, a bright gold gun shines in the overcast rays of the sun. “Yelling at me is not wise.” “Now,” he says and clears his throat. “Please tell Mr. Grady that Mr. Mancuso’s business associates are in town and they would like to schedule a meeting with him to discuss an acquisition. We’d like to avoid a hostile takeover if possible, but we understand that the club is quite fond of our assets and some aggressive tactics may be necessary.”
“And why can’t you tell them this yourself?” I say with my eyes glued to the gun at his hip. He makes it sound all business, but there’s an underlying message that I’m missing.
“Two birds, one stone. I wanted to check on Cheyenne. She’s a beautiful young girl. She should be with her family. I’d hate to see her ripped from them.” Regardless of what I think of Grady and his stupid deviant club, that has nothing to do with Cheyenne. She’s just a teenager, and she’s obviously scared out of her wits. Forgetting the gun entirely, I stare up at this man and meet his eyes. The shake of my hands is gone, and now it’s just a mild straining in my muscles, like my body is instinctively preparing to run.
“Leave her alone!” I scream. I’ve heard so many stories about the club and what they’re capable of. I want to tell this man that he had better not let the club hear him say that or it’ll be the last thing he does. But that’s not my place, and the club’s affairs aren’t my problem. But Cheyenne is my responsibility right now, and I have to think of what’s best for her. Surely getting her out of here and away from this man is priority one.
“I do hate to be yelled at,” he says dryly and slowly moves his hand to the gold gun and grips it. “Please don’t make me hurt you.”
My stomach drops, and I take a single step backward. Our eyes are locked on one another. I move back another step when he takes a step forward. The immediate need to get out of there takes over, and I turn around and run back to the door as fast as I can. I don’t turn to see if he’s following. I just fling the door open and, once I’m on the other side, quickly slide the locks into place. My eyes lift up and peer out the window. The man is gone.
“What did he say?” she asks. I keep my mouth shut about it and instead bolt over to my desk, where I grab my purse and fish out my keys.
“Nothing, but we have to find your dad. Right now,” I stammer out.
“He isn’t answering my calls,” she whines. “I tried Uncle Wyatt, but he isn’t answering either. Should I call my Aunt Ruby?”