“No,” Hunter says, looking to Ryder for reassurance. His twin brother nods. “Wyatt wants to send you out to Boston. It’s the best way to keep you safe.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? My kids aren’t anywhere near Boston.”
“Exactly,” Ryder says. “It will be much easier to negotiate with Tylee, and a lot safer too.”
“This is bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” Hunter says. “There are plenty of incentives. Ethan has a new business venture funding a localmilitia out there and we’re going to send some gifts over to get him started. Deacon’s talking to Zeb, but we need you with him on the convoy because he’s too green.”
I can feel my chest tightening as I realize this isn’t a request. These are orders and I took a blood oath to follow Wyatt’s orders and to trust him. But can I really do that? Tylee’s his blood, and I’m not. It doesn’t matter that he’s been close to my brother Hunter for his entire life.
“He’s been in the army just like Gideon. He’s not green.”
Hunter detects my resistance.
“Those kids are my niece and nephews. Please, Isaac. You go to Boston and I’ll bring the kids to you unharmed within a month.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
“It’s a generous estimate,” Ryder says. “We could get lucky.”
He’s so full of shit. No man who spent all those years in prison for a crime he didn’t even commit could truly believe in luck. It would be like believing in a God that hates your guts. Gamblers like the Shaws have a different problem.
“I’ll go. But if the kids aren’t back in a month, I’ll find Tylee myself and take what’s mine.”
Hunter and Ryder nod at me, knowingly. Everybody worries that I’m the one who’s going to pull the trigger and kill Tylee. I think that’s half the reason they want me far away from her, more so than their concern for the kids. But I’m not in a position to argue since I haven’t heard so much as a squawk from Tylee since the fight. She ran me off with the double-barrel she inherited from her dad after he passed like I was a rabid coyote and not the man she chose to have a life with.
“Once the money flows in and you get the kids back, you’ll feel better. We got you, brother.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Whatever you say.”
Boston. I guess that’s where I’m headed to next. Without Kyler, Max, or Aimee.
Chapter Three
Gabby
My sister Averie does not like the looks of this bar. She’s one of those bougie girl-boss types of people that rates every establishment based on its social media popularity. If it doesn’t have a five-star espresso martini on Yelp, it’s “boring” or “dead”.
As if on cue, she gives her review, like I can’t read the disturbed expression on her face. “I’ve never seen any Boston influencers here.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“I don’t know, Gabby. These men look… scary.”
“Which men?”
Averie gestures with her lips to the five men seated at the bar, all wearing leather jackets with symbols on them and the phraseRebel Barbarians Motorcycle Club.I mean… It’s just men in a biker club. Is that really such a big deal? Those aren’t exactly foreign on the East Coast, even if most of my personal knowledge comes from Sons of Anarchy rather than real life.
“They’re minding their business.”
“They’re literally in a gang,” Averie whispers to me. “Why else would they have the matching fits?”
“It’s called a cut,” I whisper. “And they’re minding their business. Let’s mind ours. I don’t want to go anywhere I can run into my sick ex-boyfriend and his weird ass sister.”
Maybe a biker bar is a little extreme, but it’s not like there’s a crime wave or anything. At this point, I would trust these bikers more than I would trust a cop or anyone claiming to represent our government.
“You’re right. It’s your heartbreak. Do whatever you want,” my sister relents, glancing nervously back down at her phone, probably firing off a spicy tweet about my taste in bars.