Standing in the middle of Holly and Mindy’s living room with pieces of splintered wood around me, I’m suddenly nervous that Grady’s order to “stay put” didn’t mean busting into the place. When I called him a few minutes ago to give him the bad news that I can’t find the girls anywhere, he hung up before I could clarify what his order meant. So really this is his fault.
I step over the shards of what used to be part of the front door and its frame and head into the small kitchen. Everything looks normal in here, and until I broke in, the place was secure. So, at the very least, there wasn’t anything violent going on here from what I can tell.
Leaving the kitchen and heading down the hallway, I first check out Holly’s room. Her bed is messy, and clothes are piled in the corners, but it’s not too bad. A beige bra sits on the edge of her bed, distracting me. It’s nothing really sexy, but I’ve been thinking about motorboating her tits for a while now.
Before I find something else to check out, I dart out of the room and into the bathroom, then Mindy’s room. Nothing appears out of place until I notice the tipped-over nail polish bottle on her nightstand. The bright pink polish is half-dried on the wooden surface and has dripped down the side, creating a colorful blob on the carpet.
Shit.
I have no fucking clue what I’m doing anymore. I pull out my phone and try to dial Grady again, but he doesn’t answer. Calling Jim turns out to be useless, and so does calling Duke. Finally I decide to check the shop once more and hope to find Mindy there and totally clueless as to why I’m freaking out.
My boots scrape at the concrete curb as I rush across the street and up onto the sidewalk at the corner of Main and Laurel on my way to Universal Grounds for the second time this afternoon. The first time I was here, Nic’s bitch boss was at the counter. With Bean nowhere in sight, I hopped back on my bike and rushed to the high school. On my way, I found Sweets’s and Bean’s cars in the drug store parking lot just a few blocks from their apartment. The doors were all unlocked, and there was nothing in Mindy’s trunk or the back of Holly’s Jeep. Not a single sign of struggle and, thankfully, no fucking blood. The spilled nail polish in the apartment tells me the cars were dumped there. I sent Duke a quick text about the cars and then was back on my way to the high school. I didn’t find shit there.
Only Margot was in the office, and she went off, bitching at me about missing classes and this apparent problem people have with my attitude, which is total bullshit. I’m a fucking peach to be around. But whatever. After she shut the fuck up, I got it out of her that Holly got a call and then ran out to take her lunch and hadn’t returned since. She was supposed to be off half an hour ago. The fucking busybody wanted to know if she was in trouble—or causing trouble—and if I saw her first that I could let her know she’s on thin ice at work. I can’t be concerned with whether or not Sweets has a job after today. It’s not like the club is going to let her get fired. But so what if she does? Grady can keep her comfortable. But again, none of this shit matters if I don’t fucking find her. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
In a matter of seconds, I’m in front of the coffee house. My lungs strain for breath that’s not coming as easily as I need it to. Getting that call from Jim has fucked me up big time. Out of all the guys and the prospects, he called me. And it’s not like he called me for some bullshit errand.
I know a little about what’s going on with the club. Enough to know that shit ain’t right around town right now, but not enough to feel like I have my footing. Grady and Duke have both given me the rundown about the Italian who showed up at my school and gave Chey and Holly some shit about the club, but I have a funny feeling that I don’t have a clue how real shit is about to get. But this? Holly means something to Grady, which means she means something to the club—whether she likes it or not. It’s bad news—bad fucking news—for any of our women to be this vulnerable. That’s one thing Dad always made sure I understood—we protect our women. Always.