Chapter 20

Peyton

"We both know that's not true," I shot back, and darted from my bedroom with the shoebox in my hand. "It's either here or the clubhouse, Rocky. Your choice."

My lips twitched at the angry growl he released as I shoved on his spare helmet and tucked my hair away out of sight. But he didn't say anything, and neither did I. We made it outside with all the trash bags in one go—because he insisted on holding most of them even when I tried to tug more out of his hands. We were greeted on the curb by a few of his biker buddies, who were waiting with a pickup truck.

"Thanks for your help, fellas," Rocky grunted, as he threw them all in the back.

"No problem. Anything for a brother." Gio winked at me and then Rocky.

I handed Slate the phone, then asked him, "Can I ride with you guys?"

"No," Rocky grunted.

"Sure thing," Gio answered louder, a wide, teasing grin on his face.

So I immediately jumped into the back of the truck while the men argued about whatever it was that bikers argued about amongst themselves. If I couldn't stay at my apartment, the clubhouse was the next best option, and since Rocky wasn't being reasonable, I would try my luck with the residents of the MC.

"This isn't over," Gio said as he slid behind the steering wheel, and Slate got into the passenger side.

"What isn't?" I pulled off my helmet as we took off, and Gio shrugged.

"I dunno, whatever the fuck is going on between you and my dumbass brother." He took a turn way too quickly, tossing me a grin over his shoulder as I slid across my seat. "You two look like you've been fighting, and suddenly you wanna stay at the clubhouse instead of with him? I dunno what he did, probably something incredibly stupid. But he'll come around to his senses, he always does."

I rolled my eyes and threw his dumbass brother'shelmet onto the seat beside me. "Sure."

Rocky made his choice, and the longer we lived together in his house, the more likely it was that he'd hate me for ‘making' him hurt his son.

***

My heart kicked against my chest when we pulled up to the clubhouse and found a police car parked in the lot. "What's going on?"

"Let's go find out," Slate said, just as Rocky opened my door.

Inside the clubhouse, Sheriff Cross was huddled with Diesel, who waved over Slate and Rocky, leaving me with the affable Gio.

"Are these going to my brother's house?"

"Nope. They're staying here. With me."

Gio's shoulders sagged, and he shook his head. "I'm not touching this fucking mess." He walked towards the bar, securing a beer while he flirted with the woman serving drinks.

"Peyton, over here."

I looked up to find four sets of eyes laser focused on me.

Worry and guilt coursed through me, and I didn't know why, but I pushed my shoulders back and joined the small group. "Did you find Chloe's killer?"

"No." The sheriff's head hung low. "But this will help." He nodded to the closest table, and I took the seat farthest from Rocky, who then circled the table and dropped down right beside me. "We're still tracking down leads."

I huffed out a bitter laugh. "I'm sure you are, but that's not helpful to me. No offense." I knew he was trying his best, or at least I hoped he was, but that didn't change the fact that my life was on hold until this person was behind bars.

"Since we're handing out bad news, let me pile on," Slate said. "The messages you've been receiving are coming from a spoofed number routed through different VPNs, which means they could be coming from next door or Tokyo."

"You're right, you are piling on," I said with a sigh. "Thanks for trying, though."

"The good news is I might be able to work some magic on the other phone you guys have just brought me, so…I'mma go try, now. See ya." Then he stood and headed off to god knows where.

Well, alright then.

"Peyton, look at the photos again and tell me if you recognize this person." Sheriff Cross laid out several of the photos from the shoebox and pointed at the man. "Take your time."

"I don't recognize him," I said flatly, as I stared at a slightly overweight, dark haired…somebody. "He's obviously too old to be a student, and it's clear that he doesn't want to be in these photos."

"What do you mean by that?" Cross said, and I looked up to see all three remaining men staring at me like I was talking gibberish.

"Look, his finger blurs the selfies of him and Chloe in most of them, and he's quickly turning his head like he's looking away in the rest, which is why his face is difficult to distinguish. And here," I pointed at a few others, "his body is turned away or it's just his profile in the photos. This looks like a man who hates pictures, and his girlfriend who insists on them anyway. It's almost as if he's purposely trying to hide his face."

"Obviously," Rocky says, as if it's far from obvious to him. "Right."

"Is he a professor?" Sheriff Cross asked.

"If he is, I haven't taken his class." Though that would be a good reason for Chloe to keep it a secret. She would've loved being in the power position of holding his career in her hands. "Another thing that doesn't make sense is why would she take time to print out photos when she could have them on her phone or cloud storage. Why would she take the time to do it and then hide them."

Bile rose in my stomach as the answer hit me clear as day. "She was obviously his dirty little secret." My gaze collided with Rocky's, and I stood abruptly, rushing for the nearest toilet to empty my stomach.

Again.