“Please tell me you have more of those,” he says, indicating that the source of his distress was the absence of beer more than anything else. I can fix that. I’ve already moved on to whiskey.
“Here,” I tell him. “Last Rolling Rock.”
“Oh, you are depressed,” Wyatt says, snatching it greedily from my hands. “Who the fuck drinks Rolling Rock?”
He doesn’t seem to mind enough to stop himself from drinking it. The beer pours down Wyatt’s throat. I need to be way more drunk to put up with seeing my in-laws under these circumstances. He’s slow to get down to business and I’ve known his family long enough to know that isn’t good news.
“How you holding up?” Hunter asks, thumping me on the back before he takes a seat on the couch next to Magnum, who answers as if the question were meant for him.
“He’s been a pain in the ass since he got here,” Magnum responds.
“Not you, idiot,” Hunter says. “I meant Ghost.”
“I haven’t seen my kids in days. I just want to know if you found Tylee yet.”
Wyatt and Hunter sit together. Ryder pulls up a spare bar stool between the couches in the basement, throwing a Zyn into his mouth. The room smells like sweat and grease already, and I wish I could either crack a window or get far more wasted.
“How much has he had to drink?” Wyatt asks Magnum like I’m not in the room.
“Too much. But what do you expect? He’s depressed. Guy misses his kids.”
“Where’s Tylee?”
Wyatt looks too pissed off. This can’t be even remotely good news and I want so badly for things to be different. This is fucking humiliating. What would Wyatt do if his wife ran off? He would probably kill people.
“Tylee is the least of our concerns, but she’s definitely one of them.”
“Great.”
“Zeb Blackwood got himself into some big trouble, killed a bunch of people out on Route 66.”
I feel a flicker of irritation and then mild concern. I’m one of the founding members of the beta chapter out East, at least I should be. This whole situation with Tylee has me beyond fucked in the head, and I haven’t gone out to do any work for Ethan for longer than a few days. They claim that there’s room for me to take my time and sort out family shit, but I feel like a goddamn bitch for not having my house in order.
I hate it. I especially hate that I seem like the last one to know about the Zeb situation.
“Ethan didn’t tell me.”
“He sent whoever was out there to handle it,” Wyatt says. He glances over briefly at Hunter. “And Tamiya just got back to us with information about the dead guys and their jackets. Zeb’s suspicions were right.”
“Department of Homeland Security,” Hunter says, raising his eyebrows as he drops the bad news on my lap like it’s nothing. That can’t be possible.
“So we just killed a bunch of federal agents?”
“Not quite,” Wyatt says. “We killed the ones fucked up enough to get the pink slip. Tamiya has a conspiratorial mind. She thinks they’re working with the government to handle their shadier business. Like mercenaries.”
“Going after us?”
“Seems like it,” Ryder says. “Those men must have been following Zeb all the way from Boston.”
“Not following him anymore,” Hunter says.
“Nope,” Wyatt says. “Not anymore.”
I have plenty of questions about the bikers, but my children are a bigger priority for me than club business. Part of the reason I’ve been so checked out. I try to sip more beer but I’m done with my can. The nearest bottle of hard liquor is so far away that I’ll have to stay plastered to this chair drunk for a few more minutes before I stand a chance of getting up.
“What about Tylee?” I ask. “The kids?”
There’s a flicker of irritation across Wyatt’s face. I try not to let it get to me. He warned me about Tylee probably a hundred times over the years. She’shis sister.Maybe I should have listened. But Wyatt doesn’t understand. He’s not a gruff, unlikeable bear like I am. Women are drawn to him. The only woman who ever had the courage to be near me was Tylee. I’ve always felt like a beast out there in the world. The only thing I ever wanted was to have a wife and kids for security. Love. Family.