Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 48943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Monroe has been great for him. It’s good to know he has someone special—the kind of special I had with Willa. Her name in my head conjures up her image. My heart scatters in my chest as I look out the window and see her form peering up at me from the shadows before disappearing into the night. An ache cripples soul. I’m hallucinating. Part of me never wants to sleep again if it allows me to see her. Guilt slices into me. I’m supposed to be mourning Gracie and can’t even do that without cheating on her with thoughts of Willa.
“You want to grab some breakfast?” I catch the last bit of Jameson’s spill. I’d half-forgotten he was still on the phone.
I look over at the clock. Four a.m. “Nah, I need to catch a couple hours of sleep.” Lies. We both know it, but he gives it to me.
“Okay, man. I’ll see you at the club at some point tomorrow, yeah?”
“See you there, brother.”
Chucking the phone onto the bed, I push the window open, searching the darkness. How can I still miss her this much? Guilt crawls through me like tar. It should be Gracie occupying my thoughts.
Grabbing the neck of the bottle of whiskey from my bedside table, I gulp down the burning amber liquid, praying it knocks me out.
Thirty-Six
Gabe
Thunder booms above and the heavens open, pissing down rain on me as I step outside my apartment building. Perfect.
Narrowing my eyes, I see a familiar black sedan parked a couple blocks up. I never did have the plate checked. I’d forgotten about it until now. I cross the street, breaking into a jog. The engine kicks to life, and it pulls out, turning and driving off in the opposite direction. Fucker. I shoot a text to Ink and go grab my bike, making my way to the club.
I move through the place, avoiding everyone trying to approach on my way to check in with Animal.
“Prez.” I rap my fingers on his office door and go inside.
“Well, look at what the rain washed in.” He stands, rounding his desk to sit his ass on the edge, gesturing for me to take the chair in front of him.
“It’s good to see you at home. You staying?”
Rubbing a tired hand through my grown-out beard, I give a noncommittal shrug.
“Listen, I know you’ve been through fucking hell—a lot of us have—but you’re the VP, and we need you home. Take a couple more weeks to cleanse the demon inside you and come back to your family.” He slaps a hand on my shoulder and moves back to his seat.
“Ink said you asked for a license plate to be run?” He cocks a brow, waiting for me to elaborate.
“There’s been someone following me. I’d forgotten about it, but it’s been happening for a while. I saw them again this morning at my place.”
He plants a piece of paper in front of me. “Plates are fake. Not registered to anyone. I’m going to have it looked into, see if we can get access to cameras. Try to locate the fucker and find out what he wants with you. One thing is clear: it’s not the law.”
Growls of frustration catch in my throat. Who the fuck is it then?
“Thanks, Prez.”
“Be vigilant. If you need anything or any of us, you know where to find us.”
Drew’s scent invades my space, her hand coming over to rub my shoulder. “Hey,” she smiles, and it’s pretty and genuine. I’m glad she was safe and got to come home to her man. She slips the small square photo of Gracie in front of me, then reaches out for my arm, squeezing. “You’re a good man, Rage. Don’t let the evil act of another destroy that.”
I’m not a good man. These hands are soaked in blood.
Pulling out my wallet, I slip the photo inside, my heart skipping a beat when Willa’s image falls free. I grab for it desperately. It’s worn from use.
“Can I see that?” Drew gasps, holding her hand out.
“No,” I snap. It’s personal. Mine.
“I know her.” She honestly fucking believes that, and I hate her at this moment for it. It’s stupid, irrational, but darkness seeps from my dead heart all the same. She wiggles her hand like that’s going to make me show her the fucking picture. “I know her.”
“Impossible. She’s dead,” I growl.
“No…” She continues, not reading the fucking room.
“Drew,” I bark, slamming my hand down on the bar. “She was my wife, and she’s fucking dead.” I scowl, my chest vibrating and fists clenched.
Silence.
Like I needed this shit on top of everything else. I push my glass across the bar and leave the way I came.
Slipping on my helmet, I mount my bike, and that’s when I see the fucking car again just outside the gate. Who the fuck is this prick? Whoever it is, they’ve got fucking balls parking their spying ass right at the gate of our clubhouse. Pulling out my weapon, I aim and shoot as I run toward the gate.