The gunshots stop, and I wait a few seconds before stepping into the open to assess the situation and figure out who the attacker is. Whoever it is got into a vehicle, and it speeds through the cemetery gates. I’m too far away to get a license platenumber, but I make a mental note of the make and model of the car.
I jog back to Mellie and grab her elbow, helping her to her feet. “C’mon, we need to get outta here.”
“But what if they’re still out there?” she asks, frantically taking in our surroundings.
“They aren’t. I watched them drive away.”
“You’re sure?”
I shove my gun into my waistband and cup her cheeks. “I’m sure. I’d never do anything to put your safety at risk.”
She takes a deep breath and nods. “I know.”
“Good.” Grabbing her hand, I tug her toward my Harley. “Then let’s get back to the clubhouse.”
25
MELLIE
“Are you okay?”
I gulp the remaining liquor in my glass and set it on the bar top in front of Junior. As soon as Lyric and I got back to the clubhouse, he ordered a lockdown and called church. I overheard him tell Zombie that the shooter fled in a matte black Chevy Camaro, and that triggered another memory to surface.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Can I get another?”
“Comin’ right up,” Junior promises.
I’ve been trying to make the puzzle pieces of the latest memory fit, but there’s still something missing.
“Hey, girl,” Savvy greets as she climbs onto the stool next to me.
“Hey.”
“Uh-oh, someone’s in a funk.”
“Probably because Lyric and I were shot at today,” I snap and immediately regret my harshness. “Sorry.”
She flaps her hand dismissively. “No worries. If ever there was a good reason for being in a funk, I suppose it’s getting shot at.”
“Here ya go,” Junior interrupts, setting a newly filled tumbler in front of me. “Savvy, you want a drink?”
“Sure, babes,” she replies with a wink. “Whiskey on the rocks.”
He disappears to make her drink, and I stare into my glass.
“Can I ask you something?” I say quietly.
“Of course.”
“Did I ever mention a matte black Camaro to you before my accident?”
Her face scrunches like she’s thinking hard, and then she shakes her head. “No, you didn’t. But Rowdy did.”
I spin on my stool to face her. “He did? What’d he say?”
“Nothing specific. We were…. Well, we were together one night, and he was drunk. He kept babbling about a matte black Camaro. It didn’t make sense at the time, and shit, it still doesn’t. Why?”
Rather than answer, I hop to my feet. “Thanks, Sav,” I call over my shoulder as I race to the spare room I’ve been staying in.
