Nash had been a player in this game a long time. His word should’ve been enough, but as he backed away as if it was settled, unease rippled through me. Letting him out of my sight made me sick to my stomach, and I couldn’t fuckin’ do it.
I caught his wrist. It was September. The nights were still warm and his arms were bare, scorching my palm with raw heat. “At least let me watch from Hill Farm. It’s still too far to get to you, but at least I can see what’s happening.”
Nash hesitated for reasons he didn’t divulge, his gaze darting between mine and where my hand gripped him. Then he gave a slow nod. “All right. But stay out of sight unless your wild imagination pans out. We need every bent copper we can afford right now.”
I dipped my chin and gunned my engine, zipping away before he could change his mind. In my mirrors, I caught sight of his headlights moving out, but I forced my gaze back to the road, burning around a tight bend, aiming for the dust heap I’d ridden my pushbike up and down every day of my childhood.
At the top, I killed my lights, navigating off-road until I came to a copse of beech and silver birch trees. Somewhere among them was a lone weeping willow that had my daughter’s initials carved into the trunk, but I didn’t have time for nostalgia.
I slunk my hog under the cover of the trees and fixed my gaze on the gate at the bottom of the hill.
In the distance, I saw Nash approach from the west. From the east, a vehicle drew closer to meet him, and I gritted my teeth.
There could be five blokes in that car.
As if Nash didn’t know that.
Which was why it made no fuckin’ sense that Saint wasn’t here with him. That Alexei wasn’t the one skulking in the shadows.Unless they don’t know. Nash didn’t tell them everything. With all the shit that went down in this life, who had the time?
I didn’t have the answer, but I knew one thing without question: Nash hadme, and I had his back as much as he’d always had mine.
“What’s wrong?” Nash threw a leg over his bike, already riding out for me. “Something happen to your brother?”
I stared at my blank phone screen, Logan’s boss already long gone. “Oil fire.” My tongue was thick. “Something fell on him.”
“Where?”
“Hereford.”
Nash thumped my arm and gunned his engine. “Let’s go.”
Shivering, I pushed those memories away. I’d gained a friend that day—in Remy, Logan’s epic true love—but I’d come close enough to losing my brother that I couldn’t think about it without breaking down, and I didn’t have time for that either.
The car heading for Nash drew nearer, rolling to a stop where he was waiting on his hog, the sputter of the V-Rod still loud in the night air, primed for escape if trouble flared.
A dude got out of the creeping Nissan. Nondescript white guy. Copper vibes for days, I knew the type.
He approached Nash, hand already outstretched.
Nash passed him an envelope, chill as fuck, but stress had me wound so tight a headache buzzed my eyeballs, though that could’ve been fatigue. Nash had been right about me needing a fuckin’ nap.
The exchange came to an end. The bent rozzer got back in his car and drove off, and that should’ve been it. I waited for the worry to leave me. For my muscles to relax and the throb in my skull to dissipate. But as Nash rumbled away to our rally point, the disquiet in my gut only grew.
A damp ocean breeze cut through the late summer warmth. Goosebumps prickled my arms, but I wasn’t cold.
I rolled my bike out of the copse, scanning the horizon, the sense of eyes on me impossible to discount.
Was it Nash?
Was he waiting on me someplace I couldn’t see?
By the lack of light in my heart, I doubted it.
It’s this place. It always gets under your skin.
True enough. But paranoid or not, I was a sitting duck on my own, and the need to check on Nash gave me the shove I needed to get moving.
I burned down the hill and hit the road, keeping my lights off and my gaze sharp for any speck of movement at my six. Nothing caught my attention, but by the time I reached the lay-by, agitation had a grip on me so hard I could barely tip Nash a nod.
