I’ve logged into Savage’s email account and gone through the history, but there’s only so much I can do.
The longer I sit here in my room, the more frustrated I get. Charlotte is somewhere in the clubhouse, unaware her life wasonce handed over to a club that has terrorized so many for decades—by someone she thought was her father.
I need to find a way forward, because I’m pretty sure Hell’s Army is fully aware of Charlotte’s whereabouts.
It’s almost dinner time when I finally emerge from my room. A few prospects and brothers hanging around the main hall. Ryder is nowhere to be found, and I quickly find out why.
The fucker emerges from the staircase where most of the club girls reside. It’s also hisroom that’s situated upstairs. He hadn’t wanted to abandon the luxury of getting the corner room that was slightly bigger than the officers’.
He has his arms around Charlotte in a way that could seem platonic, but the jealousy crushing my gut is saying otherwise. It’s telling me to bash his head into the floor, like I did with Spike a while ago.
I need to get a grip before I actually do something that gets me kicked out of the club. How the hell would I protect her then? It’s a habit I wove myself into for the last year and a half. It’s not going anywhere.
The hall is a bustle of people talking over each other. I try my best to avoid listening to what Ryder and Charlotte are chatting about. It’s very clear she’s the most comfortable with him, but I don’t have to like it.
A few minutes later, I’m settled near Wolf, my voice low as we talk about how to proceed. Careful no one is listening to us.
That’s when I hear my buzzing phone. I had put it on a do-not-disturb mode for 24 hours. Guess it’s up.
A message glowing on my phone on the table pulls my attention for half a second, long enough for me to do a double take.
Sarah.
Fuck me.
I’d completely forgotten about her. And that alone should’ve told me how far gone this situation already was. There are barely a handful of people who can punch through my DND mode.
She isn’t one of them, which means whatever this is, it’s a problem.
“Give me a sec, Prez,” I mutter, already reaching for my phone between bites.
As I skim the ridiculous barrage of missed calls and messages, I hear Heath—a prospect—lean in and murmur something to Wolf. I barely catch it, something about Savage’s room and the attic finally being cleared out.
I’m about to comment when my phone starts buzzing again.
Relentless. This is apparently her twenty-eighth call today.
I’ve told her—more times than I can count—when I disappear, it’s club business. But there’s something about the Wardens that’s always rubbed her the wrong way.
“Sorry, Prez,” I say again, already standing and moving away from the table. “I’ll handle this.”
The second I answer, she cuts me off. “Sarah, listen, I’ll—”
“Where are you?” she snaps. The club noise nearly swallows her voice whole.
“I’m at the clubhouse, Sarah. Do you need something? I can’t really talk—”
I’m heading toward the far west corner, near the kitchen, when I feel it. A presence I’m sure to ignore.
“The club?” she shrieks. “Really? So you’re not with the whoreyou were cheating on me with?!”
My blood turns to ice. That voice didn’t come through my phone.
I spin around.
Sarah is standing right there, face flushed red with fury, eyes wild, chest heaving like she ran here just to explode. Fury I don’t understand. Fury that makes no sense.
She knows our deal. On. Off. No promises. No ownership. No commitment. And I’ve told her a thousand times I don’t fuck club girls. So what the hell is this?
