Stupid as hell.
I stare at it until my vision blurs around the edges.
Then I climb on Widowmaker and ride like the road owes me a body.
The Lockup is already awake when I get there. The old jail squats under a gray Kentucky sky, gate open, brothers moving in and out like something has gone bad enough to wake the dead. Legend’s bike is out front. Oaks’s. Whiskey’s. Royal’s black machine. Holler’s old Harley parked crooked near the gate.
Holler is on the porch.
Big man. Broad through the chest. Beard shot with gray. Built like he was carved out of mountain. He has one hand wrapped around a coffee mug and the other rubbing the back of his neck like he has been doing it all morning.
He sees me coming.
His face says he knows he ain’t the one I want but might get hit anyway.
Smart man.
I park hard enough gravel kicks.
Holler lifts one hand. “Derby.”
“Where is she?”
He sighs. “If I knew every place my woman went when she decided the world needed fixing, I’d be dead from exhaustion.”
I stride up the porch steps. “Where is Lottie?”
He takes one look at my face and sets the coffee mug down carefully.
“I got a guess.”
I grab his cut before I can decide not to.
His hand catches my wrist, strong as a clamp. Not fighting yet. Warning.
“If you want to swing on me because Lottie did Lottie things, go ahead,” he says. “But know this. If my woman decided to move a body or a runaway, she didn’t ask because she knew I’d tell her to pack snacks.”
I stare at him.
He stares back.
The worst part is he means every word.
I let go of his cut and shove past him into the clubhouse.
The main room is a mess of men, phones, coffee, and ugly silence. Old cell doors line the back wall. The long table is covered in laptops, mugs, printouts, and the kind of tension that makes men forget they are holding weapons until somebody moves wrong. Legend stands at the table with Whiskey beside him. Oaks leans against the bar, arms crossed. Royal is in the corner, quiet enough to be dangerous. Wildcat has a laptop open, fingers moving fast.
Sophie ain’t here.
That absence hits like another bruise. Whatever happened between her and Legend ain’t fixed itself overnight. Good. Let everybody suffer. I ain’t feeling charitable.
Legend looks up.
His face is hard, tired, and furious.
Not at me.
Not only at me.