I want to put an end to her ex walking through the world as if nothing can touch him. It’s almost as if I can feel him getting closer. He has no idea the noose is really tightening aroundhisneck, and he’s not closing in on Graycie.
He’ll find out soon enough.
Ryker looks at me as if he’s weighing my mood and just how pissed off I am. I don’t even try to hide it from him. I stare into his eyes and let him see it all while my hands clench into fists on the tabletop.
“Don’t look at me like that,” my Prez mutters. “I think it’s best you find out in here,” he pauses and I can almost see his internal wince, “where we can keep you calm and stop you from going off half-cocked.”
That has my attention.
I tilt my head as I study the man I grew up with, one of the few people who can pull me back from the brink when I’m on the verge of losing control. He’s seen it all—the good days, the days I wish I could take back, the laughter, and the loyalty.
The only thing I can do is give him a curt nod of understanding. And I do get it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Ryker’s shoulders relax, but only by a fraction. He’s still barely banking his own rage. It only makes me more worried about what he has to tell me.
When his eyes sweep over the table, I have no doubt that he’s noting the same thing as I am. Our brothers are ready to go to war if that is what is needed. For me. For Graycie.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush,’ he glances toward Sidewinder who, in turn, angles his body toward me as if he’s expecting to have to jump up and restrain me.
Fucking hell.
“We’ve gotten word that Sylvester has checked into the hotel in Hickory,” Ryker lays the facts on the table. “We have his room number, and the clerk will give us the key.”
A riot of emotions hits me right in the chest and I have no idea what I’m feeling. Rage like I’ve never known before. Anticipation. The need to move, the need for momentum to carry me right to death’s doorstep so I can deliver that fuckwit directly. Worry about my woman freaking the fuck out when she finds out.
“Let’s go get him,” I start to stand up, but Sidewinder is there and pushing me back into my chair with a hand on my shoulder.
The glare I send him would have a lesser man running for the hills. I guess it’s a good thing he’s not a lesser man because he doesn’t even blink, let alone flinch, and make a break for it.
“First,” Ryker reminds me, his tone measured, “we make a plan.”
Whiskey clicks something on his computer and an ariel view of the roadside hotel is put up on the screen. He clears his throat and adds an arrow to the image.
“He’s in room 110,” Whiskey fills in. “It’s right on the end of the row, easy to get in and get out.”
I blow out a breath through my nose, my words biting, “Sounds like we have a plan, Prez. We need to get moving.”
Ryker barely spares me a glance before looking out over our brothers. “Snake, Sidewinder, and Playboy will come with me to grab the fucker,” his lip curls up with his words. “Warden has already volunteered to drive the van.”
I glance over at Dad who is already looking at me, his gaze steady and knowing. He gives me a chin lift, a silent acknowledgement. He has my back; he has Graycie’s back.
I’ll be the first to admit that I love the way Graycie has gotten close to both of my parents. She is loved by both of them, and I can see the joy and relief written on their faces whenever she’s around. Still, there is a special bond between Dad and Graycie, like he’s the father she never knew she could have, and she’ll burn the world down to keep it.
My woman is loyal as fuck. And fierce.
It’s a beautiful thing to witness.
There’s more talking around the table, about approaches and the teams of two. But I’m barely listening. Not because it’s unimportant, but because I can’t focus.
Knowing I’ll have my hands on the man who found joy in inflicting pain on my woman has my breathing deepening and a haze of red falling across my vision. I’m able to keep it together as the meeting winds down and we all head out to our bikes.
I have no doubt that all of us are already strapped.
Fuck, I’m sure Playboy has his shoulder and ankle holsters in place, along with having at least three knives hidden on him. The man loves a good weapon, which is part of what makes him the enforcer the club needs. Still, he really prefers to fight hand-to-hand, which has nothing to do with fairness and everything to do with the satisfaction of causing pain directly.
With your hands.
It’s a feeling I understand, one which is coursing through me as we mount up and head out of the compound. I don’t look back, and a pang of regret hits me in the chest because I didn’t track down my woman and let her know what is going on.