“I was hoping we could have come to an agreement, but I see now that you’re not the reasonable man that Ms. Mercer led me to believe you are. By the way, she spoke very highly of you. I hope that knowledge provides you even minor comfort in the coming days,” he says.
The moment Holly’s name falls from his lips, my stomach drops. I know for damn sure that he’s full of shit. Holly would never call me reasonable and unless asshole is a term of endearment, she wouldn’t speak highly of me, either. Still, he knows who she is and that puts me on edge. Days ago, when I let her leave my house, I knew this could happen. I knew letting her leave was a bad choice. Ice cold fear washes over me, but I say nothing. A callous smile spreads across his face, and his eyes practically dance. A man like him—one who knowingly storms onto Forsaken property with guns blazing—is dangerous and sadistic.
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” I snap.
“A beautiful woman like Holly shouldn’t be left alone. I can see the appeal. She’s pretty when she’s calm, but it’s when she’s panicked and crying that she’s at her best. So angry and scared,” he says in a wistful way. His voice trails off at the end like he’s remembering something. I try to focus on the details, but it’s all getting clouded over by the way he’s talking about Holly. I shouldn’t have left her alone, but I did. She’s not my problem—or she shouldn’t be—and that’s where I’m stuck. I can barely manage everything I already have going on, but at every turn I’m making her my problem. My priority.
“Holly has nothing to do with this,” I say. My voice betrays me, the desperation showing through, and I lower my gun just slightly. I try to keep it where it was—aimed perfectly at his chest—but it’s too hard. I just want to drop it and run, but that wouldn’t be wise. Holly’s hurt.
“Holly has everything to do with this. You stole what was supposed to be mine. Alexandra was promised to me, and you took her. Do you believe in an eye for an eye, Mr. Grady?”
“There is nothing you can do, no place you can hide, and nothing that will save you if you’ve hurt Holly. I will separate your flesh from your bone with my bare hands,” I say. My gun falls lower as my heart rate peaks.
“She’s in pain, Mr. Grady. Torn from the inside out. I’m trying to work with your club, but you’ve been unwilling to cooperate. As a show of good faith, I will make you a deal. I want to meet with your charter president—right here, right now. He shows, and I’ll tell you where she is and how long she has left.”
I give up fighting this guy. He may have the balls to come up on Forsaken property without an invite, but he’s obviously calculated and in control. He’s competent enough to find a way to ensure my compliance.
Lifting my hands in the air, I take my finger off the trigger, click on the safety, and drop my gun on the ground. I lift the bottom of my cut on each side and turns in a full circle so he knows I don’t have another gun behind my back. I’m not stupid enough to carry my extra piece in a visible place. With two fingers, I carefully dig my cell out of my pocket, hit speed dial number five and bring the phone to my ear. It rings twice before he answers.
“Yeah?” Jim says on the other line. I can hear the television in the background and Alex playfully shouting at someone. Then Ryan’s voice pops up. He’s laughing and telling her to pipe down or he’s going to make her silent. Jim laughs into the phone and says, “Damn kids are adults, but they sure don’t act like it.”
“I need the full table at the safe house. Mancuso’s guys have paid us a visit,” I say. Asking for a full table is how we communicate that we need every man—patched or not—and we need them fully armed. The man before me shakes his head and makes a disapproving tsk with his mouth. “Scratch that. I need you to come alone.”
“Got it,” Jim says. Asking for the full table means I’m getting the full table, even if this asshole thinks I’m not. Jim will roll up alone, but the rest of the men we can spare will be in the shadows.
“And Pres?” I say to get Jim’s attention. “I need to check on Sweets.”
“I’ll send one of the guys by her place and have him call you once he knows something,” he says. After I gave Holly the nickname Sweets last week, the guys didn’t say anything about it. They just kind of picked it up without questioning me. Thank God for it, too. I don’t know what I would say if they did.
I hang up the phone and slip it back into my pocket. When I look at Mancuso’s guy, he’s much more relaxed. His hands are clasped in front of him. I’m sure he has a gun on him, but he hasn’t once drawn it.
“He’s on his way,” I say.