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I shut the door behind me.

“All right,” I say. “What the fuck did you find?”

Chapter 9

Madison

I'm going to murder Preston Chavez.

Not literally.

Probably.

I stare at my phone, then at the front door.

It's been over an hour since Torch left for the clubhouse, and I haven't heard a word from him.

Not that I'm waiting for one.

I'm simply checking the time.

For the sixth time in ten minutes.

Perfectly normal behavior.

I toss my phone onto the couch.

This is ridiculous.

I'm twenty-two years old, I have a job, I pay my own bills, and until a few days ago, I managed to get through life without a six-foot-three biker telling me when I could leave the house.

Granted, my recent decisions haven't exactly demonstrated excellent judgment.

But that's beside the point.

I glance toward the window.

One of the prospects is standing near the driveway, talking on his phone. The other is farther down the property, checking something beside the gate.

I know they're here to protect me. I appreciate that. I really do.

But after everything that's happened, I need an hour to myself.

An hour to think about Mom, the obituary, and the DNA test result.

And maybe to have a decent cup of coffee.

I pick up my bag.

Torch asked me to stay inside.

He actually asked.

And I said yes.

I pause.

Well, that's inconvenient.