“Where is it now?”
She swallowed hard, wringing her hands together in an edgy way again.
“I left it there. Out by my motorcycle. It’s… it’s not safe to wear it now. It might not protect me.”
Shit. I had no idea that was even a possibility.
“So you’re stranded here until we get you another one?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “Could get a taxi or something, but I don’t like the idea of leaving her here.”
Huh. “The helmet?” Did it need a fucking ceremonial burial or something?
“My… they call them rides… my ride,” she giggled briefly, then sobered again, “my motorcycle. I can’t ride it without the helmet, so it’s stranded ‘til I have one.” Damn.
“I could drive you home, but then you’d need to get back here with another helmet.”
“I don’t have a spare. I’ve messaged Harley, so he’ll need to meet me here with a spare when they’re done. He hasn’t replied yet, which is unusual for him. I hope they’re all okay.” Ah the real reason, I suspected, for her freaking out.
I leaned back in my seat, eyeing the doors to make sure we wouldn’t be caught speaking about club business like this.
“I’m sure they’re all okay. It’s a big thing to discuss, and I know Rocket and the others are working together to back Micro.”
Caroline’s brow furrowed, and she tilted her head.
“You know what it’s about…” It wasn’t a question. It was a stone-cold statement, like somehow me knowing was out of order.
“I was there when it happened. I mean, not it, obviously, but when Rocket and Micro had their row.”
“At the clubhouse? Why were you there?”
Chapter Twenty
We watched the mendeparting on their rides, manouvering their wheels past the OG Phoenix ones that were still lined up by the gates.
“I think that went well,” Stitch said, slapping Micro’s back as he jumped down from the bench seat, and dragged his hands down his face. The result was him nearly sticking all his fingers literally in his eyes.
“Jesus!”
Ice moved past us, glancing briefly at Micro, before addressing Reacher.
“I’m going to get back. Don’t like the old ladies all there with just a few prospects to protect them.”
“They’re fine,” Reacher insisted, glancing past Ice to Micro, who looked morose as he watched him trying to get away as fast as he could.
“I did what you asked, Pres. I’m not really feeling sticking around.”
“Why the hell do you still have a beef?” I blurted, stepping closer to them, and ignoring everyone else as they milled around, chatted, and randomly headed for the lounge for beers.
“Didn’t invite you into our private conversation, dick.”
I ignored that, because I wanted to fucking know. I was fed up with not being in the know.
“Come on. He’s made amends, you all fucking said it, you all agreed with it. Unlike me, you weren’t the one getting fucking accused of the shit he was doing, so I’ll ask again, what’s your beef?”
“Rocket,” Reacher murmured, shaking his head at me. I guess he felt I’d said enough already, and he wasn’t exactly wrong, was he?
“Yeah, I fuck everything up when I open my mouth, I know, but seriously. I’m sure we’re all as fucking curious. Why do you get to keep holding a grudge when literally everyone else forgave him? His victims did. You weren’t one of them, so what the fuck?”
