Not caring about the cramp in my back now, I turned and strode back into the clubhouse.
“Polly?” I growled out. “Polly?”
Now, shecouldn’thave heard what I’d said. She said she was going to our room.
But the whole clubhouse felt different. Wrong.
There was no response. I called again.
Maybe she was in the shower, maybe she had her headphones in, maybe she was playing a game with me. . .
But when I burst into the bedroom, the first thing I saw was the quilt she’d made for me lying in shredded up piles on the ground.
I stood very still, not even hearing the noise of my club brothers.
It was like getting dunked in a tub of ice water.
I saw it pretty damn clearly now, the way every inch of my skin seemed to tighten with the wrongness of it all.
I had fucked up
Polly belonged here. With me.
In retrospect, that was embarrassingly obvious.
And she’d clearly heard what I’d said about her to Grease. And left.
How could I have been such a bastard?
What the hell was the point of living without Polly? There was no point at all.
The rest of Legends MC were suddenly explosively loud in my ear.
“Where is Polly?”
“What did you do?”
“You fuckingmoron. You blithering imbecile.”
I was hearing disrespectful shit Fizz wouldn’t have dared to say to me ten minutes ago, but at this point I didn’t care.
“Shut up, you idiots! We have to find her.”
“How?”
“Well, where would she go?”
“Christ, I don’t know!”
“Asshole!” Fizz roared at full volume.
“Turn down your hearing aid!” I snapped at him.
“I’m going to go look for her. Let’s spread out. Split up the city.”
“Boss—you don’t even know where?—”
But I was gone, moving faster than I could ever remember before, gripping the bars of my bike and gunning the throttle.