Chapter Sixteen

Fallon

“Tired?” Compass’s voice was low and warm.

I slipped under the sheets and curled into his side as he stretched his arm out to pull me close. “Tired doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I sighed. “I think I’m still hungover.”

He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the side of my head.

It was just a little past nine, and I’d finally convinced him to come to bed. I could’ve come up on my own, sure, but I wanted him beside me. There was something about falling asleep next to Compass that made me feel like everything was going to be okay—like he could keep all the bad things at bay.

“I bet the next time you drink, you won’t forget to chase each shot with a glass of water,” he teased.

“You bet your ass I won’t,” I murmured, with a half-laugh and half-groan.

After the disastrous interview with Clay, I’d stuffed myself silly with one of Adalee’s BLTs, then spent the rest of the day on the couch with the girls while we pretended the world outside the clubhouse didn’t exist. The camera crew had wandered off a couple of hours after the interviews. Clay, on the other hand, had bolted right after Compass and I were done.

I was pretty sure no one had ever spoken to Clay the way Compass had, and the image of him storming off, tail between his legs, still made me smile. The way he’d blanched, like Compass’s words had cut right through his ego, was almost worth the tension. Almost.

“Do you think Clay is going to complain about you?” I asked and ran my fingers idly over Compass’s chest.

“Probably,” he said, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin I could feel against the top of my head.

“Won’t that be bad for the club?”

“I’m sure it would be if I was just throwing out threats for no reason. But everything Clay said to you is on film, right along with my response. If Don wants to come after us for what I said, then he’d better be ready to deal with Clay, too.”

I let out a long sigh and hoped he was right. “I guess you’ve got a point,” I said, though the unease in my chest didn’t ease entirely.

He shifted slightly and leaned back to look down at me. “Ready to go look at buildings tomorrow for The Cakery?”

That made me smile. “That’s the only thing I’m looking forward to when I step out of this bedroom,” I admitted with a small laugh.

“And then two days later,” he added, his tone sober, “we get to make a phone call.”

I sighed again, this one heavier. “That I’m not looking forward to,” I admitted. “I have no idea what Russ is up to, and I just hope he gives us some answers.”

Earlier today, Compass had asked me a dozen questions about Russ. I knew he was just trying to piece things together and make sense of where Russ was and what he was planning, but I hadn’t been much help.

Russ could’ve been anywhere by now. When he’d handed me the phone number, it had only been five days ago, but those five days felt like a lifetime. He’d been close then—close enough to make contact—but now? Now, he could be halfway across the country, for all I knew.

“What if Boone and Gibbs just decided to leave you guys alone, and this was all over?” I suggested.

Compass let out a quiet chuckle. “Wishful thinking, babe?”

“Yeah,” I admitted with a small, rueful laugh. “I guess.”

He turned to face me, and his expression softened as he reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face. “I wish the same thing, babe,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “But I know it’s not gonna happen. The club, you, and Russ are loose ends for Boone and Gibbs. They know they can’t just leave us in the wind. We know way too much. If word got out about what they did—or what they’re still doing—they’d be ruined.”

I swallowed hard, and my throat was suddenly dry. “Then how do you think this is going to end?”

He shrugged, and the nonchalant way he did it sent a chill down my spine. “Death,” he said simply. “Either Boone and Gibbs get bullets to the temple, or the club does. Those are the only choices there are for this to end.”

I stared at him and felt the weight of everything press down on me like a boulder. “That is… depressing,” I said, and tried to laugh but heard the edge of nervousness in my own voice.

“That’s the truth, babe,” he replied, his voice steady and sure.

I wanted to argue and tell him there had to be another way, but deep down, I knew he was right. Boone and Gibbs weren’t the kind of people who let loose ends dangle. They’d tie them off—or cut them—before anyone had a chance to pull on the thread.

I curled closer to Compass and let his warmth seep into me as I pressed my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and strong. It was a comforting rhythm that grounded me even as my thoughts spiraled.

“Whatever happens,” he said after a long moment, his hand brushing up and down my back in slow, soothing strokes, “we’ll deal with it together. The club and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The words were simple, but they wrapped around me like a shield.

“I know,” I whispered. My eyes drifted shut at the thought that things were maybe crazy right now, but I knew Compass and the club would do everything they could to keep me safe.

That was all I needed.