Chapter Five

Fallon

“I need to try this on.”

Compass looked at the pink pajama pants with yellow bananas on them. His expression was caught between disbelief and disgust. “I can tell you those are shit. You don’t need to try them on.”

I rolled my eyes and held the pants up higher. “I think I’ll rely on a mirror, not you.” I flicked through another rack and pulled out two more pairs of pajama bottoms—one with polka dots and another covered in little coffee mugs.

“I thought you said you wanted a sweater,” he rumbled and leaned on the cart like he was already exhausted.

“The store is telling me I need to be comfy,” I muttered and tossed the pants over my arm. So far, I’d grabbed two notebooks, a pack of pens, permanent markers, and two poster boards. Maybe this wasn’t some school project, but a poster board seemed like a good thing to have. Organization, or at least the illusion of it, might save me from losing my mind.

“Yeah, well, I got a list from Yarder that’s a mile long, and we need to get started on it.”

I turned to face him and tilted my head. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be right now?”

Compass narrowed his eyes, and his tone was dry. “I can think of ten other places I’d rather be. I get you’ve been cooped up in the clubhouse, and playing fashion show sounds fun, but we still need to be careful, Fallon. The longer we’re out here, the easier it is for someone to hurt us.”

“In a Walmart, Compass?” I crossed my arms. “I don’t think anything is going to happen here other than spotting a few people who could end up on that People of Walmart page.”

“Half the things that come out of your mouth I don’t even understand,” he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That’s because I’m not from the Stone Age like you are.”

He gave me a flat look. “I’m thirty-five years old, Fallon. That’s not the Stone Age.”

I smirked and dragged my gaze over him slowly. “Six years older than me. So... it’s more like the Bronze Age.”

He muttered something under his breath and shook his head. “Let’s just finish up here with the pajamas, then we’ll grab the groceries and get out of here.”

“ After I check out those shorts and then try these on,” I said and moved toward the sleep shorts display. “Or, you could go grab the groceries, and I’ll meet you at the registers.”

“Do you really listen to anything I say?”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“So, in what world do you think I’d leave you here while I go get the groceries?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Sorry, I forgot for a minute that there are crazy people trying to kill me. I guess Walmart will do that to a girl.” I flipped through the rack and grabbed a pair of shorts with pineapples on them and also a red plaid pair.

“I don’t think Walmart has anything to do with it,” Compass grumbled.

“Walmart makes you forget the world is out to get you, but then it also gives you the Walmart sweats a minute later.”

I glanced around and searched for the dressing rooms. They weren’t exactly easy to spot in this maze of aisles and fluorescent lighting. I looked at Compass, who trailed behind me with a permanent scowl etched on his face.

“Putting sunscreen on my back is easier than finding this damn dressing room,” I muttered.

He threw his hands up, exasperated. “I swear, Fallon, half the shit you say might as well be in another language.”

I smirked and pointed toward the back corner of the clothing section, where there was an entrance to a row of doors. “Oh, right there. Am I allowed to go in by myself, or do you want to help me try these on?”

His gaze flickered over me, head to toe, in that way he thought was subtle but absolutely wasn’t. I could practically hear the internal debate happening behind those stormy eyes of his. Finally, he exhaled sharply. “I’ll be right outside the door,” he said flatly, like it was a chore just to exist near me.

“Suit yourself.” I shrugged and tossed the pile of clothes over my shoulder. Without waiting for a response, I crossed the aisle and headed straight for the fitting rooms.

A middle-aged attendant in a blue vest intercepted me at the entrance to the fitting rooms, her sharp eyes taking in my pile of clothes. “How many you got there?”

“Five,” I said and lifted my chin toward Compass, who was now standing behind the cart like some kind of bored bodyguard. “And a grumpy biker.”

The woman’s lips twitched into a grin. Her gaze slid over to Compass and lingered a little too long. “Looks more like a dream biker.”

I tilted my head to the side and pretended to consider her words. “Is that, like, a dream Barbie? All packaged up but not much to do with her?”

She laughed lightly. “Oh, I bet there’s a whole lot more you can do with him than you ever could with Barbie.”

My eyes darted back to Compass, and his expression hadn’t changed one bit. His jaw was still locked tight; his arms crossed over his broad chest like he was the world’s angriest statue.

“Maybe,” I muttered noncommittally.

The woman handed me a bright yellow tag with the number five on it and motioned for me to follow her. She led me to a changing room, opened the door, and hung the tag on the hook. As I stepped forward to enter, Compass moved faster than I expected and brushed past me to peek into the small room.

He took a long, slow look around, then stepped back. “You’re good.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure you don’t want to come in? Hold my hand or something?”

“Just try the damn clothes on, Fallon,” he grumbled and retreated to his post by the entrance.

The fitting room attendant laughed softly and shook her head. “I can see why you call him grumpy, but I’ll admit—his good looks make up for it.”

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me as the flimsy lock clicked into place. “Yeah, well, good looks don’t stop him from being a pain in my ass,” I muttered to myself.

I tossed the pile of clothes on the small bench in the corner. I turned to face the mirror and let out a frustrated sigh as I caught my reflection. My face looked tired—like I hadn’t slept well in days, which was true. Pale dark circles clung stubbornly beneath my eyes, and my hair, despite being pulled back into a loose ponytail, still managed to look like it had fought its way through a windstorm.

I tugged at the hem of my black long-sleeve shirt, which clung to me a little too tightly. It wasn’t exactly flattering, but it was practical, and that’s all I’d cared about when I’d thrown clothes in my bag. My jeans were no better—faded and fraying at the knees, a pair I’d had for so long they felt more like a second skin than clothing. And the tan boots? Scuffed to hell but sturdy. Perfect for trudging through the chaos of the day, even if they weren’t the most fashionable.

Compass was good-looking—infuriatingly so. I’m sure the fitting room attendant thought we were together and wondered how I had managed to land a man like Compass.

I let out a flat laugh. If only that woman really knew why Compass was sticking to me like a fly.

“Five minutes,” Compass droned from down the way.

I rolled my eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The man needed to take a damn chill pill. This was Walmart, for crying out loud. What did he think was going to happen?

I slipped out of my jeans and grabbed the first pair of shorts that were red plaid. I pulled them on and adjusted the waistband before taking a step back to look in the mirror. They were cute.

The shorts were a little on the short side, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to see me in them. They’d do just fine for lounging around. I smoothed my hands over the fabric, studying the fit in the mirror, when a voice froze me mid-motion.

“Fallon.”

I stiffened, and my head snapped toward the door.

“Don’t scream.”

My eyes darted wildly around the room. The voice was low, urgent, and familiar.

“It’s me. Russ.”

“What?” I whispered. My heart pounded against my ribs. “Where are you?” It felt like the voice was coming from above, or maybe… the wall?

“I’m in the stall next to you,” he replied, so quietly it was almost drowned out by the hum of fluorescent lights.

I moved toward the thin wall that separated the dressing rooms. I pressed my hand against it and leaned in. “Are you okay?”

“I’m alive.” His tone was flat but steady.

Relief swept through me, followed immediately by confusion. “Let me get Compass,” I said quickly and stepped toward the door.

“No!” Russ hissed. His voice was sharp and almost panicked. “I don’t want the Iron Fiends finding me yet.”

I frowned. “What? Why? They’ve been looking for you—they want to help you.”

“If they find me now, I can’t do what I need to do.” His voice was hard and determined. “They’ll find me when I’m ready.”

What in the actual hell was going on? My mind spun as I tried to make sense of it.

“Then why are you talking to me here , in a Walmart fitting room of all places?” I demanded, keeping my voice low but sharp.

“Because I need you to do something for me,” he replied.

My instincts told me to go straight to Compass. Russ was my boss—or at least he had been before all this—but that didn’t mean I could trust him now. “Why don’t I just get Compass? He can help you with whatever it is.”

“No, Fallon,” Russ growled through the crack in the wall. “I don’t want them involved in this. Not yet. If you tell them, they are just going to mess everything up that I have planned.”

Not involved? Boone and Gibbs were trying to wipe out the club, and Russ thought the Iron Fiends couldn’t be more involved?

I sighed heavily. “What do you want?”

A slip of paper slid through the gap at the bottom of the stall. I crouched to pick it up, unfolding it with hesitant fingers.

“Call this number,” he instructed. “In seven days. At seven-twenty.”

I stared at the scrap of paper in my hand. “Who am I calling?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “And is that seven-twenty in the morning or at night?”

“Night,” he said. “Don’t worry about who it is—just call.”

“Jesus, Russ,” I muttered, my stomach knotting with unease. “What the hell is going on?”

But there was no reply.

“Russ?” I called softly, pressing my ear to the wall. Silence.

I cracked the door open and peeked into the hallway. The fitting room next to mine was empty.

How? The only exit was past Compass, who hadn’t moved from his spot. It didn’t make any sense.

“Fallon?” Compass’s voice startled me. “Are you done yet?”

I glanced down at the shorts I still wore, suddenly hyperaware of how off-kilter I felt. “Uh, almost!” I called back and shut the door.

I ripped the shorts off and shoved my jeans back on, cramming the paper into my pocket. The fun of trying on clothes had evaporated and was replaced by whatever the hell just happened. I slung the rest of the clothes over my shoulder, slowly opened the door, and scanned the fitting room for any sign of Russ.

Compass stood by the entrance, talking to the attendant. He didn’t seem to notice me as I slipped out and opened the door to the stall where Russ had been.

Empty.

“Fallon?”

My head snapped up, and I found Compass looking directly at me with his brows furrowed.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he walked toward me.

“Oh, yeah!” I stammered and scrambled for an excuse. My eyes landed on a stray hanger on the floor. “I, uh, dropped one of the hangers, and it rolled into the stall next door. Didn’t want to leave the place a mess.” I lunged for the hanger and stepped back into the hallway, holding it up like a prize. “Got it!”

Compass tilted his head, clearly not convinced. “Okay… did the clothes fit all right?”

“Like a glove,” I said and forced a smile. “I’m getting them all. Comfiest stuff ever.”

His frown deepened. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”

I stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him from advancing toward the stall Russ had been in. The warmth of his body seeped into my palm, momentarily grounding me.

“Babe,” Compass said, his voice low and cautious.

I tipped my head back and met his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

My brain scrambled for an explanation, anything that didn’t involve telling him about Russ. “Uh, yeah. Just feeling those Walmart sweats kicking in.” I fanned myself dramatically with my free hand. “Might need to hang out in the frozen food section for a bit.”

Compass’s eyes narrowed and flicked over my face before glancing past me. I shifted to block his view of the stall.

“Are you sure—”

“Yup!” I cut him off and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go get those groceries.”

He studied me for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Fine.” I grabbed the cart by the entrance to the fitting room and tossed a quick goodbye to the attendant.

“Everything fit okay?” she asked.

“Yup! Grumpy biker’s gonna love the banana pajama pants,” I said and threw a cheeky smile over my shoulder.

Compass grunted. The attendant laughed.

“It was sort of peaceful while you were in there,” Compass muttered as we walked away.

Peaceful for him, maybe. For me, it had been anything but. My mind reeled as I replayed Russ’s words, and the slip of paper burned a hole in my pocket.

We headed toward the groceries, and now I had a choice to make: tell Compass about Russ, or keep it to myself—for now.