I don’t know what I expected out of Cat, what I keep expecting. But I know without a doubt that I’m at least stupid enough to try one more time. One more, that’s it. And then … I don’t know.
I just don’t fucking know.
“Gidge,” Sin whispers, drawing my attention back to him. I look over to see the four of them watching me. He offers me up a pool towel that he must’ve gotten from the piece of furniture near the back door. I take it in a shaking hand and wrap it around myself.
“I think at this point,” Crown offers up from behind me, “it’s best if you don’t go near Cat at all.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Grainger sets a pile of folded black clothes, a pair of bolt cutters, and a flashlight on the table in front of Grey.
“Alright,” Cade says, putting his palms down flat on the table and looking Grey dead in the face. “That’s it. Time for you to go.”
Grey stares at the items as I look over at Grainger, trying to interpret this seemingly sudden move.
He stands up straight, a frown carved onto that handsome face, and glances over at me.
“What? Don’t fucking look at me like that. We’re running out of time here. You think Cat won’t sweep this compound just to be sure we’re not screwing around up here?” The look he gives me begs me to make the jump, to figure this out.
But I already have.
I already know.
One thing that hit me when I was standing in my bedroom with Nellie is this: I am a selfish fucking asshole.
Cat’s grace—however it is that I managed to get it—does not extend to his officers. If he catches them with Grey in this house, he will kill each and every single one of them. Getting Grey Wolfe off this compound without implicating any of my men is imperative. I might be protected by some fucked-up version of fatherly love, but Sin, Crown, Beast, and Grainger are not.
“What’s the plan?” I ask, and Grainger narrows his eyes at me like he expected an argument instead of a simple question. “How do we get Grey out of here without getting caught?”
I’m sitting in my usual spot at the table with Grey across from me. It was just us when I came in here, but we weren’t talking, just sipping coffee together like old times. It’s dark outside, but I enjoy a nightly cup of coffee just as much as a morning one (don’t tell the boys that it’s my second mug of the day).
Yesterday was fucking hard on me.
I had no idea how I’d feel, moving my shit from that horrible house up here. On the one hand, there was joy which, knowing myself the way I do, I didn’t trust it. Joy isn’t something that’s blessed to a person like me without the universe wrenching something away in return.
Then, of course, there was my moment with Nellie. With Cat. That was the flip side of my fragile joy: Nellie’s pain and loneliness … and Cat’s hatred. I’m leaving my parents alone in a big, empty house that’s stained with blood.
I’m the only child of theirs that managed to escape.
I exhale and set my mug down heavily on the surface of the table.
“The plan is this: Mafia Brat dresses himself in those clothes, takes that flashlight, those bolt cutters, and a prayer, and he heads for the fence on the southern side of the compound.” Grainger turns back to Grey, but he isn’t looking at my asshole lover. Instead, he’s watching me.
“I’m assuming we know the guard rotation?” I ask, but Grainger shakes his head.
“Nope. You think Cat wants any of us in charge of that shit right now?” Cade grits his teeth and looks away like he’s ashamed of himself. Maybe he is? We haven’t really talked about it because Cade Grainger isn’t a guy who’s big on feelings but losing his president’s trust can’t be an easy pill to swallow.
Sin appears in the doorway, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.
“We might not know exact details, but I can take a guess. If I were Cat, I’d have men combing the woods in groups. That means less chance of getting caught, but a higher likelihood of death if you are caught.” He turns to look at Grey and finally, Grey breaks his unrelenting stare to glance up at Sin.
“When am I leaving?” Grey asks, his voice mild enough that if I didn’t know him as well as I did, I might think he was completely unperturbed by the plan.
“Now.” Grainger points at the pile before sliding his phone from his pocket to check the time. I still feel like he’s overdoing it, that he should be in bed resting, but you try telling this motherfucker to lie down and take it easy.
