Chapter 2

TWO

GNAW

"We got toomany irons in the fucking fire," I grind out as I load up the keg into the back of the truck. We need another fucking project like we need a goddamn hole in the head.

"No shit," Piston growls. "We're office-holding members. We should not be doing this shit."

He's right. We probably shouldn't, but it needs to be done, so at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. We've got more clubs patching over and joining us, but we've also upped our personal workload.

Everyone is fucking loaded down with duties. It isn't just us or just our club. It's all of them. Between the warehouse pickup and drop-offs, the keg deliveries, and the loans that happen here and there, we're fucking swamped. We are definitely at all hands on deck for the moment.

Closing the truck bed, I make my way toward the driver's seat and climb inside. Piston jumps into the passenger seat beside me. My melancholy from yesterday is now gone. I drowned myself in booze last night and passed out. Today is a new day, and I can't think about that shit anymore.

The past is the past.

Starting the engine, I turn the AC on full blast, crank up some music, and shift it into Drive. We have two deliveries today before then, and I need to help out with a shipment at the warehouses. It's going to be a busy day, hopefully followed up by an exciting evening of debauchery.

I know I'm going to need the downtime for sure after a day like that.

After we drive toward the first stop, Piston unloads the back of the truck while I grab the iPad and head inside the building. The owner, Sal, is standing behind the bar. I've known him for years. He jerks his chin in my direction as I approach.

"You got the keg?" he grunts.

Nodding once, I clear my throat and slide the iPad across the bar. He picks it up, then shoves his hand in his front pocket and produces a pair of glasses. Once he slips them on, his gaze flicks to meet mine.

"Getting old is a sonofabitch," he grumbles.

I let out a chuckle as he looks over the order. He jerks his chin, lifts his fingers, and touches the payment options, then hands it back to me. "Wanted to talk to your boss about some shit, too. Can I get a meet with your president?"

Sal's bar is one of the best in town. It's a traditional bar—nothing fancy, just beer and hard liquor. There are a few greasy fried finger foods, but what makes it not only the most popular but also the most profitable bar in the area is the two back rooms.

A card room.

A stripper room.

Pineville doesn't have much as far as evening entertainment, which is why people flock to Sal's Bar. Not just anyone can go back to the card or stripper room. He has to approve you. Sometimes, he'll book one or both for bachelor parties, but entrance into the back rooms is by invitation only.

They are never at risk of being shut down because the biggest patrons are the chief of police, along with the mayor and all the city councilmen. I've been a few times myself when I wanted to play cards and get away from the clubhouse.

"I'm an officer of the club. I can bring it up to him if you want to tell me what you want to meet about. Otherwise, it may be a little bit. He's about to have a baby."

"A baby?" he asks. "Girl or boy?"

I smirk, thinking before I answer. "Girl, I think."

He nods his head up and down several times. "I wanted to know if your group would wish to invest in my club."

Arching a brow, I ask a question without having to actually say it. Sal understands because his lips twitch into a smile, and he answers me.

"I want to expand, and conventional loans aren't for me. I figure aligning myself with the Dark Horse MC is not only the smartest move but also the safest."

"Safest?" I ask.

He chuckles softly. "You guys seem like the type that would always protect not only your investment but also your investors."

Thinking about his words for a moment, I already know what he's partially after, and that causes me to pause.

Protection.

There is a reason he emphasized the word safe.

"What do you need protection from?" I ask.

I keep my voice hushed, unsure of listening ears, because I'm no fucking fool. They are everywhere. Even when they don't appear to be, they are. Leaning over the bar, I take the iPad from his hand and listen intently.

I'm not best friends with Sal, but he's been a Pineville institution for longer than I've been alive. If anyone is trying to fuck him over, I need to know about it, and I will, without a doubt, defend this man until I burn the whole goddamn city down for him.

"Just in general," he says. It's a lie, but I can tell he doesn't want to say anything more, at least not yet, or maybe not to me. He could be embarrassed, or maybe it's just not mine to know yet.

Jerking my chin upward, I clear my throat before I speak. "I have to run it by Atomic, but let me know what you're thinking. I'll talk to him when I get back today. Then we'll contact you."

Sal dips his chin and takes out a notebook from under the bar. He's prepared. I watch as he rips a piece of paper out of the book and slides it over to me.

"Everything I'm asking for is outlined there. You let me know, yeah?"

Piston makes his way toward us and asks if I'm ready to go. "I'll be in contact, Sal," I say with a wave.

Turning my back to him, I walk out of the bar with Piston, folding the paper that Sal gave me and shoving it into my cut pocket without even reading it. Right now isn't the time. Sal obviously didn't want to discuss much in person, so there's no reason for me to stop and read the note yet.

But I can't fucking wait to get back to the clubhouse and find out exactly what the fuck is going on with Sal and his bar.

I never imagined that we would have an interest in gambling and strip clubs, but since the Corpus group is doing just that, maybe this is the direction we're supposed to be taking. I have to admit it would be nice to be a bit more diversified here locally. However, any type of retail is time-consuming.

KYLE

Xavier is in my rearview,and I drive straight out of Louisiana and toward Texas. I don't know why, but Texas seems safer.

Logically speaking, I know it's the same. I like Louisiana, it's my home, but I can't be there anymore. He's found me twice in that state. I tried going to Arkansas, and he found me there, too, so I went back to Louisiana, and he found me again.

Glancing down at my car's fuel gauge, I hiss at the sight. Half a tank. In this old beater, it's not going to take me far at all. Hopefully, I'll get over the border and won't be stuck somewhere along the interstate. If I get stranded on the side of the highway, I already know what my fate will be, and it starts with an X.

Being stranded on a deserted country road has a much larger appeal than the busy interstate, where I know he'll be looking for me.

Reaching for the radio knob, I do a seek and try to find an FM station that is decent. I need something to distract me.

Once I land on top hits, I turn it up. There's a Justin Bieber song playing, and I let out an exhale. My shoulders relax, my heart resumes beating in a normal rhythm, and not for the first time, I hope, pray, and beg whoever is listening to let this be the last time I have to run.

I'm thirty years old. I should have a stable job, a career even. I should be married with a baby. I should have done all my stupid youth things, like partying too hard, barhopping with girlfriends, and whatever else girls in their twenties do.

But I haven't done any of it.

Instead, I was living in fear for my life, working as many hours as possible at whatever job I could find to either pay Xavier's and my bills or, when I was running, working for cash to pay my own bills. I've never just breathed easy. I've never lived.

Tears well in my eyes. They roll down my cheeks because I want that. So much.

Taking the exit off the interstate, I let out another heavy breath. I know this exit will take me through some backwoods to Texas. Veering onto the off-ramp, I let my car guide me. The cement and asphalt jungle of the interstate disappears behind me, and I'm surrounded by tall pine trees and curving roads.

A sense of calmness washes over me as I move through one small town after another. There isn't much out here aside from some gas stations and Dollar Generals.

It's so peaceful.

Cranking my window down, I allow the fresh air to flow into the car. This is perfect. I don't know why I had picked somewhere bustling and big like Shreveport.

Maybe I thought I would get lost in the crowd, but he found me easily, much too easily. Perhaps smaller is better. Maybe I can stay hidden for longer in a teeny-tiny, obscure place. I doubt he would ever look anywhere like that for me.

Except, finding work may be my only issue. It's not like I'm a skilled worker. I've only ever done waitressing, bartending, and, for a short stint, stripping. It wasn't for me. I could not figure out how to work the pole. I ended up falling more than I did dancing.

I'm about forty minutes into my drive when the car starts to slow down on its own. I flick my gaze down to my fuel gauge, and my heart stops in my chest. Turning the wheel so I can pull over to the side of the road, I coast until I can coast no more.

My car is completely out of gas. Sucked bone dry. Shifting it into Park, I sit in the front seat and stare out the windshield, letting out a heavy sigh. My gaze moves around. There is a green sign a few feet from me.

Pineville.

Pop. 3,120.

This is as small and obscure as I've ever seen. Rolling my window up, I decide this is what it is, whatever that could be. I said I would stop when my car did, so this is where I am meant to be for now.

Grabbing my purse from the floorboard of the passenger seat, I push the door open and unfold from the seat, then open the back door to reach for my only bag—a weekender duffel.

Throwing it over my shoulder, I start to walk toward the town. I don't even know if it has a downtown or anything. I'm completely out of my territory here, but it's not the first time I've been a stranger in a strange place.

Sucking in a breath, I walk down the side of the road. It's a rural highway, without much space for my feet, not without walking in the dirt, which is more like mud. I can almost smell the rain in the air, but with the heat, I'm going to assume it's just humidity from a recent storm.

I walk for a few miles before I see a building. It's sitting by itself, with a dirt parking lot, which is packed full. Then, as my gaze travels to the top of the building, I notice it has a name.

A flashing neon sign boasts: Sal's Bar.

Making my way toward the front door, I reach for the handle and tug it open. I'm smacked in the face with a wall of smoke. Wow. I didn't realize you could smoke in bars anymore. It should offend me, but it doesn't. Instead, it reminds me of my grandfather.

I loved my grandfather.

My world would have been a whole lot different had he not passed away when I was only twelve. My parents might have been absolute trash, but my grandfather was amazing in every way a man could be.

He raised me. He was my mother and my father most times, too. When he was gone, my world fell apart, and then my world became a tragic story of trauma. Packed on top of more trauma, and then just for fun, a little more sprinkled in.

The music in the bar is loud, and thankfully, it keeps my mind from dipping further into itself. I have to stay alert and be on my toes. I have no idea where I am, and at the same time, I have no idea when Xavier is going to appear. Because I have no doubt he will appear.

Walking straight up to the bar, I take a seat, not paying attention to anyone else around me. Turning my head, I watch as an older gentleman makes his way toward me. He's got to be at least sixty, maybe seventy, wearing a kind smile on his face.

"Get you somethin', sweetheart?" he asks.

I think about just asking for water, but then I decide I need something else. I'm still shaky from running and the car breaking down. I need something to calm my nerves. Relax me just a little bit.

"I'll take a glass of red wine."

His eyes widen, but he shakes his head once. "Typically, I do not serve it," he says.

I open my mouth to order a beer instead, but he lifts his hand, his palm facing me as if he knows exactly what I'm about to say. "But for you, a pretty girl, you can have some of my special reserve."

He bends slightly and brings out a bottle of wine. "But you'll have to be okay drinking it in a lowball. Got nothing else."

I smile, thank him, and watch as he pours the glass for me. "I've never seen you in town before," he grunts.

I like his rough edges and his kind smile. I've been around enough people in my life to know who is bad and who is good. At least, I do now. Not many of them have been about to pull one past me.

"I'm new and looking for work, if you know of anywhere—for cash."