“Club business, Nic,” Duke says with a harsh tone. “He doesn’t have to tell her a fucking thing.”
“Yeah, because that line has worked so well for you boys in the past,” she mumbles and takes another bite of her sandwich. She has a point. The guys are all about living by the code, but the second their old lady denies them some pussy, they become a bunch of chatty bitches. Doesn’t matter, though. Duke gave me my orders.
“Speaking of club business,” I say a little quieter and lean in, “Ian still doesn’t have a lead on where Darren’s parents went?”
“Nothing,” he says and eyes Nic, who isn’t even trying to pretend she’s not paying attention. “It’s like they’ve fucking disappeared off the face of the earth.” I do the same, and while she doesn’t appear terribly concerned, that doesn’t mean shit. She’s fucking tough as nails. She got that from our dad.
A chirping noise sounds from across the table. Turning my head back to Duke, I see him pull his cell out of his jeans pocket and read the screen. A few seconds later and he’s staring at me with narrowed eyes. “Safe house—now.”
“Wait. I’m supposed to set up this meeting now?” I ask. The safe house is where we’re keeping Michael for the time being. I’m not supposed to know that, or where it is, but the brothers aren’t so great at keeping their mouths shut outside of Church. The more I walk around with a confused look on my face, the more they think I’m either too distracted or too stupid to be listening in. Assholes.
Duke hops to his feet, strides over to Nic, and kisses her cheek. “Don’t wait up, babe. Shit’s going down. Tell Eileen to run her own goddamn shop.” Then he turns to me and jerks his chin at the front door. Understanding the order, I make my way outside.
Once he’s shut the door behind him, he turns to me with a serious expression. “We’re about to do some shit. Mancuso’s guys showed up at the safe house, so it’s probably going to get ugly. Grady’s called the full table, but Mancuso’s guy wants Jim alone.”
I nod my head like I know what the hell he’s talking about before I realize that bullshitting could be dangerous. So instead of doing what I normally do and acting like I get it, I just ask him. “What does the full table mean?”
“It means that Jim needs everybody to the safe house fully armed, so let’s go.”
“We should probably leave the bikes at the clubhouse, then. Take one of the vans or the SUV.”
Duke slaps my face lightly and forces a tight smile to his face. “Good. You do pay attention. I need you fully armed.”
“I got my piece,” I say and reach behind my back, lightly patting the holster that the gun Trigger gave me rests in.
“No, I mean serious fire power, not that piece of shit.” He just shakes his head and starts walking to his bike but stops when my cell starts ringing.
Quickly, I yank it out of my pocket and check the caller ID. It reads PRES. My thumb slides over the answer button on the screen, and I bring the phone to my ear.
“Prospect,” I say. It’s stupid, but Trigger gave me the order to answer my phone that way, and I’m not inclined to piss him off any more than I already do.
“We got trouble. Need you to check on Sweets and Bean,” Jim says solemnly on the other end of the line. “They’re MIA.”
“Apartment, coffee shop, and high school. Anywhere else?”
“Not unless you get a lead. See what you find out and then call Knuck.”
“Yes, sir. I’m on it.” The line goes dead, and before I shove the phone back in my pocket, I check the time. It’s well after four, so I doubt Holly will still be at work. Walking up to Duke, I lower my voice so that I’m not broadcasting club business to my nosy fucking neighbors.
“Change of plans. Pres says Sweets and Bean are MIA.”
“Fuck,” he shouts. Angry veins pop out of the sides of his neck as he stomps his heavy boot into the ground in a move that tells me he and Ryan have known one another far too long. “What the fuck is wrong with this fucking club that we can’t keep track of a few goddamn women in a town this fucking small!”
I stay silent for a moment before I realize he’s still grunting and screeching so loud that our neighbors are starting to take notice. It might be a bad idea, but I lean in and whisper-shout, “Dude. I get it, but we have an audience.”
“Fuck you,” he yells. His narrowed eyes travel from my face to the grass. He takes a few deep breaths, still obviously seething, and stomps off to his bike.
I don’t wait for my orders and head for my bike as well. He takes off toward the club house, and I head the opposite direction toward the girls’ apartment. The coffee shop is closer, but the way Knuck feels about Holly, she takes priority. My hands shake the closer I get to the apartment, and my palms make my grip on my handlebars almost too slick to ride without eating dirt. But I can’t slow down. Knuck needs Holly, and I need my patch—and if I fuck this up, ain’t nobody getting what they need.
CHAPTER 3
November
17 months to Mancuso’s downfall