Cam:Call me
And those were just the messages I hadn’t had the balls to delete. Not that I was scared of Locke. Or Folk. But I knew from experience that ignoring my friends—erasingthem—hurt worse than missing them always did.
Wasn’t that scared of Cam either, but blanking him wasn’t a sustainable plan. If he really wanted to talk to me, he’d find me.Or his mad lovers would, and as much love as I had for Saint, I was enjoying my holiday from Alexei.
I was definitely scared of Finch, though. Calling her was a no-brainer unless I wanted to boot this phone into a sewage drain and take a shuttle to the moon.
It was too late to call Jean—late enough that the sky was starting to grey, mist hanging in the air. I rolled off the picnic bench I’d been parked on most of the night, claiming a corner of a yard that belonged to the smallest Rebel Kings chapter, and jammed a cigarette between my lips.
I lit it as I placed another call, counting on it ringing out.
Knowing it wouldn’t.
“There you are.” The voice of the closest thing I had to an ex filtered down the line. “My brother was starting to wonder if you’d been kidnapped by bandits.”
I scoffed, exhaling a cloud of toxic smoke. “No, he wasn’t. Folk doesn’t give a fuck what I get up to.”
“Not judging and not caring aren’t the same thing—” Finch spoke to someone who wasn’t me, clueing me into the fact that I’d likely bothered her at work, and there was every chance our conversation would be cut short by her dashing away to bring new life into the world. “When are you going to see Jean?”
“I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”
“Very funny. Go and see your grandmother. Or at least call her. I know you two have a unique relationship, but it’s beenmonths, and it’s her birthday tomorrow.”
“I know.” Pretty sure it was what had led me to turn my phone on in the first place, though the decision hadn’t been as conscious as that. “I don’t know if I can get there tomorrow, though. Or, like,today.”
“Why not? What are you doing that’s so important? And don’t say it’s biker stuff you can’t talk about. Folk already told me it’s not.”
Fucking Folk. He could lie when he had to. Would it kill him to lie for me?
“Been busy, Finchie.”
“Doing what?”
“Riding.”
Finch clicked her teeth, but I was spared her bullshit meter tripping out by whatever kept her busy on a hospital night shift.
She hung up without saying goodbye.
I deserved it, but the silence she left behind had fucking thorns. A cloud of responsibility I had no interest in.Obligation. Cam’s message needed a response— it was obvious now that I’d read it—but it wasn’t his surly face that filled my mind. It was the face of the soul who’d raised me when no other cunt had given a shiny fuck.
Nanna Jean. My thumbs hovered over the screen, but whatever words I typed for her to play through her old lady voice app wouldn’t be enough, and texts annoyed her as much as they annoyed me.
That left more silence and I hated that. The quiet I’d been cursed with lately made me jumpy.Restless. I was halfway to my hog before I made a conscious decision to roll out of this arse-fuck nowhere compound.
My bike was a killer V-Rod. An old one with a souped-up engine that ran like a dream thanks to a few weeks it had once spent as the pet project of River O’Brian.
I flew out of the messy yard and hit the road, open space not hard to find out here in the sticks. The ride was fun and I settled in, but as much as I loved my bike, I wasn’t that much of a piston head. Truth was, I’d have enjoyed a magic fucking carpet just as much, cos it wasn’t about the roar of the engine or the rumble between my thighs.
It was the wind in my face.
The journey with no direction.
Fuck, I just loved to be free.
I burned a few miles, chasing the dream. But it wasn’t long before my phone blew up again, and ignoring it put other shit on my mind. The kind of shit I’d ride to Siberia to escape if I wasn’t worried it would lead me to the exact thing I was trying to forget.
He’s not Siberian.
