Hands shaking, I watch as he pushes the door open with one hand, the other reaching behind his back, and steps inside.
I should wait. I know I should wait. But my legs are already carrying me forward, because this is my home, myspace.
“June, wait—” Stella grabs for my arm, but I’m already through the door.
“Oh my god.” I cover my mouth at the destruction as tears well up in my eyes.
My favorite lipsticks are smashed into the floor like someone ground them in with their heel. Eyeshadow palettes have been cracked open, and powders and pigments are everywhere. The fairy lights Stella and I hung when I first moved in have been ripped down, and written on my wall in red lipstick are five words.
YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME.
“Oh my God,” Stella whispers, covering her mouth with her hand.
“What is it—” the words die on Brooke’s lips.
Standing frozen to the spot, we watch Bax move through the apartment. “Clear,” he says after a moment. “Whoever did this is gone.”
Standing here, trying to wrap my head around why someone would do this, reality crashes into me.
My filming equipment. My shot at the Trend Setter Award. All of it. Destroyed.
“June.” Stella’s hand finds mine and squeezes. “I’m calling my brother.”
I should tell her no, that I can handle this on my own, but I don’t. The bright red threat on the wall is proof that this has gone way past harmless messages.
“Okay.”
Chapter Three
Journey
“Pistol Pete, come in,” Bane growls into the CB radio.
“Think that old fucker will ever retire?” I laugh, downshifting before grabbing the wheel with both hands to turn the big rig towards Anarchy Enterprise. One more block and then we can get the hell out of this motherfucker. Thirty-six hours in this sardine can with Bane is thirty-five and a half hours too long.
Bane snorts. “Not likely.”
“Yo,” crackles through the radio, deep and gravely.
My lips twitch at the same time Bane snorts. Pistol Pete is a relic. Old timer’s been around since the beginning. Man never misses a day of work or a club meeting. He lives for the club.
Bane lifts the mic. “We’re coming in hot, old buddy. Open up.”
Pistol Pete mans the gate at Anarchy Enterprise.
“Liar.” I glance over and pop a brow.
We’re not coming in hot. In fact, we didn’t haul shit back from Saint Louis. The second we dropped the load of Red Bliss at the Bastard Saints clubhouse, we turned around and deadheaded back.
Not a profitable move at all.
Usually, we’d pick up a load of steel and drop it off at TK Steel in Kings Haven.
However, Bane’s turned into a pussy whipped bitch since he kidnapped his ol’ lady again.
Yes, again. As in twice.
She left, and he fucked around and found out. It was a whole thing, but they worked it all out. But that’s their story to tell.
