The sound of Ace confirming Orla as mine did things in my chest, things I ought not to feel and yet I knew the second I had taken it upon myself to lock her up in my house, she was mine.
“Ace, you know I would never defy you like this unless it meant something to me to keep it,” Shae said. “Please.”
“With me,” Ace said. “You only.”
I looked to one of my oldest friends as he kept me from finding out where she was. I’d never felt so betrayed in my entire life. I felt Hawk’s hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry man, we’ll find her. You know we’ll tear this entire fucking place apart until we do.”
“And if it’s too late because your ex thinks she’s going to garner more importance by being the VIP here right now?”
Hawk backed up, but he didn’t dispute it. He thought the situation was fucked up too, but he would never defy Ace. I thought I wouldn’t either once upon a time but right now, as he stands between me and the woman who could help me find Orla, I knew my loyalty was being tested.
“I need a fucking smoke,” I said, trudging out of the clubhouse which was entirely too busy with the lockdown and sat on the side of the wraparound porch, pulling a pack from a nearby table and lighting up. The first pull of the cigarette had me feeling relief for a brief moment before I thought of Orla being tortured for information.
“Mind if I bum one?”
I looked up at Sheridan, her eyes red and puffy from tears, her voice strangled from emotion. I flipped her the pack and she sat down next to me, pulling one from the pack and lighting up.
“Didn’t think you smoked anymore,” I said.
“I don’t,” she replied. “But in times of extreme stress, it helps.”
I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. We sat there in silence, smoking and hating that we couldn’t do a damn thing to help Orla.
“I wish Shae had grabbed her before me,” she said softly. “If she had, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“No,” I found myself saying. “We’d still be here, only you would be Orla, crying into my shoulder. We’d still be at war trying to find you.”
“Orla…she’s tough,” Sheridan said. “So tough, but she’s also kind, caring, and loving. She is tough because she had to be. I don’t want her to have to be anymore. She’s soft with you, caring, happy. I want that back.”
“I do, too,” I replied, unable to form any other words to placate her. I needed her to be safe, to be back here with me. “When I find her, she’s never leaving this compound again.”
“Good luck with that,” Sheridan chuckled, but her laugh held no humour.
“We’ll set up a studio for her over there,” I pointed beside the garage. “She’ll tattoo here, and trust me, with the amount of bikers travelling every couple of weeks, she’ll be busy.”
“You’re serious.”
“Deadly,” I turned to Sheridan. “Orla will not leave my side again.”
I put my smoke out when I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Pulling it out, I looked down at Kirby’s name.
“Fury?” Sheridan asked.
“It’s his call name,” I said. “For when he patches in.”
Answering the call, I got up off the porch and headed down to the gate where I knew he was on duty.
“Got a guy here, with a Broken Reapers cut on,” Kirby said. “Says he needs to talk to you.”
“Why me?”
“He said he needs to talk to Peter O’Leary’s kid,” Kirby replied.
“On my way.”
I was almost at the gate when I saw the familiar outline of the guy standing next to the familiar woman. I hesitated, before I continued down to the gate.
