Chapter 28

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

DILLION

Sal’s Bar is busy, just like any other night, but for some reason, this seems different. Busier, or maybe the air is charged. With what? I don't know, but it doesn’t feel the way it did last night.

I can feel eyes on me with each move I make, and I know that those eyes belong to Wackie. At least, I hope that’s the only person staring at me all night. It would be creepier if it was someone else. I wonder what his real name is. I know it isn’t what he’s introduced himself as, but at the same time, I figure he wouldn’t tell me anyway, so I should probably just let it go.

The shift goes by quickly, as it always does. These men are focused on their game, with only a few wandering pinches here and there. Now that they’re used to me, and I’ve become a daily figure, they’re over trying to hit on me.

I’m old hat now, and I’m good with that. It could also be that Wackie is staring at all of them menacingly, but I’m going to go with the fact that they’re bored with me, and they know nothing is going to happen.

Last call, last hand is announced, and I let out a heavy sigh of relief. I’m exhausted from working at the bakery all afternoon and then here all evening. But it’s a good kind of tired that comes with accomplishment and hard work.

What a long-ass day, but I’m not mad about it at all.

I feel exhausted in a good way.

In the best way.

I’m also having second thoughts about selling my house and running away. Again, I’m trusted here. Shawn would have never let me run the front of the bakery if she didn’t trust me a little bit. Ryan even confided in me about her new pregnancy.

Could I have real friends?

Not the girls from the coffee place who kind of tolerated me because I had nothing better to do but real friends. Women I could call if I needed help. Women who trust me enough to call me when they need help.

Once I have all my cleanup duties completed, I grab my purse from its hidden place and shrug the strap over my shoulder. I move toward the door and stop in front of Wackie. Tipping my head backward, I look up at him.

He grins down at me, his gaze searching my own. “You ready to go home?” he asks.

I could tell him the truth, that the last place I want to be is at that house, or I could lie to him so I don’t have to explain myself or my feelings. I choose the lie. And the lie suits me for now.

“Yeah,” I exhale, gripping my keys tightly.

Together, we walk out of the club and toward my car. There aren’t any other cars in the parking lot aside from mine and Wackie’s bike. That strikes me as odd. Usually, the strippers’ cars are still here when I leave, and Kyle is always one of the last out the door.

“Wackie?” I call out, turning my head.

He’s got his phone to his ear. He’s listening intently and paying zero attention to me. Then he lifts his head, and his eyes find mine. His gaze is wild and causes me to pause. I don’t know what is happening or why he’s staring at me the way he is.

Opening my mouth to ask him what is happening, I snap it closed because he’s still listening to whoever is on the other end of the line. It’s got to be someone from their group because it’s well after three in the morning. Who the hell else would be calling him this late… or early?

That feeling, the one I had the first night back at work after my kidnapping, the uneasiness, the fear, the terror—it consumes me. Something is very wrong here. I’m just not sure what it is.

My body is frozen, unable to move. That fight-or-flight thing is completely lost on my natural instincts because I’m simply unable to move at all. Wackie, on the other hand, is pacing slightly.

Then he stops.

Facing me again with big eyes, he nods and ends the call. I watch as he shoves his phone in his pocket.

“You need to get to the clubhouse,” he announces.

Frowning, I press my lips together and roll them a few times. “Why?” I ask.

He shakes his head once, his gaze connecting with my own. “It’s club business, and I don’t even know it all. But you need to get there. We’ll run by your house and grab you some clothes and whatever shit you need.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that. I don’t know what the emergency is, but at the same time, after being kidnapped, I’m a bit apprehensive to just shrug it off, too. So, instead of telling him that I refuse and that I’m just going to go home, I give him a nod.

“Okay, I’ll meet you at my house,” I murmur. He gives me a grunt but doesn’t smile. I’m not sure why that bothers me. He probably shouldn’t be smiling if this is something serious.

Climbing into my car, I start the engine, but before I back away and head toward home, I do something that, had I not been kidnapped, I would have never thought to do before. I’ve been on my own for so long, away from my family and the dangers that came with it, that I’ve gotten out of the practice of asking questions and questioning everything.

Finding his number, I call Humble. He may be a liar, he may be an asshole, but I don’t feel like he would put me in any kind of danger.

“Hey, baby. You off work?” he asks, his voice almost sleepy sounding. This causes me to pause because if there was some kind of emergency, shouldn’t he be wide awake?

“Wackie is following me to my house. He told me that I needed to pack a bag and get to the clubhouse right now. What is happening?” I ask.

There is a moment of silence, the sound of rustling fabric, and then he clears his throat. “Where are you right now?” he demands.

“I’m driving home from Sal’s. Wackie is behind me.”

He hums. There is some more rustling. Then he tells me to hold on for a moment. I can hear him covering his phone. His voice is muffled as he talks to someone. I wish I could tell what he is saying, what anyone is saying, but it sounds like the adult voices on Charlie Brown .

Then he comes back to the phone. “Okay. Get some shit and come straight here.”

“Humble?” I whisper. “Do I need to be scared of Wackie?”

Silence answers me. I don’t know if I should be worried or concerned, but then he answers me, and he seems far too nonchalant. I’m nervous. My body begins to tremble, then he speaks.

“Pack some shit. Come to the clubhouse. I’m here, and I'll be waiting for you.”

CLINK

“Are the women on lockdown?”

Nash’s eyes widen at my question. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair. I wait for him to ask me what the fuck is going on, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches me and waits for me to continue.

“She said that Wackie got a phone call, and we put her on lockdown. She wanted to make sure it was legit. She’s scared.”

“I bet she is, after the shit she went through,” he murmurs. “And did anyone call him from the club?”

Pressing my lips together, I run my fingers through my hair and tug on the ends. “Fuck if I know. I took a shower and passed out. Are any of the other old ladies here?”

He looks around the bar. It’s so late, or maybe it’s early, but there isn’t anyone around except him and me. He raises his brows like I’m a fucking idiot. To be fair, I would probably be giving him the same fucking look if the tables were turned.

“King and Shawn?” I ask. “The kids?”

“Far as I know, they’re at home, but fuck, they could be here, too. Haven’t seen anyone pass through, though.”

“Kyle?” I ask. He shakes his head twice.

“I don’t like this,” I mutter, flicking my gaze down to my phone.

I’ve got Dillion’s tracker on so I can watch her move. I can’t get to her in time if anything happens, though, which is why I stayed here when she called. She’s at her house, and I can only hope that Wackie allows her to come to the clubhouse.

I don’t want to think that he’s dirty—I would have never let him guard her if I had even the slightest inkling that he was.

I call Atomic. I’m not going to bother texting him. I don’t give a fuck what time it is, either. If the families were on lockdown, he would be here, right upstairs.

“The fuck?” he grunts into the phone.

We’ve had a long afternoon. Voting on war, killing people, cleaning up the bodies, drinking a few beers, then passing out. Fucking exhausting.

“The fuck is right. Dillion just called me. Wackie told her to pack her shit and come to the clubhouse because she was on lockdown. She said he got a call from someone and then made the announcement.”

There is a moment of silence before he clears his throat. “It wasn’t from me,” he murmurs.

What the actual fuck?

I cannot imagine what the fuck is happening or why.

“I think it’s time we have a little meeting,” Atomic murmurs. “They on their way back?” he asks.

Glancing down at my phone, I check the map and see her dot moving straight for the clubhouse. At least there’s fucking that.

“They’re on their way,” I say, confirming his question.

Neither of us speaks for a long moment. Then he clears his throat. “Nash there with you?”

“Yeah,” I grunt.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Do not let Wackie leave the bar when they get there.”

Without another word, he ends the call. I jerk my chin toward Nash, and my brows furrow together. He jerks his chin toward me. I watch as he lifts a bottle of beer to his lips and then grins.

“I’ll be right fucking here waiting for them. In fact, I think we should amass the troops that are here. He needs to be fucking afraid, is what he needs. If he’s not dirty, he won’t be. If he is, he’ll be shitting his pants.”

Nash is right.

I keep one eye on my phone, watching her little blue dot make its way closer to me. It doesn’t take us long to wake the men. They’re all on edge anyway from our vote and the fact that we’re going to go to war. It’s been a fuck of a lot recently, and it’s only going to get worse.

Guts is the last one up, and by the time we make it into the bar, I can breathe a sigh of relief because her blue dot inches even closer. She’s driving down the road and heading straight to the building.

The bar is full of sleepy men. All of us are ready for the next big thing that will come our way. I’m not sure it will be this morning, but I’m prepared if it is. The door slowly opens, and Wackie walks inside, holding it for Dillion.

Her eyes meet mine, she drops her bag to the floor and without another word, she hurries toward me. I don’t wrap her in my arms the way I want to. Instead, my focus is on Wackie.

When Dillion approaches, I wrap my arm around her waist and guide her to my side. I can’t let Wackie out of my sight. I’m still not sure if I can trust him. I want to say yes, but I’ve been wrong before.

“Who did you talk to?” I ask as soon as Wackie is close enough to hear.

He is smiling, not in any kind of conniving way, but genuinely. He’s also looking around and appears to be slightly confused.

“I talked to Fate.”