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Fuck.

Is she okay?

Every cell in my body is dying to ask the question but I fight against it for more reasons than I care to delve into at the moment.

“And I need you to call your friend in the department for me,” he finishes and my frown deepens. When I left the force, I stayed in contact with a few friends and one of them regularly slips me case files or information when it’s needed but Storm doesn’t ask me to reach out to him unless it’s serious.

“What am I looking for?”

“Ask him for a case file with Izzy’s name on it. She was… involved in something tonight and I need to have any information that the cops do.”

“And I’m babysitting her house because…” I don’t often question orders from my president and the only reason I’m doing it now is the concern rapidly eating away at my resolve to not ask any questions.

“I need to know if someone shows up there tonight, looking for her.”

I arch a brow. “Do you expect someone to show up?”

“Fuck…” He takes a deep breath and releases it. “You have no idea how much I’m hoping that I’m wrong but yeah, I think she’ll have some visitors tonight.”

I sit back down on my stool and release a breath as I stare at the wall in front of me and my mind spins. What in the fuck did Izzy get herself involved in? “You want me to intervene?”

“No. Just watch and report back to me in the morning.”

“And I take it she’s not home,” I supply as I run through the likely scenarios that might lead to this phone call but none of it makes sense.

“No,” he answers. “She’s here at our place and likely will be for the foreseeable future.”

“What the fuck is going on, Storm?”

“Look, I’ll fill you in on everything in the morning but right now, you’re the only one I trust to handle this for me. If anything happens to Izzy… it will destroy my ole lady and you’re the best investigator we’ve got, Smoke.”

I bite back a laugh as my mind flashes back to my pity party only an hour ago. I may not be feeling his confidence at the moment but I refuse to let any of my brothers down.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll head over there now,” I tell him, running a hand through my hair as I rack my brain, trying to imagine what kind of trouble Izzy got herself into to warrant all of this. Knowing her, though, it could be anything. She’s hell on wheels with absolutely no filter and I’m honestly shocked that we’re not constantly bailing her out of trouble.

“Call me when you’ve got news. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it.”

He releases a breath like I’ve just removed a boulder from his shoulders. “Oh, and, Smoke? Be careful.”

“You got it, boss,” I answer just before the line goes quiet. Pulling it away from my ear, I stare at the black screen for a second before standing up and swiping my keys off of the bar.

“Taking off?” Gear calls. He and Jumper must have worked their shit out cause they are back at the pool table, racking up another game. Jumper snorts a laugh, taking a sip of his beer as he leans back against the pool table.

“You guys are so fucking old, you know that? God forbid, you stay up past your bedtimes.”

“Fuck off. I got shit to do,” I tell him, flipping him the bird as I turn toward the clubhouse doors. Jumper loves to give everyone around him shit and we’re all used to it by now but every once in a while, someone has to take him down a notch. Maybe I’ll float the idea by Kodiak tomorrow - he’s always up for knocking some sense into the younger brothers. Grinning, I step out into the empty parking lot and my mind snaps back to my mission and the danger Izzy is in as I make my way to my bike.

Shit.

If I had to guess, it probably has something to do with some guy she’s been seeing - they tend to get a little too attached sometimes and don’t take it well when she decides to end it. Although, the club has never had to step in before so that part has my stomach twisting with worry. Without warning, my thoughts drift to the last time I saw her before I quickly shut them down again, shaking my head with a sigh. Those memories are only going to stir up more trouble.

Reaching my bike, all thoughts of Izzy are forgotten for a moment as I grab the handlebar and swing my leg over the seat before pulling my phone out of my pocket to call my friend, Max. Max Mobley was my partner for six months before I walked away from the force and we developed a good friendship in that time. He’s a damn good man and cop - working his ass off to do something about the corruption surrounding him in that department. That’s why he stays but that hasn’t stopped him from reaching out to us for help when he’s out of options on a case. He learned pretty quickly, just like I did years ago, that sometimes working with the club was necessary to help the people of this city.

“Diego,” he answers and the chatter in the background that tells me he’s still at the station makes my chest ache. I miss that fucking sound, the constant buzz of activity no matter what time of day it was. I used to thrive on it. “What’s up?”

“Not much. How are you?”