“I'm fine.”
“Who did this to you?” he asks as I take a deep breath, my hands trembling as I duck to grab the strap of my purse.
“Mug, I need you to do something for me.”
The poor man looks terribly puzzled as I glance up at him, using every ounce of strength and courage I have to maintain a stoic expression.
“I need you to make sure there's nobody coming out of the office, so I can run to my car. If my sister sees this blood, she'll have a coronary, okay?”
“But—” Mug starts, but I'm already shaking my head at him, gesturing with my chin towards the front of the building.
“Mug, please.” I keep my voice stern, even, laced with an authority that I know I don't have. I'm counting on Mug's fear of Royal to get him moving. He was tasked with protecting me after all, and if Mia had had some other agenda, I could be dead, maimed, raped by now. “Go.”
The big man listens, his leather cut crinkling as he turns and does what I asked, getting me in my car and on the road without further incident.
I have no idea what I'm going to do about Mia or what I'm going to tell Royal, but right now, I need a first aid kit, a new shirt … and a glass of wine.
The burning tip of my cigarette holds my attention as I frown deeply and try to think my way past all this shit.
I've got two of Clayton Moore's boys in Glacier's basement, and the asshole doesn't seem to want them back. But why? What's going on down in Ukiah that I should know about? I feel like I'm missing something that's sitting in plain sight. Just what the bloody hell is it?
“What do you want to do, boss?” Glacier says as he joins me, tucking his fingers into the front pockets of his too tight jeans, the sun glinting off that halo of golden hair on his head. I glance over, tucking the fag between my lips for an inhale as I consider the choices. First option is to keep the guys here for a while, see if Clayton changes his mind. The second is to clean house, wipe the club's bloody fingers on the long grasses of this piece of shit house that Glacier owns and doesn't live in.
The first proposition is riskier; the second turns my stomach.
But what am I gonna do here? My fucking hands are tied—by Clayton Moore. The blood of these men … it's on him. Fucking tosser.
“Take care of it,” I say as I move towards my bike, the gleaming hunk of machinery crouching on the weed covered driveway like a silent predator, just waiting to roar to life. “Clearly, we've learned all we're going to from these assholes.” I sigh as I pick up my helmet in two hands, lifting my head up to take in the peeling white paint, the empty windows … and the hidden basement that was never in the floor plans for this place. The entrance is cleverly hidden in the pantry, the one that's stocked with dented cans and coated in dust and spiderwebs.
The whole damn place gives me the jitters.
“This is ridiculous,” Dober growls from beside me, resting against his bike and stroking a hand down his beard. “What the fuck can Clayton possibly be up to that his brothers know nothing about?”
“Because they're not his brothers,” I say, thinking of the Mile Wide men that have crossed our path as of late. I didn't recognize any of them. “The Ukiah chapter of Mile Wide isn't that large. All of these guys … they're just thugs. No hang around time, he's just patching in a disposable army to use.”
Glacier and Smoky frown while Dober grits his teeth.
“How do you know that?” he asks, his anger clearly directed at Clayton and not me … not this time. Although the issue with Lyric is going to come to a head at some point, I'm sure.
I shrug my shoulders as the breeze picks up, rustling across the gently sloping hill of the cemetery to our left. Yeah, that's right—Glacier's palace of pain … it's on a wide, overgrown lot next to the town's oldest cemetery. Hardly anyone ever comes here anymore 'cept kids with bottles of booze and pockets of condoms. It's the perfect place to bury bodies. That is, if we decide not to throw them in the ocean …
“I don't, not for sure,” I say as I pull in two thick lungfuls of smoke and let the empty, dark eyes of the house stare down at me. “But if you ask those boys before you're done with them, I bet they'll tell you.”
“You got it,” Glacier says with a grin, his tattoos bright and obnoxious in the afternoon sunshine. Always weirds me when Trinidad pulls a fast one like that … sunshine in winter. Hah.
As Glacier turns to go, my mobile rings and I frown, sliding it from my pocket to find Mug's number flashing up at me.
“What?” I ask as I answer quickly, trying to pretend that my heart isn't pounding in my chest. I know Smoky and Dober are staring at me, judging me, trying to figure out what the fuck's going on between me and this girl. Screw them. I'm fucking worried, can't bloody help it. “What is it, Mug?” I growl when he doesn't answer right away.