“What’s up?” I ask as I stop dead in the hallway, waiting for him to catch up.
“You didn’t give me all the facts about Britton,” he lambasts me. “If you’d told me about her occupation, I could’ve started looking for traces of her under her moniker.”
I remove my cowboy hat and scratch my head. “Sorry, Booker, I thought I did. I have so much going on in my head that everything is starting to feel jumbled. Who told you?”
“Jersey did when I went to question her, needing more information because every lead I followed fell flat,” he informs me. “I had to pry it out of her because like you, she didn’t think it was important.”
“And it is?” I ask him, probing him to give me what he’s found instead of beating around the bush while scolding me for not firing on all cylinders.
“It is,” he verifies. “She has a business card under her DBA and used it to book her cabin. She’s in West Texas, but not too far from us. It’s only a three hour ride to get to her.”
“We have visual confirmation she’s there?” I ask, not wanting any miscommunication.
“No,” he says, sighing. “But she hasn’t checked out, so there’s that.”
“We can’t make guesses on this, Booker. We need to know if she’s still there or not.”
“That’s where I’ve run into trouble, LoneStar,” he advises.
“How so?” I inquire, if there’s a spool of thread found online, he’d be the one to unwind it. “What’s stalled you from finding out if she’s there or not, Booker?”
“The old biddy that runs the joint,” he mumbles. “She’s refusing to give me any intel over the phone. She won’t even go and do a wellness check for me. And if I call the popo, we’ll be beholden to them to do an investigation. With Rip not answering his door and Slayer doing his disappearing act, we’re at a standstill.”
“What do you mean Slayer pulled a disappearing act?” I ask through gritted teeth because this is the first I’ve heard anything about that. I may not hold an officer patch, but I’m a brother and we should be in the know if one of our leaders has gone incognito.
“All I know is he got a call and hauled ass out of here. He went offline, shutting down all electronic communication, including the tracker on his bike,” Booker states.
“And that didn’t set off any alarms?” I probe, sawing my jaw. If it’s not one goddamn thing around here, it’s another and I’m being pulled in several directions which has me feeling stretched a little too thin.
“Of course it did,” he quickly defends. “Icer and Shade are on it.”
“Who put those two in charge of tracking our VP down, Booker?” I ask, knowing that’s going to blow up in our faces.
“Indiana,” he answers. “He and Icer are in charge when Riptide and Slayer aren’t.”
“No shit,” I snap, knowing how the power structure of the club works. But like all dominoes, once the first one tips over, they all fall behind it in rapid succession. And putting Indiana and Icer in charge on a good day is a horrifying idea. They both act first and think later. Then to let Icer and Shade go out on their own, unsupervised? Bad, bad, bad idea. When they’re let off their leash and given free rein, there’s no telling what sort of damage they’ll inflict.
“Listen, it wasn’t my choice to let those two go traipsing off without a handler, LoneStar. If you’re pissed at anybody, it should be directed at Indiana, Rip, or Slayer.”
“Oh, trust me, I am,” I state, fuming. “Now, I can’t head off and track Britton down because I have to stay here in case shit hits the fan.” Without a backward glance, I stomp down the hallway and fling the front door to the clubhouse open, marching across the threshold.
None of the normal tricks I use to calm myself down are working. For the first time since I can remember, I’m livid with my brothers. Primarily, our leaders because they’ve left us with our dicks swinging in the wind. I’m not a freeballer, and I’m not exactly happy that I’ve been caught in a tornado of bullshit with my boxers down around my ankles.
I hear twigs breaking behind me and swing my head around to see who’s encroaching on my alone time. When I see Indiana, any control I had over my temper reforms. “Not gonna be good company right now, Indiana,” I warn him.
“Not here for your glowing personality, LoneStar,” he states as he sidles up beside me, planting his feet in the ground and crossing his arms across his chest. “Rio called, he’s been in communication with Rip, and brother, shit is not good.”
“Guessed that was the case when he locked himself in his office and refused anybody entrance,” I admit. “What can you tell me?”
“Apparently, you’re the one who started this entire fucking thing,” he accuses, giving me a glaring look. “What you told him and what you saw, has started a train wreck.”
“Not my fault she derailed from the tracks,” I say, playing off his analogue. “I didn’t get her hooked on drugs or convince her to sell them to minors, Indiana.”
“That’s not all she’s selling,” he says, snorting. “To both minors and adults.”
“Not sure why any person with eyeballs would pay to bang that bitch, but she must wear a paper sack over her head for her clients,” I banter.
“Fuck knows that’s the damn truth,” Indiana adds. “She may have a banging body, but the ugliness she has inside has leaked out and landed on her face.”
