Chapter Eleven

Compass

Throttle scanned the room. “Where’s the camera crew?” he asked. His voice was low, like he was planning something.

I tipped my head toward the door. “Outside with Yarder and Fade getting footage of the garage.”

He exhaled sharply and wiped his brow. “Thank fuck.”

I smirked. “We’ve still got the cameras in here, though. Don’t forget.”

Adalee had made sure we knew that even though these cameras weren’t as fancy as the one with the guy attached to it, they were always rolling. No soundproof moments here.

Throttle groaned and lowered his voice. “Dove’s pissed off at me, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near her right now.” He slid behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and poured himself a double. It disappeared in one quick shot before he poured another.

“Trouble in paradise?” I asked and leaned back in my seat.

He brought his drink over to the other side of the bar and plopped down next to me. “It’s not like that. I was just asking about her dad, trying to piece things together, you know? And she blew up at me. I know she’s got a lot of anger toward the guy—hell, I get it. But I need to know this stuff. Family vacations, the things they did. It’s all part of the picture.” He swirled the whiskey in his glass and watched the amber liquid like it held the answers he couldn’t get from Dove.

I nodded but didn’t say much. That conversation was coming for me, too. Fallon wasn’t exactly an open book when it came to her past, and I needed to know everything she had to tell me about Russ. Last night, after our nap together, she had been glued to Adalee’s side through dinner and barely acknowledged me. I wasn’t sure if it was distance or strategy.

“I’m just going to hang out here for a bit.”

When Yarder came in earlier, he’d mentioned Clay wanted to do interviews that afternoon. “If I were you,” I said to Throttle, “I’d find a way to disappear this afternoon. Yarder said interviews are happening.”

Throttle downed his whiskey in one gulp. “Brother, being out here is my safest option right now. Pretty sure Dove was five seconds away from punching me in the nuts.”

I chuckled. “I don’t know. Dove sounds like a better option to me.”

Throttle grinned and pointed at me. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have a woman breathing down your neck.”

I tipped my head to the side. “I’ve got Fallon.”

His eyes widened like I’d just admitted to robbing a bank. “Shit, brother, I keep forgetting. Still not used to you having a woman yet. She came out of nowhere.”

I shook my head. We had just said the cameras were on out here, and he still said I didn’t have a woman. We were trying to sell the fact that Fallon and I were together. “We’re back on for the moment. Hopefully, it stays that way.” I made sure to say the last part loud enough for the cameras. No harm in feeding the narrative we wanted to build.

“Compass!”

Fallon’s voice cut through the air. Throttle and I both jumped to our feet.

She came skidding out of the hallway with her hair flying and panic written all over her face.

“What the hell, Fallon?” I said and took a step toward her. “Are you okay?”

“Did you do my laundry?” she asked, her voice almost frantic.

“Shit,” Throttle laughed. “I thought the clubhouse was on fire or something.” He sat back down and turned his back to Fallon and me.

I frowned. “No.”

Her eyes darted around the room. “Then where are my pants?”

I looked her up and down and pointed at the jeans she was already wearing. “It looks like you’re wearing them.”

She huffed and shook her head. “Not these! The ones I wore when we went shopping the other day.”

I shrugged. I owned three pairs of jeans—one on my body and two in the closet. “Did you leave them in the… other room?” I had almost said her room.

For a second, confusion clouded her face before realization hit. “I didn’t check,” she admitted.

“I’ll go look,” I offered and moved toward the hallway.

“No!” she called quickly. Her voice was loud and frantic. “I can check myself.”

I stopped and gave her a long look. “You sure you’re okay?”

She nodded too quickly. “Yep. I’m fine. Just need to check that… room.”

Her odd behavior had every alarm in my head going off, so I followed her anyway. She glanced over her shoulder and was clearly annoyed. “I can look, Compass.”

“I can help you, babe.”

Her lips flattened into a thin line as she glared at me. She couldn’t argue with me—not with the cameras recording every move. “You’re just so helpful, honey,” she said through clenched teeth, and her voice dripped with fake sweetness.

I pulled my keys from my pocket and jingled them. “You’ll need me anyway. The door’s locked, and you don’t have the key.”

She tried the handle anyway, trying to prove me wrong, but it didn’t budge. “Oh,” she said with a sigh. “Guess I do need you after all.”

I unlocked the door and stepped aside. Fallon ducked into the room and started searching immediately. “They have to be in here,” she muttered, more to herself than to me.

I leaned against the doorframe and folded my arms over my chest. “You got some sentimental attachment to these jeans?”

She poked her head into the bathroom and scanned behind the door. “No. I mean, I don’t have a lot of clothes, so I just like to keep track of what I have.” She paused, frowning. “That made more sense in my head.”

“How about under the bed?” I dropped to my knees to check, but Fallon beat me to it and dove onto her stomach on the other side. I shook my head and leaned down to look under the bedframe. “There they are.” They were balled up under the bed.

“Got them!” she said triumphantly and yanked the jeans out. But my eyes caught something else—a crumpled piece of paper left behind.

I reached for it and sat back on my heels. “This yours?” I asked and held it up.

Fallon’s face drained of color, and her eyes went wide. “Give me that,” she whispered, her voice almost trembling.

I raised an eyebrow, unfolded the paper, and read off the number written there. “Whose number is this?”

“I don’t know,” she said quickly.

I stared at her, and the lie was as plain as day. “You just like writing down random numbers for fun?”

She shook her head, and her gaze darted everywhere but at me.

“Then whose number is this, Fallon?” My voice was firmer now and left no room for her to dodge the question.

“I… I don’t think I have to answer that,” she said, and her voice was barely audible.

“Oh, I think you do,” I shot back. “We’re playing house, yeah, but we’re still dealing with all the shit tied to you. You know the stakes here. So, I’ll ask again—whose number is this?” Fallon had no reason to have someone’s phone number written down. She had zero access to anything that would let her make a phone call.

She bit her lip and looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Finally, she sighed. “Shut the door, and I’ll tell you.”