Not only do Grainger and I like our coffee the same way; we also keep a similarly tidied bedroom.
Crown is going to hate us both soon enough for it.
Satisfied that Grainger’s getting himself ready, I pull up Beast’s number on my phone and give it a call.
“Tell me you’re safe,” is how he answers it, his voice gruff with trepidation.
“I’m safe, but the hit on Cat is planned for tonight. Where are you?”
There’s a bit of a pause there, as if Beast is considering my words carefully. When he replies, terror lances through me, sharp and hot, and I know that we need to move quick or this whole night is going to end in tragedy.
“I’m with Cat,” he replies, “inside the police station.”
Not a single one of my men is happy to see me head into the field, dressed in Beast’s leather jacket, my wedding ring, a pair of dark jeans, motorcycle boots, and a high ponytail. I’ve got my Magnum, the very same one I dug out of the rice bag the day Queenie died, as well as the knife she gave me, and a spare pistol provided by Crown.
Since Beast isn’t present, there’s a bit of hesitation on my part when we head outside, and the three men approach their bikes without a second thought. It’s in that moment that I feel it. I want my own ride so goddamn bad. I bite my lower lip as I push back the urge.
I’ve made a lot of strides since I returned from the mafia’s stronghold.
Things have changed—and they’ve changed quickly. I don’t want to push my luck any further at the moment.
“Ride with me,” Crown commands, as easily as he breathes. He was born to tell people what to do. I narrow my eyes on him, but I do as he said. Out here, he isn’t my lover: he’s my boss. I can deal with that. Also, Sin and Grainger are both still recovering; they don’t need me clinging to their healing bodies while they ride.
I slide onto the seat behind Crown, wrapping him up in my arms and smelling suede and violets and leather. He kickstarts the engine, and his chrome stallion roars to life, the voice of a demon in the night.
Hell, what am I even saying? We’re all demons, just a dark cloud of gray morals and gray ideals, the fiery eyes of the bikes cutting through the shadows of the woods. We head to the front gate and then pause, taking off our helmets so that the night guards can get a good look at our faces.
Yeah, sending Grey off the way we did was smart. I owe Grainger a reluctant ‘you were right’, don’t I?
There’s a cadre of men already waiting outside for us. Crown’s called in reinforcements. Somehow, I expected this to be like, a private mission for us, something to prove our worth to Cat.
Then again, I should’ve known better: the club is a hydra with many heads.
And Cat? Well, he’s the neck. He can turn all those heads in any way he wants. Which, apparently, is exactly what he’s done.
We ride past the group of men, but they don’t join us.
Crown pauses at the stop sign down the road. Coincidentally, it’s the same stop sign I paused at and had a brief conversation with Grey about what I was planning on doing with him. In the end, I agreed to take him with me to the airport, give him some money, and leave him there.
“What the fuck?” Crown asks after slipping his helmet off. He holds it under one arm and pulls his phone out with the other. He makes a quick call as the other two boys pause behind us and shut off their engines. There’s nobody out here to be bothered by us blocking the empty T-intersection. Just woods, woods, and more woods. There are a few houses nearby, but each one has its own twenty-plus acres to go with it. Eventually, they’ll probably all be absorbed into the club’s compound the way Crown’s farmhouse and its land was. “Why are you not following orders?” Crown snaps, and his voice sends chills down my spine for two different reasons.
Firstly, if I were the man on the other end of that phone call, I’d be scared shitless.
Second, all I can think right now is yes, sir, I’ll be a good girl. Ugh. I guess Crown was right: when it comes to bedroom games, I do like being bossed around by him.
“I see,” Crown says, pausing for a moment. He hangs up the phone and slips it into his pocket.
“What’s going on?” I ask, taking my own helmet off so we can talk more easily. Crown hazards a glance over his shoulder at me as he slips his phone back into the pocket of his jeans, resting his hands on the grips of his handlebars.
