But I'd rather not.
Fuck.
“I'm not with you,” Lyric says, smoothing her hands over her hair. It's in that horrible bun again. “I'm just not exactly thrilled about the idea of dating a guy who dumped me.” She pauses and then looks back up at me with a face that dares me to comment on that.
“He dumped you?” I ask, giving her an approving once-over and flicking my tongue over my lower lip. Hopefully she can tell by the bulge in my pants just how much I approve of what I see. “The guy with the weird teeth?”
“Brent has nice teeth,” she says defensively. “Anyway, that's not your business. I don't even know why I'm still out here talking to you. Goodnight, Mr. McBride.”
When she moves to walk away, I reach out and grab her arm, curling my fingers tight around the sleeve of her black suit jacket. It's much better than the gray. Still ugly though.
“If you're lying to me about this FBI crap, you'd best speak up now.” I yank her towards me and flick my cigarette into the grass. “If you tell me the truth, then maybe I can cut you a little slack.”
Her eyes go wide and her fingers fly to the strap of her purse.
“Are you threatening me?” she gasps, more like she's pissed off than scared. “I can't believe I had sex with you!” Lyric tears her arm from my grasp and narrows her gaze on me. “Screw you, Royal. Get the hell off my lawn and don't come back.”
“At least she didn't slap you again,” Glacier says, his eyes as blue as mine are brown, bright and deceptively cheerful. He's an even bigger monster than I am. As the MC's enforcer, he keeps everyone in line and helps clean up the inevitable spills of club life. Sin for sin, Glacier wins out in the bad boy category.
“To small miracles,” I say, lifting my glass and downing it in a single swallow. Fauna refills it without my having to ask. Bless her bloody heart. “I really don't think she knows anything,” I say, but the words feel forced. She works at the mayor's office, dated that blond douche. She's as wrapped up in that world as I am in mine.
But then why did she tell me the truth?
She could've lied, could've pretended not to know Brent, but instead she told me everything.
Maybe I just want to believe her? It feels like a mistake, but as president, it's my mistake to make.
“Your afternoon might not have been productive, but mine sure as shit was. Our weapons shipment is in, everything present and accounted for. I even managed to have a chat with one of the bastards who was in on the heist.”
My mood picks up at that.
“And?”
“He didn't last long—took a stray bullet during the standoff.” A chill travels down my spine. Usually does when Glacier's around. It's no mystery how he got his nickname. His real name is Saint. Oh the irony. “I can't figure out if he and his boys are just lowlives who made a big mistake or if this goes further. I mean, what kind of numb nut fucktard tries to rob two MCs simultaneously? Man must be crazy.”
I stare into my drink a moment, spinning it in a circle, the rings on my right hand bumping against the glass.
“What did he have to say for himself?” I ask, taking a sip, letting the Jameson burn in the back of my throat. I sit back on my school and let my eyes wander around the room. It's just Glacier, Fauna and me in here right now. In the background, “Absolute Zero” by Stone Sour plays, the perfect backdrop to the red and black striped walls, the leather couches and the marble topped bar, complete with a fucking motorcycle inside of it. That was Janae's idea, to put the old vintage bike behind glass and use it as the bar.
“If I'd had more time with the guy,” he begins and I get that little chill again. Glacier sighs and shrugs his shoulders, lifting his beer to his lips. He's a strange sight, this blond haired boy buried in a sea of tattoos and piercings. If he wasn't so marked up, I might mistake him for one of those rich little brats that flies up here in the summer to pollute my town with their bullshit. “Anyway, he said that he and his buddies got wind of the shipment a long time before it happened.”
I sit up a little straighter and lean against the metal back of my chair, a jumble of old bike parts that Dober welded together in some sort of fucking art piece or something. Uncomfortable as hell, but it looks nice, so I let it slide.
“Landon,” I say and Glacier nods, his face dropping at the mention of our lost brother. “Landon,” he confirms.
“Anything else?” I ask, filled with the sudden need to get the hell out of here. I've never felt that way about the clubhouse, not once in my entire life, and I started hanging around here when I was seventeen years old.
“Just that,” Glacier says, glancing over at me like he can tell what I'm feeling. “At this point, Smoky and I are stumped, not sure where to go from here.”