I sighed and sat back down. I could run from King, I could run from Satan, but I could not run from myself. It was high time that I learned that shit, even if the past year or so had been a futile exercise in trying to ignore that lesson.
I suppose that, yes, on some level, pure freedom meant going back to Callie. But to what end? For happily ever after? Such a dream…
Had not quite proven to be a nightmare, no, but it wasn’t like I could say it was a dream.
Fucked up as it was, I think I got married to try and find someone to take the place of my parents. Callie did that wonderfully. She was a nurturing woman, a fucking great lay, and someone who never discouraged me. But that didn’t take away the agony I felt within.
That was only going to be solved by myself. But maybe there was something to be said for having an easier time solving it when she was around. Maybe.
Strangely, as I accepted this outcome as not just possible but perhaps even likely, I began to feel a lot looser, a lot more relaxed. Maybe I could get this shit done.
And immediately, the answer came to mind.
Text Crush.
So simple, and yet it was one of the few methods that wouldn’t draw attention to me.
If I tried to find him in person, others would notice. He never went alone. If I tried to call him, same thing. Him answering his phone would draw questions. Even if it wasn’t King who happened to be near him, someone who was so loyal to King he’d lick his boots would be.
But texting?
Well, it sounded very high schoolish, but fuck if I cared.
“Crush. It’s Asher. I’ve been laying low in Phoenix but wanna meet. When are you free?”
I wrote the message, gave it a quick review, and sent it. It was the best move I could make at the moment. I supposed I could watch from afar and try and intercept him when he got alone, but either someone else would be watching and I’d be in trouble, or it depended so much on timing and luck that I’d die of natural causes before that shit happened.
Of course, King could easily be monitoring their text messages, so maybe I was a dead fucking man anyways. Who knew? Not like I had much choice in the matter.
My phone buzzed right after, and on the display on my screen, sure enough, it showed Crush had texted back. Curious, I opened the phone.
“Who?”
At first, ego got the best of me. How the fuck could he forget who I was? Did the King’s Men go through club members so quickly that the loss of someone like me was forgettable right after?
But no, actually, this was a fucking great thing. Anonymity was welcomed. The more people didn’t know who I was, the closer I got to getting my freedom and moving the fuck on with a normal life.
“I was sent by King to lay low in the area and report back to you when I had intel. It’s been a year, but I have details on the Devil’s Patriots and Black Reapers.”
I almost sent that exact message, but at the last second, I got rid of “by King.” I didn’t want him running off to the boss to confirm such a detail. Better to have it be vague, like maybe…like maybe Crush himself had sent me and forgotten.
Actually, that sounded even better.
“You sent me to lay low…”
Perfect.
I hit send. Boldfaced lie, of course. Crush did send people on runs, but I’d never reported to him. The fuck did Crush have to know, though? And if he said he never did, I’d just shrug and say a year in the field had made me forget some things. What was the big deal?
“I did? Interesting. What you got?”
Crush was by his phone. Excellent.
“More than I can text here. Can we meet soon? Tomorrow or Thursday?”
It may have been like a teenager to text for the first contact in ages, but I wasn’t going to turn this into a fucking girls’ chat. I wasn’t going to send emojis and carry on the conversation for hours. Fuck that. Get to the goddamn point.
“Thursday. Meet me at new clubhouse northwest side.”
