Chapter 34
Grease
I was at a party at the club when I got Callie’s call. Shit, every night at the club was some sort of drunken get together—but this one was different and I was thoroughly enjoying watching the women in the room. There was a clear hierarchy. It was one of the only times a year that sluts and old ladies would be anywhere near each other—the party for a new member—and it was f*cking hilarious. I was waiting for a catfight to break out.
Dragon had gotten his cut earlier in the day, and he was weaving his way around as different brothers patted him on the back. Poor f*cker had a massive healing tattoo on his back—but dealing with that shit was tradition. All of us had gone through it and survived—he would, too. I was looking at him when he stopped dead, staring across the room. When I followed his eyes, all I saw was Brenna and Vera—so I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was looking at. He had the stupidest f*cking look on his face, almost dazed— and I wondered what the hell he was doing. As soon as he started across the room, my phone rang in my pocket and I lost sight of him as I tried to make my way through the crowd to answer Callie’s call.
By the time she hung up on me, I was in my room, and the whiskey and beer I’d downed at the party were like dead weight in my gut.
She was pissed, and I f*cking knew she was going to do something stupid.
I had to get to Sacramento.
I stood up from my bed to find a bathroom and pack my shit, and the room f*cking spun.
Great.
I stumbled my way to the door, trying to decide if I should just try and drive my bike down there—or wait until the morning when I knew I’d be sober enough that I wouldn’t lay down my bike somewhere and f*ck up the paint job.
I started calling Callie again, but every time I did, she sent me to f*cking voicemail. I made it into the hallway just in time to see Dragon leading—f*ck—Brenna into his room. Did he have a death wish?
I tried to stop him. I really f*cking tried.
But I was so goddamn preoccupied with Callie’s shit and just trying to stay standing that he bitched a little and I dropped it. The stubborn-as-hell look on his face told me he wasn’t listening to a goddamn word I said anyway, and Brenna didn’t even look at me as he pushed her gently into his room.
He wanted to f*ck around with Poet’s daughter?
F*ck it.
And why the f*ck wasn’t Callie picking up her phone?
I didn’t remember making it to the bathroom, but I must have—because when I woke up the next day, at two in the goddamn afternoon with the mother of all hangovers I hadn’t pissed myself.