With that, the bickering comes to a halt and we take a vote. It comes back tied with 5-5, and it all starts up again. We’ve moved past the bitching about what Junior did to Alex, and now we’re onto figuring out where we would even put the kid if we did vote to move him.
Heavy thuds sound at the solid wooden door. I peer up at the door, over my brothers’ heads, and try to bite back my anger. The prospects and the lost girls know better than to interrupt us during Church. Something better be on fire, or somebody's head is about to fucking roll.
Fish jumps up and goes to the door. When he opens it, one of the prospects barges in. He’s got a cell phone to his ear and his face is pale white. He’s a short thing, and stocky, but he’s built as fuck. We call him Squat and, until about five seconds ago, he was one of the ones I thought we’d patch in. Stupid fuck.
“Mancuso got to Miss Priss,” Squat shouts and turns around back out the door. My stomach sinks as my worst fears are realized. Miss Priss is the name Ruby gave Cheyenne when she was a toddler. Despite her raising, Chey’s always been a girly girl. My brothers waste no time getting on their feet and rushing out after him. I launch myself from my seat and push to the front of the crowd. Every thought I have vanishes as I go on autopilot.
“She’s holed up at the high school in the office with one of the employees,” Squat says as he moves out of my way. My brothers and I grab our phones and guns from behind the bar in the main room and rush out the front door into the parking lot. Our bikes are all backed up in an orderly line against the side of the building. I’m two feet away from mine when a familiar white Jeep barrels into the parking lot, past the open gates. The vehicle comes skidding to a halt, and before it’s even fully stopped, the passenger side door swings open and Cheyenne jumps out.
I’m stone still for a moment as I force myself to check back in. Chey’s here, and she’s safe as long as she’s within these gates. Her lips are parted, and her chest heaves with panic. Her eyes flash from the left to the right and back again before they settle on me. She lets out a deep breath and runs at me so fast that when she reaches me, I have to take a step back from the impact.
Instantly, I wrap my arms around her and crush her to me. The rush of fear, and then the gratitude of having her here and safe, is practically unbearable. I squeeze her small body until I feel her tapping out on my lower back. It’s something she’s done since she was in grade school, which is apparently when my hugs got too tight and started to smother her. I can’t help it. The more independent she becomes, the tighter I want to hold on to the little girl she once was.
“Can’t,” she whispers and takes in a shaky breath, “breathe.” I loosen my grip and let her go.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” I say. I give her a moment to calm down before I find out what’s going on. My eyes lift to the Jeep just as the driver climbs out. It’s Holly Mercer, and she looks more than a little uncomfortable being here. As she should.
“You,” I shout and point at Holly. Her jaw slacks, and she lifts a finger, pointing at her own chest. I nod and crook my finger to order her over to me. She tightens her jaw back up, and straightens her back as she walks over. Finally, it seems she’s learned to follow a fucking order when she hears one. It’s about damn time I found something that knocks her off her game. She’s one hard-headed bitch.
She goes to open her mouth, but I shake my head. “Don’t.”
Yanking my cell out of my pocket, I dial Ruby’s cell and wait for her to pick up. She answers on the second ring. “That was quick.”
“Chey’s at the clubhouse,” I say, hoping to give her some peace of mind.
“Are you shittin’ me?” she says in disbelief. “I told her to keep her ass at the school.”
My eyes cut to Holly. Guess I gave her too much credit for following orders. I say a quick thanks to Ruby then hang up the phone and shove it back in to my pocket. “What happened, Chey?” I ask.
“This scary dude was leaning on my car when I left football practice. He said he had a message for you,” she says. She waits a beat before saying, “I ran into the office and told Holly.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask as gently as I can.
“I did. You didn’t answer,” she says quietly. That sinking feeling returns. We don’t bring phones or guns into the chapel – with rare exception, –so of course, I wouldn’t know she called. Doesn’t matter though. My kid needed me and I wasn’t there. Nothing else can make me feel as low as being unable to help Chey does.