Page 89 of Coveted By Cupid

Wounded, Riley’s lips pucker as if she is trying hard not to scream her head off.

“Listen,” I say, harnessing her attention. “I know you don’t believe me, but I love Vanessa. I need her to forgive me. If I come in as the hero⁠—”

“She’d have to be seriously abused to fall for it, Boden,” Riley says, cutting me off and shaking her head like she assumes my plan will fail.

“But she will,” I say confidently, manifesting it into existence.

Riley shrugs. “Fine. Maybe she will. But don’t count on it. And if at some point she finds out the truth…”

Hopefully, she never does.

“We should check the surrounding hospitals,” Riley says, climbing back into her car. “It sounds like Artem and Mikhail had quite the scuffle with her. She may have sought medical treatment. If we’re lucky, they may have kept her for observation for a few days. And if she’s not at any of the local hospitals, we’ll check the women’s shelter next. Chances are high she could have gone there for a safe place to stay.”

My eyes widen. Riley’s suggestions make total sense. Why the hell had I never thought about those places?

Guess it takes a woman to understand another woman.

I run around her car and climb in the passenger side. “Riley, you’re a genius.”

She gives me a pointed look, eyeing my crotch hungrily before meeting my eyes again. “You can thank me properly after we find her.”

Her audacity makes me smirk.

She can dream.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CUPID

It’s pissing rain here in Loveland on a Friday night. It makes for sloppy work transferring the weapons. The upside is having fewer people on the streets who might witness the merchandise being moved. Most people will stay home or at least stay indoors, like in my restaurant and bar.

Rock’s men from the Durango chapter slowly pull into the back alley behind my property. The truck looks like any other liquor distributor vehicle, although inside it carries enough arms and ammunition to support a small militia. It’s one of our bigger hauls, making me curious about the young mafia don and the MC he’s in cahoots with.

The truck rolls past the bar, coming to a stop next door, where the warehouse is behind the bunkhouse. A loud beeping sound blares through the noise of the downpour as the truck backs into the loading dock. Drift and Ruger lead a small team of our men to unload the truck, moving quickly to haul the crates to a dry location inside the building and out of sight from outsiders.

I stand outside with the rain pouring down on me, observing the handoff go smoothly. Oaks and Crypt flank me, their heads swiveling side to side to make sure no one is spying on us. Further down the alley on both ends, my men keep watch on the street, ready to alert us if trouble is heading our way.

Crypt has stopped surveying the area, staring up at my buildings behind us. “Hey, Prez?”

“What is it?” I say, slightly annoyed to be bothered during the middle of run.

“Is Psyche cool with what we do?”

My brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, are you okay with her knowing club business?”

The hell kind of question is that?

“What do you think, Crypt?”

“I’m guessing no.”

No kidding. “Why are you asking?”

“Because she’s watching us from the kitchen window overlooking the alley.”

“Jesus Christ, Crypt,” Oaks says to our enforcer. “Why didn’t you lead with that info?”