But…
Butif this fuck was back from the dead, he was here to scorch the earth. To put me in it.
If he couldn’t get right to me, though, he would go through those around me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fallon had it all wrong.
We needed to be on lockdown.
The women had to be brought in, protected.
Gracieneeded to be protected.
I ripped the paper off the board, turned, and strode through the space between the two men.
Maybe they came after me.
I had no idea.
I wasn’t paying attention.
I couldn’t hear shit over the whooshing of my pulse in my ears.
By the time I was in the hall, I was at a dead run.
All I could think was Gracie.
Gracie, who I’d thrown myself over to protect.
Gracie, who I could have been seen walking home one night. Who I could have been seen talking to outside of the clubhouse.
Gracie, who, for better or worse, was now connected to me.
Who was in danger because of me.
I fumbled for my phone, dialing blindly as I rushed to the parking lot.
“Yo?” Fallon answered, laughing at something.
“Put the club in lockdown.”
“What?” he asked, tone deadly serious.
“Lockdown. Now.”
I ended the call, shoved my phone back in my pocket, and hopped on my bike.
I had to get to her apartment. I had to get her safe.
I peeled out of the parking lot and onto the road, ignoring the sound as someone laid on their horn.
I weaved in and out of traffic, trying to cut down the length of the drive.
It still felt impossibly long.
