“You want to tell me about him?” he asks.
“No,” I state.
He lets his silverware clatter to the plate, then clears his throat. “You need to tell us who the fuck he is.”
Clearly, this isn’t out of the goodness of his heart. This is because he wants me to tell him everything I know so they can get this guy. That hurts a little. I wanted Goose to declare his love for me, although I know he wouldn’t, probably couldn’t.
Goose can have anyone he wants. Any woman at that clubhouse is beautiful. They’ll all do whatever he wants, and happily… energetically even. What would he want with me? Not in the long run anyway. He got what he actuallywanted, and then he was gone. I should have known that was going to happen, and deep down, I did. Even if I didn’t want it to be true.
There’s no sense in my hiding the information from Goose. They need to find that asshole before he does any more damage. Before he actually kills someone. I tell him everything I know, and I watch as he relays that information via text to Bullet or whomever he’s messaging.
“I never meant for anyone to get hurt,” I whisper.
Goose lifts his head, and his eyes find mine. “Babe. None of this is on you. We’ll find the guy.”
And that’s that. We finish our breakfast, neither of us talking about the situation but instead shifting our conversation to something less… stressful. We discuss the fact that Justin’s office was burned down along with the surveillance shop.
“That’s a lot of fires,” I point out.
He hums but doesn’t respond. Then he lifts his eyes to meet mine, his gaze holding my own, searching, before he speaks.
“It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “The club will handle it all.”
I know what that means. It means shut the fuck up and stay out of my business—out of club business. I press my lips together, trying to figure out what to say next. Aside from having sex, I don’t know that we actually have much in common.
“Wanna hang out, watch some television?”
I press my lips together and roll them as I nod a few times, then clear my throat. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
After cleaning up breakfast together, in synchronized silence, we make our way toward the sofa and each sit in our respective corners. Goose finds a show, and I agree, mainly because I don’treally care what we watch. My mind is far too busy spinning in wild circles to even focus on a television show.
Eventually, I fall asleep, and by the next morning, once again, Goose is gone. Apparently, it doesn’t matter if we’ve had sex or not. He doesn’t want to be anywhere near me when morning light spills through the blinds.
CHAPTER ONE
GOOSE
PRESENT DAY
Dust in the goddamn wind.
That is where Jeffrey Hagerty is—dust in the goddamn wind. I’m pretty sure it’s a fake name at this point. We’ve all been trying to find a trace of him. The apartment address Cidney had was probably some kind of sublet or Airbnb situation, because we can’t find his name or any name that we could link to who he could be at that address.
The cell phone was a burner. That shit has been turned off and ditched.
I walk into the gym and start my workout. Today is leg day. I need the burn and the sweat to take my mind off things. I’ve been so wrapped up in finding this asshole that I haven’t been focusing on my actual work.
My life has shifted in the past few months. I’ve decided to channel all of my pent-up anger into myself, into my body. I’ve been working out, bulking up, and focusing on myself. At least on my body. The rest of me is still a fucking mess.
I have my music turned up on my headphones, I’m doing my thing when my jam is interrupted by an incoming phone call. I try to ignore it, but when they call back a second time, I let out a grunt.
Ripping off my headphones, I wipe down my machine and slide my thumb across the screen of the phone. It’s Bullet, so I know it must be important. I walk away from the equipment to find a corner of the gym that isn’t occupied before I speak.
“Bullet,” I growl as my greeting.
“I need you to stay on permanent detail for Cidney,” he states.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
