The prospect beside me shifts nervously, as he says. “Razor… Angel said…”
Razor ignores him, his eyes locked on me.
“You wanna know why?” he asks and I don’t answer.
The prospect tries again. “Miss Bex… you should go back to your room.”
Razor is suddenly right in front of me, too fast for me to react. His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, hard, I make a sound before I can stop it. The fucker groans at the sound of my pained whimper and I know I am in trouble.
CHAPTER 17
CLUTCH - WHAT I CHOSE
The parking lot outside the sheriff’s substation is lit up like a damn stage. Two buzzing floodlights bolted to the building throw harsh white across the asphalt. Long shadows stretch under bikes and boots. Patrol cars line one side of the lot, doors closed but engines still ticking hot from earlier runs. The whole place smells like exhaust, and dust.
Why the fuck is Four being released now… at this time of night?
I scrub my hand down my face willing for anything to make sense. The past weeks are playing on loop in my mind begging me to pay attention. Like I am missing something. But I am so fucking tired and I need to get back.
I need to see her, even if she doesn't want to see me. Even for a second… I…
Fuck, I need to focus, because we’re not the only ones waiting.
Three Devil’s Ride bikes sit along the far curb. Two men lean against the wall beside them, arms folded over their cuts, watching everything without pretending otherwise.
A pair of locals I recognize from a smaller club farther south stand off near the road, talking low. Everyone’s here for the same reason. They all know a war is brewing, but nobody really knows why and that is setting everyone off. Especially when a VP of a long standing club gets held this long and the rumours have been poisoning everyone.
They all want to see what happens when he gets released.
Four.
Being released to house arrest doesn’t mean shit when the man walking out the door is Vice President of the Dawnbreakers.
Presence matters, Angel said that himself. We show up for him with presence.
I lean back against the hood of the truck the prospect drove down and stare at the station doors.
The metal frame reflects the floodlights, bright enough to sting if you look too long.
Inside those doors Jack is finishing paperwork. The DA’s golden boy. The same one who’s been building Four’s case piece by piece for months now, the one who pulled the fucking trigger on a lie and is desperately trying to fix it now.
The same one who’s been sniffing around our club like he’s waiting for someone to slip. And tonight of all nights we’re supposed to stand here calm and patient while he hands our VP back to us like this is all routine.
My jaw aches with how hard I have been clenching it lately.
Nothing has been routine. It’s like someone keeps stirring all the different pots waiting for them to spill over just to see where we will run to first.
Torch kicks a loose rock across the pavement, the little stone skips twice and disappears under a cruiser.
“You gonna say anything?” he asks finally.
I don’t look at him, but I reply, “About what.”
He better not say her fucking name.
“About the fact you’ve been standing there looking like someone ripped your spine out.”
Axel sighs quietly beside us. “Leave it, Torch.”