“What now?” I grab my phone and scan the message. As much as I need to be here tonight for Poppy and her mother, as soon as I read it, I know I have to go.
Savage: 911. Dylan’s house. Sending the address.
I groan and turn in my seat. “Babe, I got to run out. There’s a problem with one of the guys who helped at your house. I don’t know if it’s related, but I have to go.”
She looks stricken for a second, but then she nods. “You’ll be back?”
“The second I can.”
“And you’ll be careful?” She looks like she doesn’t want to ask that but can’t help herself.
“Even more so now.” I lean acrossthe bench and kiss her. “Tell your mom I’m sorry I had to run. Don’t wait up,” I tell her.
She kisses me back. Then she climbs out of the truck. I click open the garage and wait until she’s inside, then I close the door again and tear off toward Dylan’s.
My mind races as I drive, but I force myself to slow down. I drive past the house and see bikes and a couple of familiar cars, then park my truck a block away and run toward the house. When I get to the one with the right number, I pound on the door.
“Let me the fuck in,” I growl.
The door opens, and Savage looks murderous. I step inside the house and am about to ask for an update when one look around the room stops me in my fucking tracks.
Dylan is lying on the couch, one eye swollen shut and bruised. His lip is split, and he’s breathing hard through his mouth like it hurts to breathe through his nose. But that’s not what’s so shocking.
My fucking ex-wife Shayla is sitting on the couch beside him, and Viper’s holding a 9mm to her head.
I motion to him. “What the fuck is that for?”
“I fucking told you.” Shayla’s on her feet the second the barrel isn’t pointed at her head. She lunges at Viper, nails out, ready to claw.
Savage is on her in a second, pulling her arms tight behind her and neutralizing any threat to Viper. Viper’s got veins bulging from his neck to his forehead. “This bitch is fucking tweaking,” he spits. “And if she doesn’t calm down soon, I’m going to put her ass in the ground.”
“This bitch is the mother of my kids!” I shout, but then I turn on her. “So, she better have a good goddamn reason for being here. What the fuck is going on here?”
I grab Shayla by the blouse and pull her close to me. One sniff confirms what Viper said. She’s coming down from something. The stink of withdrawal and the sickly-sweet smell of dope is practically oozing from her pores.
“You’re going to settle the fuck down. You’re going to sit still, and you’re not going to hurt anybody in this room. You hear me? And if you answer all my questions, you won’t leave here in a fucking body bag.”
That silences Shayla fast. She glares at me then yanks herself from my hold. She drops down and sloppily moves close to Dylan. Oddly close. “You going to let him talk to me this way?” she screeches. “You’re going to fucking put up with this from that loser?”
My blood is boiling. But it’s not going to do me, my girls, or my club any good if I pop off. Not before I have answers.
I may not have any control over Shayla, but I’ve got something she wants. The kids. And as much as I refuse to let them be innocent pawns, if she doesn’t want her parental rights revoked, she’s going to give me the whole truth. “How long?” I demand. “How long have you been on fucking meth!”
Shayla whimpers. “I’m not, Phantom. I’m not, I just?—”
I hold up my hand like I’m going to slap her. I won’t—I’ve never hurt Shayla a day in my life, but the threat has an unexpected effect.
Dylan pops off. “Leave her the fuck alone!” Even with one eye and a busted lip, the kid’s got balls. “Back off.”
“What. Did. You. Say. To Me?” My words are lethally calm, and I stretch them out so he has to savor every one. “Repeat what you said. I want to hear you say it again.” I take one finger and point at my face. “Say. It. To. My. Face.”
Even with a black eye and a bruised face, Dylan has the good sense to look scared as shit. “Just leave her alone, man. All right?”
I pace back and forth in front of the couch, trying to piece this shit together. Viper’s still holding his 9mm, but now he’s pointing it at Dylan. Savage is standing back watching from the doorway, but his hand’s on his waistband.
“Let me get this straight.” I look to Shayla. “You’ve been using, I’m going to guess, what, eight, maybe nine months?”
“Phantom, you don’t understand…” She tries to cut me off, but I give her a look and she clamps her mouth shut.
